Wackos to Obliterate: Book Three (Chapter 11)

George sat in the driver’s seat of their pickup and was about to turn on the engine, but couldn’t keep himself from needling his mate one last time before beginning the drive to Cincinnati. He directed his gaze to his right to face Mavis in her position as ‘navigator: map-extraordinaire.’ “Did you know they’re playing in D.C.? That’s less than two hours from here. Why the hell do we have to drive eight hours or more to Cincinnati?”

“Stop complaining. It keeps you from spreading defamatory statements and falsehoods all day online.”

“Speaking of work, Julian wants to know if it’s possible for you to get him a couple of tickets for the D.C. show,” he said, starting the pickup.

“Do I look like a ticket agent?” Mavis asked and then started to smile as she turned to face her husband. “Did you say a ‘couple’? Does that mean that vagina puss is going on a date?”

“Kind of sounds like it,” he said as the truck commenced its job of pulling their fifth wheel to Ohio. “Anyway, remind me that we need to make sure Ryuji can make that happen.”

“I’m sure we won’t forget,” she said, thinking that a very heavy, ugly man who finds true love may be a kernel for her next romance story.

The concert was the next day. They reserved an RV park north of the city and a little out of their way, but it had very good reviews, and it accepted their RV club membership. The weather was perfect for taking a road trip and they both felt happy for the change in scenery. It was about time to go somewhere. What was the point of life in a fifth wheel if you didn’t go anywhere? Frankly, they had little reason to be staying in Richmond except that Mavis’ cousin was very generous to let them park for free on a piece of land she owned but never used.

“You know, I asked you this morning before we left why we were driving to Cincinnati when the Dogs are going to play in Washington, but I never got an answer,” George said as he was once again at his standing desk.

Mavis looked up from the book she was reading. “Ryuji isn’t going to be performing there.”

“Do you know the whole schedule?” he asked, looking over to her seated on the sofa.

“If I did, I certainly wouldn’t let you know it. You trolls would have hate groups protesting outside the concerts with pictures of the night’s guest burned in effigy.”

Exactly 24 hours later, they were seated in the balcony watching the Dogs. When Mavis first contacted, Ryuji asked what kind of seats they would like. In reply, she told him not too close to the stage since they were older and didn’t want to wreck both the atmosphere and their hearing. For the most part, they just wanted to meet with him for a short while after the show if it were possible. As a result, he got them front row, balcony seats. Since the venue was rather small, just around 1500 seats, the view was pretty decent and Mavis thought the acoustics were quite nice (as though she was an expert).

Even though they had both enjoyed rock ‘n’ roll when they were younger, the heavy metal variety played by the Diamond Dogs got a little repetitive after twenty or thirty minutes and if it weren’t for the energy from the audience, both would have started nodding off.

One thing that surprised them about the audience compared to those from their youth was how devoid the air was of smoke: either tobacco or pot. Another thing was the use of smart phones and tablets to record the event (no doubt for posting online).

By the time Ryuji finally appeared, George had become pretty bored and was hoping that the show would end soon since he felt like an outsider and a bloody idiot stuck in the middle of a crowd of people 40 years or more his junior. With Ryuji on stage, the atmosphere changed dramatically. For one thing, it had seemed like there were a lot of devices recording the event. Now, however, the number increased three fold. Looking at the audience below, it appeared like a sea of screens. More drastic of a change, however, was a belligerent tone that came from certain sections of the hall. With all the work teams of trolls had done the past several months, George had expected some of it to have rubbed off. In the course of the time Ryuji graced the stage, they could hear derogatory words like ‘faggot,’ ‘Jap,’ ‘anus’ and ‘butt-fucker’ shouted out. It really was a lot worse than George had expected; namely, the animosity and hatred really sounded threatening and frightening. It wouldn’t be too hard to imagine something violent taking place.

Back stage after the show, George and Mavis were pleased to meet Ryuji once more. He seemed much happier to see them than they had anticipated. After being introduced to the other group members, their girlfriends and a kid named Jimmy who accompanied Malcolm and Ryuji from Muncie, they went with Ryuji, Malcolm and Jimmy to a family restaurant several blocks from the concert hall (hoping to avoid anyone from the audience).

Once seated at a large U-shaped booth, everyone but Ryuji seemed a little uncomfortable together. George, perhaps, felt the most awkward since he recognized Jimmy from photos pasted on his SNS page and since George had been responsible for writing some pretty obnoxious and hurtful comments on the boy’s page.

“I got some great shots of the show,” Malcolm said as they were waiting for the waitress to bring them coffee.

Ryuji smiled and announced, “Malcolm is the band’s official photographer.”

“Both bands?” Jimmy asked.

“Yep, since the concert in Chicago last week,” Malcolm said. “I wonder if it’ll help me with scoring some groupies.”

“I didn’t see any hanging around back stage,” said George.

Malcolm cocked his head to one side and shrugged his shoulders. “No doubt that’s due to the Dogs having brought their girlfriends.”

“It may be due to all the homophobia shouted during the show,” Ryuji added, grinning.

“Where did that come from?” Mavis asked.

Malcolm quickly scanned the family restaurant with its late-night occupants, mostly devouring 24/7 breakfast menu items, and leaned toward Mavis. He whispered, “I take it you haven’t been following everything that’s been happening re the TRinkets.”

“Like: what rock did you crawl out from under?” Jimmy asked.

Ryuji grimaced a little at the coldness and slight cruelty that accompanied his remark. He lightly touched the arm of the young man sitting next to him. “That’s a little harsh, Jim. I get where you’re coming from, but you don’t have to be nasty.”

“No, I apologize; I do know a little about how the group is unable to tour,” she said, watching Jimmy who had lowered his eyes to the Formica-topped table.

“Well I must admit I haven’t been following it. Call me a salamander or whatever hides under rocks and such,” George said as he attempted to project whatever he thought innocence would look like on the face of a man in his sixties. “Frankly, when Mavis told me her favorite photographer had been a member of a popular band that had reformed recently, I was pretty interested since, I’m a little embarrassed to admit, I’ve never known anyone who had been on TV or in a major media cycle.”

“‘A major media cycle,’ do people really say such things?” Malcolm asked a little sarcastically, not to be mean, but to make light of the situation.

“Your ‘favorite photographer,’ really?” asked Ryuji.

It was now Mavis that looked down at the table as she felt her face reddening a little. “Well, those pictures you took of that nice couple; what were their names?”

George hesitated a second. “Ah, Autumn and Franklin, I think.”

“Oh yeah, the lady with the nice pair of mallards,” Malcolm said, smiling.

“Sorry about being late. We’ve been so busy tonight. Here are your cups and the menus. I’ll be right back with the coffee,” the waitress said in a gravelly voice sounding as though she either had a cold or difficulty talking. She was a woman of similar age and build to Mavis: taller than average, a little heavy, with straight, longish, salt-n-pepper hair.

Ryuji smiled as he watched the waitress put down the cups and then helped Mavis distribute them around the table. “That’s right; we went duck hunting with them, didn’t we? That woman was one hell of a shot. Didn’t she shoot the limit?”

“I think so. Yeah, she was a good shot and taught Mavis a great recipe for cooking duck,” George added, feeling more relaxed and assured he was convincing everyone that he had crawled out from under a rock. Mavis glanced at him and gave him a slight roll or her eyes, which he noticed. Ryuji watched them making eye contact.

“Anyway, the cover created from one of the photos you shot really helped make that book a success,” she said, looking back at Ryuji.

“It’s her biggest seller to date. I think that’s probably the main reason we wanted to take this opportunity to see you again,” George said.

Mavis smiled and said, “It also gives us a good excuse to get on the road.”

“Are you still living in that RV?” Malcolm asked as the waitress returned and started to fill their cups with steaming, black coffee.

“Are you ready for me to take your orders?” she asked as she poured.

Ryuji glanced down at the menu sitting unopened in front of him. “We haven’t even looked at them yet, but I think I know what I want.”

Mavis motioned toward him with her hand. “You’re the star tonight, feel free,” she said since she knew everyone would otherwise wait for her to begin.

“I think you have it on your menu,” he said, glancing at Malcolm for support.

Malcolm snorted and smirked. “You’re sure they do since this is the same chain where we eat breakfast several times a month.” He looked at everyone. “One of these is down the street from our photography studio.”

“If you’re such a wise ass, why don’t you order it for me?”

“The Mexican omelet with whole wheat, right?” Malcolm asked.

Ryuji smirked and shook his head. “That’s it.”

“With whole wheat? Got it. Anyone else ready?” The waitress whispered in her raspy voice.

“Sounds good to me,” Mavis said.

“Me too,” George added, shaking his head in agreement, looked around while both Malcolm and Jimmy nodded as well.

“Alright, five Mexicans coming up,” she said, writing it down on her order pad.

“You know, I was pretty surprised getting your email. When I gave you my card, I never expected you’d contact.”

“It was rather silly to write I guess, but when I first saw an article about the TRinkets, I remembered that our daughter used to be a fan. No doubt the name having the second letter capitalized helped me to recall it. Anyway, out of curiosity – no doubt due to writer’s block that day – I made a search and it brought up a picture. When I saw it, I thought the guitar player …”

“Bass not guitar,” George interrupted.

She shot him a look of annoyance remembering he had done the same thing the day they looked up the band online. “Bass player looked familiar, I asked ‘Mr. Interruption’ to help me remember where I …”

“I told her it was at the RV campground in Indiana where her book cover was photographed,” he interrupted.

“I guess much like him,” she said, pointing to George, “I was a little star struck, so couldn’t help but send a message,” she ended, feeling a little unsure if her story sounded convincing.

“How long was the drive from Richmond anyway?” asked Malcolm, shaking his head and grinning.

“A little over eight hours,” Mavis said as she looked at George for support.

Jimmy couldn’t resist but to say, “That’s pretty far to drive for an autograph, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is, isn’t it?” Mavis agreed, smiling but feeling even less convincing than she had first thought.

George smiled as well, but stared down at his coffee as he wondered how to make the story sound more rational. A couple of hours are pretty easy to justify, but eight does warrant more of an explanation. “So, did you get that autograph yet?” George finally decided to say.

“Do you want me to write it on a napkin, your sleeve, your …” Ryuji said, making a slightly lewd expression as though he meant someplace more private.

“So, George, I was wondering with your being mobile the past few years, have you done any hunting outside Indiana?” Malcolm asked, looking at the older man seated on his right.

“Where in Indiana were you hunting?” Jimmy asked, suddenly seeing a slight connection of some sort.

“What dinky town was that? South of Indy, uh, yeah, yeah, Centerville, wasn’t it?” Malcolm volunteered.

“That’s the town where my aunt’s sister lives. I think her husband runs a hunting shop of some sort there,” Jimmy said as George felt all the blood draining from his face. “Come to think of it, the reason I took those pictures of you was because my aunt said her sister’s husband wanted to add some pictures of you to the ones he had hanging in his shop.”

“In Centerville: The BillDuck or whatever?” Ryuji said as he noticed George looking a little strangely.

“You know, that explains the posting of the picture with those dead ducks,” Malcolm said, looking over to Ryuji on his right past George and Mavis.

Jimmy nudged Malcolm and asked, “On my site?”

“You remember those?” Ryuji asked.

“Yeah, it was very strange. The person who posted them said something about you being a duck hunter as if that were a crime of some sort.”

“What site?” George asked as though clueless to the situation.

“I guess a little history lesson is in order. We met Jim here because he acted as a stalker or paparazzi or whatever and posted a couple pictures of us on his SNS page …” Ryuji started to explain, watching Mavis and George as he spoke.

“A short video, too,” Malcolm interrupted.

“Yeah and almost immediately my page started to get creamed with hundreds of bullshit postings about how sick the TRinkets were, how Ryuji was a big fag, obsessed with wanting to destroy the social fabric of America and all sorts of shit,” Jimmy rattled off from Malcolm’s left. Just then the waitress pushed a cart over to their table containing plates full of spicy smelling omelets.

“I really hate to have to say this, but please cool it with the expletives,” she whispered in her raspy voice as she started to lift the heaping plates off the cart.

“Sorry, we’ll keep it down,” Ryuji replied with a smile and a slight bow of his head. He looked over to Jimmy seated next to Malcolm and made a hand signal to lower the voice. Once the waitress left, he continued: “As Jim was saying, both he and his SNS page have been attacked by tons of negative comments. When Malcolm brought this to my attention, we contacted him and invited him to this concert as a small payment for the hell he’s been put through the past month or two.”

George shook his head in mock disbelief. “Wow, I can’t believe it.” Mavis watched his side profile and shook her head, too.

“Back to the ducks for a moment,” Malcolm said, looking at George as well, “Do you recall the name of the owner of the shop?”

“Hell, I know that, my aunt’s sister is married to him,” Jimmy said.

“What was his last name, Mavis?” George asked but did not wait for a response, “McGregor, I think.”

“That’s it,” Jimmy said.

“How do you know him, George?” Ryuji asked, thinking this conversation was getting a lot more interesting than he expected.

Malcolm also became interested since at the time he was a little curious what people from out of state were doing in an RV campground in a small town in central Indiana that’s surrounded by little else except farmland. In addition, what was their connection to the heavy-set dude with the goatee who was in George’s truck the first day they met? “Yeah, what were the two of you visiting Centerville for anyway? You hadn’t come to go duck hunting since the day we went out together was the first day you ever hunted, right?”

The panic attack subsided and blood returned to George’s face. He turned to Malcolm and said, “An old friend of mine from high school lives there. We were traveling through the Midwest and stopped to visit for a week or two. McGregor is an old buddy of my friend, Rick.”

Ryuji smiled and said, “That makes sense.”

For some reason, Mavis thought it was time for her to speak so turned to Ryuji. “Remember that barn where we did the photo shoot? That was owned by another one of Rick’s friends, right George?”

“Yeah, what’s his name? Gerold something …”

“Husseman, I think. Oh, Patti must be your aunt’s sister,” Mavis said, addressing Jimmy seated at the opposite end of the booth, next to Malcolm.

“That’s right,” Jimmy said.

“Hey, I’ve got a question: who was that big guy staying in the park; the dude who convinced you to go hunting with us?” Malcolm asked, turning to George seated on his right.

“You mean, Julian? We met him in the RV park.”

“Oh that reminds me, didn’t he say he’d love to get a couple of tickets to the concert in D.C.?” Mavis asked George, tapping his shoulder repeatedly as though she just thought of something urgent.

George felt on a roll as he turned back to Ryuji and said: “This is all so weird. We’ve been staying in Richmond for a few months and by chance saw the big guy, Julian, walking in a city park close by. It turned out that he had lived in Richmond as a kid and used to play in that park a lot. Anyway, currently, he lives in D.C. and we’ve had lunch a couple of times in the past few months. The last time we ate together, I mentioned we were going to your concert. He was surprised to hear you were in the TRinkets and claimed he used to listen to your music quite a bit when he was younger.”

“No shit,” Ryuji said.

“I guess what George is trying to get at is Julian would love a couple of tickets for the show in Washington,” Mavis said as convincingly as she could; amazed at how easy it was for her to lie. No doubt, the writing she had done the past couple of years had helped her produce fiction.

“I’m not going to be in D.C., but I could try to see what I can do.”

Malcolm shook his head and grinned. “Did you say a couple? I find it hard to believe that whale is dating.”

“You’d be surprised at how much weight he has lost. Hell, I could hardly recognize him except for his beard.”

“What’s strange about his beard?” asked Jimmy.

Malcolm said, “Don’t worry about it. Oh, by the way, before we leave, remind me to take some pictures. I’m the official photographer of the band after all.”

“What can we find out about a George Kincaid and Bill McGregor?” Ryuji asked Trink the morning after Cincinnati.

“Probably best to get Summit to hire a private dick to run a background check on them, but why contact us? Wouldn’t it be best just to go through Marden?” Trink asked, a little pissed off being woken since he had been having difficulty sleeping due to worry about having to perform in Philadelphia in three days. Ryuji just had to forget the time zone difference between the Midwest and the West Coast.

“It probably isn’t anything beyond paranoia, but this kid has been getting bombarded constantly by trolls on his SNS page. Also, you’d be amazed at how belligerent the crowd sounded at times.”

“That sounds very encouraging,” Trink whispered, looking over to Madelyn still asleep in their bed. He slowly extracted himself from it and walked quietly out of the bedroom, holding Madelyn’s smart phone to his ear. It was a little cool this morning, but his pajamas were warm enough; something he never wore until they moved in with Brad and Chelsea. He walked into the living room and sat down on a sofa, looking out the back window at the Crystal Palace glittering in the sunrise. “Do you think these dudes are responsible?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Ryuji said.

“Do you have any clue what time it’s here? The sun just rose,” Trink said and yawned.

“Sorry man, I just thought the sooner someone got started on this, the better.”

“So what’s the connection between you and these two dudes? I mean, where did you get their …”

“I met both of them a couple of years ago,” Ryuji interrupted and proceeded to spend the next couple of minutes explaining how they met, what had happened since Jimmy posted his picture, and how Mavis had contacted him out of the blue.

“I agree it’s pretty strange about the ducks and that Jimmy was asked by Bill to get some pictures, but what about George and Mavis? It seems to me she worshipped you for taking some great book-cover photos. When she discovered you were actually a bad-ass bassist for the hottest group in the fuckin’ world, she decided to reconnect in case she’d get the chance to be plowed by your rock star dick.”

“Yeah, right,” he deadpanned, hoping Trink would understand he wasn’t in the mood to trade bullshit. “So, let Madelyn know when she wakes up and maybe we can get these guys checked out. You don’t want this crap to escalate; you’re making the next guest performance, after all, right?”

“Yep, Philly in two days; we’re leaving here tomorrow afternoon. So, do you have any more besides their names?” Trink asked, while he rubbed his eyes, still feeling tired but knew he wouldn’t return to bed.

“Bill McGregor lives in Centerville, Indiana. I don’t know very much about Kincaid except that his wife writes romances, but I don’t know if she uses a pseudonym or not. In case I didn’t say it earlier, her name’s Mavis,” Ryuji said, looking over to Malcolm reading something on his tablet. “Hey Malcolm, check to see if there are any books listed under Mavis Kincaid.”

“By the way, is there anything about the Dogs I should know before playing with them?”

“Try to keep to the current material. I heard Dickie got a little pissed off when Sophie wanted to do an old hit.”

“Hell, I don’t remember the lyrics to that old shit anyway. I’m happy to keep with the new stuff. No doubt, Alzheimer’s a factor.”

Malcolm waved a hand in Ryuji’s direction. “The books are listed under her real name,” he said.

“Did you hear that?” Ryuji asked into the phone as he nodded to Malcolm who was getting up from a chair next to the desk in this small motel room and walked over to Ryuji holding his phone while sitting on the bed.

“Later on, I’ll upload a few of last night’s pictures to Jimmy’s page and include one with George and Mavis. I wonder if that’ll get a response from the trolls.”

“You hear what our official photographer’s planning to do?”

“It’ll be interesting to see what happens. If they see one of theirs exposed to a little light, it might make the rest crawl back under their bridges for a while,” Trink said, as he watched Madelyn enter the room, scratching the back of her head and yawning. “Is there anything you want to ask Madelyn specifically? She just got up,” he said, then handed her the phone. “It’s Ryuji.”

“Bloody early, isn’t it? So, how was the show?” she asked.

“Hey, manager lady, Trink can fill in the details. I just realized one thing I need you to do ASAP. Could you send some vouchers, or whatever, for two seats to the Washington show?” he asked.

A few minutes after the phone call, Ryuji jumped in front of Malcolm once more seated in the chair by the desk. “I think after we drop off Jimmy, we’ll need to drop by DuckBill Hunting.”

Wackos to Obliterate: Book Three (Chapter 11) | Ecency