Characters: Detective John Clark, Lead Singer Deb Turbulent,
Bassist Chris Jones, Guitarist Jeff Zane, Keyboardist Jay Davis, Drummer Bill Webb

It was a sunny but cool Monday morning, about 10:30 a.m. I
had made it in late because, well, that isn’t your business.
Anyway, I listened to Sherry, my receptionist, rag me about
being late after telling me that I had a couple of calls from a
dame that seemed quite upset that I was not here yet. After
this weekend, a dame was the last thing I needed to hear
from. But again, that isn’t your affair either, is it?

Anyway, I had my feet propped up on the corner of my desk,
catching the sport scores from The Daily Grind in one hand
while alternating my other hand between a cigarette and a
nice cup of java that Sherry had poured me.

A couple of minutes later, I suddenly realized that this Monday
was not going to be like any other, because she walked in.
But, then again, so did they…immediately behind her.

She was one hell of a knockout…about five feet, eight inches
tall, with a page-boy haircut, a perfect height-to-weight
proportion, and a beauty complexion that made me want to
bask in island sun while sipping on coconut juice.

Deb Turbulent: Detective Clark, if you get in this late every
day, your weekly paycheck can’t be all that great.

Detective Clark: And, who says I get a weekly paycheck, Ms…

Deb: I’m Deb Turbulent, but don’t let the last name fool ya…
you’ll find I’m really a kitten at heart.

Clark: Yeah, I’ll bet. And, who are these fine looking upstanding gentlemen with you?

Deb: These fellas are the members of my band. Say Hi, boys…

Half of them nodded while the other half grunted, although I
couldn’t tell which half did which. I took this moment of brevity to remove my feet from my desk and sit up straight so that I could look like a Donald Trump employee as best I could. I also had the distinct desire to check my Beretta .380 to make sure it was loaded with silver bullets, as these guys looked like all they needed was a full moon to start a deadly party.

Clark: So, Ms. Turbulent…fellas, feel free to have a seat…just don’t take it with you when you leave, please.

Chris Jones: Why, you think we thieves?

Jeff Zane: Yeah, you think we’d be in this dump if we thieves?

Clark: Fellas, I didn’t mean to imply that…

Bill Webb: Yeah, yeah, yeah…let’s get outa here, Deb.

Clark: Hey, hang on…let’s start over, will ya?

I hadn’t paid the car payment yet, and the electric bill was
also closing in fast. I couldn’t really afford to lose these guys if they turned out to be viable paying clients. They calmed down a bit.

Clark: Okay, now what can I help you with?

Deb: Well, we’re like, one of the hottest bands in town, but we
can’t seem to sell many CDs anywhere.

Clark: Where have you been trying to sell them?

Jay Davis: Only about a million places.

Clark: Well, for now, just give me a few on your massive list.

Deb: On our website and at gigs, mainly. Oh, and we also have
a few copies in a couple of stores around town, but that means
nothing either.

Hmm…I pondered the situation for a moment…hot girl, and from the attitudes, probably a kick-ass band too. Hmm…why wasn’t the music selling?

Clark: Got a copy of your CD with you?

Jay: Sure…we never leave home without it.

Clark: I believe that saying is trademarked already by
American Express?

Chris: So? We’ll take it anyway!

I let that slide, with no response, as he did seem to be a ‘take all’ kind of guy, if you know what I mean. Jay got up and walked over to my desk while reaching in his pocket to withdraw a copy of their CD. Well, I was seriously hoping that it was a CD.

And then, there it was…

By yanam49

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