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“Shit…” I say.
“What? There’s more?”
“Maybe. Back in Dallas Lakebend made me do this odd photoshoot with Jarvis and his cutouts in his dressing room. Remember I told you about that?”
Nash clearly remembers and clearly has similar concerns.
“Did they ask for you specifically?”
I nod. “Chad even spouted off this whole corporate rationale for why it had to be me… fuck!”
I kick the door before leaning against it. Eyes closed, fists clenched, I scour my brain for any clues that could explain what that was about and how they’re planning to use it against us.
“You need to go back in there,” Nash says.
“What?” I straighten in surprise.
“Take your phone and record as much of the song as you can. If they’re shooting a video, they’ll be replaying it over and over. We need a copy so we can pick it apart and look for other clues.”
Crap. Yeah. We need all the evidence we can get.
“Be careful,” he says as I reach for the handle. “If we’re right, they’re going to be more than pissed if they catch you spying.”
I nod back, and we exchange a long, commiserating look. Maybe I finally understand Chad’s “Blood Brothers” code. Nothing brings people together like belt drama.
Inside, the song is still blasting and the back room is still empty. I pull out my phone as I duck against the wall, just beside the opening to the main floor of the store. The song sounds like it’s about halfway through based on the amount of instrumentation and backing vocals.
Also, it’s awful. No surprise there. It would make me want to rip my ears off even if it wasn’t about Larinda cheating on him and breaking his heart… and boots, apparently. I suppose we have bigger questions to ponder, but a huge part of my brain really wants to know why they decided a belt store would be the ideal location for a song about boots.
Now that I’m paying attention, I hear speaking voices as well. A director calls out instructions, although they’re too muffled and drowned out by Jarvis singing about his uncomfortable shoes to interpret them.
I’m feeling good about our (new) plan, until a figure appears in the doorway. I jump back in alarm, but breathe easier when I see it’s Kim. She gives me a curious look before taking my arm and pulling me further from the doorway.
“I’m finished delivering the drinks. We should go.”
“Yep, I’m right behind you,” I lie.
There’s no way I’m leaving until I have this whole damn song on my phone.
She continues to the exit, thankfully not looking back to check on me. I’m confident that once she’s outside, Nash will run enough interference to give me the time I need. Unfortunately, I only get a few more seconds of recording time before someone screams to stop the music.
“I said seven-eighths oat milk and two-eighths soy! This is clearly six-eighths oat milk and one-eighth soy!” that same voice roars.
One guess who it is. Hint: it’s the person who also can’t math.
“We’re so sorry, Mr. McKinnley,” another person says.
“Exceedingly sorry, sir!” And that’s Chad. “I’ll go personally to get this fixed.”
“You better,” Jarvis snaps. “Well, don’t just stand there! And where’s my belt? Not that one, the one for verse two! How many times do I have to explain that each one is a different emblem of speech?!”
Probably a lot since that makes no sense.
“Would you like?—”
“No, dammit! Just play the song!”
“Right away, Mr. McKinnley. Should we take it from scene?—”
