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Ben awoke with the sun in his eyes and a merciless crick in his neck. When the agony in his back receded enough so that he could sit up properly, he noticed that the red pickup truck was parked before a tiny shop. The sign above the door said "Hartford Drug."
Ben swung his legs over the side of the bed and landed unsteadily on his feet. Landon strode out of the shop with a brown bag in his hands just in time to dump the bag on the ground and catch Ben before he fell.
"You all right?" he asked, grunting with the effort.
"Yeah... just fine," Ben huffed. "My legs are a little bit funny." Funny meaning they were completely numb. Ben guessed hitchhiking just wasn't in his blood. He should probably stick to tour buses.
"Are we in Connecticut?" he asked, stretching and rubbing feeling back into his legs.
"Yup. The capital. Hartford." Landon picked up the contents of the bag from where they had been strewn on the pavement, and offered Ben a bottle of chocolate milk. "Breakfast?"
Ben's stomach rumbled. He took the bottle and downed it. It tasted like chocolate plastic. He hurled the bottle in the trash and took a deep breath.
Okay, he was in Connecticut. That was what he wanted.
Now what?
The gig they had played a few nights ago was in some little venue called Lowery's, here in Hartford. Ben doubted that whoever took Tom was anywhere near Lowery's - or anywhere in Hartford, for that matter. Ben didn't even know if the motherfucker was in Connecticut at all, for Christ's sake.
"You okay, man? You look kind of sick," Landon said quietly. He held out the brown bag. "If you need to puke..."
Ben waved him away. "No, I'm fine."
Which was a big fat lie. Ben wasn't fine.
Michael had said the police were out looking for Tom, which meant there might be cops around Lowery's, which meant he might be able to glean some information from them. And if not, there was always Plan B: wrangle facts from Michael himself.
But before he got too ahead of himself, he needed to call his band and tell them he was okay. Ben fished a quarter from his pocket and jogged over to a graffiti-covered payphone in front of Hartford Drug. He dialed Jon's mobile number, since it was the only one he could remember.
Didz picked up on the first ring. "Hello?" he hissed.
"Hi, Didz!" Ben cooed cheerfully.
"BEN?!" Didz screeched.
Suddenly there were all sorts of scuffling noises and muffled yelps. Ben thought he heard Michael cursing faintly.
"Hello?" It was Jon on the phone now. "Ben? Where are you? Are you okay? Where did you go?"
"WHAT THE FUCKING HELL WERE YOU THINKING?" Michael bellowed in the background.
"Tell Mike to shut up. I'm fine, thanks. I'm in Connecticut."
"He's in Connecticut!" Jon shouted. "He says he's fine! And he says to shut up, Michael!"
"CONNECTICUT? WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING IN CONNECTICUT?!" Michael demanded loudly.
"Why don't you just give the phone to him," Ben suggested to Jon. There was a moment of silence as the mobile changed hands and then Michael started yelling again.
"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, BENEDICT GAUTREY, I AM GOING TO FLOG YOU SO HARD WHEN YOU GET BACK HERE!"
Ben held the phone a few inches away from his ear. Landon was standing by the pickup truck, watching in interest.
"I repeat, what the bloody hell are you doing in Connecticut? What is going through your twisted little mind? How did you get there?" Michael asked.
"I'm saving Tom," Ben said bravely.
Michael sounded as if he were having a cardiac arrest. "YOU'RE DOING WHAT?"
"Tom is in danger! I can't just sit by and wait for him to turn up dead. I'm going to find him." Ben cringed and held the phone farther from his ear, expecting a very loud exclamation of disapproval from Michael.
And exclaim loudly he did: "I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS! YOU'VE TAKEN THIRTY YEARS OFF MY LIFE, BEN, YOU BLOODY FUCKING CUNTY WANKER!"
"Look, Michael, everything will turn out okay. I'll get him back and everything will be fine."
"That's it! I'm calling the police. We're coming back to get you. Where are you? You stay right there! Right there, you hear me? Don't fucking move! Don't fucking move a muscle! The last thing I need is two missing band members! And don't think you can run from us either! The police will catch you and throw you in jail until we rescue your sorry ass!" Michael paused for breath.
"I'm really sorry to disappoint, Michael, but time is running out. I've got to find Tom. I was just calling to tell you I'm not dead, and Tom's not dead either, if I can help it. I'll call again soon."
Ben hung up and rubbed his aching ear. He never knew Michael could yell so loudly. Maybe they should offer him a position in the band.
"That was pretty intense," Landon said, munching on an apple, when Ben returned.
"Was it?"
"You looked like you were fighting with your girlfriend."
"Hah." Ben stole the apple and took a hearty bite and returned it unapologetically to Landon. "Not exactly."
TO BE CONTINUED
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