Isaac Martinez

Friday June 3, 2022

Club Judas

Detroit

10:12 PM

The room was filled with excitement, my band mates eager to play their hearts out. All except our lead singer who seemed preoccupied with shit on his mind and myself, worried that the band might mess this up. The lead singer's name was Chuck De Silva, a local legend in the rocker scene. He lived and breathed the rockerboy lifestyle. He had a mowhawk, wore a battle jacket with only a single patch on the back, ripped jeans, and Doc Martens. He insisted on not wearing a shirt, and his single patch was that of a skull. Chuck was not a very big guy, standing at a mere 5'5" and scrawny as a toothpick. But damn, he could sing. We were both pissed off musicians angry about how Detroit was now a proving ground for corporations to set up shop. Our drummer, Jackie Davis, was too busy chasing tail to care about our message. All Jack cared about were the perks of being a rockerboy. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll were his mantra. He had his hair styled like a gonk, dyed fringe on the front with the un-dyed back shaved, and he wore a leather jacket with leather pants and cowboy boots. The guy stood tall and proud at six feet and knew how to rock the T-shirt with our band's logo. The only reason we decided to keep a poseur like Jack in the band was that he was the best drummer in Detroit.

Then there was our lead guitarist, Kerry Sanada, who was practicing along with me. Kerry was normally very talkative, never passing up an opportunity to talk about music theory. But tonight, he was even more focused than usual. Kerry wore cargo pants and a ripped shirt. The shirt in question was missing the left sleeve and the right was shredded to all hell and missing the shoulder, hanging on by a thread. He stood at five foot ten and wore his black hair long and proud. We simply played in unison until it was our turn to hit the stage. Not many people got a chance to play at Club Judas if they weren't headliners. Kerry wasn't at all nervous, and his licks were spot on as always. And lastly, there was our bassist Caleb Campbell, who was in the middle of a call. He wore a Detroit Pistons jersey with baggy jeans and shoes that I could only describe as fitting for the rest of his outfit. I'm sure he was busy talking to his parents about landing the gig.

"Izzy," Kerry said, "Your licks are on point as always."

"Same to you, Kerry."

I was the rhythm guitar player for the band. My style was a mix of metalhead and cyberpunk. My hair was worn with shaved back and sides, the top being long and hanging over the left side of my head and the back. My black leather vest had a standing collar with red LEDs on the inside and matched my black ripped jeans and converse All-Star sneakers. I also wore a Ninja t-shirt. Ninja was my favorite band. I could tell you where they first performed and when. But I didn't want our band to copy Ninja. We were rockerboys of own making. Not a Ninja cover band. So we decided to name our band Copperhand.

"I'm gonna go for a drink." I said.

Kerry responded with a nod. Jackie was hitting on a groupie and she was digging his style. I simply shook my head in disappointment as Chuck tried to get his attention. Kerry seemed unphased by the situation. Caleb was too distracted by his phone call. In my mind, I started to wonder how we've stuck together as a band for so long. I put away my guitar and headed for the bar, leaving the room where my band waited.

Nobody sat at the bar as everyone was too busy moshing to the band on stage. I think the band called themselves Nadashi. The bartender was a beautiful, dark skinned woman wearing a white tanktop. Her hair was dyed blue with black tips and she had synthetic eyes that gave off a blue glow. She seemed glad to see me at the bar. Nadashi was going ham and the crowd was loving them. Even I was noticing them and digging their set.

"You playing tonight?" She asked. "Copperhand?"

"Yeah," I replied. "We're on at 11."

"Pick your poison. Drink's on the house."

I thought for a moment. 'Should I simply order a beer, or put her bartending skills to the test?' I thought to myself. I then decided to ask her to prepare my favorite drink.

"Let's see if you can make this..." I said with a challenging smirk. "Double shot of tequila, one part lemonade, one part apple cider, a few drops of agave syrup, and a shot of lager."

"What do you call it?" She asked. "Because one's coming up."

"I call it the Rocker's Downfall."

"One Rocker's Downfall coming up."

She prepared my order quickly and with a certain flair that no bartender I've met had before. In no time, my drink was ready. The Rocker's Downfall was a recipe I learned from an old friend. He literally called it that because he was a fellow musician. The story was a tragic one involving repo men and a few dozen bullets. But I honored his memory by drinking the brew. It had a strange taste to it. The apple and lemon flavors clashed with the beer inside, but the tequila put it together in a way I couldn't begin to describe. I continued to watch Nadashi play an awesome set.

The crowd was going insane and really vibing to the band on stage. But something felt missing from their set. They had a message and they knew how to play their instruments. There was no question that Nadashi was talented. However, an element desperately needed to be added to make them legends in the rockerboy scene. Nadashi were mostly guys, but the female lead singer could belt out notes along with the big guys.

A random audience member approached me. He seemed strung out on something. His optics looking like they were malfunctioning and his clothes looked in poor condition. The jacket on him was in poor condition, but it was fully intact. All I could see was his bare chest and it looked like he hadn't eaten. Ever. His emaciated body gave hints enough that he was into some sort of drug.

"Hey, Izzy!" The stranger said, "Come try some free beetles."

"Dude! Back the fuck off!"

The beetle addict seemed very much offended by my comment. Beetle Man seemed to love Simulation Chips. He offered me a fake ass dream, but I hated that shit. I tried to back away from him but he took a swing at me. The last things I remember were the crowd watching his fist hit me in the face. I started falling to the floor quickly. Damn that bastard hit like a truck for someone who was all skin and bones. After a loud thud and a proverbial kiss to the ground, I lost consciousness.