A Song to Die For (46 page)

Franco chuckled. “A bullet hole in Texas? Imagine that. Their lakes are full of poisonous snakes, so of course their boats are full of bullet holes.” He looked directly into a camera, lowering his shades to reveal his slate-blue eyes. “Stay away from Texas and come to Vegas, folks. It's safer.”

The reporters laughed.

“Hey, what about
me
?” Dixie said, only half pretending to feel left out. “This is supposed to be about
me
! Ask
me
a question!” She gyrated her slinky body a little too much for the camera.

“Where'd you find Luster Burnett after all these years?” an LA writer asked.

Dixie draped herself on Luster. “I discovered Luster hiding in Texas and talked him into making a comeback, starting at my show in Houston.”

Franco chimed in: “Cornerstone Records recorded Luster and his new band at that concert, and we're going to release it as a live album.”

The reporters fired an excited bunch of questions about the new album, the Houston show, the new band …

“Well, now,” Luster said, “it was actually me who arranged the recording, not Cornerstone. I haven't received any offers from Cornerstone or anybody else for the record just yet. But what better place to do some horse tradin' than Las Vegas? Friends, it's been a long ride here from Texas, and I've got a show tonight, so you'll just have to let me go for now, and I'll see you in The Castilian Theater tonight!”

“Good boy, Luster,” Kathy said under her breath. “Oh, that snake, Dixie! I could just ring her little neck! Come on, Creed.”

Creed let Kathy pull him forward to join Luster as they entered the casino. What the hell was going on here in Sin City? Dixie and Franco Martini? Franco Martini and Cornerstone Records? Cornerstone Records and Luster Burnett? Then there was the thought he couldn't shake—that he knew Franco from somewhere. He had seen that guy somewhere—in person, too; not just on the boob tube. The realization came to him as Kathy was chattering away at Luster about Dixie and her manipulations. Creed caught her by the arm and stopped.

“I remember where I saw that guy now.”

“What guy?”

“That guy with Dixie. Franco.”

“Are you still hung up on her?”

“Not her.
Him
! He took our picture after the Houston gig. He said he was a newspaper reporter.”

“You sure?” Luster said. “That guy's the second-richest man in Vegas, after his daddy.”

“He posed as a newspaper guy and took our picture. You remember? He came around late, and dragged us all off the bus. Kat, you asked him what paper he worked for, and he said he was freelance. He took the picture and wrote down all our names.”

Kathy threw her hands up, exasperated. “Creed! Maybe that guy just looked like this guy. What does it matter? We've got a problem here. They're trying to steal our record! Wait … Did you just call me Kat?”

Creed smirked. “I guess I did.”

“I like that. I always wanted to be called that. Anyway…”

As she dragged Luster toward the elevators, Creed heard her invoke the term
lawyer
, and felt a pang of dread sink into his stomach. This is not what he had had in mind for the Vegas gig. Suddenly, he missed The Blarney Stone, Bud's, and even The Red Rooster. Then he changed his mind about missing the Red Rooster. He glanced toward the bar and happened to see the band sitting there. Even Trusty Joe had apparently been dragged in for a drink. He thought about what Tump had said. Three hours to get drunk, and three hours to sober up. Sounded like a pretty good plan.

 

49

CHAPTER

Creed had found a sweet spot onstage among the amps, where the music enveloped him in a swirling shower of stardust. As he played his guitar parts, he closed his eyes, his head swimming with colors in layered, translucent textures. He felt himself levitating, more like a meditating yogi than a Vegas magician, free from worry and pain, high on a drug only available to the gifted.

The sound system in The Castilian Theater was among the best in the world, and the soundman, who worked nowhere other than this room, knew every speaker, every cable, every corner, and every theater seat. Monitors and side fills gushed a perfect torrent of instrumentation and vocals that twisted into a whirlpool above Creed's sweet spot onstage and bathed him in vibrations all mathematically calculated to interlock and bundle him up in living satin.

The theater sat eight hundred, but over a thousand fans had crammed in, standing three deep along the back walls. The local fire marshal could have shut the show down had he not been sitting in the front row with a showgirl for his date. As Creed's eyes opened, they happened to fall on that long-limbed showgirl, who was smiling at him alluringly. He smiled back, remembering having met the girl and the fire marshal backstage at the meet-and-greet before the show.

Creed could hear Luster's voice echoing off the balcony, sounding as pure and natural as if singing in a room devoid of electronics, as he belted out the final lyrics of the fourth and final encore. The crowd sprang to its fourth standing ovation, roaring with lingering applause, cheers, and whistles as the band bowed and waved and shuffled, finally, offstage.

“Thank you, Vegas! Thank you, America!” Luster said above the din of adulation as the theater curtain dropped. “We are L.B. and The Pounders! Stick around for Dixie after the intermission!”

Backstage, the buzz of the near perfect show continued to resonate. The theater sported a lavish green room, albeit painted blue. Creed swirled into it with his band, ignoring the jealous sneers and halfhearted compliments of Dixie's band members, who were not looking forward to following the performance of The Pounders.

The green room included not one, but two full bars, and a buffet heavy with hors d'oeuvres. Five of the sexiest women Creed had ever seen in his life were working as barmaids, supplying drinks to The Pounders, and Dixie's band members. They were dressed in low-cut and short-skirted cocktail waitress dresses, nylons, and high heels, and they smelled of enough sweet perfume to cut through the backstage tobacco smoke. Two of them were identical twins—perfectly gorgeous blondes named Clarice and Sharice.

Dixie's band members reluctantly filed out, heading for the stage to tune up. Creed spent some time huddled with Luster and the band, all of them reveling in their performance as they slammed drinks, and laughed idiotically with pure, delirious joy. Eventually, the boys in the band became distracted with the barmaids. Tump and Trusty Joe gravitated toward the friendly blond twins who became their own personal, one-on-one barmaids. Creed politely rejected a thinly veiled offer from a redhead to join him later in his room.

“You must have it bad for Kathy Music,” Lindsay said, stepping up close to Creed. “You just shot down the hottest redhead in Nevada.”

Creed shrugged. “Not my type.”

“That girl is anybody's type.”

“Even yours?” he hinted with a sly grin.

“Miss Lindsay don't swing that way. But if I did…”

He laughed. Everything seemed funny right now in the giddiness following the show.

“You'd think that with all this eye candy they provided for you boys in the band, that they would have arranged for just one African prince to serve Miss Lindsay.” She propped her hand on her hip and snaked her neck as she spoke, seething with sexy attitude.

“Clearly they could see that you don't need any help. What prince could possibly resist you?”

Her smile seemed to fill the whole room. “Oh, Creed, you sweet-talking Romeo. You better hush your mouth.”

He grinned and wondered where Kathy was, then remembered she had arranged to set up a booth in the lobby to sell the new live album, a thousand copies of which had been flown in from Nashville and had arrived this afternoon. He took another drink from the redhead, who didn't seem the least bit discouraged that he had shrugged off her advances.
Can you just imagine?
he thought. Luster was entertaining two brunettes at the bar with rustic palaver. Metro had been willingly cornered by an unusually tall Asian girl who leaned all over him at the other bar.

Just when he started thinking this was all too good to be true, he remembered that he wasn't getting paid, as the band had taken the gig to pay off Luster's gambling debts, which had been bought up by Josh Gold, who was supposedly the casino manager and part owner. About the time reality started to sink back in, the door to the green room opened to admit Dixie and that guy, Franco. Dixie was wiping something away from her nose, wobbling a bit on her platform show shoes. Her outfit rivaled one of Elvis's costumes for pure ostentatious flare—a pink jumpsuit adorned with hundreds of sequins. Maybe thousands.

“Not bad, boys!” she blurted, her voice a harsh intrusion.

“Boys?” Lindsay replied.

“You, too, sugar plum.” She waved the back of her hand at Lindsay.

Lindsay turned to Creed and mouthed
Sugar plum?

Kathy came bursting into the green room suddenly. “I think everybody in the audience bought an album!” she sang.

“Then I'm sure you'll be sending the money to my manager, since I own the record!” Dixie demanded.

“Actually, we've conferred with our lawyers, Dixie, and since you don't own the sound system through which the album was recorded, you don't own the album. You contracted the sound company. They've already given us permission to release the record. So has the production company that booked you into Houston. This record is ours, not yours.”

Dixie seemed unfazed. “We'll just see about that. My lawyers eat lawyers like yours for breakfast.”

Franco raised a hand. “Now, ladies, this is no time to discuss business. Dixie, you have a show to put on.”

“That's right. I have a
kick-ass
show to put on. Luster, I want you onstage, just like in Houston. Creed, you too, hotshot.”

“No,” Creed said, a bit surprised to hear his own voice.

“What do you mean
no
? You're turning Dixie Houston down?”

Right now he couldn't remember why he had ever fallen in love with her. He only knew that was a long-gone thing of the past. “I'm done for the night. It's your stage now.”

Dixie tossed her head. “Luster?”

Luster turned on his bar stool. “I'll sing the song with you, Dixie. Now, go on out there and knock 'em dead.”

“That's more like it,” the starlet said, turning to weave her way out the door, through the wings, and onto the stage.

Franco chuckled when she exited the green room. “Whew!” he said. “Sassy.” He took a step toward Creed and stuck out his hand. “I didn't get a chance to greet your band earlier, what with the media and all. Franco Martini.”

Creed felt the man's heavy-handed grip. “Don't I know you from somewhere?”

“I get that all time. I've got one of those plain faces. I look like a lot of other dopes.” Franco took Lindsay's hand next and kissed her knuckles, then continued to make the rounds, introducing himself. “I hope you all are enjoying the hospitality of The Castilian. If you need anything, just say so, and my girls will provide for you, right ladies?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Martini,” they all sang in unison.

Franco came to Tump. “Franco Martini. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Tump Taylor.”

“Funny stage name. Tump.” He went on to the fiddler. “Franco Martini, welcome to The Castilian.”

“Thanks,” Trusty Joe said, seemingly reluctant to shake Franco's hand, but doing so anyway.

“I didn't get your name.”

“Trusty Joe Crooke.”

“Another amusing stage name. Crooke? Is that your real name? I've known some crooks in my time.” He laughed at his own lame pun.

“I was born Joe Crooke,” the fiddler claimed. “The
Trusty
part is for the stage. Get it? It's an oxymoron.”

“You calling me a moron?” Franco said.

“No, I said
oxy
-moron.”

“I'm kidding. Relax, Joe.” He slapped the fiddler on the shoulder with an open palm.

Trusty choked back a gag.

Creed could hear the band members testing their amps onstage. Dixie's set was about to start.

“So, Luster,” Franco said. “May I call you Luster?”

“Sure.”

“Dixie seems to think you should be touring with her for Cornerstone, opening her shows.”

“Luster Burnett is not an opening act,” Kathy said.

Franco shrugged innocently. “He was here tonight. And tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, but not after this weekend. Luster is a headliner.”

“L.B. and The Pounders,” Luster corrected.

Franco acquiesced with a nod. “I wish you luck with that. What do I know from headliners and opening acts? I run a casino, right? Speaking of … I've set up a friendly poker game with some high rollers in the private card room. I understand you two like to play.” He pointed hand pistols at Luster and Creed.

“Sure,” Luster said. “We'll be there as soon as I sing the one song with Dixie.”

“Beautiful. I, myself, will be playing as well, so go easy on me. I know you boys from Texas don't mess around.” Franco nodded good-bye and walked casually from the green room.

As soon as the door shut, Kathy began jumping up and down like a cheerleader. “We sold hundreds of records! I lost count!”

“Good,” Tump said, one of the blond twins draped all over him. “I'm gonna need a draw.”

 

50

CHAPTER

Creed tossed in his king-sized bed, his heart beating furiously. He tried to wake himself from the dream, a recurring one. He was back at Fire Base Bronco. Flames engulfed the hooch and he knew the enemy was waiting to shoot him down when he bolted out through the only door. Then that face appeared in the window. But this time it wasn't the old, familiar face of some farmer's son sent into battle. It was Franco.