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NOTE: I don't actually know the name of the Coopery Temples' manager. If you DO know, I'll bake you "Naked Ben Gautrey" cake. And maybe a Naked Kieran Cake to go with it. They get lonely.
Tom Bellamy was the kind of guy who forgot everything unless he did it the moment it came to him. Frequently, he had come rushing to Ben with his hair wild, his shirt on backwards and his teeth still not brushed. If he didn't write down a song as it came to him, it was likely the song would never get written down at all.
It was custom for Tom to disappear for a day without calling or a leaving a note. It was also relatively common for Tom to stop mid-sentence with a stricken look on his face, or randomly slap his forehead. "I forgot!" he would yelp.
"Yes, we know," his bandmates drawled back at him.
Currently, Benedict Gautrey was sprawled on a tour bus bunk bed, his hands tucked behind his head and his ankles crossed. The Cure was blasting over the speakers at the front of the bus, the bass turned up so loud that the flimsy windowpanes rattled. Didz was chewing a thumbnail on the bunk to his left, and Jon was dozing in the bunk above him. Kieran was dejectedly applying tape to a few knobs that he had accidentally broken off his keyboard in a moment of passion onstage. Dan was in the bathroom.
Ben didn't want to worry about Tom like he did, but it was useless. The poor boy was a disaster waiting to happen at every moment. It was impossible to try and keep him safe since he was totally wild; he darted from room to room during parties and went home with random strangers. He would even bring odd people back onto the bus for a beer or just conversation. Sometimes the other members of the band would discover these people until the bus had driven several hundred miles from its past location. It was a rough business, booting total strangers off your bus into the middle of nowhere, while Tom apologized profusely, hiding meekly behind Didz.
Their last stop on their tour - their first proper North American tour - had been in Connecticut. That was a source of great amusement for Tom and Didz: "Co-nec-tee-coot!" they often crowed, and then laughed hysterically at themselves.
Unfortunately, no one had thought to keep an eye on Tom during their stay in Connecticut, and he soon bored of the small-town groupies and weak beer and wandered off. The next morning, the group (minus Tom) had no choice but to keep moving. They all knew Tom would turn up later, so they left two roadies behind in Connecticut to drive him to Massachusetts, the next stop on their tour. And if he didn't show up in time for their show, that was all right - they could play a show or two without him.
Suddenly, the music died. Their manager, Michael, leaned into the narrow hallway of the bus where the bunks were. Kieran looked up from his battered keyboard and Dan emerged from the bathroom.
Michael took a deep breath and caught each of the band members' eyes before speaking. "You guys... Tom is missing."
He then cringed and bowed his head as if expecting and onslaught of gunfire, but after a few seconds of casual silence, he opened one eye and then the other.
"Well, yeah, he's missing," Kieran mumbled matter-of-factly, resuming the tedious task of taping broken knobs and buttons to his beloved keyboard. "We knew that already, Mike."
The others nodded in agreement.
"No, no," Michael said, shaking his head vehemently. His eyes were large and scared. "I mean he's gone. Missing. Kidnapped."
The last word wrung shouts of horror and disbelief from the five men. Didz, Dan, Jon, Ben and Kieran were on their feet in an instant. Kieran had stood up so fast that his keyboard toppled over and all his meticulous repair work was lost, but he didn't notice.
"Missing?!" they all demanded.
"You've got to be fucking kidding!" Ben yelped, his voice tinged with hysteria.
"Calm down! Sit down, all of you!" Michael shouted. "Shut up!"
Reluctantly, all of them save for Ben obeyed. Ben remained standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyebrows drawn down thick over his eyes.
"How do you know he's missing?" he asked angrily.
"Those two roadies we left behind to pick him up just rang." Michael waved his cell phone. "They said Tom had gone home with a couple of people and he told the roadies he'd meet them at this little pizza place in the afternoon. They waited for hours but he didn't show up."
"He probably forgot," Ben said, rolling his eyes.
Michael shook his head. "The roadies got a hold of the kids Tom went home with and they said Tom had taken a cab to the pizza place. Cabs don't get lost. Tom knew where he was going. And no one's seen him - or the cab driver - since yesterday afternoon."
Ben couldn't argue with that. His throat tightened.
"It's too late to cancel the show tonight," Michael said slowly. "But I've contacted the other venues and canceled. I've called the police around here and talked to the police in Connecticut and told everyone I knew to tell me anything they find out." He ticked it off on his fingers. "Hopefully this won't stir up too much trouble."
Ben felt dizzy. A hundred different scenarios flitted through his head, taunting him. Tom, blindfolded, mercilessly tortured, raped, beaten, murdered. Who the hell would kidnap Tom? He was a pretty big guy, capable of doing some damage with his fists, and he could be intimidating as hell when he wanted to. What was the motive? Tom dressed like a bum all the time and barely ever combed his hair or shaved. He certainly didn't look like he carried more than five bucks on him at any time, or that he had any more than five bucks in his bank account at any time either. It was stupid.
"Ben?" Didz murmured. "Are you okay?"
Ben shook his head. "No... I need to sit down..."
Tortured. Murdered. Beaten.
It was too much. How could something like this happen? How could they let it happen?
Michael put a hand on his shoulder. "Look, Ben, we've got everyone would could find all over this. We'll get him back, safe and sound. Everything will be fine."
There was a pause. Michael sighed.
"Come on. You've got a show to play."
CHAPTER 2
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