How Not To Be A Groupie

Chapter Sixty Two: Of Blood and Beauty

"Who's askin'?" Phil said. We turned to see a man about average height with a leather jacket draped over his shoulders. I coveted that leather jacket; it was pure, jet black. How he wasn't baking alive in it, though, was a mystery. The man had a cigarette in his mouth and he took it out to speak. 

"You're those guys from AC/DC," he said, looking Phil and Angus over. He was taller than both of them with what seemed to be a permanent sneer on his face. "I hear you guys on the radio sometimes." He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. "I'm not a fan."

Ignoring the slight, Angus spoke up. "You've heard of us, do ya' know about Bon?" he asked. "Where he is, or..."

"You lose him or something?" the man asked. "Heard that one's a bit of a wild card."

"That's besides the point," Angus said. I took a step back as he took a step forward. "If ya' haven't heard where he might have been there's no use shootin' shit." Where had this man come from? As we were leaving the pub I could have sworn I saw a man in a leather jacket sitting at the counter...could this be the same guy? Had he overheard our predicament? I wasn't sure I wanted to accept his help, if he offered any at all. 

"Easy, mates, I'm only making conversation," he said, as if we had been the ones to creep him out. "I haven't seen your drunk friend." My fists balled up. Not like I had any real power to use them if I wanted but digging my nails into my palms kept me grounded in reality. Who did this man think he was being so rude? 

"Right then, we're leavin'." Angus took my hand in his and led me away from the man. Phil walked beside us, all of us doing our best to avoid any trouble. 

"You know your band's gonna tank someday!" the man yelled behind us. I could hear his footsteps following us. Hearing footsteps behind me brought out a primal fear in me. I squeezed Angus' hand ever so slightly and he squeezed it back, not turning around. "That singer's gonna get himself into trouble!"

"Hey, mate, can ya' shut the fuck up?" Phil asked calmly but I could tell he was anything but calm. "Go back to the rubbish heap ya' crawled out of." 

The man didn't take Phil's advice and he kept following us. Even without his jeering and yelling it was still frightening to be followed by such a creep. If I hadn't been sweating before I sure was now. "Probably got himself drugged up," the man said, musing to himself. "Ditched your band for some booze."

"Hey, ya' don't know the man personally so I'd watch your mouth if I were you," Phil said. "That ought to get you in trouble someday."

"What, you gonna do something about it?" the man asked. We headed toward a busier side of town where there would be witnesses if this guy pulled something. But of course, most people were either at church or relaxing at home. They didn't want to spend their Sunday ridding the streets of pond scum. "I'm talking to you!"

"Don't look back," Angus whispered to me. "He's not worth your time." I wasn't tempted to look back but I could tell Angus was. Perhaps he was talking more to himself than to me. 

"You're has beens," the man continued. I really wanted to sock him one but I knew my hand would take more of the beating than his nose. I was pretty sure Phil broke his hand in a similar fashion. "Hear me? Your band is trash!"

"That's fine, mate," Phil said, urging us to pick up the pace. "We'll get out of your way then." Something flew by us and clanked to the ground, rolling across the sidewalk. It was an empty can. Fighting the urge to turn around, I got more than a bit scared and pissed off as more things went flying over us or very near us from all the garbage bins on the street. Not only was this guy making a huge mess of trash, he was crossing the line. Phil and Angus were only willing to take so much.