Battle Creek: The 500 Song Rock and Roll Daydream

By August Wanderlust

For years, Hal has been working to achieve his dream of forming a rock and roll band, but every time he gets a new member, they seem to acquire a new genre. With punk drummer Ryan, and metal-head Uli, (who ironically plays classical instruments), they only need one more man – a guitarist. After an unsuccessful day of searching at a music festival, a lone country guitarist catches Hal's eye as they eat dinner at a tavern. Country? Why not. That'll make a complete set. But, once guitarist Ricky joins them, they start getting hints that something is not quite right about him. He attracts animals like a magnet, frequently disappears at night, and doesn't seem to understand common aspects of modern daily life. As time passes and they start to find success in the music industry, the ability to keep brushing off Ricky's quirks becomes more difficult as evidence starts to mount. Finally, after a new 'talent' of Ricky's shows itself on the night of a big show, they can no longer make excuses. They need to find out what's going on. But, will forcing Ricky's secrets into the spotlight cause him to disappear into the night permanently, leaving the band in ruin without his incredible guitar playing skills? As leader, Hal has to try and reconcile fear and mistrust between his bandmates, and keep Ricky with them while also finding answers that could cause just as many problems as not knowing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667860305

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Battle Creek

The 500 Song Rock and Roll Daydream

© 2022, August Wanderlust.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Print ISBN: 978-1-66786-029-9

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66786-030-5

To those who let their imagination run wild to music.

Special thanks to everyone who helped me edit this mess.

Mom, Crystal, Spencer, Jeff E., Diane L., Beth L., Jared at Blueline Editing,

You all know who you are.

R.I.P. Oldies 97.3 KBSG FM, Seattle,

& the Skate King Roller Rink in Bellevue, Wa.

Contents

Author’s Statement

1. (We’re an American Band)

2. (Bounce, Rock, Skate, Roll)

3. (Takin’ Care of Business)

4. (Oh, What a Night)

5. (I Want to Rock and Roll All Night)

6. (Playin’ in a Traveling Band)

7. (Stay-Just a Little Bit Longer)

8. (On the Road Again)

9. (It’s Still Rock and Roll to Me)

10. (Bad Moon Rising)

11. (I Was Born in a Small Town)

12. (Strange Magic)

13. (Welcome to the Jungle)

14. (Hot Stuff)

15. (Leaving on a Jet Plane)

16. (Around the World)

17. (Hot N’ Cold)

18. (Take Care)

19. (Rehab)

20. (Numb)

21. (Light ’Em Up)

22. (Magical Mystery Tour)

23. (On Top of the World)

24. (Working My Way Back to You)

25. (Dancing in the Dark)

26. (Crazy Little Thing Called Love)

27. (Who Says You Can’t Go Home)

28. (Any Way You Want It)

29. (It Takes Two)

30. (My Way)

We Will Rock You, an Epilogue

Songs Used

Songs Cited

Author’s Statement

‘Battle Creek’ is a tale that was conceived to music, one song and one daydream induced by that song at a time, and so I feel the songs that helped in its creation are an essential part to the story. I have included space for them in this book without using any lyrics by simply listing the song title, performing artist, and version of the song by that artist (if applicable), where it is to be played. The "Title" by Artist followed by End Song will appear around text where the song is to be played. Any words or even blank space that is left between these two queues symbolize the time passage between the beginning and ending of the song(s). If the phrase to play over this scene appears after a given title, it means that song, as well as the ones immediately following it, are somehow playing in the background; whether they are coming out of the speakers in a nightclub, or simply playing in the minds of the readers or the characters. All other songs listed by their titles and artists alone are hypothetically being performed by the band ‘Battle Creek,’ the members of whom this story revolves around. The idea that Battle Creek wrote and performed these songs is, of course, total fiction for the sake of the story. All songs are copyrighted by their respective owners, who put all their blood, sweat, and tears into making them. Full song citation list at the end of the story.

I’ve used songs from the beginning of Rock and Roll in the 1950’s, all the way to 2021, the year this novel was completed. This is because good music never gets old, and never fades away. I’ve only included awesome music in this book, and while bad things may happen in the story to the setting of these songs, nowhere in this book will any of them be used in a derogatory or mocking voice against the artists that created and/or performed them. This is meant to be a tribute to the greatest songs in the world, and to the people who wrote and performed them. I hope, if nothing else, this brings a bit of free advertising for the artists included. Especially for those who haven’t been on the Top 40 charts in a long time. You all inspire me, and may these songs become known to, and loved by, the current generation, and all the future ones to come.

Please pay for your music and help support your favorite artists.

Chapter 1

(We’re an American Band)

Memphis, Tennessee. Late August

Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash

Thousand Miles from Nowhere by Dwight Yoakam

Take Me Home, Country Roads by John Denver

Okie From Muskogee by Merle Haggard

Don’t Rock the Jukebox by Alan Jackson

A thin haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air of the packed rustic tavern. Small wisps of it occasionally escaping between the cracks in the wall boards and out into the night. Most of the dim light inside stemmed from two mismatched bulbs on either side of the plywood stage, located at one end of the building. At the other end, bartenders turned out beer and mixed drinks in what was functionally darkness. The sound of bottles being set down on tables, mixed with the vague din of talking, sustained a low pulse of life in the room. But, between the crowds who showed up every night to drink, and the musicians who came and went off the stage, it gave the place enough of a soul to continue to stay open night after night.

The dim stage light cast an unusual appearance on all three of them as they sat at one of the old tables. The yellow-orange glow on Hal’s hair and eyes made them look almost brown, even though both were ash grey, and had been since the day he was born. He had the hair of an old man even though he was barely past two decades in the world, though his face was certainly young enough to negate the color of his hair. Most who saw him assumed he had simply dyed it that color for some strange reason. His sideburns and the small goatee at the base of his chin were also grey. Observers would quietly marvel at the dedication it must take for someone to dye their facial hair to match what was on the top of their head. The grey didn’t stop with his hair on this particular night. He was wearing a dark smoke grey button up shirt with stylish light grey jeans, and a pair of medium grey shoes. He had discovered the more grey he wore, the more of a spectacle he became to people. It was beautiful, sweet irony to him that he could make himself stand out more by wearing all monotone colors. He liked to think he was one of the few people on earth who had that ability. He didn’t do this every day. He had a whole wardrobe of other colored button up shirts and jeans, but tonight felt like a good night to be stared at. He often wore a grey fedora hat to complete the look, however, it was hot out and the hat had been making him sweat. So, it had stayed back at the motel for their dinner outing.

The light on Ryan’s arms gave all of his normally colorful tattoos an almost rusted tone; like old metal embellishments riveted to his flesh as opposed to skin ink. The light also played like streaked blonde highlights on the glossy hair gel holding up his black, fanned mohawk. It reflected brightly off his nose ring and the metallic plugs in his gauged, pierced ears, making him give off light like an earth-bound god in a romantic movie. Though he generally spent his time being an unholy terror. Uli was perhaps the least affected by the room. It simply turned his short hair from an acid-blonde to strawberry blonde, and made no difference to his black leather jacket or blue eyes, both of which were never under any circumstance willing to be anything other than black and blue. He was, however, casting a rather impressive shadow on the floor. Even though he was sitting down, he was still head and shoulders higher than Ryan and Hal. And so, he didn’t lose any of the towering appearance that followed him wherever he went, and ducked down with him whenever he walked through a doorway.

Does anyone else here think that this guy’s actually not half bad? Hal asked.

God, Hal, you’ve got to be kidding me, Ryan replied.

No, I’m serious.

So am I. We’ve been to five high-end venues in as many days, and saw nothing promising at any of them. But now, as we sit here in a flea-pit tavern on open mic night, your interest is finally piqued by a guy wearing a dead animal on his head, Ryan said.

Hey, we never set out to find the best dressed guitarist, and what I’m hearing right now is actual skill, Hal insisted.

Great. Scouting at the redneck talent fair, Ryan mumbled as he took his fork and dove down into his steak, dunking the front spike of his black mohawk into a cup of barbeque sauce on the table as he leaned over. Hal cringed at the little strands of hair sticking out of it as Ryan straightened back up, and reached reluctantly across the table for the bottle of ketchup. Besides, Hal, he’s a country singer. He’s not going to be up for your standard rock and roll band. Not to mention, most normal guitarists might get a little put-off by random bouts of German heavy metal.

It is how you separate the boys from the men, Uli said, without looking up from his newspaper.

Actually, Uli, I think it’s how you separate us from any fans we might ever have, Ryan replied. Uli’s two blue eyes appeared slightly over the top of the newspaper, glaring at Ryan.

Uli, if looks could kill, yours would have done you in a long time ago, Ryan said.

Just because you go everywhere with a mirror in front of your face does not mean everybody else does, Uli responded.

At least I have a reflection, Ryan replied.

The two started to argue across the table, and Hal put his head in one hand and rubbed his eyes wearily as he turned his attention back to the short, stocky guitar player on the stage. He was sitting on a flimsy wood stool with the microphone well below his chin, so it wouldn’t interfere with the harmonica in the homemade metal holster around his neck. Two big, thick, brown sideburns framed his face, and the light behind him illuminated the front tips of his fuzzy brown hair, which stood slightly up off his head like it was holding a static charge. The rest of his hair was hidden under a classic Davy Crockett-style raccoon skin cap, complete with a furry ringed tail hanging off the back. He was fairly muscular for his size, but with a tiny pudge of a gut sticking out over his khaki shorts. Visible only because his red, plaid flannel shirt had caught on one of the clasps of his guitar strap, and was pulled up a little bit; probably unbeknownst to him. The black sandals on his feet looked like they were nearly worn through the soles. The pick guard on his acoustic guitar was in much of the same condition; intact at its edges, but faded to what would soon be a hole at the center.

End Songs 1 – 5

The song came to an end, and the audience clapped as well as a room full of drunk people could. The guitar player leaned over to the microphone. Uh, thank you, he said, short and simple, before he started strumming his next song.

Achy Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Cyrus

The deep, rich echoes of the guitar chords began to resonate throughout the room, and Hal listened to it for a few moments, deep in thought. That guitar sounds pretty good considering it looks like it’s about to fall to pieces, and this guy can hit those low notes. That would be useful for backup…

Hal, are you desperate!? Ryan interrupted his own unfinished insult that was about to be sent Uli’s way. We don’t want a country guitarist!

Well, why not!? If we added him, we’d probably have a complete collection. Between your punk rock, my pop rock, and Uli’s heavy-metal rock opera… orchestra... stuff… Hal hesitated while he composed the rest of his thought. If we threw in a country guy, we could appeal to damn near everyone at least 25 percent of the time.

And offend everyone else the other 75 percent of the time.

Ryan! Hal said sternly.

WHAT? Ryan defended.

What is your deal tonight!?

How can you separate his deal tonight from the rest of the time? Uli asked.

What are you two, five!? Hal said as he grabbed both of their forks, stabbed two buffalo wings, and stuffed them into their mouths. Cram it!

Uli chewed up his buffalo wing, swallowed it, then glared at Ryan. Ryan, you should thank Hal, he is trying to feed your skinny, tattooed ass.

He stuffed one into you too, stupid, Ryan said. A short pause followed until they noticed Hal staring at them in silent exasperation. Uli took back up his newspaper, and Ryan sat down and glanced around the room. The guitar player stood up and sang louder as he went into the final chorus, and the audience clapped and cheered furiously.

"You really want to try this guy in the band?" Ryan asked.

Sure! Look at this! Hal gestured at the audience. "Listen to this! This guy knows how to play the guitar, he’s not just up there strumming random chords. He can work a crowd, he..."

Hal, these people are drunk, Ryan interrupted.

Hey, drunk people can be the toughest audience. You know that as well as I do, Hal said.

Alright. Fine. Go ask him. He’ll say no, and we can move on with our night, Ryan relented.

I will, thank you, Hal replied.

End Song 6

The song came to an end, and the audience burst into applause. The manager of the tavern walked out onto the stage and took the microphone. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it one more time for Ricky Raccoon!

Applause erupted once again, even louder than before, and Hal cringed as Ryan suddenly looked back at him. Okay. We’re leaving, Ryan said, and started to get up. Hal caught him by the back of his shirt. No… wait a…

Hal! No! This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had. The guy’s obviously some sort of weirdo.

Exactly! He’ll fit right in! Hal insisted.

I’m done with this shit, Ryan mumbled as he yanked his shirt free, and took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket as he headed for the front door.

Ricky took a quick bow, then walked off the side of the stage. While the manager was busy introducing the next act, Hal took the opportunity to run backstage without being noticed. Uli followed closely behind. They found Ricky right around the corner, putting his guitar away in a case that looked like it was made entirely out of duct tape. They stopped a few feet from him, and Hal casually crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

Hey, you put on a really good one-man show.

The short country boy looked up at Hal, startled, but quickly developed a humble, toothy grin. Uh… thank you, he said in a heavy Southern accent.

Where’d you learn to play like that?

A neighbor, Ricky answered.

Cool, Hal said, then there was a short pause. Oh, uh, sorry. My name’s Hal. Hal Hulsing. We’re musicians too. In a garage band, he said as he nodded in Uli’s direction, then held out an open hand to Ricky.

Hi, Ricky said as he shook it.

And this is my friend, Uli.

Uli Von Wolff, Uli said as he reached a hand out to Ricky. Ricky took it as he slowly glanced upwards to look Uli in the eyes. Uli likewise had to look straight down to see Ricky’s face. It was quite the sight to have Ricky’s roughly 5’3 next to Uli’s 6’5

You local around here? Hal asked.

Oh, no. Ricky travels all over the country. Never in the same place for very long, Ricky answered. Uli looked over at Hal suspiciously, but Hal ignored him.

Oh, sweet! Where are you from originally?

Ricky comes from a small town in Arkansas. Very, very small town, he emphasized.

Nice! What’s it called?

Battle Creek.

You’re… kidding... Hal said.

Um… no? Ricky responded, clearly confused.

It’s that… I’m from Battle Creek, Michigan. That’s the name of our band. Battle Creek, Hal said, his eyes lighting up. What the hell are the chances of that? he asked. Ricky smiled and shrugged awkwardly.

So, uh, I know we just met you and this is crazy, but me and my band mates are one man short, and we’re looking for a lead guitarist. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in maybe playing a couple shows with us?

Ricky stared at Hal blankly for a moment, then turned his gaze briefly to Uli before settling back on Hal again. "What!?"

Hal laughed. Yeah, sorry. I know this is sort of sudden, but we’ve actually been travelling around searching for a skilled guitarist, and we’re finding all the available ones aren’t that good, and the good ones are already taken. But, you had this whole place captivated, and, I don’t know, that was really entertaining and you seem like you have a lot of good talent, and that’s sort of what we’re looking for, Hal said. You’d get your share of pay for the shows we do, of course, and you’d sort of live for free at my mom’s house. At least at first, anyways.

Ricky pondered the two of them again silently. They didn’t look like serial killers, or cult members who were searching for their next human sacrifice. If this was a legitimate offer, he could really use the money. It would also be a lot more stable than going from bar to bar looking for work on a nightly basis, and playing on street corners during the day with his guitar case open for passers-by to throw loose change in. If they were plotting on doing something bad to him, he could probably crack each of them over the head with his guitar before they knew what happened, and then get a running start. He could sprint faster than most people would assume from looking at him.

Uh… okay? Ricky answered.

R…really!? Hal said. Ricky nodded.

Awesome! Okay, um, we were in town playing at a casino last night, but our base of operations is back home at my mom’s house in Michigan. We were going to head back there in the morning. Do you have any other stuff somewhere to go get?

Nope, Ricky said as he lifted the duct tape case and grabbed a medium-sized army-green duffel bag next to it.

Alright, well, it’s a little early, but the train leaves at 9:00 a.m., so we were all going to go back and crash at the motel. I can’t imagine you’d want to share a room with a bunch of strangers, so we could get you your own room for the night. Would that be okay?

Sure! Ricky said. As they started to head for the exit, Uli leaned over to Hal and whispered: You cannot tell me it is normal to talk about yourself in the third person in America.

I’ve got a feeling about this, Uli. I mean, he’s from a town called Battle Creek. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is, Hal whispered back.

"God help us, Uli mumbled to himself as they walked through the front door. Ryan was standing outside, and he did a silent double take when he saw Ricky. Oh, Ricky, this is Ryan, our drummer. Look, Ryan, he said yes! We finally have a guitarist! At least, on a trial basis. Isn’t that great? Hal asked, and Ryan’s eyes widened as he puckered his lips around his cigarette like he was going to take the rest of it in with one breath. Ricky took a nervous step back towards the tavern. I knew you’d be excited! Let’s go," Hal said as he started walking quickly down the street. Uli and Ricky followed close after. Ryan spit out the stub of his cigarette in a frustrated huff, and then trudged at a length behind them.

The rhythm of the tracks made a steady back beat for the tune Ricky was strumming on his guitar. The sun was high in the sky, and the country fields flew by in one continuous, golden blur. The temperature outside was in the mid 90s, and the window was half open to let the breeze in as the train chugged along. They had only been awake for a few hours, however, the heat made it feel like late evening, and everyone was slumped back in their seats, half asleep. So, the deal is… Hal started to say in a drowsy voice, and Ricky stopped playing and put down his guitar, …we have a once in a lifetime chance coming up in about a year from now to get discovered and get a foot in the door in the mainstream industry. But, we all agreed we needed a fourth man to be the designated guitarist to really make the band work.

Hal’s been our guitarist thus far, but he is also lead vocals, and he cannot play guitar and sing very well at the same time. Some sort of strange cognitive problem, Uli explained.

What can I say, I’m not a multi-tasker, Hal said.

We did finally get him to the point where he could walk and breathe simultaneously, Ryan mumbled, not looking up from his phone.

Shut up, Hal laughed, then looked back to Ricky. Now, the thing is, we’re a sort of unusual group. By that, I mean we do an extremely wide variety of music. Everything from punk rock, to metal, to standard rock and roll. We’ve never actually dabbled in any country music, but I don’t think there’d be an issue with throwing some of that in, as well. The main thing is, we need somebody that is willing and capable of playing a wide variety of styles, and is, perhaps, crazy enough to have some fun while doing it. So, how does that sound? Hal asked.

Ricky can do that! Ricky answered, nodding his head enthusiastically.

Hal raised his hands in the air in a welcoming gesture. Well, there we go, then!

So, what’s the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity y’all have in a year? Ricky asked.

Oh, right. So, we managed to get a slot to play at the Timberstash Music Festival in New York. Ever heard of it? Hal asked. Ricky shook his head no. OK, so, it’s a big deal for bands that haven’t quite hit it big yet. Producers and talent scouts stake out there, and a few groups usually end up getting signed every year.

Yes, and Hal got us a spot through a method we will call ‘creative exaggeration,’ Uli said, his arms crossed.

Hey, we’re going to deliver everything I said we would, and we have a whole year to figure out how, Hal said confidently, leaning back in his seat. So, total change of subject, where did you get that hat of yours? Hal asked Ricky.

Ricky’s brothers made it for him, to go with his nickname.

So, that’s a real raccoon? Hal asked.

Yep. They wanted to shoot one to make it, but Ricky didn’t want ’em to kill a poor little raccoon for a hat. But then we was headin’ home one night in Dad’s pickup, and one ran out in front of us an’ got hit. There was no way we could’a saw it comin’, so Ricky figured it was okay if they made a hat out of that one, Ricky explained.

You’re wearing roadkill... Hal said slowly.

Yes! Ricky answered with great enthusiasm.

Uli and Ryan both observed him cautiously out of the corner of their eyes, and Ryan cringed in disgust.

Okay then... Hal said. How did you get the nickname?

Ricky’s mom gave it to him. Somethin’ ’bout always creeping around in the woods at night.

Ooo… kay… Hal said uncertainly. What’s your real name?

Ricky Ransom.

That’s an awesome last name, Hal said.

‘Suppose… Ricky answered as he picked his guitar up again and looked back out the window at the farmland going by. The train began to go around a curve, causing the sun to shine directly on his face, highlighting something else peculiar about him to Hal.

Whoa! Does everyone in your family have eyes that color? Hal asked. Uli and Ryan both looked at Ricky, and noticed for the first time that he had brilliant seafoam-green eyes. They were lighter in the middle, with a darker green ring around the edge of the iris. Ricky looked around at them embarrassed. Uh, no. Just Ricky. Everybody else has brown eyes.

That’s weird. Are you sure… Hal didn’t get a chance to finish his question. Yes, the mailman had brown eyes too, Ricky said. Plus, Ricky looks a lot like his dad and most of his brothers. Just a freak of nature, ’spose, he said proudly.

Most of your brothers? Uli remarked in his thick German accent. How many siblings do you have?

Fourteen.

Fourteen!? Are you shitting me!? Hal repeated in disbelief.

Yep. Fourteen, Ricky confirmed.

How is that even possible!? Hal asked.

Mom married Dad young, and they’d had at least one baby every year an’ a half since then, plus a couple sets of twins...

Your parents are… busy people, Hal said with an uncomfortable laugh.

Yup, Ricky agreed.

What number are you? Hal asked.

Ricky is number four.

So, you’re towards the top of the food chain.

Yeah. Starting about when Ricky was ten, he was dad number three and parent number six whenever any of the younger kids needed somethin’, an’ everybody older was already busy.

I think I’m getting a clearer picture of why you left home now, Hal said, and Ricky shrugged his shoulders.

There were a few moments silence before Ricky looked at Hal and asked: So… what’s with the hair?

Hal smiled as he took his hat off, better revealing the thick covering of grey. "All natural. Born with it, just like my mom. Maybe he’s born with it…" he said in a high-pitched voice as he threw his head back and ran his fingers through the silver-grey strands.

That’s… interestin’, Ricky commented.

Yeah, well, just a freak of nature I guess, Hal said.

Although he was clearly trying to seem at ease, something about Ricky’s behavior had come across nervous and reserved up to that point. But he appeared to genuinely relax a little after Hal said that. So… um, are all y’all from Michigan? Ricky asked.

No, just me, Hal answered. Uli’s from Dresden, Germany, and Ryan is from Seattle.

How’d y’all meet?

Well, I was attending a music academy in New York, and Uli was in one of my classes, Hal said. Then Uli took over: I wanted to travel and get away from my mother and father for a while. They are very prestigious business people back home, and they had always planned for me to take over the company for them someday. But, I wanted to be a musician. They were not pleased with my decision, and spent all the time that we were together trying to talk me away from the idea. So, I decided to leave.

Oh, that’s rough, Ricky said.

Me and Uli actually ended up getting a lot of classes together as the year went on, and I finally convinced him to help me start a band, even though he thinks I’m a moron, Hal said, and Uli rolled his eyes. Anyways, we started playing little lounges and casinos, and we actually had a bit of success. Then we heard about a big music festival in Seattle, so we decided to go and check it out. After we left the stage for the day, this gangly, tattooed asshole with a mohawk came over to tell Uli what a crappy drummer he is. I asked him if he thought he could do better, he said yeah, and has sort of been traveling with us ever since.

I needed to get away from my parents too, Ryan said. We’ve had problems for years. But now we all have Hal’s mom to make us dinner and pester us to clean our rooms.

Us? Uli commented.

Hal’s mom is hot, Ryan added, and Hal lunged one hand across the table at him to try and hit him, but missed as Ryan jumped sideways into Uli. Uli shoved him forcefully back onto his side of the bench.

Anyways, yeah… we’ll crash at my mom’s house for a while, while we look for some new gigs. She doesn’t mind acquiring new sons, Hal said as he sat back into his chair.

That’s nice of her, Ricky said.

Yeah, Mom’s been really great to all of us.

You guys got other jobs, or do you make enough from playin’ to cover the bills? Ricky asked.

Combination of the two. Me and Uli worked as maintenance and sound setup at a nightclub in New York to get ourselves through school. When I moved back home, Uli came with, and we got hired for a while at a club in Detroit where I would also DJ occasionally. But, we ended up working there so much during the weekend that we couldn’t get any offers for performances since we were working through prime party time. So, now I work as a waiter in a steak house downtown, though occasionally I still do some freelance DJ-ing as well. I also used to work for UPS during the winter months, but I don’t know if I’m going to have enough time to do that this year. Uli works in the repairs department of an electronics store. Ryan works in a hardware store because, you know, it takes a tool to know a tool. And my mom is an assistant manager in a book store, so there’s that. But we try and not take too much of her money since she’s been so nice about not making us pay any rent. Each of us gets one utility bill to pay a month, and we all cover our own food and gas and call it even since she’d be paying the same amount on the mortgage even if we were gone. She’s sort of letting us have a few years to experiment and hopefully find success before we call it a failed operation and have to go out and get real jobs, Hal explained.

Well, Ricky can get a job to help since…

Whoa, hey, slow down. Sure, eventually that’d be great, but for now, we’re the ones who asked you to come with us, so you’re our guest. Give it a little time to make sure you can stand us before you start putting down any roots. We can be pretty annoying after a while, Hal said, and saw a small smile begin to form on the edges of Ricky’s mouth, revealing the little gap between his two front teeth.

Ricky shared a house with sixteen people and a single room with six other brothers. Ricky accepts your challenge.

They walked up a thin cement-step path to the front door of a little mint green craftsman house, dating sometime between 1900 and 1920. It was in decent shape for a house of its age, having been lovingly cared for by every family that ever lived there. It was one of the lucky ones. Many of the other homes in the neighborhood were not in such good condition. The door creaked and popped as it opened, and there was one resounding thud as a mountain of travel bags and instrument cases hit the hardwood floor inside. Frantic scuffling could suddenly be heard at the top of the stairwell. Uh, oh… Hal said, and a small grey cat came into view, tearing around the corner. It slipped on the top stair, and came tumbling head over paws down to the entryway where they were standing. ‘Wreeeeeee’ it made a squeaking noise that sounded far more like a rusty hinge than a meow, and Hal reached down and quickly picked it up. Slinky! You stupid cat! You’re gonna break your neck someday doing that! MOM, WE’RE HOME! Hal yelled into the house, and moments later, footsteps came running down the hall. A small, slender, pretty woman in her early 40s appeared at the top of the stairwell. She had on a white lace dress that came down barely past her knees, and silver-grey hair that was up in a short bob. Its lack of color didn’t make her look a day past her age. She looked better than her age, actually. A beauty queen with a few small wrinkles. Welcome back, everyone!

Hi, Mrs. H, Uli and Ryan said.

And you brought company! Who’s this? I thought you said you didn’t have any luck on the recruiting? she said as she started walking down the stairs.

Yeah, well, you go through five nice clubs, find nothing, and then you crash at the end of the day at the right tavern on open mic night, Hal said.

You know, life works like that all the time. And your name is?

Oh… uh, Ricky. Ricky Raccoon.

Ricky… Raccoon? she asked amidst a bubbly laugh. Okay, well, it’s good to meet you. I’m Cecilia Hulsing. Or Mrs. H, I guess, she said as she reached a hand out to him.

Pleased to meet you, ma’am, Ricky said as he took off his hat. Slinky suddenly began to squirm and writhe in Hal’s arms. Before he could put her down, she broke free and jumped off and landed on Ricky’s shoulders. She started to purr vigorously as she curved around his neck and rubbed against his hair, and Ricky reached up and started petting the back of her head. Hello, kitty.

Goodness, Slinky approves of your new recruit, Cecilia said.

I guess so, Hal said, baffled.

Well, come on in, dinner’s ready, Cecilia gestured towards the kitchen.

Mom, you didn’t have to do that, Hal said.

Yes, I did. God only knows what garbage you’ve been eating over the last week. Somebody has to make sure you ingest a little real food here and there.

You take such good care of us, Uli said.

It’s my job, Cecilia answered as they all walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Slinky was still riding on Ricky’s shoulders as he filled his plate, and as he sat down at the table and started shoveling food into his mouth.

A little hungry, were we? Cecilia said as four chicken tenders and a large pile of rice disappeared in a matter of seconds.

Ya. Haven’t had much food money as of late. This is really, really good, Ricky said.

Well, thank you, Ricky, she said, amused.

Ricky has been living the nomadic musician life for a couple years, Hal said.

My gosh, don’t you have a home to go to? Cecilia asked.

No, Ricky has a home. Just decided to travel, Ricky answered.

I can tell from that lovely accent of yours that you’re from the South, but where exactly is home for you?

Small town in Arkansas, ma’am.

I see. What’s the name of the town?

Battle Creek.

Really!? That’s quite a coincidence! I’m sure Hal already told you what his band is called and what city you’re in right now…

Yes, we already had that conversation, Hal confirmed.

So, if it’s a small town, probably not a lot to do there, huh? Cecilia asked.

No, ma’am.

Not a lot of opportunity to get a good job either, I bet?

Nope, Ricky answered quickly. Right as he was about to take another spoonful of rice, Slinky’s bushy grey tail, which had been resting draped over his shoulder, flicked up and hit him in the mouth. It left small clumps of little hairs on the spoon and a few on his face as well.

Cecilia jumped up and walked around the table. Oh, dear. Here, let me take her…

No, no, it’s okay… Ricky said as he picked the hair out of the rice, then reached up and scratched Slinky’s ears.

‘Wreee.’ The cat let out a quick squeak, and then started purring again.

You seem to have such a draw with her, she said. Ricky shrugged. No really, she never does this. I’ve never seen her hold still and ride around on anybody’s shoulders before, let alone get up on them herself.

Ricky and animals get along real good, Ricky said, and Cecilia raised one eyebrow at him.

If you don’t mind my asking, did you grow up on a farm?

Yes, ma’am. But not a livestock farm. Wheat farm.

Oh, wow. I know farmers have such a rough go at it. Are they doing okay without your help?

Might be doing better, Ricky answered.

Hal jumped into the conversation. Ricky has fourteen siblings, Mom.

Oh, my God! Your poor mother! Cecilia said.

No, Mom’s okay. It was her idea to have that many kids. Nobody really knows why, though, Ricky said.

It must be even harder to feed that many mouths, Cecilia added.

Yes, ma’am, it is. But we do hold the yearly record for fastest harvest in all ah’ Battle Creek.

Your family isn’t at risk for losing the farm, are they? Cecilia asked.

Well, things got real bad for a while ah’ few years back, and it looked like it was headin’ that way. ’Cause, even though some of us was growin’ up, there wasn’t any other jobs around. But then grandpa died, and we got his estate and money, which wasn’t that much, but Mom and Dad took a gamble with it and used all of it to send Rob, he’s the oldest, to medical school. He graduated an’ moved to Little Rock and got a practice there, and now he makes lots of money and sends enough of it home to keep the farm goin’.

Oh, good. That’s good to hear, she said.

Yeah. We got lucky with Rob. Rob’s real smart. The rest of us ain’t.

Now, don’t say that! Cecilia said firmly, and Ricky suddenly straightened up in his chair. Just because you don’t want to pursue a heavy-hitting career doesn’t make you any less intelligent than anybody else! Let me tell you something, I went to one of the highest-rated schools in the area growing up, and I’ll bet you anything that plenty of my classmates are still in some dead-end, low-wage job that never took them anywhere. I knew one girl named Elizabeth who was a straight-A student, looked like a supermodel, got voted senior prom queen, the works. A year or two after we graduated, we both ended up working at the same café downtown. Despite how she was in school, at work she was pretty much useless. She was always late, and nobody wanted to work with her because she did more damage than good. She got fired fairly quickly after I started there. It was a night and day difference from what she used to be. Granted, she was a rather severe case. There are people who do okay in a controlled environment, but once they get out in the real world and have to make their own decisions, they completely fall apart. She put her hands on the table and looked straight at Ricky. But you are a handsome young man who obviously has some incredible musical talent since you got invited by my son to come join this family. And, if you’ve been out in the world successfully taking care of yourself on a day-to-day basis, then you have a perfectly good brain in your head, and you’re going to make something of yourself unlike a lot of people out there. Even the ones who have college degrees. Cecilia finished her speech, and Ricky looked down at his plate and turned a light shade of red. The table fell silent, and she stood up and looked at the clock. Boys, it’s nice to have you all back home, but I’m going to bed early tonight so I can hit the farmer’s market first thing in the morning before they run out of fresh fruit.

Okay, Mom, Hal said, trying to keep a straight face.

You are not going to sit and eat with us? Uli asked.

Oh, I already ate earlier. I didn’t know when exactly you guys were going to show up, so I guessed later than sooner, to be safe.

Ah. Well, it was excellent as usual, Mrs. H.

Thank you, Uli. Put your dishes in the dishwasher when you’re done, okay guys?

Yes, Mrs. H., Ricky, Uli, and Ryan answered in perfect unity.

I guess I’ll see you all sometime around noon tomorrow, or whenever it is that you get up. Goodnight, Cecilia called as she headed back to the staircase.

’Night, Mom, Hal called after her. After she disappeared upstairs into her room and shut the door, Hal, Uli, and Ryan all looked at Ricky and started chuckling quietly.

You know… Hal started to say, "…if you ever get the urge to look at her blankly and say ‘Yes, mother’, she’s used to it."

She’s… nice, Ricky said quietly.

Yeah, she is. But there’s more to Hal’s mom than meets the eye, Ryan said as he got up and began scraping the remnants on his plate into the garbage. Her dad was the scariest mob boss in all of Detroit twenty-something years ago. Mrs. H is a tough ex-mafia princess masquerading as an innocent house mom.

Ricky looked up, shocked.

She never liked any of the mob stuff her dad did, but she does have a bit of his viciousness in her. You cross her, and she’ll kick your ass while you look on helplessly in terror. The bruise will be sore for weeks, Ryan said.

Yes, Ryan would be the foremost authority on Mrs. H’s ass-kickings, Uli added.

So… does your grandfather ever visit? Ricky asked Hal, nervously.

Oh, no, he was killed in a gun battle with the police when I was eleven, Hal answered.

Oh... sorry…

Nah, don’t worry about it. I didn’t understand much about it when I was a little kid, because he was always nice to me. But, knowing now what he did back then, the city probably got a lot safer once he was gone. It’s all in the past now, anyways, Hal said.

Ricky opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but stopped and looked back down at his dinner. Hal had seen that face many times before and already knew what the question was. Yes, my dad was in the mafia too. Except, he was in an opposing mob of my grandfather’s. He was sent as a hit man to kidnap and kill my mom to get revenge on my grandfather for something he had done to their boss. But, after he had kidnapped her, they spent a few hours talking in an old warehouse, and by the end of the night he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. They were so taken by each other that they ran off and tried to start a normal life together. Needless to say, my dad’s boss found out about what happened and was not pleased one little bit. They managed to hide in Atlanta for a while, but were eventually tracked down. One day while they were walking home along a side street, a car drove up and some guys leaned out of it and grabbed my mom. Before my dad could even react, they shot him three times in the chest. That was the last she saw of him. She escaped a few hours later when the guard watching her dozed off, and went back to the spot on the road and found a big puddle of blood, but no body. Now, the classic way the mob would dispose of someone was to use cement to sink them to the bottom of the nearest lake or bay, so that’s probably where he is. Mom didn’t know at the time that she was pregnant, so Dad never even knew I existed. After she made her way back home and found out about me, she told her father that she wanted nothing more to do with the family business, and that he could either take care of the both of us, or he’d never see her again. So, I grew up going on weekend fishing trips with one of the most dangerous men in the country.

Ricky stared at him, speechless. Hal quickly changed the subject. Anyways, like I said, it’s all in the past. There’s an empty room at the end of the hall upstairs. There’s a bunch of storage crap in there right now that we’ll have to clear out, but the bed should be accessible. Tomorrow you’ll have to show us more of what you can do with that guitar of yours. I also have a spare electric one that you can use.

Ricky ate the rest of his dinner without a word, took his dishes to the sink, then went to pick up his bag, all the while staring vacantly ahead while he digested Hal’s story. The cat never left his shoulders, and rode with him contently up the stairs and down the hall to the empty room.

Uli glanced in Hal’s direction. You like scaring people with your childhood, don’t you, Hal?

Hey, Ryan started it! Plus, I figure I should get it all out of the way at once. It was going to happen at some point anyways. Why put it off? Hal replied.

Chapter 2

(Bounce, Rock, Skate, Roll)

The crack of noon the next day found four hopeful musicians sitting in the living room of a modest craftsman house in the suburbs of Battle Creek, Michigan. The scene was a chaotic disarray of open luggage, dirty socks, empty soda cans, and half-eaten bags of potato chips.

So, Ricky, have you ever played an electric guitar before? Hal asked as he set a hinged case on the ground and pulled out a blue Fender Stratocaster.

No, but kinda tried to play electric guitar-like stuff on a regular guitar.

Well, let’s see how well that practice translates onto the real thing, Hal said as he handed it to him, then tossed the cord over to Uli, who plugged it into an amplifier. Ricky turned a few of the knobs, flipped the pickup switch a few times, and strummed a chord or two. Feel ready for heavy metal yet? Hal asked.

Ricky made some final adjustments to the settings, then immediately began plucking a fast pattern starting at the top of the neck of the guitar, then moving gradually down. He continued the complicated riff to nearly the highest frets at the bottom of the neck, then began to work his way back up again. His fingers were moving so fast they were nearly a blur, and when he finished, the room faded back to silence without anyone saying a word. Ryan raised both eyebrows in disbelief.

Uh, was that okay? Ricky finally asked.

Um, yeah. That should… that should be fine for what we’re looking for, Hal answered, trying to sound indifferent. He continued: Um, so, I figured today maybe we could spend some time getting you acquainted with our original songs, and with some of the classics we cover too. Maybe you’ll already know some of them? Then, later, if you’re up for it, we could have a little jam session, and see if we come up with anything new and good. Adding a new person in always helps.

’Kay, Ricky said.

I’m actually feeling jam session first today, Ryan said. Just in that kind of mood.

Alright. That’s fine with me if it’s okay with you two, Hal said, and Uli and Ricky both nodded.

But first… Ryan walked to the fridge and pulled out four bottles of beer, …a bit of extra inspiration, he said as he handed them over to Uli, Hal, and Ricky.

Oh, no thanks, Ricky said quietly. Ryan kept the bottle at the end of his outstretched arm in front of him.

That’s real funny, Ricky. You’re kidding, right? he said, then immediately realized from the uncomfortable look on Ricky’s face that it wasn’t a joke. Oh, no. No, no, no. Don’t tell me you don’t drink, Ryan said.

Uh… no…

Well, why not!?

Makes Ricky sick, Ricky said quietly.

Just one. One won’t make you sick.

It does…

Ryan, leave him alone, Hal came to Ricky’s aid.

"Hal, how the hell are we supposed to get along if the guitarist won’t get shitfaced with us!? How are we supposed to compose anything decent if one of us is sober all the time? Don’t you get what this means for the band if he won’t drink!?"

Uh, that y’all always have a designated driver and you can keep more of the beer for yourself? Ricky interrupted. Hal and Uli struggled to keep a straight face while Ryan turned slowly to look back at Ricky. There’s something wrong with you.

Prob’ly, Ricky answered.

ANYWAYS… Hal interrupted, …does anybody have something new they’ve come up with to start us off? And the rest of us can try to improvise something to go along with it? Ryan, you’re the one in the jamming mood, you got something?

Sure, why not, Ryan said as he popped the cap off the bottle and sat down at his drum set. I’m in a fast mood today, so I hope the rest of you can keep up, he said as he started pounding a beat on his drums.

The squeak of the door opening a couple hours later was lost to the sound of music flowing from the living room. Cecilia set the bags of produce down in the entry and stood as a silent observer while pieces of a song came into existence. After a couple of minutes, she slipped unnoticed into the kitchen.

Alright, let’s see how far we can get this time, Hal said.

Okay, here we go… 1, 2, 3! Ryan shouted.

It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine) by R. E. M.

The drumbeat exploded through the quiet room, quickly followed by Ricky’s guitar and Uli’s keyboard. It was a very fast paced song, and Hal sang his lines as quickly as he could without getting tongue-tied. Cecilia peeked out from around the corner and watched them again for a bit. Hal suddenly stopped singing when he noticed her, and the other three lost the rhythm one at a time and stopped as well.

End Song 7

Oh, sorry guys, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, Cecilia said.

It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting you there. When’d you get back? Hal asked.

About ten minutes ago. How long have you boys been at it?

Since noon.

The creative juices are flowing freely, I see.

Oh, yes, Hal said.

Amongst other things… Cecilia said, eyeing the empty bottles on the floor.

We’ll clean it all up, Hal said.

I know, Cecilia said. But this is your friendly reminder that you should consider putting something else in your stomachs besides beer. You want me to make you all lunch?

No, no, Mom. You made dinner last night. I’m the one who works in a restaurant. I’ll make something, Hal said as he got up and made his way to the kitchen. What do you want? Your choice.

How about a Turkey sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup. Make some for you and your friends, too, to offset all the junk food.

Coming up, Hal said as he began to grab supplies out of the fridge. Cecilia turned around with a smug smile on her face, and flashed a quick thumbs up to the rest of the room. They took a short break to eat, then went back to working on the song. They spent the rest of the afternoon making scattered progress on pieces of three different songs, and barely noticed the day had gone by until well after dark. By midnight, Ryan was passed out on the couch, and Ricky’s fingers were sore and bleeding from the new steel guitar strings.

Your fingers going to be okay, man? Hal asked.

Yeah. They’ll heal, Ricky answered.

I’m sorry, I wasn’t really paying attention, but you should have said something before they got that bad. I didn’t realize your acoustic guitar had nylon strings.

It’s fine. Didn’t really wanna stop playing anyways.

Alright, well, maybe we can just spend a few hours writing lyrics or something tomorrow before I have to go back to work on Sunday, Hal said, downing the last inch of the beer at the bottom of the bottle he was holding. It’d be best to not keep re-opening the wounds every day.

Yeah, prob’ly not, Ricky agreed.

I’m going to bed, Uli mumbled.

Me too, Hal said. He stood up abruptly and there was a loud pop. He paused for a moment before slowly bending backwards to stretch out his back. Crap, that didn’t feel like twelve hours until now.

Should someone wake him up so he can go to bed? Ricky asked, looking at Ryan.

Nah. He behaves himself when he’s asleep. Let’s not ruin it, Hal said as he gathered up all his notes. Ricky set the guitar gently against the wall and reached down and flicked off the amp. Uli unplugged his keyboard and started to fold up the stand. Hal waited at the edge of the room until both of them finished, then turned off the light as they headed upstairs. ’Night all, he said at the top as they split to go to their separate rooms.

’Night, they both answered back.

Hal woke up a few hours later feeling the effects of all the beer he drank and got up to stagger down the hall to the bathroom. The subtle thunk of the front door closing stopped him dead in his tracks. He quietly grabbed a thick wood baseball bat out of the closet, and glanced around the corner down the stairs just in time to see a figure wearing a raccoon hat jog out of sight around the street corner. His hopes sank. Shit… shit, shit, shit… He thought to himself. Was it the incident with the beer? He seemed like everything was fine after that… He walked halfway back down the hall and peered into Ricky’s room. All his luggage was still half-unpacked on the floor. He wouldn’t leave without his stuff, right? He looked back out the screen on the upper half of the metal door. What the hell? Did I just imagine that? He tried to recall the number of beers he had earlier, but kept losing count after four. Confused, he gave up and decided to figure it all out in the morning, and headed back down the hall towards the bathroom.

When he next awoke, the sun was beating down on his bed through the upper window. When he got up to close the blinds, he remembered what he had seen earlier that night, and ran silently towards the guest bedroom. He peered through the crack in the door, and saw Ricky sleeping on his stomach, with one dusty sandal hanging off his right foot. The cat was asleep on his back, curled into a fuzzy grey donut.

At breakfast, Hal glanced up again from his food at Ricky, who was starting to look a little more nervous each time it happened. So… where exactly did you go last night at three in the morning?

Cecilia peered over her shoulder from the stove, and Uli and Ryan halted their argument for a moment.

Uh… for a walk… Ricky answered.

At three in the morning, in a city you’ve never been in before, after an exhausting day of songwriting? Hal asked.

Insomnia, Ricky said with a fake smile.

That was enough for Uli and Ryan, who went back to their fight. Hal remained unconvinced. Ricky tried to appear unbothered as he went back to his food. The phone rang, and Cecilia reached to pick it up, but found it was missing from the wall charger.

Hal, where have you hidden the phone this time? she asked.

Hal jumped up and tried to find the source of the ringing. He paused momentarily in the doorway to the living room, and then dove into the couch cushions. A quick beep, and he raised the phone to his ear.

Hello?... Yeah, hi, Dave. What’s up?…Well, that sucks… Really? I mean… absolutely… sure, we can do that… four fifteen?… Yes, we will... okay, thanks, Dave. See you then. Bye. He dropped the phone back into the couch. Dave wants us to go play at the steak house again this coming Saturday.

Cool, Ryan said, his look of approval suddenly sinking to suspicion. Did his scheduled act die?

No, just a close relative of the lead singer.

Well, that explains it, Ryan said.

Hey, at least we’ve gone from ‘Well, maybe next time’ to back-up number one. I’d say that’s a start, right? Hal asked.

Don’t give yourself too much credit. Dave doesn’t quite count since he’s your boss. He probably feels sorry for us, Ryan said.

No, I know Dave better than that. If he didn’t want us playing there again, he’d straight up say so. He’s a nice guy, but he doesn’t do charity hearings for people he thinks suck.

Maybe he’s upgraded us to white noise, but I doubt it’s anything beyond that, Ryan replied.

Well, if that’s the case, then he’s going to be even more pleasantly surprised, Hal said as he looked over at Uli. We can get a good set together by then, right?

Of course, Uli answered confidently.

Yeah. Then, when he likes what he sees, we eventually become his main go-to, and use him as our reference for all the other restaurants in town, Hal said, and Ryan shook his head slowly.

Hal, remember to put the phone back on the charger, Cecilia said as he came back into the kitchen.

Don’t worry, I’ll get it in a minute, Mom.

She looked over at Uli doubtingly, but he was only able to offer up a sympathetic smile.

Later that afternoon, they had set up in the living room again to do more writing, but Hal finally had to admit defeat. I’ve got nothing.

Yeah, me either, Ryan agreed.

We did so good yesterday… Hal lamented.

Yes, Hal. We wore ourselves out, Uli said.