The Exile Episode 37

When the band at The Demon’s Bottle finished their last number, the lead singer announced,

“Thanks for coming out. We’ll be here tomorrow night and every night this week. You folks drink up!”

As the guitarist Cazonetti carefully laid his instrument in its velvet lined case, Jeckle walked over.

When he glanced up, Cazonetti smiled and said,

“Jeckle. What’s up, man? Where’s your brother?”

Jeckle nodded toward the bar.

“What brings you two here,” Cazonetti asked.

Jeckle pointed to me, motioning me over, and said, “This is the one we were hired to protect.”

“This is him, huh?” he asked.

“Ferris Cazonetti, Wesley,” Jeckle introduced.

I extended my hand, “A pleasure.”

Cazonetti took my hand with a strong grip, shook it then leaned back and stared at me.

“So you’re the exile,” he said, nodding.

“Who?” I asked, retrieving my hand.

“A nickname Heckle gave you,” Jeckle explained.

Before I could respond, Cazonetti asked Jeckle,

“Who hired you guys?”

“Calypso,” Jeckle replied.

The smile fell from Cazonetti’s face.

“Are you serious, man?”

Jeckle nodded his assurance.

“She’s dangerous, you know,” Cazonetti reminded him. “Why does she want him alive anyway?”

Jeckle shrugged his shoulders and said, “I don’t ask. You know how she gets.”

Cazonetti nodded, absentmindedly rubbing his jaw.

“We have some small problems,” Jeckle said, tilting his head toward the suit group lingering at the front door.

“Yea. Noticed them when they came in.”

“Hey Caz,” the lead singer called with a raspy voice as he swaggered over. “We’re headed back to the hotel.”

“Cool man. Nice playing with you,” Cazonetti said, shaking hands.

“Anytime, brother. Catch you later,” the singer said, pulling in for a back slap.

“What are we going to do?” I asked, looking at Jeckle.

When the singer headed off, Cazonetti studied me and said,

“Well if you’re important to Calypso, then I should probably audition for you.”

He turned back for his guitar case then walked toward the bar.

Carefully lifting the case over the bar, he left it in the hands of  the bartender then waited while the bartender reached for a long leather coat.

“Thanks, man,” Cazonetti said as he slipped on the coat.

“Hey, Gramps,” he addressed the bartender, “I need a blue rocket and two shots.”

“What’s a blue rocket?” I asked, feeling stupid for wondering.

Jeckle smiled then said,

“Just watch.”

Cazonetti ran his fingers through his spiked black hair and pulled out a cigarette. Tossing it into his mouth, he twisted and popped his left hand and a lighter appeared in his fingers. He lit the cigarette, took a long drag, then walked over to the men in suits.

“Gentlemen, I hate being the one to tell you, but we’ve got a strict dress code here.  I’m afraid you won’t do. You’re far too overdressed.”

“Step aside,” the head man snarled, glaring past Cazonetti to me. “We have no interest in you.”

Cazonetti grinned the smile of the Cheshire cat and said,

“Is that your final answer?”

Published in: on April 15, 2013 at 11:16 pm  Leave a Comment  
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