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“I am Sancho.”
Sancho, Orgazmo
The campus bus stopped at the library stop. On the
same side, two doors at either end of the bus opened up. Students filed
out. Footsteps overshadowed the idling engine. But even as the students
walked, no conversations were heard. Nervously, invariably, all eyes
glanced nervously around the college campus. They all scanned the rooftops
and trees. They all looked behind cars and in the darker corners of the
sunlit day. They all looked for the sniper that they feared might have
returned to finish whatever work he had started. They all looked.
All but one.
He was a big man, larger in the stomach than in his
broad chest and overly wide shoulders. With short-cut blonde hair hidden
behind narrow glasses, he looked around the campus, two duffel bags in each
hand and a book bag on his back. He smiled at the breeze as it swept
through the campus trees, refreshing the world with its coming and going.
He stepped away from the bus, looking up at the giant
library tower, at the sun as it hid behind the giant building, as if afraid
to come out into the larger sky. He looked across the street, at the
restaurants and shops that seemed as nervous as the students. He smiled.
He turned back around, dropping his bags. He reached
his thick, meaty hand into his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper. At the
top, an antiquated date flapped in the breeze as the broad letters spelled
out his fate.
‘World Alliance’
Will sat across from Alan, the thick notebook in his
hands. Grinning like a small child on Christmas morning, his head seemed to
bob up and down at some unheard music. “This is great stuff, man,” he said,
opening the folder.
In the half-crowded fast food stall at a local
department store, Alan looked around nervously. They were in the higher end
of town. People that shopped at this store didn’t usually like the types
that wore black leather, denim, and wore necklaces with less-than-Christian
themes. “So, he got the songs finished?” Alan asked, turning back to his
longhaired partner.
“He’s gotten us fourteen demos,” Will said, throwing
his back length hair over his shoulder, turning the folder to Alan. “He’s
got the notation that we gave him, and lyrics, with points where alternate
lyrics can go.”
“Holy…” Alan stopped himself before he kept on. He
bit down on his hand, Will’s enthusiasm taking hold of him. “This is…man,
this is…” He couldn’t find the words.
“This guy’s going to help us get radio play, man,”
Will said, nearly laughing he was so psyched. “I’m going to meet with him
tomorrow to do some more work. But I think we might have enough to start
rehearsing with in a couple of days.”
“Sweet,” Alan said, his grin stretching from ear to
ear. “Oh, this is sweet.”
“Yes,” Will said, also grinning. He started to laugh.
“Yes this is.”
The restaurant was atmospherically nice. Filled with
a strong western theme while at the same time seeming to shout ‘new money’,
it bore as much resemblance to an old west steak house as a rodeo did to an
authentic dude ranch.
Phillip sat across from Ken, going over several
sheets of paper, appraising the lists of numbers that seemed written in an
unintelligible code. But Phillip took it all in, continuing to read as the
waiter came by, filling his and Ken’s wine glasses again.
“This makes no sense,” Phillip decided, looking past
the paper at Ken. In the other seat, Ken sat in a gray suit, his blonde
hair cut very short. His skin was changing color with the exposure to the
western environment but he still was obviously the city boy that Phillip
had known for so long.
“What’s wrong?” Ken asked, taking his wine glass
delicately in his hand. “We’re behind schedule. That’s because of the
workers and the fact that the Triumvirate has put these asinine demands on
us, on how we need to be doing our jobs.”
“The Triumvirate knows what it’s talking about,”
Phillip said, taking his wine glass, not sipping from it immediately.
“Phillip,” Ken said, leaning across the table. He
came in close to the candle that separated the two. “Look at me.” Phillip didn’t
move. “You haven’t looked at me since you got here.”
Phillip seemed to chew on that and grit his teeth. He
looked up at Ken, obviously angry. But Ken was unphased. “Phillip, what the
hell’s gotten into you? Ever since you got control of the Hand of the
Brotherhood, you’ve been acting weird.”
“I’m not acting weird,” he disputed, sitting back in
his chair, templing his hands. He stared at the receeding Ken, his eyes
harsh in the low light of the restaurant. “I am now simply having to deal
with the bulk of the responsibilities in the Brotherhood. Not only must I
oversee our most prized project ever, I must also now deal with the
security of pretty much the entire North American portion of the
Brotherhood.”
“I’m the field leader for the Miracle Workers,
Phillip,” Ken reminded, leaning forward. “Mint and I have got everything
under control down here. You should see Mint at work. She’s the only thing
that’s gotten us this far in the construction.”
“Then maybe I should appoint her to be the head of
the field work,” Phillip said, sipping his wine, once against not looking
at Ken.
Ken sat back, an angry look on his face. “That was
uncalled for,” he said, glaring at Phillip. “Don’t you dare try and
threaten me.”
“Then do your job, Ken,” Phillip said, his gaze
shooting to Ken, his eyes intense. “Do your job and get this fortress back
on schedule. Because if you can’t, I will be forced to have to find someone
who can do it.”
Alan was sitting at the four-person table in the
middle of the pancake house, the notebook spread before him as he looked
over the tablature and the sheet music. The notes sang to him as he looked
over everything, the words bringing the music out even stronger. “This is
great,” he whispered, his grin as strong as ever.
“Hey.”
He looked up as Ruwani slumped down into the seat
across from him. With two at the small table, the restaurant seemed less
unfriendly. “Hey,” he said back, only sparing a glance before going back to
looking over the music.
“Whatchya doing?” she asked, a bit out of breath from
her heavy book bag that took up more of her side of the table than she did.
“Looks like music. Is it band stuff?”
“Yeah,” Alan nodded. “We got some stuff back from our
collaborator. He’s helping us to bring our songs together and also writing some
lyrics for us.”
“Cool,” Ruwani said, looking around the restaurant.
“You don’t know the half of it,” he half-laughed, his
head bobbing as he read over the music. “Next to the World Alliance, this
is it for me.”
“I think Marilyn will be happy to know that the Alliance means that
much to you,” Ruwani said, still reconnoitering the restaurant. She was so
busy looking around; she didn’t even notice the man approaching the two.
“Hello,” came a high, but hefty voice from behind
Alan. The beanpole musician looked up from the music, a concerned and
aggressive glance in his eyes. He turned his head as Ruwani looked up to
find the large, thick blonde man standing at the corner of the booth. “Hi,”
he said, holding up his hand in a childish wave.
“Hi,” Ruwani said.
“Hey,” Alan nodded to him.
“Sorry to butt in, but I heard you guys talking about
the World Alliance,” he said, a half-developed, almost childish grin on his
face. “I was wondering if you knew where they meet?”
Ruwani looked to Alan. “Meet?” she asked as if
confused. Alan’s eyebrows went up, but he motioned back to her. “Well,
they…that is, we…we don’t really have like ‘meetings’ meetings. We just
kind of get together.”
“Cool,” the man said. He held out his thick palm.
“I’m Brian Davies.”
“Ruwani. Ruwani Hitori,” she said, still visibly
unsure of what to make of the new arrival. She took his hand, immediately
flinching at the strong grip the big man held. “This is Alan Dunston,” she
added after a moment, withdrawing her hand.
“’Sup.”
“So,” Brian said, after an awkward moment. “I take it
you guys are part of the World Alliance?”
“Yeah,” Ruwani said, after a moment. She looked at
Alan, almost as if to confirm if that was true. He said nothing. He simply
seemed to stare off at a space slightly over Ruwani’s left shoulder. “We’re
both in the group. If I can ask, how do you know about the Alliance?”
“I found a flyer about you guys,” he answered,
leaning in as two other costumers slid by.
“Sounds like something Marilyn would do,” Alan
mumbled, almost to himself. Ruwani stifled a laugh.
“I read up about you guys on-line and I decided that
when I got to college, I wanted to join,” Brian went on. “I just got
approved today so I came to check you guys out.”
“You’re still in high school?” Ruwani asked, disbelieving
of the large figure.
“No,” Brian said, laughing playfully. “I’ve been
going to the tech college on the other side of town. But my credits were
good enough for me to transfer here finally. So,” he said, holding out his
large, round arms, “here I am.”
“Here you are,” Ruwani partially laughed, still
uncertain. She looked at Alan, then back to Brian. “Why don’t you sit down,
Brian? Let me go make a phone call.”
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