Greg had talked to a waitress at The Biscuit and found out that the house band at Billy-Eye’s, Orange Puke, would be performing two one-hour sets: one at 7:00, the other at 10:00. He and Cynthia decided to go back to their hotel and relax for a while and then go out for nice dinner. Then they would go to Billy-Eye’s between sets, and have a talk with the band member who had visited Edsel’s hospital room. They had agreed to spend another night in Orange and take Monday off from their jobs.
“Gee, they need a bigger parking lot,” said Greg.
“There’s a car pulling out,” said Cynthia.
Greg drove up to the open slot, parked the car, and killed the engine.
“What are going to say to her?” said Cynthia. “You’re not gonna just come right out and ask her if she tried to kill Edsel, are you?”
“No. I’ll be more subtle than that.”
“Maybe I should talk to her.”
“Why don’t we just play it by ear,” said Greg.
Greg paid the admission charge at the door, and the young female employee handed each of them a soft drink cup.
“You get free drinks all night, as long as you keep your cup.” She had repeated that phrase hundreds of times over the past three nights.
Greg and Cynthia quickly realized that they were the only adults in the building—other than the Buttards and the band.
“There they are,” said Greg, pointing.
The band members were sitting at a long table signing autographs.
“Look at that line,” said Cynthia. “This is going to take a while.”
Greg noticed the arcade room and pointed it out to Cynthia. “Hey, how about a game of Galaga?”
“Sure. But then I want to play Ms. Pac Man.”
“It’s a deal—if they even have those old games.”
They did—and they only cost a quarter.
Every so often between games Greg would go out to check the line. At 9:40, the last kid got his coke cup signed and the band members began to get up from their chairs.
“Excuse me,” said Greg.
E. Z. turned to face him. Craig had made name tags for each of the women to wear while they were signing authographs. Greg noted the name on her tag: E. Z. Bender.
“Hi, E. Z.” said Greg. “I’m Greg Tenorly and this is my wife, Cynthia.”
E. Z. nodded.
“We passed you in the hallway at the hospital this afternoon, and we were just wondering—”
Sondra overheard the conversation and quickly stepped in. “—I’m afraid this will have to wait. We’re back on stage in less than twenty minutes and we need that much time to talk about a few things.”
“Like what?” said Boomer.
Sondra gave her a dirty look. “Like why your D string was flat all the way through the last song.”
“What? No, it wasn’t.”
“Let’s go—now!” Sondra grabbed E. Z. by the arm and pulled her away from Greg and Cynthia.
“That was interesting,” said Cynthia.
“What?”
“Sondra didn’t want E. Z. talking to us. I wonder why?”
“I’ll bet she was the other woman Angie was telling us about. The two of them had a run-in with Edsel in Angie’s office. We need to talk to both of them. But we’ll have to wait. How about another game of—”
“—Centipede. Let’s switch to Centipede.”
“Okay.”
“You know, this place is for kids—not adults.”
Greg and Cynthia turned around.
“Hi. I’m Craig Buttard.”
Greg introduced himself and Cynthia and they shook hands.
“We’re from out of town,” said Greg. “But I grew up here in Orange. And this afternoon we were over at The Biscuit and we heard about this place. The waitress told us you’ve got a talented and unusual band. And I’m a music guy. I teach private lessons and directed a church choir. So, we just thought it would be fun to drop in and see what all the fuss is about.”
Craig smiled. “Well, that’s fine. No problem. It’s just that we don’t like to have a lot of adults milling around in here. It makes the kids uncomfortable.”
Cynthia wondered what these kids were doing that they didn’t want their parents to see. Then she noticed a young teen couple standing in the middle of the dance floor trying their best to lick each others’ tonsils.
“Where did you find this band?” said Greg.
“They’re brand new. They formed the band just this week—to get this job. One of the things we wanted was a band with a local-sounding name. Orange Puke was not exactly what we had in mind. But the kids love them. Have you heard about their… gimmick?”
“No. What gimmick?” said Greg.
Craig grinned broadly. “I’ll just let it be a surprise. Don’t miss the last song.” He walked away.
“What do you suppose they do?” said Greg. “Pull a rabbit out of a hat?”
“Look at that,” said Cynthia. The young couple was still in lip-lock.
“Better here than in the back seat of a car I guess.”
“What are you talking about? That boy’s not old enough to drive.”
He took a second look. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“I think we need to follow that girl home and tell her mother what she’s been doing up here.”
“Okay, settle down. We’ve got to stay focused. One or both of those women in the band tried to kill Edsel.”
“Maybe we should just call the police and tell them what we know. Let them handle it, Sweetie.”
“But that’s the problem. We don’t really know anything. If we can just talk to them, maybe they’ll let something slip.”
“Sondra isn’t going to let us talk to E. Z.,” said Cynthia.
“Then we’ll divide and conquer. You take Sondra and I’ll take E. Z.”
“How about if you take Sondra and I take E. Z.?”
“Okay. I don’t care. We’ll stay back here in the shadows, and maybe they’ll think we left. Then we’ll try to catch them off guard.”
Greg and Cynthia forgot all about the arcade. They refilled their coke cups and waited for Orange Puke to play.
It was nearly 11:00 PM when the band started playing “Puking My Guts Out (All Over You).”
“This must be the last song—the one with the gimmick,” said Greg.
“Why do you say that?” said Cynthia.
“Look at how the kids are crowding the stage. Everybody’s trying to get as close as possible.”
“What do think is going to happen?”
Greg shrugged.
At the end of the song, the three guitarists slung their guitars to their backs and stepped to the edge of the stage. They tilted their heads back in unison and then jerked them back down. The girls and even some of the boys screamed. The three women barfed all over the crowd.
Greg and Cynthia were alarmed and confused.
The women spewed a steady, powerful stream of slimy orange goo. The crowd of kids quickly dispersed. Then they started laughing wildly and shouting “Orange Puke!” “Orange Puke!” “Orange Puke!”
The drummer stood. Then all four band members took a long slow bow.
The crowd whistled and cheered and the women took another bow.
Cynthia saw a girl licking her arm—as though it were an orange Popsicle. A boy tried to steal a lick, but she swatted him on the head and pushed him away.
“This is crazy,” said Greg.
“You never know what kids will go for,” said Cynthia.
“Let’s just stay back for a while. Hopefully at some point E. Z. and Sondra will separate. Then we’ll strike.”
After a few minutes, Sondra walked by, heading for the exit. She was alone.
“I’ll catch her in the parking lot,” said Greg.
“Okay. I’ll stay in here and talk to E. Z.”
Greg followed Sondra at a distance. Just before she reached her car, Boomer Hertz ran past him and caught Sondra unlocking the door.
The bass player must have seen Cynthia talking to E. Z., thought Greg. She’s going to tip her off.
“Hey, Sondra, would you mind giving me a ride?” said Boomer.
“How’d you get here?” said Sondra with a scowl.
“I caught a ride with Cindy. But she’s got a date with Craig tonight. Come on—Butterfly Inn is on your way home.”
“Oh, alright. Get in,” said Sondra.
As they drove out of the parking lot, Boomer said, “This is great—being back together again.”
“Yeah,” said Sondra.
“I’m so glad you asked me to be in your band,” She put her hand on top of Sondra’s thigh.
Sondra snatched Boomer’s hand off her leg. “We’re in a band together. That’s all. And I’m just giving you a ride home. We’ve been through all this before. I thought you understood.”
“Sure. I do.”
Sondra hoped she hadn’t made a big mistake. But she had been desperate for a good bass player. Without Boomer, Orange Puke would not exist.
Sondra drove up in front of Boomer’s motel room door. “Well, see you tomorrow.”
“Come in for just a minute, Sondra. I want to show you something.”
“No, I’m tired. Whatever it is, I’ll see it later.”
“Awe, come on. It’s a cool new bass I’m thinking about buying. It’ll just take a second.”
Sondra hesitated. “Okay. I’ll come in for just a second. That’s all.”
“Great.” Boomer smiled as they got out of the car. She unlocked the door and led Sondra into her room.
A few seconds later, Greg drove by and spotted Sondra’s car. He made a U-turn and went back up to the front of the parking lot and found a spot between two U-haul trucks. He backed in carefully. He would wait there until Sondra drove by. Then he would follow her.
Greg turned off the engine and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to give Cynthia a call. It was dead. He thought about going into the motel lobby to make the call. But then he might miss Sondra.
If only he’d known what was to come, he would have left Butterfly Inn right then. He would have jammed the accelerator to the floorboard, sideswiping cars on the way out of the parking lot, burning all the rubber off his tires, blowing out the engine—whatever it took to get him far away from Sondra Crench.
If only he’d known what was to come.