Sedona Law 6 by Dave Daren (best non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📗

was sarcasm or not. I wasn’t sure exactly what I would ask him, but I got the feeling he wanted me to know.

I arrived at the body shop, an eyesore off the highway.  It was a baby blue painted wooden garage with the lettering in faded white. A couple of old cars sat rusting in the gravel yard, but other than that, it was a desolate place.

Roy, whom I had only seen as the consummate rock and roller, had his massive frame bent over the open hood of a green Jaguar, that looked to have been made sometime in the 1980’s.

“Classic,” I remarked as I sauntered up to him.

He pulled his head out from under the hood and wiped his hands on a cloth.

“Could be,” he said. “It’s a project car for a client of mine. We’ve pretty much rebuilt it from the engine up over the last couple of years.”

“What’s he want to do, sell it?” I asked as I peered into the engine.

I wasn’t much of a car guy, but I knew a few things.

“Drive it,” he said as he unhooked the hood and slammed it shut. “He’s a young guy. Bought it dirt cheap, and sends it over to me when he can. I give him a good deal. One day it will be worth something. So I thought we could talk in the office.”

“Sure,” I said.

He brought me back through a glass door into a tiny and cramped office. The dimly lit room had a couple of folding chairs and dirty cream colored linoleum, and a sad looking gumball machine.

“Come on back here,” he gestured toward a small room with a desk. It overflowed with papers, and an old desktop computer.

“Have a seat,” he gestured toward a folding chair. “You want coffee or anything?”

I shook my head as I wondered if anything coming out of this office would be sanitary to eat or drink.

“Nah, thanks,” I said. “How’s business?”

“Good,” he pulled a canister of wet naps out of a drawer and scrubbed his hands as he spoke.“This is my side project, here. Music is my wife, and cars are my mistress.”

I laughed as I thought about my own work-life balance. “I understand the sentiment.”

“I opened this place a while back,” he said. “But the band had me touring a lot. Couldn’t stay put long enough to keep the business going. My nephew runs it for me now. So, it’s a good revenue stream and it allows me to travel. But, now with...uh...this whole thing…”

He shook his head and whistled and then he shoved the dirty napkins into a trash can.

“Man, it’s been tough on all of us,” he said. “The shop’s been great to keep my mind off things.”

“I bet,” I said.

“Losing James was hard,” he said. “I know some of the guys might have given you the wrong impression the other night, and they all feel bad about that, believe me. We’re a big family here, and families fight.”

They don’t typically make out with each other’s wives, though, I thought.

“How long were you with the band?” I asked.

“Uh,” he searched the ceiling. “I want to say six years?”

“How did you get involved?” I knew I sounded like a reporter, but I wanted to know if the Kelsi connection had anything to do with him joining the band in the first place.

“Listen,” he leaned forward and popped his meaty knuckles. “I’ve been in and out of the music business since as long as I can remember. I’ve managed bands all over. New York, San Francisco, I even lived in Australia for a while, and worked with a really great band, called SonicRush. We toured all over. We went to Hong Kong, Russia, Europe, Ibiza, you name it. We played everywhere. Do you know, that I once had drinks with Prince William?”

I laughed. “I did not know that.”

“Yeah,” he said. “He was in a bar and London, it was before he was married. I think Kate was in the picture, but it wasn’t serious. But he was into our sound, and he complimented us, bought us all drinks, and we hung out for a little while. Nice guy.”

“Impressive,” I said. “Why did you leave such a great gig?”

“Well,” a shadow fell across his face. “As things go, band politics are what they are. And, I think we all just outgrew each other.”

I nodded. Typically when people vaguely philosophize a parting of ways, they were at fault.

“Then,” he said. “I’d made some money. I was originally from Sedona. So, I took the money and came back home. Thought I’d do something new for a while. Created all of this.”

He gestured around to the shop.

“It was good,” he nodded slowly. “It was cathartic. Loved it. I grew up around cars, and when you’re dealing with these bands on the rise, you’re always fixing some hooptie van.”

I laughed. “I know that’s the truth.”

“Listen,” he said. “Touring is no glamorous business. Everybody wants to be a rock star. But, no one wants to be in the middle of the New Mexico desert, stranded on the side of the road, cause the alternator on your hooptie van went out. And, all that happened before smart phones. Back when you had those little uh...Nokia’s with the T9 texting, and the monochrome screen.”

He laughed heartily. “Trying finding a mechanic in the middle of God knows where New Mexico when all you’ve got are a couple of those.”

“I’ll bet that was difficult,” I smiled.

“Oh, I could tell you some stories,” he shook his head and clasped his meaty hands together over the desk. “So, after ten, fifteen years of that, I went to a mechanic school for eighteen months, and then opened my own shop. It’s been great.”

“How long did you own the shop before