Free Get Bent by C. M. Stunich Page B

my attention that we're moving in a circle, heading back around towards the dumpsters behind the venue, the place where Hayden says she woke up. There were cops out there earlier, but they've gone now. I can see some of them milling around the fence, trying to figure out how to deal with this shit. Since we're on tour, they're having a hard time fitting us into their fucking jurisdiction and politics bullshit. We crossed state lines, but the murder happened in one place, so it isn't FBI territory. The county where it happened is still in charge of the investigation, but although they held onto Knox's bus, they couldn't keep the rest of us there after questioning. Some of them came along with us, but I haven't seen them do shit while being here. They mostly stand around and drink coffee, glare at us all. It's really put a damper on the fucking fun factor. I hear the roadies grumbling about it backstage.
    “Where did you get it?” Hayden asks me as we get close to the building and pause. Her face lifts up and her blue eyes lock on the boarded up bell tower. Whoever did the construction tried to make it look like it'd always been that way, but it's still obvious that something isn't right, that something's missing.
    “Get what?” I ask her as she wraps her arms around herself and shivers. I hand her the umbrella and she takes it, but I don't join her beneath it. Instead, I take a step back and start to move away. In the distance, I can hear the rumble of engines. This is a private road and the show's over. There's only one thing that could mean. The RVs are back.
    Hayden looks over at me and curls her lip.
    “I liked you, Turner,” she says, and I shrug. That isn't something I haven't heard before. “You were what I always wanted to be. Now, I don't know anymore.” I drop my cigarette to the ground and it fizzles in a puddle. “You're the God of Rock 'n' Roll, a sexual beast to be reckoned with.” Hayden smiles again, but it falls flat. “But you're also full of shit. Where the fuck is Naomi, you psychopath?” My head snaps up and I glare daggers at her.
    “Are you fucking accusing me?” I ask, thoroughly disgusted. Hayden sucks in a breath and licks her lips. The next thing she says blows me the fuck away.
    “That guitar you have, the one you claim is Naomi's. That's bullshit, Turner. Dax told me they all saw her smash it up onstage, so what is it you're trying to get at? What are you trying to pull?”
    My body goes cold and my blood freezes in my veins, leaving me a statue in the roiling blackness of the rain and the sharp flashes of lightning. Hayden's right. In all the commotion and the shit, I wasn't thinking clearly. The guitar. Fuck. The guitar. It can't be Naomi's.
    That is a fucking impossibility.
     

    I hit the stairs to the bus in a blinding rage. I'm not exactly sure who it is I'm angry with. Hayden? Naomi? Myself? Nah. It's the fucking mystery fuck who's behind all of this shit. The He. The Devil. Whoever it was that Katie was talking about. When I stumble inside, soaking wet and pissed off, I find a couple of plain clothes cops sitting at the table with Milo. I know they're cops because of the way they sit, the way their eyes swing to me and take it all in, absorbing, cataloguing. Pisses me off even more.
    “What the hell do you want?” I ask as I reach for the fridge and grab a beer. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I need a clear head and all, but this crap calls for a little drink. I'm just proud of myself for not slamming any dope.
    Milo rises to his feet with a forced smile and tries to soothe my ruffled fur before I tear out any throats.
    “Turner, in light of new evidence in the case, these men are hear to ask you a few more questions about Naomi.” I look at the two detectives and I don't have anything to say. Maybe they suspect me, maybe not. I don't give a shit. I don't know anything that'll help them. Sure, I could bring up the foster sister or the key, but I'm not going to. They'll take it away