CHAPTER 1
The Waterloo was a dive. There was no mistaking that fact. It was a dying breed of bar, where the pool tables were darkly lit and the stench of beer and vinyl mixed with the bad attitude of the waitress, to recall an era of time gone by. It was the kind of bar where a barroom brawl was expected like clockwork, well it would have been if the bar wasn't almost completely vacant. The day of the Waterloo had come and past.
Somewhere between 1983 and the present day the clientele of the Waterloo dwindle off to just a few hapless drunks off the streets. The days when heavy rockers would bring in their over hair sprayed girlfriends and drink like there was no tomorrow were gone.
"If I have to work one more shift in this hell hole I'm going to stick my head in a god damn oven." Deana Said to no one in particular.
"Tell ya what," came a heavy voice from the end of the bar, "I'll turn on the gas for ya if ya promise to kick me out of the nearest high rise window." Deana smiled at the joke and walked toward the disembodied voice.
At the end of the bar sitting in the shadows was a cute college age guy with dark hair and bangs that hid his eyes. It seemed like his baggy black shirt was hiding a tight build but as he was almost completely slumped over the edge of the bar in misery she couldn't tell. "What do you have to complain about you DECIDED to drink here, I'm the one who has to punch a clock to keep these roaches company..."
The guy put his head up and looked around for what must have been the first time since he came in, "yeah this place is a dive." He agreed and then slumped quickly back down in disinterest. "When you said roaches were you talking about insects or clientele?" he asked worriedly eyeing the floor.
"It's a toss up." She said as she put down her tray of empty glasses and took the stool next to the kid. At 29 she could call him a kid. She had been working for so long she felt 62, she still had her looks even if she had put on a little weight to the front and back, that's one of the danger's of bussing people's orders around all day sooner or later you start to look like an actual bus. "What's your problem kiddo?"
He sat up a little and looked at her through squinted considering eyes, his bangs moved and she was taken back by just how blue and almost dangerous those eyes seemed. But after a minute he smiled gratefully at her and slouched back down. "Nothing" he moped.
"Look a pretty boy like you doesn't find himself at the waterloo without someone dying, someone Lyin', or someone cryin' now which of those is it?" She asked as she pulled her long dark hair up into a makeshift ponytail.
He gave her a long stare and said, "It's a toss up."
"Oho a comedian." Deana offered. "Well Mr. quick response, it's me or the beer coaster take your pick. Personally I think I'd be a better conversationalist."
The guy laughed a deep rich laugh the kind that sounds like the person only uses it on rare occasions, like just one laugh is a holiday or something. "I don't know the coaster was telling me the most fascinating things about mutual stocks. I'm Damien."
"I'm Deana, waitress, barkeep and indentured servant of the waterloo. So now that we have been properly introduced..." Deana gave him the once over and said point blank, "What's her name?"
"Her name? Oh...it's not like that never mind," he said as he slumped back down obviously dismissing her.
"Alright then what's his name?"
The man arched up right like a lightening bolt, "what makes you say that?'
She chortled a little at his surprise, "listen kid you're not going to shock me I've been around the block enough to know what the real world is like. Anyway big saucy broad like me had played the hag to many a fag. now are you going to tell me what your problem is or am I going to go back to giving the rats vodka stingers."
There was a minute when Deana looked at the blank and somewhat intimidating stare that she had the distinct feeling that she had made a major mistake sitting down next to this strange guy, but then his crystal eyes lit up and he laughed again, that same exhausted exuberant burst. He tipped his glass to her and said "You're good people." He took a swig and then began to tell her his sad story, "I've been kind of flirting with this guy....It's not really a relationship but I'm growing attached to him."
Deana began collecting nearby bottles, "...and he doesn't know you exist right?"
He chuckled a self-depreciative sigh, "Oh no he knows alright, Christ does he know."
"So what's the problem? Break out the soft lights, the Barry white records and the KY then."
Damien smiled with confused eyes, "I think I would..."
"But?" she offered wiping her hands on her pants.
"But he doesn't have a clue who I really am, I've done some really heinous things that he doesn't even realize or couldn't even begin to understand.... And I did some of it to him." He answered rolling the beer in his hands speculatively.
Deana gave him a long flat look, "Are you Jewish?"
He looked startled, "no."
"Catholic?"
"Hell No!"
"Then what is with all this guilt?" She asked matter of factly. "If he don't know it and it ain't gonna hurt him why even worry about it? Unless of course all the things you did will come back to haunt you."
"Oh it did come back in my face." He laughed, not the happy relieved laugh of before a darker malicious chortle. "But I took care of it."
"How did you handle it?"
"I turned the guy who was going to rat me out into a gay bike cop out of a Tom of Finland colanders." He said it with the straightest face she had ever seen.
He was so ridiculously serious that she had to bust out into a deep-bellied gale of laughter. "You're a nut." She laughed even harder.
And for some weird reason her healthy laughter made Damien want to join in, "Yeah it is kind of crazy when you think about it." He added.
"HEY KEEP IT THE FUCK DOWN! We're trying to tune up assholes!" a gruff and unfriendly voice screamed at them.
They both turned abruptly and for the first time since stumbling into the Waterloo Damien noticed the five guys lurking in one of the far off back corners of the large bar room. Deana brushed them off nonchalantly; "If you want those guitars to sound better get someone else to play them!" she yelled then turning back to Damien. "Ignore them."
"Fuck you Fat bitch." Came another catcall.
Damien stood up to defend his new found companion but she put a firm hand on him and pushed him back down, "It's no big deal It's just RANCOR, It's a no-talent band that plays here on Tuesdays, They're as harmless as they are useless."
"This place has live talent?" Damien asked stunned.
"Well I wouldn't call it Live and I definitely wouldn't call it talent but back in it's hey day the Waterloo was one of THE clubs for heavy metal bands on their way up," she paused looking around, "And well now it's the last stop for Wannabee's on the way out."
"Their band's name is Rancor?" He said in disbelief as he could begin to hear the clumsily strumming of an electric guitar and the uninterested tapping of a drum set.
"Yep, You see that lanky crackhead looking blonde over there?" She pointed to a tall white man whose hair strangled down his back and was as blonde as it was greasy. It was kept out of a drunken and tired face by a worn bandanna. He sat idly as his band set up, his skeletal form hanging loose on a chair, "That's Diesel, he used to be huge back in the 80's, back in the era of the hair bands, now he just does horrible vocals for those guys, and the cadaver on the drums..." She pointed to a man who looked to have the body of a 40 year old and the face of father time, worn from hard living and bad Karma. His Frizzy dark hair flew carelessly around as he unmotivatedly tapped his drums. His Tour T-shirt was stained and his jeans looked as if there were three good stitches holding them together "That's Kline, the two of them were in the same band until they got into Coke and Heroin and all kinds of legal trouble then they both got booted out." She gave him a crooked smile, " They absolutely hate each other but now they have to be in this shit band together to pay rent. It's hilarious."
Damien observed the pair of washed out rockers and then noticed a bulky thugged out white boy carrying in a speaker, "Who's He?"
"Mike? Doesn't seem like he belongs with those losers do he? Looks like that new brand of white rapper rocker huh?" They both inspected him with interest. He was short but built broad and wore the typical gold chains backward hat and baggy sports clothes of a white boy trying desperately to be ghetto. He must have noticed because he raised one Vein dissected and hairy forearm to give them the finger. "Yeah he wishes he was, he's as talent less as the other two...now Ryan he's got a talent I suppose but he's in the wrong damn band."
Damien saw the boy she was talking about, a sickly looking pale guy off in a corner plucking a bass looking to the world as sad and morose ad Damien felt. He was nondescript and palpably geeky, wearing flannel that seemed to coat him head to toe. "He looks like the reanimated corpse of that guy from nirvana."
"Pretty much, " she offered dismissively, "He writes great but it's wasted cause they won't use his stuff and he's too much of a puss to stand up to any of them. They push him around like a rag doll" She paused considering, "I'd pity him but he's so arrogant about his deep moody song writing I think he deserves it."
"Wow there's a starting line-up." Damien laughed. "But who's the brute with the amp?" He asked pointing to the large ripped and bleached blonde thug lugging in sound material. "That's Diesel's younger bother he works as there roady...I think his name's Frank he's a bigger Dick then them all put together, and as if just to emphasis that point the frank kicked the seated Ryan hard with one thick corded leg.
"Priceless." Damien observed.
Damien stared at the dangerously gorgeous brute. "What ARE YOU GAWKING AT BITCH?" The tattooed and scarred hulk yelled.
Damien considered "Nothing much." He answered.
"That's what I thought fucker!" And then he went back to moving the huge speakers.
"Frank don't you have some naive little punk rock chic you should be doing statutory things to?" Deana yelled back.
"Shut up you fat bitch." The ogre roared back as he continued loading.
"Yeah Deana Shut-up we're about to do our set." Ryan whined at her, his hair falling into his face for the one-thousandth time.
"C'mon let's get this over with," Diesel rasped from the barstool he was perched on, his hands clasping a bottle of Vodka tightly.
Kline laughed violently making his huge bush of black hair shake; "Yeah diesels' got a hot date with three hot guys, Jack Daniels, Mr.. Smirnoff and Jose Quiervo."
"Fuck you," Diesel spat as he took a swig from his bottle.
Mike began grumbling from behind them all his heavy Brooklyn accent and harsh voice raising above the others, "I bet if Diesel was queer we'd be topping the fucking charts."
"What?" Diesel yelled.
Mike put looked up, his heavy brow disguising the contempt in his eyes, "Only fucking Queer ass boy bands are making it these days, with their faggy clothes and fiery dancing. Nobody likes good music anymore man just queers in tight clothes."
"True dat man!" Frank grunted.
"Fuckin' homo's ruin everything!" Kline agreed.
Back at the bar, as Deana watched the rag tag band in disgust, Damien began to bang his head against the bar in frustration.
She turned to see him successively smacking his head against the bar's surface sending his black bangs up and down sharply, "Hey I know there music sucks, but you don't have to knock yourself unconscious! You could always leave baby doll."
He stopped smacking his head and just put his head in his hands with a tired expression, "I think I'm some kind of magnet!" He said darkly with a look of universal impatience.
"Huh?" She asked confusedly.
"If there is a homophobe in the tri-county area I'll find him and he'll mouth off in front of me.... It's like some kind of god damned curse. It's like ignorant straight boys fucking see me coming!" He was almost yelling now. " I mean I made a promise and I planned to keep it but it's like I have this sign that says, "All Bastards please spew your opinions here.""
Deana looked at him skeptically, "honey, I think you're flagged."
"Oh never mind anyway, I obviously have some work to do." He spat angrily getting up from the bar like a petulant child who didn't want to do his chores.
Deana still didn't comprehend, "Thanks for the company though," She smiled.
"Oh don't mention it," He answered and then considered and gave her a slight kiss on her rosy round cheek, "Thank you for the advice Deana, I'll consider it, and Deana...Your good people you deserve better then this dump."
"Hey honey, I know that, you know that, but that and a quarter will get ya...well hell it won't even get ya a cup of coffee. See ya round baby doll."
And with one last look at Deana's sad smile Damien left the waterloo and went through the darkened bar and out on to the street with Rancor playing him out on his exist with a charming little ditty about heroin, crack whores and angry pimps.
Damien was out in the street in front of the waterloo staring at it's greasy windows and seeing the pleasant but pained waitress listen to the ridiculous hate-corded into music being spewed by the rag tag bunch of schoolyard bullies and burned out assholes and he began to reconsider.
It was just one little spell.
One little flash and he wouldn't have to worry himself about this anymore.
But he had promised.
Gino would be disappointed in him.
And suddenly that thought angered him since when did he care what someone would think? He answered to no one. He did what he wanted when he wanted it. Period, but still behind the heat of agitation was a nagging voice that said he had promised. He had promised Gino that he wouldn't go around sapping his fingers and changing people's lives with his hocus pocus for awhile.
"Fuck that." Damien spat as he raised both hands in the air. He stood like he was worshipping the clear night sky, arms stretched in a wide arc as he muttered under his breath. With a flash of lightening he dropped his arms back to his sides, and the accompanying thunder was just in time to punctuate his wicked little grin.
The perfect skyline that had been dotted with hundreds of stars now began to darken and bleed rain like a running inkpot. A sudden and arcane rain.
He lit a cigarette and stepped under the overhang just as the rain began to pelt down onto the sidewalk. It didn't take long for the band to come stumbling out drunkenly.
"Fuck you man," Diesel rasped knocking errant flecks of straggly hair from his eyes, "I still got it, it was your fucking rhythm it's off beat.
Kline the frizzy haired and obviously fried drummer raised a hand as if to strike at the other man. "My drum's are fine you prick." He growled.
"You've never been able to keep up with me man!" Diesel spit at him.
"Fuck you." Kline returned halfheartedly. How imaginative Damien thought. "You want to settle this shit now crackhead?"
"Who you callin' a crackhead you dope fiend."
"You bitch," Kline roared as he grabbed the blonde man with both fists.
"Mother-!" Diesel began but quickly stopped as Kline put him down.
Kline let him go and walked away morosely, "you're not even worth it dickhead, forget you."
"Whatever," Diesel said as he walked in the opposite direction.
Both of them soaked to the bone in the rain.
"Yo I'm out ya'll," Mike yelled as he grabbed a cab and headed to a hip-hop club down town, but not before he too got noticeably wet.
Last out came Frank and Ryan. Well Ryan came flying out with frank laughing menacingly from behind him.
"You tripped me." Ryan accused.
Frank was walking away laughing, "What are you gonna do fairy cry?"
Ryan pulled himself up and gave the looming form of the muscle-bound roady the finger as he walked away. Ryan turned to leave in the other direction and came face to face with the strange guy from the bar. "You don't have to take that from him,"
Ryan looked at him sullenly, "What's it to you?"
The guy shrugged, "Nothing I just thought you should stand up for yourself, poindexter."
Ryan pouted brushing off his flannel coat, "He thinks just cause he's so big and dumb that I'll just take it."
The man in black looked at Ryan with a wicked Cheshire cat grin. "But if you were big and stupid you wouldn't have to put up with all that bullshit."
Ryan considered glumly, "yeah but I'd be just another Neanderthal dickhead like Frank."
The guy in black considered, "That's right," then he paused giving Ryan a flat look, Life's full of tough choices, In' it?"
This guy was a genuine nut. "No I'd never want to be one of those fucking no brained gorilla's."
"C'mon think it over. No more mopey sadness. No more heavy heart." The man in black circled the gaunt songwriter taunting him on, "instead of being bullied around you'd do the bullying."
"Then I'd be what I hate most I'd be big and muscled and...hot and ...and..." Ryan was losing his train of thought at the stranger's taunting.
"Blissfully ignorant my friend."
"No I don't want to be a big dumb ox."
"Yes you do." The voice was more command then suggestion.
Ryan stuttered back, "Yes I do."
The strange man walked away with Ryan's agreement silently humming to himself happily a song that sounded so familiar...it was from the 70's. Ryan wanted to move and keep talking to the charismatic man and black but he just couldn't seem to come in out of the rain. Later when he finally got it together to move back toward the room he was sharing with Frank he felt like his steps were heavier and he found it hard to concentrate...
Somewhere between 1983 and the present day the clientele of the Waterloo dwindle off to just a few hapless drunks off the streets. The days when heavy rockers would bring in their over hair sprayed girlfriends and drink like there was no tomorrow were gone.
"If I have to work one more shift in this hell hole I'm going to stick my head in a god damn oven." Deana Said to no one in particular.
"Tell ya what," came a heavy voice from the end of the bar, "I'll turn on the gas for ya if ya promise to kick me out of the nearest high rise window." Deana smiled at the joke and walked toward the disembodied voice.
At the end of the bar sitting in the shadows was a cute college age guy with dark hair and bangs that hid his eyes. It seemed like his baggy black shirt was hiding a tight build but as he was almost completely slumped over the edge of the bar in misery she couldn't tell. "What do you have to complain about you DECIDED to drink here, I'm the one who has to punch a clock to keep these roaches company..."
The guy put his head up and looked around for what must have been the first time since he came in, "yeah this place is a dive." He agreed and then slumped quickly back down in disinterest. "When you said roaches were you talking about insects or clientele?" he asked worriedly eyeing the floor.
"It's a toss up." She said as she put down her tray of empty glasses and took the stool next to the kid. At 29 she could call him a kid. She had been working for so long she felt 62, she still had her looks even if she had put on a little weight to the front and back, that's one of the danger's of bussing people's orders around all day sooner or later you start to look like an actual bus. "What's your problem kiddo?"
He sat up a little and looked at her through squinted considering eyes, his bangs moved and she was taken back by just how blue and almost dangerous those eyes seemed. But after a minute he smiled gratefully at her and slouched back down. "Nothing" he moped.
"Look a pretty boy like you doesn't find himself at the waterloo without someone dying, someone Lyin', or someone cryin' now which of those is it?" She asked as she pulled her long dark hair up into a makeshift ponytail.
He gave her a long stare and said, "It's a toss up."
"Oho a comedian." Deana offered. "Well Mr. quick response, it's me or the beer coaster take your pick. Personally I think I'd be a better conversationalist."
The guy laughed a deep rich laugh the kind that sounds like the person only uses it on rare occasions, like just one laugh is a holiday or something. "I don't know the coaster was telling me the most fascinating things about mutual stocks. I'm Damien."
"I'm Deana, waitress, barkeep and indentured servant of the waterloo. So now that we have been properly introduced..." Deana gave him the once over and said point blank, "What's her name?"
"Her name? Oh...it's not like that never mind," he said as he slumped back down obviously dismissing her.
"Alright then what's his name?"
The man arched up right like a lightening bolt, "what makes you say that?'
She chortled a little at his surprise, "listen kid you're not going to shock me I've been around the block enough to know what the real world is like. Anyway big saucy broad like me had played the hag to many a fag. now are you going to tell me what your problem is or am I going to go back to giving the rats vodka stingers."
There was a minute when Deana looked at the blank and somewhat intimidating stare that she had the distinct feeling that she had made a major mistake sitting down next to this strange guy, but then his crystal eyes lit up and he laughed again, that same exhausted exuberant burst. He tipped his glass to her and said "You're good people." He took a swig and then began to tell her his sad story, "I've been kind of flirting with this guy....It's not really a relationship but I'm growing attached to him."
Deana began collecting nearby bottles, "...and he doesn't know you exist right?"
He chuckled a self-depreciative sigh, "Oh no he knows alright, Christ does he know."
"So what's the problem? Break out the soft lights, the Barry white records and the KY then."
Damien smiled with confused eyes, "I think I would..."
"But?" she offered wiping her hands on her pants.
"But he doesn't have a clue who I really am, I've done some really heinous things that he doesn't even realize or couldn't even begin to understand.... And I did some of it to him." He answered rolling the beer in his hands speculatively.
Deana gave him a long flat look, "Are you Jewish?"
He looked startled, "no."
"Catholic?"
"Hell No!"
"Then what is with all this guilt?" She asked matter of factly. "If he don't know it and it ain't gonna hurt him why even worry about it? Unless of course all the things you did will come back to haunt you."
"Oh it did come back in my face." He laughed, not the happy relieved laugh of before a darker malicious chortle. "But I took care of it."
"How did you handle it?"
"I turned the guy who was going to rat me out into a gay bike cop out of a Tom of Finland colanders." He said it with the straightest face she had ever seen.
He was so ridiculously serious that she had to bust out into a deep-bellied gale of laughter. "You're a nut." She laughed even harder.
And for some weird reason her healthy laughter made Damien want to join in, "Yeah it is kind of crazy when you think about it." He added.
"HEY KEEP IT THE FUCK DOWN! We're trying to tune up assholes!" a gruff and unfriendly voice screamed at them.
They both turned abruptly and for the first time since stumbling into the Waterloo Damien noticed the five guys lurking in one of the far off back corners of the large bar room. Deana brushed them off nonchalantly; "If you want those guitars to sound better get someone else to play them!" she yelled then turning back to Damien. "Ignore them."
"Fuck you Fat bitch." Came another catcall.
Damien stood up to defend his new found companion but she put a firm hand on him and pushed him back down, "It's no big deal It's just RANCOR, It's a no-talent band that plays here on Tuesdays, They're as harmless as they are useless."
"This place has live talent?" Damien asked stunned.
"Well I wouldn't call it Live and I definitely wouldn't call it talent but back in it's hey day the Waterloo was one of THE clubs for heavy metal bands on their way up," she paused looking around, "And well now it's the last stop for Wannabee's on the way out."
"Their band's name is Rancor?" He said in disbelief as he could begin to hear the clumsily strumming of an electric guitar and the uninterested tapping of a drum set.
"Yep, You see that lanky crackhead looking blonde over there?" She pointed to a tall white man whose hair strangled down his back and was as blonde as it was greasy. It was kept out of a drunken and tired face by a worn bandanna. He sat idly as his band set up, his skeletal form hanging loose on a chair, "That's Diesel, he used to be huge back in the 80's, back in the era of the hair bands, now he just does horrible vocals for those guys, and the cadaver on the drums..." She pointed to a man who looked to have the body of a 40 year old and the face of father time, worn from hard living and bad Karma. His Frizzy dark hair flew carelessly around as he unmotivatedly tapped his drums. His Tour T-shirt was stained and his jeans looked as if there were three good stitches holding them together "That's Kline, the two of them were in the same band until they got into Coke and Heroin and all kinds of legal trouble then they both got booted out." She gave him a crooked smile, " They absolutely hate each other but now they have to be in this shit band together to pay rent. It's hilarious."
Damien observed the pair of washed out rockers and then noticed a bulky thugged out white boy carrying in a speaker, "Who's He?"
"Mike? Doesn't seem like he belongs with those losers do he? Looks like that new brand of white rapper rocker huh?" They both inspected him with interest. He was short but built broad and wore the typical gold chains backward hat and baggy sports clothes of a white boy trying desperately to be ghetto. He must have noticed because he raised one Vein dissected and hairy forearm to give them the finger. "Yeah he wishes he was, he's as talent less as the other two...now Ryan he's got a talent I suppose but he's in the wrong damn band."
Damien saw the boy she was talking about, a sickly looking pale guy off in a corner plucking a bass looking to the world as sad and morose ad Damien felt. He was nondescript and palpably geeky, wearing flannel that seemed to coat him head to toe. "He looks like the reanimated corpse of that guy from nirvana."
"Pretty much, " she offered dismissively, "He writes great but it's wasted cause they won't use his stuff and he's too much of a puss to stand up to any of them. They push him around like a rag doll" She paused considering, "I'd pity him but he's so arrogant about his deep moody song writing I think he deserves it."
"Wow there's a starting line-up." Damien laughed. "But who's the brute with the amp?" He asked pointing to the large ripped and bleached blonde thug lugging in sound material. "That's Diesel's younger bother he works as there roady...I think his name's Frank he's a bigger Dick then them all put together, and as if just to emphasis that point the frank kicked the seated Ryan hard with one thick corded leg.
"Priceless." Damien observed.
Damien stared at the dangerously gorgeous brute. "What ARE YOU GAWKING AT BITCH?" The tattooed and scarred hulk yelled.
Damien considered "Nothing much." He answered.
"That's what I thought fucker!" And then he went back to moving the huge speakers.
"Frank don't you have some naive little punk rock chic you should be doing statutory things to?" Deana yelled back.
"Shut up you fat bitch." The ogre roared back as he continued loading.
"Yeah Deana Shut-up we're about to do our set." Ryan whined at her, his hair falling into his face for the one-thousandth time.
"C'mon let's get this over with," Diesel rasped from the barstool he was perched on, his hands clasping a bottle of Vodka tightly.
Kline laughed violently making his huge bush of black hair shake; "Yeah diesels' got a hot date with three hot guys, Jack Daniels, Mr.. Smirnoff and Jose Quiervo."
"Fuck you," Diesel spat as he took a swig from his bottle.
Mike began grumbling from behind them all his heavy Brooklyn accent and harsh voice raising above the others, "I bet if Diesel was queer we'd be topping the fucking charts."
"What?" Diesel yelled.
Mike put looked up, his heavy brow disguising the contempt in his eyes, "Only fucking Queer ass boy bands are making it these days, with their faggy clothes and fiery dancing. Nobody likes good music anymore man just queers in tight clothes."
"True dat man!" Frank grunted.
"Fuckin' homo's ruin everything!" Kline agreed.
Back at the bar, as Deana watched the rag tag band in disgust, Damien began to bang his head against the bar in frustration.
She turned to see him successively smacking his head against the bar's surface sending his black bangs up and down sharply, "Hey I know there music sucks, but you don't have to knock yourself unconscious! You could always leave baby doll."
He stopped smacking his head and just put his head in his hands with a tired expression, "I think I'm some kind of magnet!" He said darkly with a look of universal impatience.
"Huh?" She asked confusedly.
"If there is a homophobe in the tri-county area I'll find him and he'll mouth off in front of me.... It's like some kind of god damned curse. It's like ignorant straight boys fucking see me coming!" He was almost yelling now. " I mean I made a promise and I planned to keep it but it's like I have this sign that says, "All Bastards please spew your opinions here.""
Deana looked at him skeptically, "honey, I think you're flagged."
"Oh never mind anyway, I obviously have some work to do." He spat angrily getting up from the bar like a petulant child who didn't want to do his chores.
Deana still didn't comprehend, "Thanks for the company though," She smiled.
"Oh don't mention it," He answered and then considered and gave her a slight kiss on her rosy round cheek, "Thank you for the advice Deana, I'll consider it, and Deana...Your good people you deserve better then this dump."
"Hey honey, I know that, you know that, but that and a quarter will get ya...well hell it won't even get ya a cup of coffee. See ya round baby doll."
And with one last look at Deana's sad smile Damien left the waterloo and went through the darkened bar and out on to the street with Rancor playing him out on his exist with a charming little ditty about heroin, crack whores and angry pimps.
Damien was out in the street in front of the waterloo staring at it's greasy windows and seeing the pleasant but pained waitress listen to the ridiculous hate-corded into music being spewed by the rag tag bunch of schoolyard bullies and burned out assholes and he began to reconsider.
It was just one little spell.
One little flash and he wouldn't have to worry himself about this anymore.
But he had promised.
Gino would be disappointed in him.
And suddenly that thought angered him since when did he care what someone would think? He answered to no one. He did what he wanted when he wanted it. Period, but still behind the heat of agitation was a nagging voice that said he had promised. He had promised Gino that he wouldn't go around sapping his fingers and changing people's lives with his hocus pocus for awhile.
"Fuck that." Damien spat as he raised both hands in the air. He stood like he was worshipping the clear night sky, arms stretched in a wide arc as he muttered under his breath. With a flash of lightening he dropped his arms back to his sides, and the accompanying thunder was just in time to punctuate his wicked little grin.
The perfect skyline that had been dotted with hundreds of stars now began to darken and bleed rain like a running inkpot. A sudden and arcane rain.
He lit a cigarette and stepped under the overhang just as the rain began to pelt down onto the sidewalk. It didn't take long for the band to come stumbling out drunkenly.
"Fuck you man," Diesel rasped knocking errant flecks of straggly hair from his eyes, "I still got it, it was your fucking rhythm it's off beat.
Kline the frizzy haired and obviously fried drummer raised a hand as if to strike at the other man. "My drum's are fine you prick." He growled.
"You've never been able to keep up with me man!" Diesel spit at him.
"Fuck you." Kline returned halfheartedly. How imaginative Damien thought. "You want to settle this shit now crackhead?"
"Who you callin' a crackhead you dope fiend."
"You bitch," Kline roared as he grabbed the blonde man with both fists.
"Mother-!" Diesel began but quickly stopped as Kline put him down.
Kline let him go and walked away morosely, "you're not even worth it dickhead, forget you."
"Whatever," Diesel said as he walked in the opposite direction.
Both of them soaked to the bone in the rain.
"Yo I'm out ya'll," Mike yelled as he grabbed a cab and headed to a hip-hop club down town, but not before he too got noticeably wet.
Last out came Frank and Ryan. Well Ryan came flying out with frank laughing menacingly from behind him.
"You tripped me." Ryan accused.
Frank was walking away laughing, "What are you gonna do fairy cry?"
Ryan pulled himself up and gave the looming form of the muscle-bound roady the finger as he walked away. Ryan turned to leave in the other direction and came face to face with the strange guy from the bar. "You don't have to take that from him,"
Ryan looked at him sullenly, "What's it to you?"
The guy shrugged, "Nothing I just thought you should stand up for yourself, poindexter."
Ryan pouted brushing off his flannel coat, "He thinks just cause he's so big and dumb that I'll just take it."
The man in black looked at Ryan with a wicked Cheshire cat grin. "But if you were big and stupid you wouldn't have to put up with all that bullshit."
Ryan considered glumly, "yeah but I'd be just another Neanderthal dickhead like Frank."
The guy in black considered, "That's right," then he paused giving Ryan a flat look, Life's full of tough choices, In' it?"
This guy was a genuine nut. "No I'd never want to be one of those fucking no brained gorilla's."
"C'mon think it over. No more mopey sadness. No more heavy heart." The man in black circled the gaunt songwriter taunting him on, "instead of being bullied around you'd do the bullying."
"Then I'd be what I hate most I'd be big and muscled and...hot and ...and..." Ryan was losing his train of thought at the stranger's taunting.
"Blissfully ignorant my friend."
"No I don't want to be a big dumb ox."
"Yes you do." The voice was more command then suggestion.
Ryan stuttered back, "Yes I do."
The strange man walked away with Ryan's agreement silently humming to himself happily a song that sounded so familiar...it was from the 70's. Ryan wanted to move and keep talking to the charismatic man and black but he just couldn't seem to come in out of the rain. Later when he finally got it together to move back toward the room he was sharing with Frank he felt like his steps were heavier and he found it hard to concentrate...
I was much Later that after the band guys were long gone and Damien had wandered off that Deana Slipped out the back entrance of the waterloo haggard and beat. She mentaly swore as she pulled her tattered jacket up around her neck to keep out the unexpeted rain. She had of course forgotten her umbrella. As she meandered home soaking wet she wondered if her day could get any fucking worse.
CHAPTER 2
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