Bag of Knives: A Novel

By Nick J. Stika

Recent Praise for Bag Of Knives - A Novel

A novel in which readers who are also musicians will find much to love , February 11, 2009

By Midwest Book Review (Oregon, WI USA) -

This review is from: Bag of Knives (Paperback) Rock and Roll is the work of the devil some preachers say, but how far are some willing to go past just talking? "Bag of Knives" follows two people who live for the music, Skits and Eddie. Shut out of their dream careers by some musicians union they have never heard of before, they begin to lay the blame on a televangelist by the name of Billy Paladin. With the love of their lives on the line, the two begin to see what they can do against a holy man who is more than hot air. "Bag of Knives" is a novel in which readers who are also musicians will find much to love.
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Bag Of Knives is a mystery about two young men, Skits and Eddie, who grew up together in Chicago, IL. They met at Ginos Guitar Shop as boys, became friends and formed a band called Bag Of Knives. But due to some bad circumstances as they grew in to adulthood, Bag Of Knives was their only source of income. Gino Vincent, the owner of the shop, had taken the boys under his wing and groomed them in to the professionals they became. They played the area extensively and gained a great deal of popularity until they became the top drawing act in the Northern Illinois and Southern Wisconsin music circuits, and were even opening concerts for touring national acts.

One night at a packed venue in Milwaukee, they were approached by two men in trench coats from the musicians union. When the band couldnt produce union cards, they were shut down and put out of business. The band split up and Skits and Eddie found themselves unemployed, evicted and homeless. They decide to call on Gino for help. He had helped them before, surely he would help again. Without money or transportation, they decided to walk to Ginos Guitar Shop, which was located on the opposite corner of the city from where they were. On the third day of their walk in the freezing Chicago winter, they stumbled across Irmas Soup Kitchen. Irma sensed they were not typical homeless people, so she took them in and nursed them back to health. While helping out in the soup kitchen, they began hearing rumors that other bands had suffered the same fate as they had and then they heard two women talking about a television evangelist named Billy Paladin, a man who was on a quest to abolish rock and roll. They blew it off as some crackpot scheme until they finally got to Ginos Guitar Shop only to learn that Gino was somehow involved with this man, Billy Paladin. Since Gino ran the biggest guitar shop in the Midwest and catered to rock and roll musicians, this connection made no sense. Skits took it upon himself to solve the mystery of this connection of Gino and Billy Paladin as well as the other band robberies. In the end, as it has throughout history, good triumphs over evil or does it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 18, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462840977

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

N o one ever said that it would be easy, but here we are! Eddie said as he laid his head down to go to sleep.

You got that right, said Skits as he rolled over.

Just as the boys were falling asleep, they were rudely awakened.

Hey! You guys can’t just curl up and go to sleep here! said an angry voice.

Pulling his leather jacket off his face, Skits asked, Says who? in a sleepy yet disturbed tone.

As he opened his eyes to see the source of his sleep loss, Skits caught the gleam of the shiny badge that adorned Officer O’Reiley’s uniform.

I say! said Officer O’Reiley.

And indeed, they couldn’t sleep there as it was the lobby of a very busy downtown Chicago hotel.

Why, of course, Skits began. What was I thinking?

You guys move along before I have to take you in, said Officer O’Reiley in his stern Irish brogue.

Right away! said Skits as he gathered up his belongings.

Realizing that Eddie had slept through the entire episode, Skits swiftly kicked him in the foot and said, Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, we gotta go!

Shaking the sleep from his head, Eddie gathered up his things and followed Skits out into the night, paying little attention to Officer O’Reiley, who was carefully watching them as they left.

Nice badge, Eddie said as he passed the sharply dressed policeman.

Hey, Skits, what gives? asked Eddie, still shaking the sleep from his weary body.

What gives is that we have to find another place to crash! replied Skits. Boy, it never used to be like this! Indeed, he was right. It wasn’t always like this. Things used to be a lot better for Skits and Eddie. Skits and Eddie are rock and roll musicians, and it wasn’t too long ago that they were in a very successful performing band. They were called Bag of Knives, and they worked in the clubs and bars throughout the Midwest. Bag of Knives had gained so much notoriety that they were frequently asked to do opening spots for many of the touring recording artists, but it was a cold night in December when the world as they knew it came to a screeching halt. They were working in a nightclub in Milwaukee when after the second set, they were approached by two men in trench coats.

Okay, let’s see your union cards, one of them said.

Uh… hmmm, Skits began.

Look, either you got cards, or you don’t! said the other man.

Actually, we don’t belong to the union, Eddie said in a timid voice.

Look, this blows! Johnny, the keyboardist, interrupted. We got a show to do. We’ve always packed this place, union or no union. Besides, this place ain’t union!

Yeah, that’s right! Skits added.

It is now, and if you boys don’t belong to the union, you’re in some serious trouble. We have the power to confiscate all of your gear and withhold your earnings from this show. Furthermore, we can run a check of all of our affiliated clubs in the area just to see where else you scabs might have worked where you weren’t supposed to. I’m afraid that you boys could be in some mighty hot water, the man said.

So what’s the deal? Are you union, or are you not? the other man asked.

Uh… well… we were meaning to call the union office, but we’ve been so busy, Skits said.

Right, show’s over, kids, said the first man.

You just can’t do that! Eddie shouted. We have a packed house here that loves us! You… you just can’t do that!

I’m afraid we can do that, said the second man. We are here on direct orders from the union office, and we’ve been getting quite a few complaints from some of the other bands in the union about you.

So what do we do? asked Skits.

Well, after you get new gear and regroup, I would suggest that you get in contact with the union and pay your dues to become a member before working these clubs again. For now, however, we get to escort you to the door, said the first man.

And with that came the announcement that the rest of the show had been canceled and that refunds were available at the front door. The news from the loudspeakers drew a bad response from the jam-packed house.

Outside, the wind was howling, and there was a snowflake or two in the air. Fortunately, the union people didn’t spot the band bus that was parked in the far reaches of the lot. At least, there was transportation back to Chicago.

Gee, it’s a good thing that we bought gas before we parked this thing, huh, you guys? said Skits, trying to keep his bandmates from dwelling on the situation they were in.

I guess that’s at least one positive thing to come out of tonight, answered Eddie.

No one else added anything to the conversation, feeling too low and depressed to even speak.

The trip back to Chicago was long and dreary. The snow was falling more heavily as they approached the Illinois state line. Everyone was asleep on the bus, except for Skits who was driving. Confused thoughts flooded his mind. They were without a job, and they had no gear to start things up again. He was certain that the rest of the band would go off and find something else to occupy their time. Skits had never had a regular job so this would be a new experience for him.

Finally they pulled to a stop outside of the practice studio that the boys had called home for so many years. It was at that time that Skits heard what he had most feared.

I’m out, man, said Johnny. I just can’t deal with starting over. I had fifteen grand invested in my gear, man. I just can’t handle starting all over now!

I understand, Skits said. I understand.

Yeah, that goes for me, too, said Snake, the drummer. I didn’t have nearly as much coin in my gear, but it hurts just as much.

I hear ya, said Skits, now realizing his nightmare.

I’m still in, said Eddie. You can still have your old bass player if you want me. I’m sure I can scrape up an old bass and amp somewhere.

Yeah, you bet, said Skits with a gleam in his eyes.

Bag of Knives will be as sharp as ever, just you wait and see, said Eddie.

Weeks went by, and Skits and Eddie found themselves without any money. The small savings that they had collected soon dwindled to nothing. It wasn’t long before they were evicted from the apartment they’d shared and had to resort to the street for a home.

You know, Skits, I think that we had better think seriously about getting our shit together and reforming Bag of Knives, said Eddie.

Yeah, I know, Skits said. But we’re gonna have to get regular jobs for a while to build up enough cash to buy guitars again.

You’re right, but where? asked Eddie.

I don’t know. Anywhere! Like McDonald’s or some other grease joint. You know, just for a couple of months until we get back on our feet, said Skits. I think the first thing that we need to do is find a place to sleep for tonight and start out fresh in the morning.

Okay, got any ideas? asked Eddie.

I think there’s a nice hotel lobby up the street, said Skits.

Very funny, said Eddie with a chuckle. Man, we’re lucky that Officer O’Reiley didn’t throw the book at us back at that other place, he sighed.

I’ll say. We never would’ve been able to pay our way out of that one, said Skits. But if we had gotten thrown in jail, at least we’d have a place to sleep and roof over our heads, huh?

I never thought of it like that.

There is one thing to be said from all of this, Eddie.

And what is that?

They say that a lot of good songs come out of experiences like this, Skits prophesized.

I’ve heard that, too.

Maybe someday we’ll write our fortune maker from these experiences.

That wouldn’t suck, said Eddie. That, my friend, would not suck.

Just then, Skits caught a glimpse of a laundry truck down a nearby alley. Trotting off to investigate, they found the back of the truck unlocked, with a good supply of sheets and blankets inside.

See, Eddie, said Skits, our luck is coming back, after all.

All right, let’s sleep in comfort tonight! said Eddie as he followed Skits into the truck. Skits peered out the back of the truck and took one more look around the alley. Satisfied that they had not been seen, he quietly pulled the doors closed.

Sheltered from the cold winter night, they slept like babies in the warm comfort of the laundry truck. It would be their last comfortable night for some time.

CHAPTER 2

When Skits awoke, he heard the sound of men talking in the alley. He wasn’t quite sure if it was the laundry people coming back for the truck or some other unfortunate souls making a temporary home out of the alley. He quickly glanced over at Eddie, who was still in deep slumber.

Can this boy sleep, Skits thought to himself.

Outside it was growing increasingly brighter. The sun shone through the tall buildings and found its way to the alley and the laundry truck. The men’s voices were becoming louder, and Skits was becoming a little more than nervous. With that, he reached over and shook Eddie.

Hey, wake up! Skits whispered loudly.

Wha— groaned Eddie.

Shhh! whispered Skits. Be quiet! We have to get out of here! he said.

The voices were right outside the back doors of the truck now. Skits began to shake as he listened to what sounded like an argument outside the truck.

I think we should check out the cargo before we go! said the first voice.

I think you should just leave this operation to me! said the other voice.

What if someone got in there and stole the stuff, man? asked the first man.

Nobody is gonna take nothin’! said the second man. Now be quiet and get in the truck. We have a shipment to deliver.

And with that, the two men climbed into the truck and started the engine.

C’mon, Eddie, now’s our chance! said Skits.

Skits quietly but deliberately opened the back of the truck, and they quickly hopped out into the alley. There was a large dumpster there that they ducked behind as the truck passed into the now-busy downtown street.

Eddie, I wish I could sleep like you, said Skits with a hint of jealousy.

Oh yeah, think about it, Skits. If I sleep so much better than you, why is it that I’m always so tired? answered Eddie with a sheepish grin.

Maybe you’re just too stupid, said Skits. Now come on. We have to go look for work to get on our feet again.

Right-o! said Eddie with a newfound burst of energy.

They picked up their belongings and headed out to look for whatever came their way. They knew they needed to find jobs, though neither of them relished the idea. But it was where they needed to start if they had any hopes of getting the money to rebuild the band.

What kind of guitar do you want to buy, Skits? asked Eddie.

Oh, I dunno, Skits started. Something with a lot of colors on it, I suppose.

Yeah, that would look good, wouldn’t it? Eddie agreed.

So what kind of bass guitar do you want, Eddie? Skits asked to keep the conversation alive.

Well, I’ve been thinking about that, he started. I think I want a Rickenbacker.

Ooh, a Rick, huh? asked Skits. Aren’t those expensive?

Well, I got that all worked out, Eddie explained. I know a little pawnshop over on the lower East Side. A guy named Jake works there. He knows that I’ve always wanted a Rick, but he hasn’t come across one. Maybe now would be a good time to check him out.

That sounds good, started Skits. But you’re still missing one relatively important component to this scheme.

And what might that be? Eddie quipped.

M-O-N-E-Y, Skits spelled.

Oh yeah, I forgot, Eddie chortled.

The sky clouded over, and it began to look like snow as Skits and Eddie made their way through the city. They both knew that they needed jobs, but that certain something kept them from trying too hard to find one. They knew that the one place they needed to be was on a brightly lit stage in a crowded dance hall somewhere. Not pushing burgers down the throats of middle-class Americans who couldn’t afford to eat good food. Suddenly a newspaper blew off a newsstand and into the hands of a startled Eddie.

Hey, Skits, look at this! he said.

Gee, a paper! Skits said.

You know, I’ve heard that you can look for jobs of all kinds in these things, Eddie said authoritatively.

Oh, can you read now? Skits asked sarcastically.

Haha very funny. Now let’s see, there’s got to be some want ads in here somewhere, Eddie said as he flipped through the paper.

Now although being a gifted bassist, he wasn’t all that graceful, and he didn’t see the garbage can in front of him because he was reading the paper as he walked. Picking himself up off the ground, he heard the sound of Skits laughing. Disgusted, he picked up the paper and once again went on his way.

Hey, wait up! called Skits. I didn’t mean to laugh, he said, although it was the funniest thing he’d seen in weeks.

Yeah, that’s real funny, said Eddie. I suppose you’d give out rubber candy at Halloween too, wouldn’t you?

Ah yes, rubber candy. The gift that keeps on giving, replied Skits whimsically. No calories, either! I’m only doing my part to keep American kids healthier, he added. So does anything look interesting in the want ads?

Not really, Eddie replied grimly.

Really?

No, not really.

Really?

No, not really.

This rather useless banter went on for some time as they walked through the lonely snowy streets of Chicago. Neither Skits nor Eddie had any money to speak of; neither had jobs nor any real interest in obtaining one. They had one common vision. They were going to set the rock and roll world on its ear one day. They knew they could do it, and they were well on their way until the damned union showed up and took all of their equipment.

It was a hard lesson to learn so close to the holidays. The show that night had been amazing. Bombers Booze-a-roo was a favorite venue for Bag of Knives. They could pack that place in their sleep. They were constantly overcapacity, which was fifteen hundred, but there were never less that sixteen hundred people crammed into that space.

The Booze-a-roo was owned by an ex-girlfriend of the drummer, Jimmy Snake Jones. Her name was Ashley Williams, but everyone called her Smashley. She didn’t care for it, but she put up with it because it made people smile. No other band ever came close to drawing the crowds Bag of Knives would pull in. Bombers would have liked to have had them booked every week, but common sense prevailed. Even the hottest bands will stop drawing if they are overexposed. This was just one of those unwritten rules in the rock and roll business. Never documented, yet everyone knew it. There were bands that didn’t listen and kept playing the same clubs over and over. They wanted to ride the wave of popularity and make all the money they could in a short period of time. Sure, it was all fine and good, but after just a few short weeks, the crowds would dwindle, crowd response diminished, and soon, the club stopped booking them. Bag of Knives never had this problem.

Skits always knew the rules. He was the savvy businessman of the group and always knew what was best for the band. At the time of the Bombers incident, Bag of Knives was drawing record crowds, and even had to start turning people away. But that was then, this is now.

Skits had realized that neither he nor Eddie had eaten in a while.

You hungry? asked Skits.

You know, I haven’t thought about it, but now that you mention it, yeah, I think I am, replied Eddie, rubbing his belly. Got any ideas?

Well, I’ve been thinking about that. I hear that some of the restaurants and bakeries around here put their unsold stuff outside for people like us, Skits said.

Yeah, it’s called garbage! Eddie said, scratching his unshaven chin.

No, you dope. They have programs and stuff where the city gives these people money to do that so that the homeless don’t starve, Skits replied.

Gosh, it makes me feel a little creepy to hear you refer to us as homeless. I can’t say as I like the sound of that, Eddie said as he looked toward the ground.

Well, until we get back on our feet, we’re going to just have to suck it up and take it. I don’t like it any more than you, but at this point in time, there’s really not much we can do about it. Now let’s go find a place to eat, Skits said.

On they continued, into the gathering darkness of the city. The prospect of another long night on the streets of Chicago was not particularly something the boys were relishing right now. Hunger was setting in quickly as the cold day turned into an even colder night. Skits knew that they would need to find something to eat and a warm, dry place to sleep.

Still the thought of the musicians’ union and the loss of his equipment and his band gnawed at him, like a broken guitar string tearing at his soul. It was this that kept Skits going. The thought of getting it all back, the thought of performing, the thought of being in front of a big crowd, in a big arena, with a big band, with a big hit record. He knew in his heart, he’d be there again. Oh yes, he would be there again.

CHAPTER 3

Gino’s Guitar Shop was a favorite hangout for Skits and Eddie. It was located on the northern side of town, not very far from Wrigleyville, and it had everything a musician could ever want. Gino was a collector of fine musical instruments, and he kept his private collection on display in a special room upstairs. Skits and Eddie loved coming to Gino’s to see if he’d found anything new and exciting. Actually, it was old and exciting that they were really interested in. Gino had a guitar from nearly every major company, in every color offered, and from every year of production. They never really ever asked where he found them or how he acquired them. Gino had his ways, and if he ever wanted to tell anybody, they’d let him do so. He was like a magnet. It seemed the very collectible old instruments sort of found him. This was the kind of thing that happened when you became a collector of notoriety.

Whenever Skits and Eddie were down on their luck, or just plain down, Gino’s was the first place they would go to recharge their batteries and their souls. The problem with this situation was that Gino’s was on the north side, while they were on the lower east side. A dilemma since they had no money or transportation. From where they were, it would take days to walk there, not the most pleasant task in the rapidly advancing winter of Chicago. There was a lot of territory to cover on foot between where they were and where they were going. They knew that the trip would be totally worth it and that they would feel so much better once they got there. Gino had always taken care of them, and they knew he would do so again. He had been somewhat of a father figure to them, at least in their band life.

Skits and Eddie met at Gino’s. They were both eyeing the same guitar in his private collection. It was a 1965 Fender Stratocaster Ice Blue Metallic with a rosewood fingerboard and a tortoiseshell pickguard. A fairly rare color combination, but when they saw it, they were glued, fascinated by its contrast of colors and elegant grace of body. They marveled at how Gino had kept it in such pristine condition in spite of it hanging on a wall, not being enjoyed and loved by a great player somewhere. Each of them had fancied themselves Fender guitar historians, and they were trying to determine the exact year it was made by some of the cosmetic appointments it had, not unlike identifying the year of an old Chevrolet by the style of its taillights.

They had been arguing over whether the decal on the headstock was correct, and whether that color combination was even offered in 1965, when Gino came up the stairs and found them. He informed Skits and Eddie that this instrument was a one-off. It was a special order for a customer who, before he could even receive it, was drafted and sent to Vietnam. His mother went and picked up the guitar and kept it for her son until he could come home from the war and play it. One day, two uniformed officers appeared on her doorstep with an official notice that her son had been killed in action in Northern Vietnam. She wept as the two officers tried to console her. The guitar stayed in its case, untouched, for thirty years until she finally decided that she could no longer bear holding on to it. She brought it in to Gino, asking if he knew of anyone who would want an old guitar. Naturally, he snatched it up. The amount he paid has never been disclosed, and no one really knows. Gino himself says he doesn’t remember how much he paid for it, but recent rumor has it that the guitar is valued at over one hundred thousand dollars. It is the cornerstone of his entire collection.

You know, I still say that Strat is a ’64, said Eddie abruptly.

No, Gino said it’s a ’65. Gino ought to know. He only knows everything, replied Skits.

Well, it doesn’t add up. There are too many things on that guitar that don’t match. It can’t be an original ’65. I’ve read that Fender stopped using that color in 1964 and that they could never find it or duplicate it, Eddie said with a slight whine.

Where did you read that, on the side of a box of Cracker Jacks? answered Skits smartly.

Yeah, that’s funny. You think I’m an idiot, but I’m not, Eddie replied, beginning to sound irritated.

I’m sorry. I know we’re in a terrible mess. We’re hungry, we’re tired. We were the best damned band in this town, and now we’re two lonely souls living on the streets with no homes, instruments, jobs, clean clothes, or anywhere to turn to. There is one thing that I am sure of, though. Skits paused.

Yeah, what’s that? asked Eddie.

That Stratocaster is a 1965, replied Skits as he ran off.

You’d better run, jackass, yelled Eddie, lobbing a snowball in Skits’s direction.

CHAPTER 4

It was getting dark in earnest as the boys made their way to Gino’s Guitar Shop. They passed the time by rehashing old band stories, usually with conflicting endings, even though they had shared the same event. Sometimes they would argue; mostly they just agreed to disagree as they knew that arguing over a trivial matter in their current state was pointless. When they were tired, they’d find some little space to sleep in. Often, it was done in shifts. They’d stop at a convenience store; one would be using the restroom while the other looked at magazines and at least appeared as if he was going to buy something. After an hour or so, when the clerk would get suspicious, naptime was over, and it was on to the next adventure. It was pretty effective, and they found that they could get just enough of a nap to recharge for a couple of hours. When they got hungry, they’d look for a bakery or some other establishment that might leave scraps out for the homeless. All in all, things were going okay, in spite of their plight.

Their hopes got a little brighter with the sunrise. They had survived another cold night in Chicago in the middle of the winter. They were congratulating each other when they came upon Irma’s Soup Kitchen. Irma’s was a place for the homeless to flop for the night, grab a hot shower, and even a hot meal or two.

Irma Solasky opened the soup kitchen fifteen years ago when her husband, Al, was killed by a drunk driver on the Ryan Expressway. He was only forty-two and was prepared to make partner at the law firm he worked for. He had just won his one hundredth consecutive trial, and during a congratulatory after-work party, he was told that the order had been placed to add his name to the front door. He had just finished telling Irma, his lovely bride of twenty-two years, the good news when a Ford pickup truck crossed the centerline, ran up the median, left the ground, and came down in Al’s windshield. The police and paramedics said he died instantly, but that was of little solace to Irma. She took the money from the insurance and opened the soup kitchen. She wanted to help those less fortunate. She had lived the good life, and she still had plenty of money, but she felt that now she needed to give back and help those who couldn’t help themselves.

You know, Skits, I never thought I’d ever have to eat in one of these places, said Eddie. I always thought they were for winos and drug addicts.

I hear ya, brother. But I gotta tell ya, I could really use a hot bowl of soup, Skits replied.

Yeah, but don’t cha feel a little creepy taking food from people who really need it?

"We really need it, dummy. C’mon, look at us! We haven’t bathed, eaten, or really slept in days. This place is a godsend."

Eddie thought for a long moment and said, Yeah, I suppose you’re right, but when we get back on our feet, we need to come back here and do something for them.

Gee, this is a side of you I’ve not seen before. You do have a heart beating in that chest of yours, don’t you?

Yeah, I’m a regular old softie when you get down to it.

Besides, we’ll be eating cold, hard bagels with green hairy cream cheese again soon enough. Now come on, let’s get something hot to eat, okay? Skits said.

Once inside Irma’s Soup Kitchen, the boys were instantly ravenous. The aromas of home-cooked food, the soups and fresh baked breads overwhelmed them. Even though it had only been a few days of the homeless life, they felt like it had been years, and this food could not have come at a better time. Irma herself was behind the counter, dishing up soup, slicing bread, and arranging the trays. She had a number of volunteers working, but it seemed that she did most of the work. It was apparent that this was her life’s passion. This was where she wanted to be.

What’ll it be, boys? Irma asked in a comical sort of Mae West voice. She looked at the boys and winked.

Skits and Eddie looked at each other and grinned. They were old enough to know who Mae West was. Even though they hadn’t seen many of her movies, they knew the part she played in many of them.

We’d like something hot, really hot. We’ve been out in the cold for days, and I think I’m nearly frozen to the core, Skits said, looking as pathetic as he felt.

Irma was a handsome woman. One glance, and it was obvious that she knew how to take care of herself. She had dark hair, pulled back into a bun. At her temples were traces of gray, making her look very distinguished. She wore horn-rimmed glasses that she either allowed to dangle from a strap around her neck or propped atop her head. She stood tall and proud, exploiting her five-foot-five-inch stature. She still tried to exercise when she could, but time was catching up with her. Though still fairly trim, she was developing the usual pouch and curves of a woman pressing sixty years old.

Hmm, Irma said. She had a compassionate look, but she was skeptical. You’re new around here. Where are you boys from?

There was a line forming behind them, so there wasn’t a lot of time to tell the story. They promised Irma that they were honest and not just trying for a quick free meal, and that if she could take a break while they ate, they’d tell her the whole story. Irma agreed, and when the line got shorter, she joined the boys at their table. As they told their story, Irma shook her head and said the occasional Uh-huh and Okay. The boys really weren’t sure if what they were saying was sinking in or not.

Are you making this up? Irma asked.

I wish I was. I really wish I was, said Skits. No offense, you have a lovely place here, but I’d really rather be making my music and performing in a crowded club somewhere. I never thought I’d ever need to use the services of a homeless shelter.

Eddie nodded in agreement, still enjoying his now-cooling bowl of soup.

Well, if what you are telling me is true, and you are who you say you are, let me help you. This Gino who owns the guitar shop, he can help you get music equipment to start up again? Irma asked.

Actually, we’re not one hundred percent positive he’ll help us, but he’s helped us in the past. We’ve known him since we were kids, so we believe he will, Skits replied.

Well, here’s what I’ll do for you. You are welcome to spend the night here. I know it’s only morning now, but it looks like you haven’t really slept in days. She sighed. "Ay yai yai, if I did this for every hard case that came through my door, I’d be broke! I’ve got a shower upstairs and a spare room. You boys get cleaned up, leave your clothes in the hall. I’ll get them washed up for you. I’ll dig up some clean sweats, and you can wear those to sleep in. If you decide to get up later today and walk around, feel free. You’re welcome to have dinner with us, but regardless, I want you boys off the street tonight. They say it’s going to snow again, and then it’s going to get really windy and cold. In the morning, I’ll get you a cab and prepay for your