ᒪᗩᗪY ᔕTᖇᗩᑎGE

iii

"I'll go in." Sav said, parking in front of the orphanage. He looked at himself in the rear view mirror, fluffed his hair, and applied some more eyeliner.

"Pretty sure that's not gonna help your case." Joe snickered. "Not that you look bad or anything, but still."

"Shut up."

Sav got out of the car and walked up to the door, unsure why his stomach hurt and he felt jittery. Fuck. He opened the door and took a step inside, eyes trained on his black high top sneakers.

"Hello."

Sav looked at who he assumed was the receptionist.

"Er, 'ello. I'm here to ask about a girl?"

"Mhm. Let me get Ms. Foster."

Sav shuffled his feet and played with his necklaces, an age-old nervous habit.

"Good day, Mr..."

"Savage. Rick Savage."

"Mr. Savage."

"G'day."

"You're here to enquire about adoption?"

"Er, not exactly. See, I need to know about this girl. She, er, well, she has brown hair and blue-green eyes, and last I saw her, she had on a purple Queen shirt."

"What about her?"

"Do you know her?"

"Yes, she lives here."

"Can I talk to her?"

"Why are you here, Mr. Savage?"

Sav shuffled his feet. Jesus, this woman was intimidating!

"Well, you see, she was at our show last night—you see, I'm in a band—and she somehow got backstage. She gave Joe—he's our singer—a warning, told him not to board his flight, and the flight he was supposed to be on? Well, the plane crashed. No survivors. So, you see, she saved his life. And we'd like to thank her."

"A band."

"Yeah, Def Leppard. You know us?"

"Oh my, aren't you on tour with Mötley Crüe?"

"Yeah, that's us!"

"Good lord."

"Are you a fan?" Sav smiled. If he could win her over with an autograph...

"Heavens no! Devil music, that is!"

"Er, I'm Catholic, actually." Sav was not Catholic, then or ever. But hey, they did a cover of Personal Jesus. That's godly enough, right? 'Reach out, touch faith.' Sounded churchy. She didn't have to know that in the video, he'd moved his leather-clad hips in a way that was sinful at best, and he hadn't been shy about showing off his flat, tanned stomach. Hey, flaunt it if you've got it...

"Are you now?"

"Yes ma'am."

His use of religion and the word 'ma'am' seemed to suffice, and she nodded curtly.

"You've got to be talking about Jamie Sullivan. She's a problem, that one. Runs away, puts silly notions into the other children's heads...we'll be rid of her soon, though."

"What do you mean?"

"This is her fifth time running away, and when we catch her, she's going to the juvenile hall."

"Oh."

"Is that all, Mr. Savage?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Sav turned and let himself outside. Juvenile hall? The girl—Jamie—was going to jail, pretty much, and just for running away from a god forsaken orphanage.

"How'd it go?" Joe asked, turning down Mott The Hoople, which he had been playing from his phone. Sav regretted the day he'd taught Joe how to use bluetooth speakers.

"Well, she ain't there. Apparently she's a runaway, and when they catch her, she's going to juvie."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"Hey, mates..." Phil started, "I'm sorry to be so off topic, but y'know how we visit the record stores in each town?"

"Yeah?"

"There's one here. I called, and they've got the Deep Purple bootleg I've been looking for!"

"Are you suggesting we go there?"

"Just for a bit."

"Well," Joe considered, "Okay."

"But-" Sav protested.

"C'mon, it's just so Phil can get his record. This is, what, the seventeenth record shop you've been to?"

"Eighteenth, actually."

"Sav, there's a vintage thrift shop right down the street. It's called Sid & Nancy, and it looks just like your type of place."

"Fine." Sav huffed.

***

"Could we please listen to something else?" Phil begged.

"What's wrong with this?" Joe protested, always defending Mott. Did he ever listen to anything else?

"Nothing, except the fact that we've heard it three times already. Where the fuck even are we?"

"I dunno. Google says we have six hours and twenty minutes left." Viv said.

"Well, Google's fucking wrong." Sav snarled. "Gimme that motherfucker!" He snatched the phone from Viv's hand and squinted at the screen. "Someone find my glasses, I can't see shit."

Joe handed Sav a pair of pink reading glasses, and the bassist looked at the screen once more.

"Which of you idiots put the destination in?"

"Me." Joe snapped. "What's wrong with it?"

"I don't know, but it's taking us to somewhere in Tennessee."

"Oh, shit." Rick mumbled.

"Give it, lemme fix it." Joe demanded.

"I'll do it, goddamn it."

Sav punched in the address of the record store, and a route popped up.

"Forty-five minutes." He said. "Do I smell wine?"

"Oops." Joe shrugged. "I can't deal with you sober."

"Put it away, I'm not in the mood for going to jail."

Sav made an illegal U-turn and fishtailed back into the fast lane. Goddamnit, Joe.

"Hey, I'd like to survive this trip, if it's okay with you." Viv said.

"Me too." Phil agreed. "Maybe someone else should drive?"

"I'm perfectly capable, thank you very much." Sav turned off Joe's music, turned on the radio, and twisted the volume knob to the right, drowning out the protests of his band mates with Pink Floyd.

Take that, Joe.

Sav rolled his eyes. The blonde singer was drinking wine in the backseat, despite the earlier warning. Phil and Rick were laughing over something on Twitter, Viv was complaining about how he missed Stuart, and Joe was making eyes at Sav in the rear view mirror. Lovely.

"Sav, can you please slow down? We're going almost eighty!"

"Would you be quiet?" Sav groaned, but slowed down anyways.

"I could be quiet...but it's so much more fun to annoy you!" Joe cackled and took another swig of wine. "Turn that shit down, I wanna listen to Mott."

"How dare you disrespect The Backstreet Boys! And we are NOT listening to fucking Mott!"

Sav huffed. Joe would be the death of him someday, he just knew it.