Not a good week for Johnny Chalk:
His dentist canceled an appointment, but still charged him for it.
His boss docked him for being late to work, because of that missed chair date.
His landlord posted an eviction notice-- the third such April Fool's Joke this year.
His girlfriend's cybernetic ventricle replacement exploded, leaving him with third degree burns and without any dates in the foreseeable future.
And then there was Monday Open Mic at the Trench...
"Give a hand to Billy Palace," Merc said, holding the Honorable Chalice of Tips, "He's the brand-spanking new Lord of the Trench!"
The audience clapped half-heartedly, frightened by Palace's last song, "Kill Me Curtly." Palace shrugged, stumbled to pick p the Chalice, and dropped into a nearby seat, luckily empty, though still to the chagrin of the couple sitting next to it.
Johnny Chalk, meanwhile, would have none of it.
"Think Billy'll do a third song for us?" Merc asked as Johnny stormed away from the stage, past the bar, through the door, and into Psych.
"Hold your horses, young 'un!" Psych said, steadying himself on the younger man.
"Did you hear? DID YOU HEAR?"
"It entirely depends,... Hear about what, Johnny?"
Johnny trembled in helpless fury as he struggled for a coherent response.
"Billy Palace is the new Lord of the Trench."
"Well, kudos to him," Psych said, then, looking closer at his friend, "and sorrows to you."
"Can you believe it?" Chalk asked, "Can you?"
"I think so..." Psych said, his hand no longer on his young friend's shoulder so much as to steady himself as to steady Johnny, "Do you want to talk about it...?"
"I mean, last time, when Porky Perplexia became the court favorite, I figured, 'whatever'."
Psych nodded. Johnny sipped in the back, while Jamie Black hammer-onned through "Can't Have It" in the front.
"Well, y'know, Billy puts on a pretty memorable show."
"I do, too."
"Not like Billy."
"Well, maybe that's what I should do, too, huh? Even Perplexia had that gimmick of his. Something dynamic... then I could be Lord of the Trench!"
"It's not such a big deal, Johnny."
"You can say that. Weren't you one of the first Lords?"
"The first, actually."
"Yeah, I can get a trick, something to make me special, something explosive..."
"Well, just don't go overboard, Johnny."
"Me?" Johnny said, smiling a strange smile and barely hiding a maniacal cackle.
Psych had a strange feeling about this.
When Johnny finally got home, he ignored the notices on his door. He was too busy carrying his supplies while kicking the entrance open to notice any paperwork lying around. This was a shame, since one pamphlet was slipped underfoot, which he promptly slipped on. On his back he landed, with all the boxes in his hands fell on top of him.
"Damn, damn damn," he muttered, hoping he hadn't broken any materiel. The blow torch seemed kind of delicate, and the explosive powder was, well, explosive.
He knew what he was doing. The library had been surprisingly useful on the topic of pyrotechnics. There was even an Explosives Section, which he used for a good hour.
The pyro-aluminum would give just the effect he was looking for. Shooting compressed air through an easily purchased pipe, a limited amount of the finely ground aluminum powder would shoot through the pipe, straight into his waiting blowtorch.
The effect, he anticipated, would be spectacular. A flash of electric fire, looking enough like lightning to amaze the awaiting Trench audience. It would work perfectly with his show-stopping version of "Lightning Strikes."
"Excellent," Johnny smiled uncontrollably. The unholy brief white flame that lit entire apartment was perfect. Wait'll they get a load of him.
Satisfied with the flame, he turned off the compressed air. It immediately stopped feeding powder to the blowtorch.
It was only then he remembered, only then that he realized as he watched:
€ The air shot no more pyro-aluminum out.
€ The flash-flame wanted something more to feed on.
€ The fire shot back through the pipe that had so recently fueled it, right into the hopper full of explosive powder.
In the instant it took Johnny to recognize all this, he said one thing: "Oh shit."
When Billy Palace plays, everyone listens.
That's not necessarily a good thing. Many people wish that they didn't -- listen, that is. They wish they could find some other way of going about that eight minute block at the Underground, that they could just have a pleasant conversation and flirt with those near them and drink heavily and just get HIS VOICE OUT OF THEIR HEADS.
But they can't. Because, no matter how you try to avoid it, when Billy Palace plays, everybody listens.
"Let's give a hand for that act," Merc said from the mic, as Billy Palace stumbled off-stage, "That was Billy Palace, the new Lord of the Trench!"
The audience clapped ferociously, if only to drown out the screaming in their heads after that last number, "Damn You for a Fool."
Psych didn't clap, though. He was deep in his own head.
"Hey," Dottie, the waitress of the unimaginable tattoos, said, "Haven't seen Johnny around this week. He all right?"
"No," Psych replied, "No, I don't think so."
"Well, if you see him, tell him I'm sorry about his old girlfriend, but I've got a stainless steel heart, too."
"If I see him, I'll let him know."
© 1997 jonberger@mailexcite.com
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