“I give it a month,” Jakob says, grabbing Jon’s Lucky Strikes from Geert.
“Three weeks!” Geert says. “We’ll be back in Amsterdam then. No way you’re staying sober when the whole gang is back together.”
“What gang? Half of them have left for Berlin or San Francisco or … where did Lars end up?” I look at Jon.
“Rotterdam,” he says, and there’s a strange look in his eye.
“See, even Lars isn’t in Amsterdam anymore.”
“But we will be.” Geert passes Jakob the Merlot, and he takes a swig only to grimace and hand it back like it offended every one of his taste buds. Maybe it was opened longer ago than I thought. “And we know what Amsterdam fans are like.”
Geert stands up to perform an obscene sexual act to the air in front of him. I am offended for oxygen.
“Haven’t you fucked them all by now?” I go back to strumming.
“Fucking hell,” Jon mutters, and I look up, seeing him absorbed by a magazine he’s reading. “Vik Greene got arrested in Vancouver, after their show there.”
I try to hide how interested I am in this. “What for? Crimes against percussion? Being even uglier than his brother?”
“No, for drug trafficking,” Jon says before he starts to read. “Viktor Alphonso Greene, 32, was arrested at 1:30 in the morning last Tuesday in relation to a drug-trafficking investigation that spans three continents and international law enforcement collaboration. Mr Greene is being held by the Vancouver Police Department with charges yet to be outlined; however, we have been told he has a lawyer present. His manager, Kevin Briggs, was also seen visiting Greene in custody on Wednesday, October 17th, although he made no comment to the press. At the time of printing, Evergreene is yet to release a statement about whether their tour would continue.”
“I didn’t know the fucker was clever enough,” Jakob says, almost sounding impressed. “I guess you can’t get bail that easily for something like that.”
“His middle name is Alphonso?!” Geert asks, incredulous.
“So, what happens now?” I wonder out loud. “Is he still performing with them?”
“Doesn’t say,” Jon finally looks up and peers down the bus towards the front, where Martin has a makeshift office on one of the tables. “But Martin might know.”
“Maybe they’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse?” Jakob leans over and pushes Geert.
“Fuck off,” he says and pushes Jakob back before committing another sexual offence against the air in front of him. “Unless itinvolves having Cassie Everard bounce on my big Dutch dick every night, there’s no offer they could make me?—”
He doesn’t finish that sentence because I’ve slapped him silent. The sound of the flat of my palm hitting his face and spinning him to the side echoes in my mind as my fingers burn from the impact.
“Jesus, Pia!” He holds his face and stares at me, more shocked than anything.
“I’m so fucking sick of you animals talking about women like they’re … likewe’renothing but sex dolls!” I spit out.
There’s another moment of silence, and I look at each of my band members in turn. Geert is still wide-eyed and red-cheeked. Jakob looks like he can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Jon is looking at me like he knows exactly why I just did that.
“Seriously, fuck you, Geert.” I grab my guitar and head further up the bus.
It’s a relief when none of them follows me, especially Jon.
“Pia,” Martin drawls as I approach. He’s got glasses on and several sheets of paper spread out in front of him. He doesn’t look up, so I don’t know how he knows it’s me. Maybe because I’m the only one who doesn’t smell like a brewery.
“Martin. I need … a favour.” I slide into the chair opposite him and place my guitar next to me.
That gets his attention. His hazel eyes are inquisitive when they meet mine.
“I need to talk to Cassie,” I say in a rush.
He blinks once and then again. “Cassie?”
“Everard,” I hiss.
“Yes, I know who you mean, I’m just … Why do you want to speak with her?”