A Song to Die For (26 page)

“All that in three months?” Tump said, dubiously.

“I know. It sounds crazy. But deadlines are good. We need a sense of urgency to make this work. Even Mr. Larue has agreed to give us three months to turn things around.”

“At peril of my own employ, I might add,” Larue said, rather heroically.

“Turn things around?” Lindsay said. “You have to be heading in a direction to turn around. We haven't been going anywhere.”

“Sure we have,” Luster said. “We've been headin' straight down the crapper!” His right index finger described a downward spiral. “So Kathy is gonna turn us around, straight up out of the sewers of honky-tonk hell!” His hand shot toward the ceiling in meteoric fashion.

“I know,” Kathy said, as if reading minds. “It sounds like a pie-in-the-sky pipe dream. But I believe I can do this. We can.”

“All right,” Creed said. “So we need product. Why not put together a best of Luster Burnett album?”

“Great idea!” Luster said. “Except, I don't own the rights to the masters. Those belong to three different record labels, and none of them will release the rights. So we can't use the original studio tracks.”

“So let's get in the studio and cut the songs over,” Lindsay suggested.

“Brilliant! Except that I don't own all the songwriting and publishing rights to all of my songs anymore. When I quit the business, years ago, I knew I couldn't leave the boys in my band stranded, without an income. So I gave every one them one of my hit songs. They drew the titles from a hat. They get the royalties, not me. So recording those songs won't earn me any money.”

“How many songs do you still own?” Creed asked.

“Only six of my big hits.”

“That's not much of an album,” Tump grumbled.

“No, it's not. So … We need more songs. We need to write more new stuff. All of us. Me and Creed have already come up with ‘Fair Thee Well.' We need more fresh material to compliment my old standards. And we've got good singers in this band, too. Not great, like me, but good. Lindsay, Creed, Trusty, you can sing lead on some songs. It'll be more of a band project, not just a solo album.”

“You want me to sing lead?” Trusty said, in a panic.

“If you think you can get through a song without pukin'.”

“I can sing, too,” Metro said.

“I can't sing, and I can prove it,” Tump added.

“If it sounds good, we'll do it. The point is, if we have some new songs, I won't have to bullshit the audience so much to fill a two-hour set, and we can flesh out a ten- to twelve-track LP. We get all that done in three months, and we're on our way.”

“That sounds rosy, Luster honey, but I got bills to pay,” Lindsay said. “I can't wait three months for a paycheck.”

“Mr. Larue has released enough cash from the auction to put you all on salary for three months,” Kathy said. “Not much, but it should be enough for your bills. Plus, there will be bonuses for live shows.”

“And a cut of the royalties when we get the record released,” Luster added.

Silence filled the living room, save for the crackle of the fireplace. Creed decided to break it: “Well, what the hell are we waitin' for then? Let's vote on it.”

“Good idea,” Luster said. “All in favor say ‘
Screw Nashville.
'”

A resounding “
Screw Nashville
” rang through the living room, followed by laughter from the band.

“I love democracy. All right, there's one more thing. We've got to rename the band. It's not all about me anymore, so we can't just keep calling ourselves the Luster Burnett Band. So here's what we're going to do. We're going to brainstorm. There are no stupid ideas, all right? When you're brainstorming, you just throw anything out there. The concept is that we will arrive at an intelligence that is greater than the sum of our parts.”

Tump snorted. “That would put us somewhere between moron and village idiot.”

“So what do you got?” Luster urged. “Somebody throw an idea out there. Anybody.”

The band members stared at the fire.

“Oh, come on, you chickenshits! Who's got the balls to get the brainstorm started? Somebody say something. We need an identity. Some name that says who we are and what we do. Something that describes our essence in one word, one syllable, maybe even one breath.”

“Band.” Tump said.

“Okay!” Luster flashed a thumbs-up sign. “Gotta start somewhere. Too generic, though.”

“Spelled B, A, N, N, E, D,” Tump explained.

“Nice try, Tonto. Who else has somethin'?”

“Luster and the Home Wreckers?” Trusty said, apologetically.

“All right!” Luster cheered.

“You like it?”

“No, I hate it. It's too negative. Throw something else out there, though. Don't be shy, y'all!”

“I always wanted to start a band called Raven and The Maniacs,” Lindsay purred.

“You can do that after I'm dead Miss LockETTE.”

“Raw,” Tump suggested. “It's like War, backwards.”

“I prefer Medium Rare,” Lindsay said.

Trusty: “Well Done!”

“That's good,” Luster said. “I mean the brainstorming is good. The band names are terrible, but that's all right. Keep it going. What else you got?”

“I've been listening to the Thirteenth Floor Elevators,” Creed said. “How about Luster Burnett and the Escalators? That's what we do. Or what we should do. Escalate through the show, right to the top!”

“That's good, but you're intellectualizing. Just blurt something out!”

“Flirt Alert!” Metro yelled. “It rhymes.”

“I like it!” Lindsay said.

“Well, then why don't you two go start your own girl band,” Trusty suggested.

“Yeah, kid,” Tump said, “just let the grown-ups handle this.”

“Don't criticize!” Luster said. “It's okay to throw stupid shit like Flirt Alert out there. We're brainstorming!”

“I still think it should be Luster Burnett
and
something,” Creed insisted. “Luster's our ticket. He's the focus.”

“You're still intellectualizing!” Luster scolded. “Just brainstorm!”

“Well, then, how about Luster Burnett and the Brainstormers?” Lindsay said.

“Close,” Luster said. “Hell, somebody jot that one down. What else?”

Kathy: “The Bean Counters! Sorry, I got carried away. I won't jot that one down.”

“You're supposed to get carried away. What else?”

“I always wanted to name a band The Ghost Town Council,” Trusty said. “Like it's the town council in a ghost town. Like, they're all ghosts!”

“Okay for a cowboy band, but not us. What else? Come on! This is not even a breeze. We need a storm!”

Trusty: “The Barn Stormers!”

Tump: “The Storm Stalkers!”

Metro: “Luster y Los Locos!”

Creed: “The Luster-Tones.”

“Jot it down. No, never mind.”

“You guys are really creative,” Kathy said.

Sid: “The Exemptions.”

Luster laughed. “I wish.”

Lindsay: “The Deductions.”

“Get off the tax thing. It's about music.”

“I still like Flirt Alert,” Lindsay said.

“We don't play bubblegum pop,” Tump said.

Trusty: “The Hayseeds.”

“Too country.”

Tump: “The Hempseeds.”

“Too hip.”

“The Bolters,” Kathy said. “Like a lightning bolt.”

“Huh?” Sid said.

“Sorry.”

“Don't apologize! What else?”

“Maybe we should sleep on it,” Tump mumbled.

“I've got it,” Creed said, softly.

Trusty: “The Dream-Tones.”

“No more -
Tones
. It's too old-fashioned.”

“I've got it,” Creed repeated.

“Metro y Los Mysteriosos.”

“It ain't all about you, kid.”

“The Mystics?” Lindsay said.

“I kinda like that. Write it down.”

Lindsay beamed.

“The Mysti-Cats,” Trusty added.

“No more -
Cats, -Tones
, or
-Notes
!”

“The Epiphanies,” Tump said.

“I'm tellin' y'all, I've got it.”

Trusty: “Luster, you like cards, right? How about Royal Straight?”

Tump: “How 'bout The Straight Flushes?”

“Ace in the Hole?” Lindsay said. “No, never mind, that would never catch on.”

Trusty: “The Imperfections.”

“Do y'all want to hear the band name, or not?” Creed said. He reached into the cooler for another beer.

“While you're in there,” Luster replied. He took a beer from Creed. “Okay, so tell us the band name, Hoss.”

“This epiphany of yours,” Creed said. “Exactly what was it?”

“I told you. It ain't all about me.”

“I think you're holdin' out on us, Boss. There's something more to it.”

Luster opened the beer. “Yeah? Like what?”

“You don't want to do this forever, do you?”

Luster shrugged. “Nothin' very good, or nothin' very bad, ever lasts very long.” He took a long drink.

“You want to make your comeback with style, with dignity. You want to pay your taxes. Then you want to go back to ranching and collecting royalties.”

Luster sighed. “You're pretty sharp, aren't you, Hoss?”

Creed opened his beer, took a long swig, felt the cold liquid pour down his throat. “But you don't want to leave your band high and dry. You want us to be able to go on without you when you're done.”

“I always take care of my band.”

“So what we need is a name that will carry us through the Luster Burnett era, on into the next phase of the band. You ready to hear it?”

“You've got my attention.”

Creed watched every ear in the room lean his way. “We'll start out Luster Burnett and The…” He held up his index finger. “I'll tell you in a second. As we phase Luster out, we use his initials: L.B. and the…”

“You're killin' us, kid. And the
what
?”

“What's L.B. an abbreviation for?” Creed quizzed.

“A pound?” Kathy said.

“The Pounds?” Trusty whined.

Creed smirked. “Luster Burnett and the
Pounders
.” He said it with authority. “L.B. and the Pounders. The Pounders.”

“Los Pounders,” Metro said, trying the name on for size.

“We pound out the tunes. We pound out the beat. We pound the pavement. We pound the bricks. We pound our fists, and sometimes we pound our heads against the wall, but we just keep on
poundin'
!”

“We
com
-pound the interest!” Sid said, cracking himself up.

“We pound that poon-tang,” Tump said low, to Metro.

“
Seguro que
, hell, yeah!”

“Beats Flirt Alert,” Trusty allowed.

“Any objections?” Luster said. He waited. The fire crackled. “All right, then. We are now Luster Burnett and The Pounders. From now on, we write by day and rehearse by night, starting tomorrow. Y'all are welcome to stay here tonight if you want to. I'm going to Jollyville to win us some road money. Creed, you coming?”

“You bet your boots,” Creed said, feeling cocky.

“What's in Jollyville?” Tump asked.

“Liquor and poker.”

“Well, I'd sure like to meet her.”

Kathy Music gasped and laughed. “Y'all are so randy! We never talked like that at my office!”

“Welcome to the other side,” Lindsay said.

Luster shrugged. “I 'magine we can get you in if you want to go, Tump.”

“Can I watch TV?” Metro asked.

“Make yourself at home.” Luster grabbed a denim jacket, faded and worn. “All of you, pick a room and move in for the next three months. This home now belongs to the Pounders.”

“I'm going to sleep in the bus,” Lindsay said. “I cannot abide a bunch of men snoring.”

“Fine, you can have the bus,” Luster agreed. He pulled the jacket on and grabbed his felt hat. “Creed. Tump. Load up!”

 

25

CHAPTER

When the phone finally rang, Franco was ready. He slipped on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and picked up the receiver.

“Speak,” he ordered, as if talking to a dog.

As expected, he heard Lieutenant Jake Harbaugh's voice on the other end of the line: “Yeah, it's me.”

“Where the hell are you?”

“A phone booth in Llano.”

“You made good time. I'm impressed. You're about twenty minutes away.”

Franco gave him the directions to the lake house, hung up the phone, and ran some hot water in the kitchen sink. He began slowly washing dishes that were already clean, rinsing each dish methodically, placing it in the rack beside the sink to drain and dry.

Harbaugh showed up in due time. Franco met him in the driveway, opened the garage door, and waved him in, still wearing the rubber gloves. Harbaugh parked his Toyota Land Cruiser in the garage next to Franco's Shelby GT. Franco closed the garage door.

“You hauled ass,” Franco said, as Harbaugh opened the vehicle door. “I didn't expect you for an hour or two.”

“Figured I'd better get here. Figured you might need this.” Harbaugh stepped out of the Toyota with the briefcase, looking uneasily at the plastic gloves.

“Come on in, I was just washing the dishes.” He turned his back on the cop and led the way into the house. “Grab a beer in the fridge.” As he continued to wash the dishes he had left in the sink, he looked out at the dreary night through the kitchen window. A spring storm had blown in all rainy and cool. The neighbors were holed up in their lake houses. He heard the refrigerator door open and close behind him, and refocused his eyes on the windowpane, using it to watch Harbaugh's reflection as the big man moved through the kitchen behind him. “Long drive, huh?”