The Brawl (4 page)

Moving his gaze anywhere but in the mirror, Kitt knew the night was just getting started. He stared into the blackness and wondered if they’d be anywhere near Austin by the time the horizon began to glow.

Roger was on the phone. He was always on the phone with someone when they were on tour. The phone calls were never good. “Then when was the last time you saw them, Kevin?”

He nodded, already flipping up his laptop screen. Roger wanted to know how many bars were in the area, and the number for the local law enforcement.
That's it. Those fucking boys are getting a curfew.

“Okay, so a bar. Great. If they come back to the motel, let me know. Otherwise be ready to head to Texas without them in the morning. the itinerary hasn’t changed.” He hung up. The next number that Roger dialed was the local sheriff's office.

There wasn’t all that much in the area, so Colton and Kitt couldn’t have gotten into that much trouble. Better than downtown Nashville or some other city where everyone has their cell phones out and recording the Wade brothers’ shenanigans. ACL was a big step on the ladder, and Roger would be hung out to dry if they didn’t show. He leaned back in his rental car. It was cheap and uncomfortable, no matter how much he adjusted the seat.

Roger steeled himself to the fact that until he found Kitt and Colton, there’d be no relief of a comfortable bed. Another sleepless night on the road with Colton Wade and the Guilty Party.

After a six rings, Roger gave up. He could forgive no one being there to answer. There was probably one sheriff and a few deputies to be called on during an emergency, but to not have a voicemail?
Come on. It’s fucking 2015.
Bar or behind bars? With Colton it was the flip of a coin. Roger checked the dashboard, the digital display reading 3:47 in the morning. The odds significantly swung in favor of the drunk tank. With a shake of his head, Roger pulled up the address and headed towards the county seat.

Managing a bull in a china shop wasn’t what Roger had dreamed of when he signed on with Colton. He believed in the kid with every fiber of his being, but he missed the quiet, although unsuccessful, partnership he had with Raylene Evans. She was a future songwriting queen, but fate stepped in and cut her career short. He liked the simple naivety that the two of them shared. He and Raylene just wanted to put out a great album that would be considered a classic in time.

Colton didn’t want that future classic album. He wanted to rule the world. Roger laughed the first time he heard Colton say that. Rule the world. Roger didn’t even know what the first step would be. When Colton told him about Kitt, Rog knew that Colton’s older brother was the key. Once Kitt was clean and out of rehab, he should join the band. Even if he couldn’t play a lick, the way that Colt brightened up when talking about Kitt was enough for Roger.

Kitt was the spark that The Guilty Party needed, and Roger was proven right the first time the band played together with the additional guitarist. Roger leaned against the doorframe and smiled. It was elevating.

He tried to think of those great moments during the shit moments at four in the morning in bum fuck Egypt. Kitt and Colton, country outlaws. The Wade brothers never backed down from a fight, even if that fight was against the law.

Cursing the lack of Starbucks’ in the area, Roger followed the navigation instruction towards the county jail.

Kitt couldn’t remember a more uncomfortable bed. Colton had pulled him down with him on many occasions in many cities, but this jail had to rank towards the bottom. Maybe the plywood had warped over time, or maybe it was the all the bruises from the fight making themselves known. Kitt leaned over and looked up at the cot hanging above him. Colton’s arm dangled over the side. “You think this place’s got a Yelp? If she do, I’m gonna lay into ‘em.”

Colton’s only reaction as snort followed by a long snore.

“”Really? Little brother, you can sleep anywhere.” Kitt twisted around, trying to find the same magic position that Colton had found. It didn’t exist for him. He’d continue to drown in the stillness of the snore-filled jail cell. He put both hands behind his head and tried to focus on anything but his little brother’s sleep sounds.

Voices stirred him from his daze. They were muffled, but he could recognize Roger talking with the lady cop. Bringing a foot up, he kicked the underside of Colton’s bare wood cot. “Yo, bail money just arrived. Get yourself right.”

A grunt was Colton’s reply, but after a second kick, Colt woke, “Fuckin’ easy, man. We was just in a fight, you know.”

“I’m more than aware, you dumb shit. Roger’s here. Time to go.” Kitt remained lying down, but watched as Colton’s long legs swung over the side. Dropping to the concrete floor, Colton stretched, his right hand finding the spot where one of the brawlers had gotten his one good punch in. “Fuck, man.”

Kitt got himself vertical, stretching and feeling every punch that had connected on his own body. “Maybe next time, you let local color be. That big motherfucker might have broken one of my ribs when he tackled me.” The voices in another room got louder.

“Aw,” Colton turned to his brother and smiled, “You’ve taken harder hits, and you know it,”

“Don’t mean I like it any less.” Kitt paused for a moment before doing his best to turn on the family charm. “Make me a deal, Colt. Best behavior in Austin.”

“What do I get out of the deal?”

“I don’t give you a Texas-sized ass whooping myself.”

Colton was considering the proposition, but before he could give a reply, a creaky door opened, and Roger appeared before the cell. For a few moments, the manager just stared at the Wade brothers.

“You know, y’all should write a book on breaking the law.” His New York accent didn’t jive well with the southern slang, but after years with the boys in the band, the lingo was slipping in. “Not on doing it well, obviously.

“Deputy Harbaugh tells me you boys attacked some townspeople unprovoked.”

“Bullshit.” Colton’s plea remained the same.

Roger nodded, “I figured as much. Y’all two never do anything wrong. Maybe you just love touring municipal buildings, I don’t know. I just wish you could do it at a more reasonable hour. I
do
like sleep, you know. While you two nap it up on the tour bus in the morning, I’ll be on the phone trying to sweep this shit under the rug.”

Kitt leaned against the bars, “I know Colton won’t go into great detail, boss, but I have to side with him. It was four on two, and you don’t see any of them in there beside us, do you?”

With his hands up, Roger said, “Don’t care. Don’t care. I’m gonna talk to the deputy in there and get you guys out. We’re already going to be cutting it close on time. So help me god, if we miss ACL, I’ll be in here for murdering you two. Sit tight.”

As Roger walked away, Colton called to him, “Was gonna go for a jog, but I think I’ll hang out here, boss.”
 

“I meant what I said.” Kitt pointed a finger at his younger brother. “So help me, I’ll change it to Kitt Wade and The Guilty Party and move right along.”

Colton dropped down onto the cot, feeling that sting at his back, “I wish you all the luck in the world. It might seem like a miracle dealing with all those screaming women, but it can get a bit tiring from time to time. Besides, you can’t remember lyrics to save your life.”

“Not true, just can’t remember shitty lyrics. I can sing any classic tune you wanna hear.”

“The kids and party monsters don’t wanna hear nothin’ by Scruggs, Tubb, or Monroe. Gotta sing about red Solo cups and redneck girls in tight jean shorts.”

Kitt sat beside his brother, “Alright, you win. I’ll stick with the guitar solos. You sing your words, and I’ll burn up the fretboard.”

From around the corner, the Wade brothers heard their manager screaming, “You gotta be kidding me!”

Looking back at Kitt, Colton raised his eyebrows, “That ain’t good.”

“Sure ain’t.”

When he returned, Roger’s head was down, his arched back over like he’d just lost a major court case. Bringing his head up was a real chore, and Colton wondered if they were actually going to be charged with a crime. He stood up, “Don’t sound like good news, boss.”

“Can’t post bail until eight in the morning. Gotta wait for the secretary at the courthouse. Her name is Denise. Gotta wait for Denise.”

“Ain’t you tried to use any of that Yankee charm, Rog? Get the cutie with the badge to drop any charges, and we’ll just be on our way. No harm, no foul.” Colton had a winning smile on his face.

Roger shook his head, “Apparently you already tried to lay the charm on her, and she wasn’t too happy with your flagrant disrespect.”

“Disrespect!” Colton lowered his voice, “I love women, why would I disrespect them? Pretty sure that’s what started the whole fight to begin with.”

Roger stepped forward, keeping his voice down, as well, “Colton, there’s a difference between thinking a woman is hot and respecting what she does. Just because you love to fuck ‘em doesn’t mean they’re gonna feel respected. It’s seven hours to Austin, so if you get out right at eight, and there’s no traffic, and the gods are smiling, we’ll make it for the dress rehearsal. Get some sleep boys. I’ll be right outside ready to spring you as soon as Denise is ready for me.”

With a wrap of his knuckles on the solid steel, Roger turned and headed back to the rental to grab a few hours of uncomfortable, restless sleep.

It wasn’t long before Colton was back on the top bunk, just a few minutes from snoring away. He had an arm over his head, trying to block out the perpetual fluorescent light shining down on them. His mind shifted from the cop to that sweet little blonde at the bar.
Ain’t nothin’ wrong with tryna play the fame card, anyway.
He was close to dozing when the squeak of the door brought him back to consciousness. At first, Colton thought that it was eight in the morning, and he actually had fallen asleep.

He turned to the barred window and saw the same black picture inside the metal frame. His eyes went to the cell door. Harbaugh was there, her eyes hidden below the cap. He rarely did it, but it was time for an apology.

Sliding down from the top bunk, Colton prepared some words about the alcohol or the adrenaline getting the better of him. Hell, he’d even blame the fame. The second that he opened his mouth and took a step forward, though, he was silenced by a single finger raised by the cop. He froze mid-breath. Following her eyes, he saw that she wasn’t even looking at him. The lady cop’s eyes were glued to Kitt.

He had his arms back behind his head, watching at the officer cut Colton off. A slight smile came to Kitt as she shut Colton down. It took one hell of a man to clamp Colton’s mouth shut, let alone one hell of a woman. Maybe it was her position or the uniform. The cop’s eyes were glued onto Kitt as she stood before them. Something in Colton’s head clicked. He rolled his eyes.
Oh, Jesus. Here we go.