Page 6 of Down Beat
THREE
Rey
“Headstrong” - Trapt
“Will that rig stay up there?” Toby squints at the pipe steel that’s mangled into what resembles a lighting bar over the auditorium. “It doesn’t look certified.”
“Not our problem,” Emery states as he takes long strides down the aisle, hands trailing over the top of the red velvet chairs.
Arms folded, I stand at the double door entrance and frown at Rick. “This place is kind of posh, ain’t it?”
“You mean, it’s not a stadium with plastic fold-away chairs?”
“Yeah. That too.”
Emery launches himself with a hop and a step onto the seats, balancing like an acrobat on the high wire as he steps across the backs to head for the stage.
“Get the fuck off,” Kris grumbles, trying and failing to push him face-first into the seating.
“They usually hold theater productions, small classical concerts, that kind of thing here.” Rick unwraps a stick of gum, popping it in his mouth as I walk a little further into the place to check out the balcony above us. “But like I said, it’s an intimate performance, so this suits the vibe.”
“The vibe?” I snarl my lip as I mimic the moron. “What exactly is our vibe, Rick?”
“The tickets were invite only to the Ultimate Fans. An email went out, and a text alert for those who’d signed up to let them know about it.”
“Why the fuck would they want to come here when they can watch us at a fucking stadium with all the pyro and shit?” I drop a sigh as Toby steps between Kris and Emery, attempting to split them up before fists are thrown.
He shouldn’t bother—Emery couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn while he’s sober. Give the fucker an hour or two, and we’ve got cause for concern, but it’s barely after breakfast—he hasn’t finished his first bottle yet.
I turn to scowl at Rick when he doesn’t answer my question. Asshole has his phone in hand, scrolling what looks like one hell of a skin-orientated Instagram feed. Must remember to check out what accounts he follows, later.
“Ahem.”
His head snaps up, the screen black in a flash. “What?”
“You were telling me why our diehards would waste their time on this museum-smelling dump.”
“They get first access to the album when it drops.”
“They what?” Toby joins in our cryptic conversation.
“Yeah.” Rick eyes the two of us as though we’re the crazy ones. “They get a code to download it for free.”
“Fuck off.” I feel around for my smokes. “And what’s stopping them sharing it with friends?”
“Each one is specific to the fan, and only works once.” Kid looks proud of himself.
Toby lifts an eyebrow. “That’s pretty smart, really.”
“If it works.” I rip my pack out and stuff a stick between my lips.
Yeah, it is smart. Any asshole decides to hock off our album free, or pirate it, and the file gets traced back to them. Still—I’m not about to rub Rick’s ego and let him know he’s done well in a hurry.
Especially when it was probably his old man who thought up the clause.
“Do we get to choose the set list?” I locate the lighter I picked up from the airport souvenir shop.
“I think so.” Rick frowns, lifting a finger to Toby. “Be right back.”