Page 58 of Clash
Snyder was as confused as I was. What the hell was he talking about?
“The hangarounds… aren’t we going to patch them in as prospects?” Skid reminded him.
“Oh, right. That. Yeah, call the three of them in here.”
Skid went flouncing from the room, returning a few seconds later with the three men who’ve been hanging around the club.
“We think you three have done a good job so far,” Snyder informed them. “We’d like to officially invite you to prospect the club.”
Their eyes widened at the same time as their smiles slithered across their face.
“The rules are a little different though,” I added. “If we say jump, you fuckers say how high. If we ask you to do something, you do it fast. Got me?”
They all nodded.
“You need names—names we can put on these,” Ranger said, producing three fresh cuts from out of nowhere. “We all get our names from rock legends. So, I hope you know who your favorite fucking band is. Otherwise, we’re gonna name you something shitty,” he said with a laugh.
Joaquin stepped up first. “I’m good with whatever you want to lay on me. I can take it,” he said proudly.
Skid was the first one to speak. “I’m voting for Pussycat,” he said, looking shy as fuck again.
“Why?”
“Probably because the fucker makes all the girls pussies around here purr,” Wasp grumbled. “They can’t stop fucking talking about him.”
Skid nodded in agreement. “Yeah, because of that.”
“You cool with that, Pussycat?”
Joaquin grinned, and I swear I caught him shooting a wink at Skid. I must be hallucinating.
“Yeah, like I said, I’m good with anything.”
He took a step back, allowing Gideon to take his place. “I’m cool with anything too, and my favorite band has been taken…” he said shooting a look over at the only man in the room bigger than him. “I love me some Metallica.”
“Well, that’s taken, but I’ve been watching you, and I think you have some dangerously wicked talents this club needs, so I’m suggesting Danger, after Danger Danger,” Snyder suggested.
He grinned. “Sounds good to me. It’s better than Pussycat,” he quipped, shooting Joaquin a coy smile.
“Fuck off,” he growled, flipping him the finger.
“And y—you?” Sandman stuttered. “Wh—what do you wa—want to be c—called?” His attention focused on Kody, who looked like he had never listened to a rock song in his life.
“I honestly don’t know. I’m a country boy at heart.”
Everyone groaned. “Get the fuck out of here with that country bullshit. First thing tomorrow, you’re gonna get a lesson in real music, kid,” Wasp yelled. “Even if I have to tie you down to a bed and force feed it to you.”
Kody looked sheepishly away. “I’m sorry, I lived on a farm, I was never exposed to any music besides country.”
“Kid’s lived a sheltered life,” Zeppelin said with a smile. “Just like you, Motley.” He elbowed Motley in the side, both men grinning.
“I ain’t that sheltered,” Motley grumped.
“Anyway, well, since you don’t know what you want to be called, we’ll have to come up with something.”
“What’s your parent’s names?” Snyder asked.
Kody looked confused.
