To Assassinate an Angel

Prologue - The Call

Sunday
November 18th 2007

Chuck's Basement

1 AM

"Four songs?  Hardly seems worth it." 

Steam curled up from the hot coffee that Pierre nursed in his hands.  He was facing his best friend in the relatively warm office that was sectioned off from the rest of the basement.  The wall was temporary fibro plasterboard that Chuck's dad had put up many years earlier.  The two men were alone going over the set list for the band's promo tour.   Simple Plan had released the first single of their forth-coming album several weeks prior.

Chuck Comeau shifted a pile of tops off a footstool, propping his feet on top.

"Yeah, maybe not.  But, it's all we have time for.  The schedule's real tight."

Pierre sipped at his drink, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste.

"Shit.  Why do I drink this crap?"

Chuck rolled his eyes.  "Because you don't sleep."

"Heh, anyways..." Pierre set the mug on the chair next to him and folded his arms.  "Whose idea was it to book the shows so close together?"

"Patrick's."  As soon as the other man answered, Pierre groaned and smeared his hands over his face. 

"Why the fuck did I even ask?  Of course, it'd be Pat's idea.  Fuck.  It's like he enjoys fucking with my head."

His friend frowned, eyes narrowed, the normally light brown hue, darker. 

"You can hardly blame him.  You did disappear for awhile."

Pierre shot a hard look at Chuck; when he spoke, his tone was defensive.

"That was real early in the year, after we came back from Brazil.  He could hardly fault me.  We all took a break.  And I was still writing for the album."

Chuck shook his head, exasperated.  "But you just went AWOL.  Kaput." He stood and paced across the small space.  Pierre watched him silently, his expression giving nothing away.  His friend went on, voice tight.  "Your cell was off and Pat...well he was going...going off his head." He swung around to face Pierre who just stared at him impassively.  "Where the fuck did you go, Pierre?"

Pierre shrugged one shoulder, leaning back against the chair.  He began absently running his hand over the tattoo that covered the entire length of his left arm.

"Las Vegas," he finally replied as he traced the outline of one of the pink flowers.  "But, you already knew that." 

Chuck groaned at the realisation that he was right.

"Yeah...Yeah.  Jesus.  I saw those photos."

Pierre bristled.  "Don't drag that up." His eyes flashed furiously.  Chuck held up his hands.

"Sorry, man.  I wouldn't, normally...but the fans..."

Pierre sighed letting his head drop back against the seat.  He knew what his friend meant; he'd seen all the posts on his personal MySpace page and on one of the fan sites concerning several supposed revealing pictures of him that were circulating on the net. 

"I know.  But it meant nothing.  I was just letting off steam." He paused.  "You know how I feel about chicks." 

Chuck smirked slightly.  Didn't he just.  "That's true." 

He sat again and they fell into a comfortable silence.  The only sound in the small office was that of their breathing and the hum of the desktop monitor.  After several moments, Pierre lifted his mug and took another long sip before continuing with their initial discussion.