Just as the ending credits came up, Eamonn’s phone pinged. He reached to grab it from the nightstand and his face took on a look of dismay as he read the message.
“What is it?” Nell asked.
For answer, he held out his phone. Angel’s text message said: Check the news. Major car crash, media saying members of Gumdrop Conspiracy may be involved. Scrolling through the newsfeed on his phone with one hand, he switched the television to the local cable news station with the other.
It was the lead story. A reporter on the scene stood in front of what had evidently been a multi-car disaster. At the center of the blocked-off intersection, the crumpled remains of a black sports car were wrapped around the nose of a three-ton truck, with other cars in various states of peripheral damage nearby. A uniformed figure closed the rear doors on one of the ambulances and it raced away, sirens wailing; a firetruck and two police cars were also on the scene, their lights pulsing in the background as the reporter spoke into a microphone. “At this point, two individuals have been removed from the black Lamborghini and taken to Emergency in the ambulance you just saw leaving. One appeared to be receiving oxygen and it looked to us as if the paramedics were taking spinal precautions, but the other’s face was covered.” She paused for a moment, looking suitably somber. “We have not been able to confirm their identities, but the car is licensed to Orion Giery, front man of Gumdrop Conspiracy. Was he in the car? We know the band members are here in Napa to perform at Time Rock on the weekend. Other minor injuries are being treated at the scene. I’m Ashley Mint, and I’ll keep you updated as we uncover further information.” The news moved on to local politics and Eamonn switched it off.
“Well, shit,” he said, then, “I’m not being heartless — it’s a hell of a tragedy — but also we were supposed to perform with them on Saturday. Now what?”
“Do — did you know them?” Nell asked.
“Not really. Mom does, I think, or at least did at one time. They were huge when I was a little kid, then kind of fizzled out. Still touring and doing festivals and stuff but… they let the party life get to them. No-shows, temper tantrums, arrests, going on stage too wasted to perform competently — all that shit. Bet you a doughnut it’ll come out that Giery was driving drunk or high or both when…” He shuddered, and she wondered if he was thinking of near misses he’d had. “A band’s got to grow out of that stuff to survive. I’ve been given something here, a second chance, a gift… I want us to be looked up to when we’re older, the way the Bad Luck Opals are, not just aging party boys like Gumdrop Conspiracy.”
His determination was a beautiful thing, and yet… His ‘us’ is the band, Nell told herself. That’s where he sees his whole future. And she couldn’t fault him for following his restored dream, just as she’d never give up on her plan to attain mastership and someday own a martial arts school. “You should call your mother,” she suggested, as gently as she could. “If she did know these guys, maybe you ought to break the news to her before she sees it online or something.”
“Good thought,” he said. “Yeah.” He looked at his phone but didn’t dial.
“Bad news calls are hard to make, I know. You want me to take a walk, give you some space?”
He looked over at her, snuggled up all cozy in the bed. “No, lovely. You look so nice and comfortable. Stay here and keep the bed warm. I’ll get some fresh air while I call Mom.” He leaned over and kissed her temple. “Be back soon.”
She was half asleep by the time he came back in, only vaguely aware of him lifting the covers and sliding into the bed beside her.
By morning, it was confirmed that Orion Giery had died, and Gumdrop Conspiracy drummer Timothy Redwell was in critical condition with spinal trauma and a collapsed lung. “Looks like I owe you a doughnut,” Nell said to Eamonn over breakfast in the dining room, as the entertainment news industry exploded with reports that Giery and Redwell had been mixing alcohol, cocaine, and ecstasy before getting into the car.
“Shit, no,” Eamonn said. “I wasn’t serious about betting on that, though I wish I’d been wrong.”
“He’s always saying ‘I bet you’ this and that,” said Sally, who was sitting with them. “If you don’t shake on it, you don’t have to pay.” Erva, a tough-looking woman with tightly braided hair and arm muscles that rivaled Nell’s, nodded her agreement.
“It’s just an expression. Anyway, I don’t bet on sure things, and Giery hasn’t — hadn’t been sober in two decades.” He grimaced at the shift to past tense, pushed his chair back and stood up. “I’m going to get some more coffee. Anyone want anything?”
The doors to the dining room banged open and Blade stormed in, snarling curses. Angel and Dice followed close behind him, more in control but equally incensed. “Oh, they’re not happy,” Sally commented. “Okay, Jed’s talking to Blade. Erv, you wanna go wake Crys up? She’s the best at settling him down. I’ve got Angel.” She looked around for support, then her gaze settled on Eamonn. “You’re not the ass I thought you were. Think you could take Dice? Just, you know, get him a coffee, see if he wants to eat something.” She turned to Nell. “You might have figured out that Blade is our rage-y one. Angel’s pretty calm but he feels things deeply when they affect the band, you know? Dice… I don’t know, he’s
