Free Crucifax by Ray Garton Page A

down slightly into a poorly concealed smirk. He shook his head slowly.
    "Then what the hell're you staring at me for, huh? Why don't you go stare at somebody else, find a mirror and stare at yourself, okay?"
    The smirk disappeared and the lips pursed as he nodded ever so slightly, averting his eyes.
    Kevin looked down at the paper again.
    "Hey, kid," Sam said over his shoulder as he cooked, "Paco tells me you didn't get that gig at Fantazm. Zat true?"
    "Yeah." He hunched over the paper, staring blankly at the small, blurred print. The stranger was making him very uncomfortable, and as hard as he tried, he couldn't pretend the guy wasn't there.
    "So what happened, huh?"
    "I just haven't talked to the booker yet."
    "Thought you knew the guy."
    "Sort of. I know his brother-in-law."
    "I hear your buddies are pissed at you for not goin' in the other night. Why didn't you?"
    Kevin started to reply but realized he didn't know what to say. He squinted at the headlines but did not bring the letters into focus. He couldn't remember exactly why he hadn't gone into Fantazm on Saturday night. He remembered going there… crossing the parking lot….
    Kevin suddenly got a bad feeling, a tight feeling in his gut like a cramp without the pain. The sizzle of food frying on the grill diminished to a mosquitolike hum as he stared at the newspaper and vaguely, hazily remembered the sky on Saturday night….
    The newspaper disappeared beneath a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast that slapped onto the counter with a jarring clunk.
    Kevin's head snapped up, and he blinked at Sam.
    "Kid," Sam barked, "I asked you how come you never went in?"
    "Urn… I just figured the band wasn't, you know, wasn't ready yet. We need to rehearse a little more."
    "Wasn't ready? Jesus Christ, all I hear for a year is 'the band's gotta play, the band's gotta play.' Now you say they wasn't ready? The fuck you waitin' for, kid?"
    Kevin began poking at his eggs with his fork; the eggs were runny, and the bacon seemed undercooked. He glanced down the counter.
    The stranger was smiling at him.
    "Course," Sam went on, the toothpick bobbing up and down between his lips, "I never heard you play, but I figure, shit, the stuff they call music these days"—he cocked a thumb over his shoulder toward the radio—"my dog could bark through a tube and be a fuckin' star."
    A large black man lifted himself onto the stool next to Kevin with a throaty grunt and slapped a beefy hand onto the counter.
    "Leland!" Sam said with a grin, stepping away from Kevin and wiping his hands on a towel. "The usual?"
    Leland nodded with a gravelly mumble.
    Kevin was looking at his breakfast but thinking about the stranger's smile. It had been a pleasant one, the kind of smile you give somebody you haven't seen in a while, the kind of smile you see in airports and bus stations.
    Leaning back slightly, Kevin looked around the back of the big man sitting beside him.
    The stranger was gone.
    Kevin stared for a moment at the empty stool, then took some cash from his jacket pocket.
    "You leavin', kid?" Sam blurted. "Without eatin'?"
    "I don't feel so well, Sam."
    "Jesus. And to think I spent all those years in France goin' to fuckin' chef's school."
    Leland cackled and turned, grinning, to Kevin; most of his teeth were gone.
    "Hey, Leland," Sam said, "you read the paper yet? This fuckin' city…"
    Kevin put a five by the plate, took his helmet from the counter as he stood, and turned to look into the mirrored sunglasses of the smiling, platinum-haired stranger.
    "You're a musician," the man said, gently fingering the ruffles of his shirt. His voice seemed to come from deep within his chest, soft but resonant. Somehow, he sounded much older than Kevin had thought.
    "Yeah, so what?" Kevin snapped, tucking his helmet under one arm.
    "I heard you talking with the old man. You have a band?"
    "Why?"
    His smile grew with amusement. "Because I'm interested. I just got into town, and"—he removed his sunglasses— "I'm