By the time the club had cleared out; various band members from both Dustins Dance and the Blue Collies had gathered behind the Interlude. The musicians were chatting and hanging out while trunks of gear rolled out of the back door. In no time at all, the road-trucks had been loaded.
The bass player for the Blue Collies was arranging their instruments into a small cargo-van. Brandon approached Rachael, the lead singer, who was sitting in the passenger seat with the door open.
"I'm really sorry about the sound problems," Brandon said, trying to make amends.
Rachael threw a nasty glare at Brandon and looked away. "You‘ll not see us again." She dug through her backpack. "Of course you'll be takin' care of yer' own and not the travelers. Thanks for the American treatment; you've lived up to everything we've read about you." She slammed the door in Brandon's face.
Brandon smiled through the window. "Maybe I'll see you again somewhere and make it up to you." He held his smile a little longer than usual. "Maybe with a nice dinner?"
As the van pulled away, Rachael glanced at Brandon and cracked a tiny smile.
Brandon walked away from the van and secretly disappeared for a minute. He wanted to take another gaze at the cylinder. He went to the front end of a road truck and ducked down low. When he opened his bag, the shine of the paranormal cylinder beamed out at him and once again; Brandon was in awe.
Reynolds came whizzing around the corner just then. Brandon panicked and zipped the bag.
"What ‘cha got there, pal?"
"Nothing, I was just looking for something."
"Oh yeah...what ‘cha lookin' for?" Reynolds asked, getting cocky. "Wouldn't be something you want to show me—would it?"
Brandon stayed calm; he could tell that Reynolds was trying to stir up a confrontation and he wasn't about to feed the fire.
"Must be that ‘special gear' you have?"
"Special gear?" Brandon looked up. "I don't know what you're talking about. We use the same gear you hook up every night."
"Really? Cause' while you guys were busy tearing-down every ounce of credibility we have...we noticed a few things of our own."
"Like those strange bolts of lightning. We don't set-up any gear that does that, so you must keep it with you." Reynolds sounded as though he felt left out. "And what are those images you're projecting? Where's the equipment for that? Don't you guys trust us?"
"You'll have to ask CJ about the projector...but I'm tellin' you; we don't have any special lighting. There were some serious—and I mean major, wiring problems tonight. Did you know that this place still runs on the original wiring ...from the twenties?" Brandon started taking a good angle. "It's a frikkin' miracle that no one got fried in there tonight."
"Fried? Really?" This had all been fun and games to Reynolds. The thought of someone getting electrocuted seemed to chip away at his snooty attitude. "Well...that might be, but...what about the gangster-looking dude on stage?"
"Reynolds...he was part of the—"
"What about the drummer of the Blue Collies tellin me he saw two—that's right—two different CJ's? When he asked us how we could tell CJ apart from his twin, we started catching on.