Blues
Richard Salsbury
Vinnie would do his nut if I didn't bother turning up, so I decided to ring him up and tell him I wasn't coming. For someone who claimed to be an anarchist he was pretty big on commitment.
"Hi, Vinnie."
"Alec, what's up?"
"Listen, I'm not gonna be able to hang out with you and the guys tonight."
There was a pause. "Why not?"
"Oh, it's just something I need to do, that's all."
But he wasn't letting me off the hook that easily. "Like what?"
"My old man ... y'know he made me promise something before he died. He said I should learn to play the guitar, so I'm going to take my first lesson."
"Oh, come on."
"Look, I can't go back on it - I promised."
"That's mean shit, that is - making you promise. Just 'coz he took up the guitar doesn't mean you should have to. What'd he play? Jazz?"
"Yeah."
"Jesus."
I didn't like the stuff either, but the way Vinnie said it offended me.
"Look, I'll be able to see you guys tomorrow."
"Great. Sounds like you'd better be going," he said.
"See you later."
"Yeah, right. And Alec, don't forget us, will you?" He hung up.
Why the hell did he have to say that?
"Haven't you gone yet?" gramps said, appearing from the kitchen with a cup of tea. "You'll be late."
"No! Look, I'm going now, alright?" I opened the front door.
"Don't you take that tone with me. I'm just trying to make sure you don't go back on your promise."
"And you think I would? Do you honestly think that?"
"No, you'll go ahead with it," he said, using that wise old man voice that irritated me so much. "It's a step in the right direction. You've lost your way since you gave up college."
"Don't start, gramps."
"What you really need is a job."
"For God's sake," I muttered under my breath, and stepped out into the street.
* * *
The music shop was at the end of a crumbling terrace that looked like it should have been condemned long ago. I'd passed the place many times and glanced at all the polished brass and wood in the window display, but I'd never been inside.
A bell rang as I went in. The place was more crammed with instruments than I'd thought possible.
"Hello?"
A man came shuffling in from the depths of the shop and regarded me over the top of his glasses. "Alec Rush? Tony Davis. Pleased to meet you."
Great, my teacher was a seventy year old fart. He hadn't sounded that old on the 'phone.
I shook his hand, carefully.
"Have a seat. Your grandfather told me how it is you've come to be here - I'm sorry about your father."
"You didn't know him."
"No ... of course not. It's a great gift he's left you."
"Yeah, right."
He looked surprised, and disapproving, making me regret what I'd said. Then he cleared his throat and turned to take an acoustic guitar off the wall.
"Let's get started then, shall we, Mr. Rush?"
"What, here?"
He looked around at the walls of instruments. "I can't think of any better place to play, can you?"
Over the course of the lesson he taught me three chords and how to move between them as quickly as possible. It was a lot more difficult than it looked and I wondered whether he was throwing me in at the deep end as a kind of revenge for my rudeness. I tutted in frustration as my ring finger, aching horribly, missed the A-string again.
Tony shook his head and sat down. "You don't want to do this, do you, Alec?"
I shrugged. "I'm doing it because I have to."
"Not a very good reason. You sound like you've given up already."
"Yeah."
He looked a bit annoyed. "Don't you owe it to your father to try a bit harder than this?"
It came slamming back into my mind's eye: my dad lying in a hospital bed with a tube up his nose; arm and leg in plaster; one of those machines breathing for him in the corner - all the damage the driver had done before losing control of his own vehicle and killing himself as well. And I was leaning forward to catch the words my dad couldn't say loud enough. Nodding my head ... agreeing to whatever he said ... anything.
I stood up. "You don't know shit - " I started.
"I'm sorry," Tony said. "That was very tactless of me."
For a moment I thought about walking out. I could end it all here and still have a good excuse for gramps when I got home.
"Please, sit down. Please."
I hardly even knew the guy and I was shouting at him already. I felt my anger turning to embarrassment, and I sat.
"Alec, I apologise. I had no right to say that."
"You're damn right," I mumbled, and for some reason I added, "But it's true, what you said. About him expecting me to ... you know ... I'm sorry, I feel like I've been wasting your time."
"Only if you've decided that you don't want to do any of this."
"No, look ... I'll give it a go. Really."
He looked at me for a long time.
"Okay, then. Perhaps we can approach things from a different angle: what sort of music do you like?"
"I dunno. I mean ... I don't listen to much." It was true. I pretended to like the heavy metal Vinnie listened to, but it really didn't do anything for me.
"Hmm. This doesn't make things any easier." He picked up an electric guitar and plugged it into an amplifier in the corner. "Well indulge me for a moment and I'll show you what gets me excited about music. If that doesn't get your enthusiasm going, I think we'll have to call it a day." After plucking a couple of notes and tweaking the controls, he began to play, tapping his foot as accompaniment.
I felt guilty. I'd decided that this was going to be a waste of time before I'd even walked into the shop, so I reckoned that whatever Tony played, I'd try and enjoy it. To my surprise, it didn't take much effort. I'd never shown any real interest in blues before, but the notes he squeezed out of that instrument took hold of me.
It was a wrenching piece of music. Tony couldn't have known how I felt about my father's death, and by my mother's ten years earlier, but no-one could have played anything like that without having gone through something similar. Tony Davis was an old man, and he must have seen a lot of people die. Although he didn't sing a word, the music spoke very clearly. It said: I know how you feel.
Finally he sat, and put the guitar aside, but the notes didn't stop. They were still echoing in my head. "What did that do for you?" he said.
I didn't trust myself to say anything - I'd made myself look a fool already.
"Would you like to learn how to play that?"
I coughed to clear the lump in my throat. "Tony, I could never..."
"Yes you could, given time."
"Really?"
"Oh, yes. My diagnosis isn't too bad - I've seen worse cases. And you don't seem to be in too much discomfort after those first three chords."
"Discomfort?" I said. "I feel like I've just put my hand through a mangle."
"Well, there you go: progress! Now, how would like to feel pain like that every week?"
I couldn't help but smile.
If he was here, Vinnie would tell me that the old guy was sweet-talking me into giving him some money.
"Yeah, okay. I'll be here."
* * *
"So where the hell were you yesterday?" Vinnie said, tugging at his goatee. He was sat on the bench outside the Post Office, with Karl and Jeff on either side of him, leaving me to stand.
"Another lesson. I couldn't ... you know ... get out of it." I shrugged.
"You could have told us," Karl said.
"Yeah, you missed some action down at The Basement," Jeff said. "We saw those college kids again. Vinnie gave one of them a black eye."
Great. Another night of quality entertainment.
"What's got into you recently?" Vinnie said. "Our company not good enough?"
"'Course it is. But, you know, I promised my dad - "
"Spare me - I've heard it before. You know, you weren't thinking straight when you told him you'd do that. This is the way people tie you down. You make promises like that, and before you know it someone else is living your whole sodding life for you."
I decided to butt in before Vinnie got going on the full 'Brothers in Anarchy' bullshit. "Well, yeah, but I can't go back on my word now, can I?" It was the sort of excuse I thought he'd respect.
"I think you're going 'coz you'd rather be twanging strings than coming out with your mates."
"Come on, I've known you guys since school. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to hang around with you, would I?"
"Well he's here now." Karl said. "Let's get started, eh, Alec?"
"Yeah. Gimme that, will you?" I took a can of Special Brew from the bench and yanked the ring pull.
Vinnie grinned, and I couldn't tell whether he was forgiving me or not. "We expect you to make up for lost time, you know."
He tossed a six-pack to me and I caught it by reflex. Right: one of those nights.
Vinnie had said that these drunken binges did me good, but I knew it was just an excuse to get wasted. When I woke up in the morning, my dad would still be dead.
* * *
Under Tony's instruction I made better progress than I'd expected. Apart from a lesson he cancelled due to his angina, we never missed a beat.
He tried me out on a number of other musical styles, but for me it was still the blues that did the trick.
"I'm teaching you completely the wrong way round," he said. "You're supposed to learn your chords and scales first and it's only later on that you put some passion into it."
But that was what attracted me - although I could only play a few simple things, I could play them with feeling. He taught me some of the more advanced techniques early on - vibrato, string bends, hammer-ons, pull-offs - the things that really got the guitar singing.
I always felt a sense of accomplishment after each lesson because he was always pushing me to the limits of my ability. The three semitone bend he got me to practise on the B-string almost sliced the tops of my fingers off, and his idea of sympathy was: "Try not to get blood on the fingerboard - I only oiled it yesterday."
I confessed to him that I was hooked.
"You have no idea how thrilled I am to hear that. Mary didn't appreciate the blues at all. Sometimes she told me she couldn't stand to listen to another note."
"So she made you stop?"
"Not likely! There was always plenty of room in the shed."
"For you or for her?"
He laughed. "I kept a guitar in there for emergencies."
"That reminds me ... Tony, I only get to play when I'm here, and I want to be able to practise on my own."
"And?"
"Would you let me borrow a guitar? I mean ... just a cheap one."
"Hm. Now I can't just loan these things out to people, can I? They're worth a lot of money. This is my business, you know."
"Yeah."
"I'd only let someone borrow an instrument from me in one circumstance, and that's if they worked for me."
"Okay, I understand."
He continued looking at me. "Well?" he said, finally.
"Well what?"
"Do you want to work for me?"
"Eh?"
"It may have escaped your notice, but I'm not getting any younger. I could do with an assistant."
I blinked. "I don't know what to say."
"How about 'yes'?"
"I'll have to think about it. There are some things I need to ... I'll let you know."
"Don't think about it for too long. I might hire a voluptuous young lady instead."
"You dirty old man."
He grinned and rubbed his hands together.
* * *
Vinnie got us drinking early on. By midday we were all pissed and when I've had that many I can't keep a secret if my life depends on it.
"I've decided," Vinnie said, "that we're gonna go up to London. Raise some hell. Monday afternoon. Right boys?"
"Can't," I said.
"What? Got a lesson, have you? In the middle of the day?"
The alarm bells started somewhere deep in my drink-sodden brain. I tried to think of something to say that wouldn't cause him to flare up.
"Speak up," Jeff said, "we can't hear you."
I looked at Vinnie and there was anger behind his face, ready to erupt. Suddenly I felt a lot more sober.
Well, sod it - he was going to find out sooner or later anyway.
"I start my job on Monday," I said. "I'm gonna be working in the music shop."
Silence.
"It just means I won't be able to see you guys as often, that's all."
Judging from their expressions, I couldn't have said anything worse.
"You know," Vinnie said, "considering he's dead, your old man is still doing a really good job of screwing you up."
If Vinnie hadn't been the toughest bastard I knew, I would have punched him in the face right there and then.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"This whole thing is a guilt trip, isn't it? If you don't do what you promised, you feel like shit."
"No, you've got it all wrong. I'm doing it because I want to."
"You're becoming respectable, Alec," he spat the word out. "Soon you won't have any more time for people like us."
"Crap! I never said that."
"You've betrayed your friends."
"What? Give me a break. Karl, Jeff, do you think I've betrayed you?"
"Don't start working on them, you bloody parasite! You can't have it both ways."
I didn't understand what he was getting at. However, I did understand that if I stayed around, Vinnie was really going to lose his rag.
I looked at Karl and Jeff - deliberately excluding Vinnie - and said, "Well, I'll see you around, guys." Before they had a chance to reply, Vinnie was on his feet, fists clenched.
I backed off. "Christ! Cool down, will you? I'm going."
* * *
There was plenty to do in the shop to take my mind off Vinnie. Even when I wasn't serving customers or sweeping the floor, Tony had me learn something about the instruments or about music in general. I continued the lessons in the evening and he stopped charging me for them. On top of that, he let me play anything he had in stock.
And Vinnie was always banging on about shopkeepers being shameless profiteers.
"Now you be careful with that," Tony said, handing me the 335. "It's the most expensive thing I've got in stock."
I took the guitar from him carefully and rested it on my thigh.
"Why this one?" I asked.
"This evening I'm going to teach you some B.B. King." He smacked his lips. "It'll be best if you have the right tool for the job."
I was limbering up with a couple of chords, trying to get used to the size of the guitar, when the bell on the door rang and a draft of cold air came in.
I looked up, and there was Vinnie, flanked by Karl and Jeff.
"I'm afraid we're closed," Tony said, standing up. "Opening hours are nine to five thirty."
Vinnie came in anyway, swaying slightly. "So this is what our friend Alec gets up to in the evenings."
"Mister, you're going to have to leave - "
"Play us a tune, Alec. Show us what's so bloody marvellous that you have to spend all your time here instead of with your mates."
"Vinnie, get out of here, will you? Look, I'll see you tomorrow. Promise."
"Yeah, bullshit."
He was close enough now that I could smell the drink on his breath. I became acutely aware of the value of the guitar sitting on my lap. He seemed to notice too, and before I could react, he had snatched the guitar out of my hands.
"You put that down," Tony said. "I'm warning you."
"You know, I don't see what's so great about this," Vinnie said, turning it over in his hands. "Just a bit of wood."
I tried to grab it, but he stepped back out of reach.
"Come on, Vinnie."
"But this is what's got between us, Alec," he said, shaking it. "We used to be mates until you picked this up."
I was going to say that we were still mates, but I hesitated, not wanting to say it while Tony was there. Perhaps I should have.
"I'm going to do something, and it's for your own good," he said, and he heaved the 335 over his shoulder, bringing the body crashing onto the tiled floor.
I heard a strangled gasp from Tony behind me as the maple split. Vinnie got in another almighty blow before I got to my feet and rammed my fist into his jaw. I was afraid for a moment that he would shrug it off, like one of those hard nuts you see in the movies, but he crumpled up just like any other human being. I knew from experience that Jeff and Karl would back him up, so I got the first punches in while they were still looking on in shock. Then, while they were tripping over themselves to get out the door, I turned back to Vinnie and kicked him in the head. I felt elated that I was beating seven shades out of the invincible Vinnie Marshall, but at the same time I knew that Tony would never forgive me for it. I just couldn't stop myself.
Finally, I eased up a bit and Vinnie managed to escape into the street. Suddenly everything was silent except for the sound of my own ragged breathing.
"Tony," I said, turning round, "I'm so sorry - "
He was lying on the floor, clutching his chest, the veins in his forehead standing out. I knelt beside him with my trembling hands hovering over him, not knowing what to do.
"'Phone!" he gasped.
Of course. Stupid. I stumbled over to the counter and called for an ambulance.
* * *
I expected them to take him away immediately, but they examined him where he was, lying in the middle of the floor with my coat under his head as a pillow. I stood to one side and chewed my nails, resisting the urge to shake the paramedics and tell them to get him to hospital.
Finally, after giving him an injection, they brought in a stretcher and moved him onto it. He beckoned to me and I leaned over to hear what he was saying while they took him out to the ambulance.
"Alec, I want you to run the shop in my absence." Will you do that for me?" He held out his hand. The shop keys dangled from his fingers.
"Yes, of course. But Tony, I don't know how to - "
"Please ..."
I took them.
"Promise me, Alec."
"Tony, we don't have to do this now. I'm coming with you to hospital."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
Tony was lifted into the back of the ambulance. I locked up the shop and climbed in after him.
* * *
Tony died before we got to hospital. I shouted at everyone in the ambulance, accusing them of waiting too long. Considering the things I said to them, they were very reasonable. They tried to explain what they had done and why it would lead to the best chance of survival, but I wasn't interested in their explanations. Tony had died anyway: they must have done something wrong.
Eventually I just gave in to a paralysed silence. It was like losing one of my parents all over again.
* * *
I returned to the shop the next day, eyes sore from lack of sleep. The fight had caused more damage than I'd thought. There were another four guitars with cracks or dents and one of the saxes had taken a battering. I cleared up the pieces, laid the instruments in the back room, and pushed a broom across the floor.
I should have gone to the police immediately after it happened, but what proof did I have that Vinnie was responsible for Tony's death? He hadn't even touched him. And the cops would soon find out that I'd been involved with these guys - I might end up facing a manslaughter charge myself.
The previous night, just for a moment, I had entertained the thought of killing Vinnie. I could go to his place while he was asleep, climb in through the window and slide a knife between his ribs. It wouldn't be difficult.
I was horrified by the idea. I wasn't the sort of person who could do that.
And yet ... what kind of person was I? One of the last things Tony saw was me assaulting my friends. He must have been thinking, What kind of person does something like that? What kind of animal have I been spending my time trying to teach? If I'd seemed like a lost cause when I started lessons with him, those final minutes of his life must have confirmed his worst suspicions. Tony died thinking I was a mindless thug, and I never had the chance to prove him wrong.
If I'd never ... it hit me like a physical blow; a thought so crushing that my legs give way and I found myself sitting on the floor. If I'd never met him, Tony would still be alive.
I sat there, not moving for a long time. After a while, I realised I was staring at the broom which I must have let go when I fell. I made no move to pick it up again. Who was I tidying the place up for, anyway?
* * *
I put the 'phone down and turned slowly towards gramps.
"What is it, Alec?" he said.
"A solicitor."
"Yes?"
"Tony left me the shop in his will. The whole shop and everything in it. All the stock." I felt numb, and looked to gramps for an explanation. "Why did he do that?"
"He must have thought you a decent sort."
Well, perhaps he did before that last night in the shop. But he had obviously written the will before that, and once I was beating the crap out of Vinnie and Co., it was far too late for him to change it. He was probably intending to rewrite it as soon as he got out of hospital.
"What are you going to do?" gramps asked quietly.
"He told me to run the place while ..."
What were his words? "Alec, I want you to run the shop in my absence". I thought he meant while he was in hospital, but he was very careful to make sure that I promised. Suddenly it became clear: Tony had known he was going to die. He knew the end was near and he still wanted me to run the place, even after he'd seen me attack my friends.
I was stunned. I had assumed that he was feeling contempt for me when he died. Perhaps he was just grateful that someone was trying to defend his shop. He'd given me everything he had. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't trust and respect me. I started to cry.
"How am I supposed to thank him?"
Gramps looked awkward. He wasn't used to seeing me like this, but he put a hand on my shoulder and I looked down at him through the blur of tears.
"I don't know if I can run the place alone."
It was exactly the same thing that happened with dad: he was dying and he got me to make a promise. I didn't think it was fair when dad did it, and I still didn't now that Tony had. But they were dying, and they knew that this was their last chance to make a difference. They honestly did what they thought was best, and I owed it to them to try.
* * *
It was hard without Tony - he had put in a lot of work I wasn't even aware of. Even when the doors closed in the evening there were floors to clean, instruments to maintain, accounts to keep. And I kept learning about music, so that if anyone knowledgeable came in I wouldn't feel too stupid trying to answer their questions. I was up at six every morning and didn't have much of a break until eleven at night, when I collapsed into bed. And I'll admit it: the work stopped me from brooding.
There were a lot of things that made it worthwhile. Bill Stokes, one of Tony's best friends, dropped by most days to shoot the breeze and play some ragtime. Parents brought bright-eyed children to buy their first instruments. There was a young woman who came in every Saturday to try a different guitar, and it didn't seem to matter that she never bought anything.
There were people who came by to say how sad they were that Tony was gone. At first I resented them talking about him, but after a while it didn't hurt so much, and a lot of the things they said about him surprised and amused me. They helped me to get to know him better.
I played the guitar every day. No, it hadn't been right for my dad to get that promise out of me. But, yes: it was a great gift.
* * *
Of course, they came back. They waited until it was near closing time, when there were no customers about.
"Hello, Alec." Vinnie said from the doorway. The other two stood just behind him. "We didn't finish our last conversation, did we?"
"Get out." I stepped from behind the counter, my mind full of fury and terror.
He ignored me, just like he'd ignored Tony. "We don't like sell-outs, do we, guys?"
The other two shook their heads, like puppets.
"I didn't sell out, Vinnie. I started making a life for myself."
"Bullshit! You've tied yourself down, that's what you've done. Chucked away your freedom."
"Freedom to do what? Get pissed every night and go looking for a fight? People don't do that because they're free, Vinnie, they do it because they're losers."
That got his attention.
For the last couple of weeks I had known that this moment would come. Now, the undercurrent of fear became a tidal wave, and I took a step backwards. Big mistake.
I was suddenly hunched up, knees together, forearms up in front of my face and stomach as the first blows fell. This time they weren't going to give me the chance to get the upper hand.
I could see nothing but the blur of fists and feet, but I could tell from the sounds around me that one of them was trying to wreck the shop while the other two laid into me.
I tried to convince myself, while I was suffocating in the pain, that this wasn't such a bad thing to happen. It was fitting for me to pay for my stupidity - this was my punishment for allowing myself to be lead by Vinnie; for drinking my life away when I could have done something useful with it; for resenting my dad's dying request when he all he was trying to do was give me something worthwhile. If I survived this I wouldn't have to feel any more guilt.
* * *
It has stopped. I take sticky hands away from my face and look around. Blood trickles into one eye, making me blink, but I can see that no-one's left. When did they leave?
I lay on the floor for several moments, trying to ignore the fire in my ribs. I think my left wrist might be broken. Around me are pieces of broken glass and the shattered bodies of instruments. Thank God the place is insured.
With a squeal of pain, I turn over and look up at the corner of the room. The security camera I installed last week is still there, undamaged, patiently recording.
When Vinnie, Karl and Jeff are standing in the dock, the judge will think he's punishing them for what they did to me. But that won't be true at all: this one's for Tony.
I hear the siren of an ambulance approaching, and in spite of my cracked lips, I smile.
THE END
"Hi, Vinnie."
"Alec, what's up?"
"Listen, I'm not gonna be able to hang out with you and the guys tonight."
There was a pause. "Why not?"
"Oh, it's just something I need to do, that's all."
But he wasn't letting me off the hook that easily. "Like what?"
"My old man ... y'know he made me promise something before he died. He said I should learn to play the guitar, so I'm going to take my first lesson."
"Oh, come on."
"Look, I can't go back on it - I promised."
"That's mean shit, that is - making you promise. Just 'coz he took up the guitar doesn't mean you should have to. What'd he play? Jazz?"
"Yeah."
"Jesus."
I didn't like the stuff either, but the way Vinnie said it offended me.
"Look, I'll be able to see you guys tomorrow."
"Great. Sounds like you'd better be going," he said.
"See you later."
"Yeah, right. And Alec, don't forget us, will you?" He hung up.
Why the hell did he have to say that?
"Haven't you gone yet?" gramps said, appearing from the kitchen with a cup of tea. "You'll be late."
"No! Look, I'm going now, alright?" I opened the front door.
"Don't you take that tone with me. I'm just trying to make sure you don't go back on your promise."
"And you think I would? Do you honestly think that?"
"No, you'll go ahead with it," he said, using that wise old man voice that irritated me so much. "It's a step in the right direction. You've lost your way since you gave up college."
"Don't start, gramps."
"What you really need is a job."
"For God's sake," I muttered under my breath, and stepped out into the street.
The music shop was at the end of a crumbling terrace that looked like it should have been condemned long ago. I'd passed the place many times and glanced at all the polished brass and wood in the window display, but I'd never been inside.
A bell rang as I went in. The place was more crammed with instruments than I'd thought possible.
"Hello?"
A man came shuffling in from the depths of the shop and regarded me over the top of his glasses. "Alec Rush? Tony Davis. Pleased to meet you."
Great, my teacher was a seventy year old fart. He hadn't sounded that old on the 'phone.
I shook his hand, carefully.
"Have a seat. Your grandfather told me how it is you've come to be here - I'm sorry about your father."
"You didn't know him."
"No ... of course not. It's a great gift he's left you."
"Yeah, right."
He looked surprised, and disapproving, making me regret what I'd said. Then he cleared his throat and turned to take an acoustic guitar off the wall.
"Let's get started then, shall we, Mr. Rush?"
"What, here?"
He looked around at the walls of instruments. "I can't think of any better place to play, can you?"
Over the course of the lesson he taught me three chords and how to move between them as quickly as possible. It was a lot more difficult than it looked and I wondered whether he was throwing me in at the deep end as a kind of revenge for my rudeness. I tutted in frustration as my ring finger, aching horribly, missed the A-string again.
Tony shook his head and sat down. "You don't want to do this, do you, Alec?"
I shrugged. "I'm doing it because I have to."
"Not a very good reason. You sound like you've given up already."
"Yeah."
He looked a bit annoyed. "Don't you owe it to your father to try a bit harder than this?"
It came slamming back into my mind's eye: my dad lying in a hospital bed with a tube up his nose; arm and leg in plaster; one of those machines breathing for him in the corner - all the damage the driver had done before losing control of his own vehicle and killing himself as well. And I was leaning forward to catch the words my dad couldn't say loud enough. Nodding my head ... agreeing to whatever he said ... anything.
I stood up. "You don't know shit - " I started.
"I'm sorry," Tony said. "That was very tactless of me."
For a moment I thought about walking out. I could end it all here and still have a good excuse for gramps when I got home.
"Please, sit down. Please."
I hardly even knew the guy and I was shouting at him already. I felt my anger turning to embarrassment, and I sat.
"Alec, I apologise. I had no right to say that."
"You're damn right," I mumbled, and for some reason I added, "But it's true, what you said. About him expecting me to ... you know ... I'm sorry, I feel like I've been wasting your time."
"Only if you've decided that you don't want to do any of this."
"No, look ... I'll give it a go. Really."
He looked at me for a long time.
"Okay, then. Perhaps we can approach things from a different angle: what sort of music do you like?"
"I dunno. I mean ... I don't listen to much." It was true. I pretended to like the heavy metal Vinnie listened to, but it really didn't do anything for me.
"Hmm. This doesn't make things any easier." He picked up an electric guitar and plugged it into an amplifier in the corner. "Well indulge me for a moment and I'll show you what gets me excited about music. If that doesn't get your enthusiasm going, I think we'll have to call it a day." After plucking a couple of notes and tweaking the controls, he began to play, tapping his foot as accompaniment.
I felt guilty. I'd decided that this was going to be a waste of time before I'd even walked into the shop, so I reckoned that whatever Tony played, I'd try and enjoy it. To my surprise, it didn't take much effort. I'd never shown any real interest in blues before, but the notes he squeezed out of that instrument took hold of me.
It was a wrenching piece of music. Tony couldn't have known how I felt about my father's death, and by my mother's ten years earlier, but no-one could have played anything like that without having gone through something similar. Tony Davis was an old man, and he must have seen a lot of people die. Although he didn't sing a word, the music spoke very clearly. It said: I know how you feel.
Finally he sat, and put the guitar aside, but the notes didn't stop. They were still echoing in my head. "What did that do for you?" he said.
I didn't trust myself to say anything - I'd made myself look a fool already.
"Would you like to learn how to play that?"
I coughed to clear the lump in my throat. "Tony, I could never..."
"Yes you could, given time."
"Really?"
"Oh, yes. My diagnosis isn't too bad - I've seen worse cases. And you don't seem to be in too much discomfort after those first three chords."
"Discomfort?" I said. "I feel like I've just put my hand through a mangle."
"Well, there you go: progress! Now, how would like to feel pain like that every week?"
I couldn't help but smile.
If he was here, Vinnie would tell me that the old guy was sweet-talking me into giving him some money.
"Yeah, okay. I'll be here."
"So where the hell were you yesterday?" Vinnie said, tugging at his goatee. He was sat on the bench outside the Post Office, with Karl and Jeff on either side of him, leaving me to stand.
"Another lesson. I couldn't ... you know ... get out of it." I shrugged.
"You could have told us," Karl said.
"Yeah, you missed some action down at The Basement," Jeff said. "We saw those college kids again. Vinnie gave one of them a black eye."
Great. Another night of quality entertainment.
"What's got into you recently?" Vinnie said. "Our company not good enough?"
"'Course it is. But, you know, I promised my dad - "
"Spare me - I've heard it before. You know, you weren't thinking straight when you told him you'd do that. This is the way people tie you down. You make promises like that, and before you know it someone else is living your whole sodding life for you."
I decided to butt in before Vinnie got going on the full 'Brothers in Anarchy' bullshit. "Well, yeah, but I can't go back on my word now, can I?" It was the sort of excuse I thought he'd respect.
"I think you're going 'coz you'd rather be twanging strings than coming out with your mates."
"Come on, I've known you guys since school. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to hang around with you, would I?"
"Well he's here now." Karl said. "Let's get started, eh, Alec?"
"Yeah. Gimme that, will you?" I took a can of Special Brew from the bench and yanked the ring pull.
Vinnie grinned, and I couldn't tell whether he was forgiving me or not. "We expect you to make up for lost time, you know."
He tossed a six-pack to me and I caught it by reflex. Right: one of those nights.
Vinnie had said that these drunken binges did me good, but I knew it was just an excuse to get wasted. When I woke up in the morning, my dad would still be dead.
Under Tony's instruction I made better progress than I'd expected. Apart from a lesson he cancelled due to his angina, we never missed a beat.
He tried me out on a number of other musical styles, but for me it was still the blues that did the trick.
"I'm teaching you completely the wrong way round," he said. "You're supposed to learn your chords and scales first and it's only later on that you put some passion into it."
But that was what attracted me - although I could only play a few simple things, I could play them with feeling. He taught me some of the more advanced techniques early on - vibrato, string bends, hammer-ons, pull-offs - the things that really got the guitar singing.
I always felt a sense of accomplishment after each lesson because he was always pushing me to the limits of my ability. The three semitone bend he got me to practise on the B-string almost sliced the tops of my fingers off, and his idea of sympathy was: "Try not to get blood on the fingerboard - I only oiled it yesterday."
I confessed to him that I was hooked.
"You have no idea how thrilled I am to hear that. Mary didn't appreciate the blues at all. Sometimes she told me she couldn't stand to listen to another note."
"So she made you stop?"
"Not likely! There was always plenty of room in the shed."
"For you or for her?"
He laughed. "I kept a guitar in there for emergencies."
"That reminds me ... Tony, I only get to play when I'm here, and I want to be able to practise on my own."
"And?"
"Would you let me borrow a guitar? I mean ... just a cheap one."
"Hm. Now I can't just loan these things out to people, can I? They're worth a lot of money. This is my business, you know."
"Yeah."
"I'd only let someone borrow an instrument from me in one circumstance, and that's if they worked for me."
"Okay, I understand."
He continued looking at me. "Well?" he said, finally.
"Well what?"
"Do you want to work for me?"
"Eh?"
"It may have escaped your notice, but I'm not getting any younger. I could do with an assistant."
I blinked. "I don't know what to say."
"How about 'yes'?"
"I'll have to think about it. There are some things I need to ... I'll let you know."
"Don't think about it for too long. I might hire a voluptuous young lady instead."
"You dirty old man."
He grinned and rubbed his hands together.
Vinnie got us drinking early on. By midday we were all pissed and when I've had that many I can't keep a secret if my life depends on it.
"I've decided," Vinnie said, "that we're gonna go up to London. Raise some hell. Monday afternoon. Right boys?"
"Can't," I said.
"What? Got a lesson, have you? In the middle of the day?"
The alarm bells started somewhere deep in my drink-sodden brain. I tried to think of something to say that wouldn't cause him to flare up.
"Speak up," Jeff said, "we can't hear you."
I looked at Vinnie and there was anger behind his face, ready to erupt. Suddenly I felt a lot more sober.
Well, sod it - he was going to find out sooner or later anyway.
"I start my job on Monday," I said. "I'm gonna be working in the music shop."
Silence.
"It just means I won't be able to see you guys as often, that's all."
Judging from their expressions, I couldn't have said anything worse.
"You know," Vinnie said, "considering he's dead, your old man is still doing a really good job of screwing you up."
If Vinnie hadn't been the toughest bastard I knew, I would have punched him in the face right there and then.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"This whole thing is a guilt trip, isn't it? If you don't do what you promised, you feel like shit."
"No, you've got it all wrong. I'm doing it because I want to."
"You're becoming respectable, Alec," he spat the word out. "Soon you won't have any more time for people like us."
"Crap! I never said that."
"You've betrayed your friends."
"What? Give me a break. Karl, Jeff, do you think I've betrayed you?"
"Don't start working on them, you bloody parasite! You can't have it both ways."
I didn't understand what he was getting at. However, I did understand that if I stayed around, Vinnie was really going to lose his rag.
I looked at Karl and Jeff - deliberately excluding Vinnie - and said, "Well, I'll see you around, guys." Before they had a chance to reply, Vinnie was on his feet, fists clenched.
I backed off. "Christ! Cool down, will you? I'm going."
There was plenty to do in the shop to take my mind off Vinnie. Even when I wasn't serving customers or sweeping the floor, Tony had me learn something about the instruments or about music in general. I continued the lessons in the evening and he stopped charging me for them. On top of that, he let me play anything he had in stock.
And Vinnie was always banging on about shopkeepers being shameless profiteers.
"Now you be careful with that," Tony said, handing me the 335. "It's the most expensive thing I've got in stock."
I took the guitar from him carefully and rested it on my thigh.
"Why this one?" I asked.
"This evening I'm going to teach you some B.B. King." He smacked his lips. "It'll be best if you have the right tool for the job."
I was limbering up with a couple of chords, trying to get used to the size of the guitar, when the bell on the door rang and a draft of cold air came in.
I looked up, and there was Vinnie, flanked by Karl and Jeff.
"I'm afraid we're closed," Tony said, standing up. "Opening hours are nine to five thirty."
Vinnie came in anyway, swaying slightly. "So this is what our friend Alec gets up to in the evenings."
"Mister, you're going to have to leave - "
"Play us a tune, Alec. Show us what's so bloody marvellous that you have to spend all your time here instead of with your mates."
"Vinnie, get out of here, will you? Look, I'll see you tomorrow. Promise."
"Yeah, bullshit."
He was close enough now that I could smell the drink on his breath. I became acutely aware of the value of the guitar sitting on my lap. He seemed to notice too, and before I could react, he had snatched the guitar out of my hands.
"You put that down," Tony said. "I'm warning you."
"You know, I don't see what's so great about this," Vinnie said, turning it over in his hands. "Just a bit of wood."
I tried to grab it, but he stepped back out of reach.
"Come on, Vinnie."
"But this is what's got between us, Alec," he said, shaking it. "We used to be mates until you picked this up."
I was going to say that we were still mates, but I hesitated, not wanting to say it while Tony was there. Perhaps I should have.
"I'm going to do something, and it's for your own good," he said, and he heaved the 335 over his shoulder, bringing the body crashing onto the tiled floor.
I heard a strangled gasp from Tony behind me as the maple split. Vinnie got in another almighty blow before I got to my feet and rammed my fist into his jaw. I was afraid for a moment that he would shrug it off, like one of those hard nuts you see in the movies, but he crumpled up just like any other human being. I knew from experience that Jeff and Karl would back him up, so I got the first punches in while they were still looking on in shock. Then, while they were tripping over themselves to get out the door, I turned back to Vinnie and kicked him in the head. I felt elated that I was beating seven shades out of the invincible Vinnie Marshall, but at the same time I knew that Tony would never forgive me for it. I just couldn't stop myself.
Finally, I eased up a bit and Vinnie managed to escape into the street. Suddenly everything was silent except for the sound of my own ragged breathing.
"Tony," I said, turning round, "I'm so sorry - "
He was lying on the floor, clutching his chest, the veins in his forehead standing out. I knelt beside him with my trembling hands hovering over him, not knowing what to do.
"'Phone!" he gasped.
Of course. Stupid. I stumbled over to the counter and called for an ambulance.
I expected them to take him away immediately, but they examined him where he was, lying in the middle of the floor with my coat under his head as a pillow. I stood to one side and chewed my nails, resisting the urge to shake the paramedics and tell them to get him to hospital.
Finally, after giving him an injection, they brought in a stretcher and moved him onto it. He beckoned to me and I leaned over to hear what he was saying while they took him out to the ambulance.
"Alec, I want you to run the shop in my absence." Will you do that for me?" He held out his hand. The shop keys dangled from his fingers.
"Yes, of course. But Tony, I don't know how to - "
"Please ..."
I took them.
"Promise me, Alec."
"Tony, we don't have to do this now. I'm coming with you to hospital."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
Tony was lifted into the back of the ambulance. I locked up the shop and climbed in after him.
Tony died before we got to hospital. I shouted at everyone in the ambulance, accusing them of waiting too long. Considering the things I said to them, they were very reasonable. They tried to explain what they had done and why it would lead to the best chance of survival, but I wasn't interested in their explanations. Tony had died anyway: they must have done something wrong.
Eventually I just gave in to a paralysed silence. It was like losing one of my parents all over again.
I returned to the shop the next day, eyes sore from lack of sleep. The fight had caused more damage than I'd thought. There were another four guitars with cracks or dents and one of the saxes had taken a battering. I cleared up the pieces, laid the instruments in the back room, and pushed a broom across the floor.
I should have gone to the police immediately after it happened, but what proof did I have that Vinnie was responsible for Tony's death? He hadn't even touched him. And the cops would soon find out that I'd been involved with these guys - I might end up facing a manslaughter charge myself.
The previous night, just for a moment, I had entertained the thought of killing Vinnie. I could go to his place while he was asleep, climb in through the window and slide a knife between his ribs. It wouldn't be difficult.
I was horrified by the idea. I wasn't the sort of person who could do that.
And yet ... what kind of person was I? One of the last things Tony saw was me assaulting my friends. He must have been thinking, What kind of person does something like that? What kind of animal have I been spending my time trying to teach? If I'd seemed like a lost cause when I started lessons with him, those final minutes of his life must have confirmed his worst suspicions. Tony died thinking I was a mindless thug, and I never had the chance to prove him wrong.
If I'd never ... it hit me like a physical blow; a thought so crushing that my legs give way and I found myself sitting on the floor. If I'd never met him, Tony would still be alive.
I sat there, not moving for a long time. After a while, I realised I was staring at the broom which I must have let go when I fell. I made no move to pick it up again. Who was I tidying the place up for, anyway?
I put the 'phone down and turned slowly towards gramps.
"What is it, Alec?" he said.
"A solicitor."
"Yes?"
"Tony left me the shop in his will. The whole shop and everything in it. All the stock." I felt numb, and looked to gramps for an explanation. "Why did he do that?"
"He must have thought you a decent sort."
Well, perhaps he did before that last night in the shop. But he had obviously written the will before that, and once I was beating the crap out of Vinnie and Co., it was far too late for him to change it. He was probably intending to rewrite it as soon as he got out of hospital.
"What are you going to do?" gramps asked quietly.
"He told me to run the place while ..."
What were his words? "Alec, I want you to run the shop in my absence". I thought he meant while he was in hospital, but he was very careful to make sure that I promised. Suddenly it became clear: Tony had known he was going to die. He knew the end was near and he still wanted me to run the place, even after he'd seen me attack my friends.
I was stunned. I had assumed that he was feeling contempt for me when he died. Perhaps he was just grateful that someone was trying to defend his shop. He'd given me everything he had. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't trust and respect me. I started to cry.
"How am I supposed to thank him?"
Gramps looked awkward. He wasn't used to seeing me like this, but he put a hand on my shoulder and I looked down at him through the blur of tears.
"I don't know if I can run the place alone."
It was exactly the same thing that happened with dad: he was dying and he got me to make a promise. I didn't think it was fair when dad did it, and I still didn't now that Tony had. But they were dying, and they knew that this was their last chance to make a difference. They honestly did what they thought was best, and I owed it to them to try.
It was hard without Tony - he had put in a lot of work I wasn't even aware of. Even when the doors closed in the evening there were floors to clean, instruments to maintain, accounts to keep. And I kept learning about music, so that if anyone knowledgeable came in I wouldn't feel too stupid trying to answer their questions. I was up at six every morning and didn't have much of a break until eleven at night, when I collapsed into bed. And I'll admit it: the work stopped me from brooding.
There were a lot of things that made it worthwhile. Bill Stokes, one of Tony's best friends, dropped by most days to shoot the breeze and play some ragtime. Parents brought bright-eyed children to buy their first instruments. There was a young woman who came in every Saturday to try a different guitar, and it didn't seem to matter that she never bought anything.
There were people who came by to say how sad they were that Tony was gone. At first I resented them talking about him, but after a while it didn't hurt so much, and a lot of the things they said about him surprised and amused me. They helped me to get to know him better.
I played the guitar every day. No, it hadn't been right for my dad to get that promise out of me. But, yes: it was a great gift.
Of course, they came back. They waited until it was near closing time, when there were no customers about.
"Hello, Alec." Vinnie said from the doorway. The other two stood just behind him. "We didn't finish our last conversation, did we?"
"Get out." I stepped from behind the counter, my mind full of fury and terror.
He ignored me, just like he'd ignored Tony. "We don't like sell-outs, do we, guys?"
The other two shook their heads, like puppets.
"I didn't sell out, Vinnie. I started making a life for myself."
"Bullshit! You've tied yourself down, that's what you've done. Chucked away your freedom."
"Freedom to do what? Get pissed every night and go looking for a fight? People don't do that because they're free, Vinnie, they do it because they're losers."
That got his attention.
For the last couple of weeks I had known that this moment would come. Now, the undercurrent of fear became a tidal wave, and I took a step backwards. Big mistake.
I was suddenly hunched up, knees together, forearms up in front of my face and stomach as the first blows fell. This time they weren't going to give me the chance to get the upper hand.
I could see nothing but the blur of fists and feet, but I could tell from the sounds around me that one of them was trying to wreck the shop while the other two laid into me.
I tried to convince myself, while I was suffocating in the pain, that this wasn't such a bad thing to happen. It was fitting for me to pay for my stupidity - this was my punishment for allowing myself to be lead by Vinnie; for drinking my life away when I could have done something useful with it; for resenting my dad's dying request when he all he was trying to do was give me something worthwhile. If I survived this I wouldn't have to feel any more guilt.
It has stopped. I take sticky hands away from my face and look around. Blood trickles into one eye, making me blink, but I can see that no-one's left. When did they leave?
I lay on the floor for several moments, trying to ignore the fire in my ribs. I think my left wrist might be broken. Around me are pieces of broken glass and the shattered bodies of instruments. Thank God the place is insured.
With a squeal of pain, I turn over and look up at the corner of the room. The security camera I installed last week is still there, undamaged, patiently recording.
When Vinnie, Karl and Jeff are standing in the dock, the judge will think he's punishing them for what they did to me. But that won't be true at all: this one's for Tony.
I hear the siren of an ambulance approaching, and in spite of my cracked lips, I smile.
