Terror On Tour Chapter 7

Terror On Tour
Chapter 7

I came out of the broom closet, figuring there was no reason for hiding.

Seth Teller was standing in Ben’s doorway, two bigger meaner dudes behind him. One had a shaved head with a wicked looking snake tattoo on it. The other had longer dark hair and a scraggly beard. Seth’s mohawk was spikier and greener than I remembered in Port Salser.

You just don’t give up, do you, Seth said in his scratchy voice, glaring at me. Ben was fretting nervously beside me. Seth turned to Ben. I told you not to talk to this guy, he said with a scowl. One of his cronies, the one with the snake tattoo, advanced on Ben and grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the living room and pushed him down on the sofa. Stay there and keep quiet, the snake tattoo guy muttered.

Leave him alone, I blurted. I forced my way in here, he hasn’t told me anything.

Seth turned back to me. I don’t believe you, he mumbled. Anyway I’m going to take care of you like I should have done back in Canada. I can’t believe I had to come over here to London to deal with you and that sad band of losers who call themselves ComfortZone. That Corey Cross is a pathetic excuse for a singer. He can’t hold a note in a suitcase. Had to use up my frequent flyer miles just to come here and deal with you.

Why are you doing this? I asked with desperation, thinking of Dylan in the hospital. Where is Nate Sanderson? I asked, not really expecting an answer. And Sam Hunter? You did something to them back in Port Salser so they would miss the flight?

Seth just nodded. They’ll live, was all he said.

But why are you doing this? I asked again.

Seth just smiled. You don’t really expect me to tell you. Just give your friends a message for me. I can see you’re a tenacious bunch of jerks. I’m going to let them play their concert tomorrow, but don’t think that this is the end of it. I’m going to ruin them. Ruin them so bad no record company will come within 10 miles of them. They have a few more stops on the tour, so just tell them to watch their steps because I will be back. And what’s happened so far is child’s play compared to what I have in store for them in Paris.  They messed with the wrong guys and they’ll pay, he muttered.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the long haired dude advance on me from the left. Seth winked at him and before I could react, I felt a wallop on the back of my head, then intense pain before I blacked out.

I felt someone shaking me awake. Ooh, my head hurt, I thought as my eyes fluttered open. Ben was kneeling over me. Are you OK, he said.

I tried to sit up but a wave of nausea came over me and I laid back  down. I looked up at Ben. Did they hurt you?

No, he said, shaking his head. They’re gone. They whacked you then left. They threatened to beat me up if I tried to follow them.

I nodded and tried to sit up again. This time I didn’t feel like puking. I got to my feet and pulled out my cell phone. I called Van back at the hotel.

Are you OK? He asked hearing the strain in my voice.

Yeah, for now. How is the rehearsal going?

Good, he reported. No sign of any green Mohawks, he added.

That’s because it was just here, at Ben’s apartment.

What happened? Van exclaimed. Are you really OK?

He threatened us and he had two buddies with him. One whacked me good and I blacked out. They’re gone.

Whoa, dude, this is intense, he said. This is crazy. I’m going to tell the guys, they’re taking a break.

No! I said. Don’t say anything. I’m coming back there and I’ll tell you everything. First I’m calling the police, then I’ll be there.

Sure thing, buddy, he said. We’ll be here.

I hung up and turned to Ben. Thanks for helping me and I’m sorry you got involved in this mess. Ben just nodded. I wasn’t sure if he was ticked at me or not.

Just find those blokes, he muttered. They come in here making threats and they admitted they hurt Henry. You mentioned the police. I’ve already called them, they’re on their way. I’ll cooperate as much as I can. These punks really ticked me off and I want to see them caught.

That’s the spirit, I said with a weak grin.

The police arrived a few minutes later. I was glad to see it was DC Mendon—Mr. Opera, and his partner DC Albertson. We relayed what had happened. They already had Seth’s name in their reports so we gave them descriptions of his other two companions.

The gentleman with the long hair and beard is a local thug, DC Mendon reported. Billy Bob Morrow. We’ve dealt with him before. He’s a member of a local punk band, he added with a sour look.

Billy Bob, Ben snickered. What kind of a name is that?

The other guy, the one with the snake tattoo, is from Canada, from near Toronto, DC Albertson said. Chris Taunton-Reeves. He’s originally from London and was a well-known musician before moving to Canada to go to school. He’s since moved back here and is in a band called “Goody Two Shoes”.

It was my turn to snicker. You’re kidding, right?

Hey, I’ve heard of that band, Ben remarked. They aren’t too bad, actually. But I’m never listening to them again, that’s for sure. They’re nothing but a bunch of bullies.

DC Mendon sniffed. Well if that is all, gentlemen, we will be on our way. If you see any of those 3 hoodlums you will certainly contact us as soon as possible?

I nodded but I didn’t think we would run into Seth or his cronies any more in London.

And I was right. ComfortZone’s concert went off without a hitch on Friday night at the TopFlight Theatre. It was a swanky venue, at the back of TopFlight Records main office building in downtown London, near the Royal Opera House, a few blocks from where the Waterloo Bridge crossed the Thames. The streets around the theatre were narrow and lined with shops and restaurants. Some of the roads were cobblestone, others paved, most were one way as they were so narrow.

ComfortZone rocked the theatre that night, the audience was about 500-750 people, mostly young teenagers, but there were surprisingly a lot of young adults as well. ComfortZone appealed to young and old with their mix of pop and rock.

A lot of record execs were in the audience as well. I noticed Darius and his entourage and a bunch of dudes in suits who must he Darius’ bosses. Even with their stone faced expressions I think they liked what they saw.

There was no problems at the concert but Van and I kept our eyes peeled, me with a bandage on my head where that doofus Billy Bob whacked me. Seems I had needed a few stitches. Just wait till I meet up with those jerks again. Billy Bob had a left hook with his name on it. I scratched at my bandage for like the 10^th time when Van turned to me. Just leave it, you’ll make it worse.

I can’t help it, it itches, I muttered.

After the concert there was a reception in the main theatre hall. It was decorated in dark velvet, but there were strobe lighting and a long table filled with all kinds of food and punch and soda pop. At the end of the table there was a chocolate fountain and sticks with marshmallows and fruit to dip in the chocolate.

Wow, what I spread, I muttered to Corey who was enjoying himself, mingling among the crowd. Dylan had managed to make an appearance though he hadn’t played at the concert. He looked pretty good but was tired and had to leave soon after he arrived. He had been released from the hospital earlier that afternoon. The band would be leaving for Paris in the morning so he needed his rest.

Around midnight the party broke up and we headed back to the hotel and back to our rooms. No mysterious fruit baskets, no booby traps in our beds.

I called home again before getting into bed. It was 1 am by now. I told Dad about the concert and that Dylan was doing better. I had told him the day before about the attack and how Seth Teller was here in London.

We’ve found both Nate Sanderson and Sam Hunter, Dad remarked. The police had been out looking for them since the day you left here. Canning reported that they had been found together in an abandoned warehouse near the harbour here in town. Seems Teller had left them some food and water before heading to London but Nate’s in the hospital being treated for dehydration. Sam fared a little better and is resting at home. They are  of course peeved they’re not in Europe with you guys. They will be able to fly out there by the time you’re in Berlin on Monday. I’ll pay for their tickets.

That’s awesome Dad, I’ll tell the group.

I also did some more checking on Teller, Dad reported. I haven’t come up with much, maybe you can do some investigating while you’re there. I have to fly out to Tokyo in the morning. You remember Mr. Takada at the Metropolitan Museum there?

Yeah, I muttered.

Seems his nephew is missing and he wants me to help find him. So I said I would

Good luck with that, I remarked. Anyway, it’s time for bed, so I’ll talk to you later. Thanks again for all your help. We’ll catch these guys before they do any more harm. Corey and the band are doing an awesome job here. I think the record company execs are impressed.

In the morning, rain spattered the windows of the hotel room, waking me at 6 am. I showered and dressed in white t-shirt and black cargo shorts and met the gang down in the lobby at 7am.

We had a quick breakfast in the hotel restaurant then loaded our luggage and equipment into a taxi and headed to Heathrow Airport. Van and I kept a look out for Seth Teller or his cronies but they were nowhere to be seen. Teller threatened to show up in Paris, he knew the band itinerary somehow. This was an important clue, I realized now. How did he know the band’s itinerary. Only the band and the record company execs knew the specifics. But tickets had been sold so the ticket buyers knew the concert dates, but I somehow didn’t think Teller had bought a ticket.

The flight from Heathrow to Charles DeGaulle Airport in Paris took about 2 hours. We managed to get through the flight without incident and I was finally starting to relax when I saw him.

Teller was here—at the airport.

And he was watching us—from a distance. What was he up to? Once we were through customs—which took longer than I thought, he was gone again.

Our record company contact and tour manager for this leg of the trip while in Paris was a young guy named Remy Bernard. He was about 25 with a shaved head and dark goatee, dressed in t-shirt with a leather vest and jeans rolled up  and white sneakers. I saw polka dotted socks peeking out from on top of his shoes.

Silver chains with crosses dangled from his neck and silver chains were on both wrists. He waved us over and took charge, giving Van and me a look as if to say “who are you”. Your taxi is ah-waiting, he said with a heavy French accent. Your hotel reservations have been confirmed—we don’t want a repeat of what happened in London, do we? He added with a grin. Those Brits can be so confused sometimes. He laughed at his joke but it wasn’t very funny.

Very well, he said, clapping his hands together, the chains clinking together. Let us be on our way.

Our large taxi was loaded down with our luggage. The band equipment was loaded into the back as well. We had ordered a special taxi with extra storage in the back. We were about to climb inside when the taxi moved away from the curb and headed out into traffic.

Attendez! Wait! Remy called out, going after the taxi. Ou est-ce que vous allez? Where are you going?

Then I saw the driver. He had a green mohawk! The taxi driver was Seth Teller! And he was taking off with our stuff!