"Never been much of a gambler," Vic said, the company's books scattered across the desk. "But we have to roll the dice if we're going to stay in business."
Greg looked over at Dad as the retired Marine stroked his stubble.
"We've been waiting for the business to come to us, and that's worked pretty good till now," Vic said. "But losing Mr. Wilkins, we either need to scale back and let people go, or we need to hit the gas."
"What're you suggesting, boss?" Greg said.
"We've always kept our eyes open for project cars, and we've always made good money on them when we've sold them. We need to expand that. Not just two or three cars—a whole lot full of them. Twenty, twenty-five to start. And we need to have rolling stock at every car show this side of the Rockies."
Dad whistled long and low. "Starting would take every dime we have."
"And then some." Vic tossed a handful of bank brochures on the desk. "I'd need you to come back in as a partner. No one's going to lend that kind of money to a twenty-three-year-old. We'll probably need to use the house as collateral.
"Gunny, that's not a good idea."
Tony Grassigli raised his hand slightly. Greg shushed.
"Son, this business is yours. If that's the direction we need to go, show me where to sign."
***
"Where's your Caddy?" Dani said as she let herself in the passenger side of the '70s model Buick.
"Times are hard all around," Basil said. "And you need a solo demo. You can pay me back later."
"Thought they weren't signing glam acts?"
"So we buy you a lumberjack shirt. Makes no sense to me, but if that's what the kids want to see, that's what we'll give 'em. Worst case, we wait out the invasion of the flannel-wearing weirdos. How long can it possibly last?"
Dust and music flowed freely in the little studio Basil had dug up. Most of the time, Dani couldn't remember what they'd recorded the day before. Still, in less than a month, they were one song shy of Dani Glass' solo debut. Six songs, Basil said, would be perfect, allowing them to cut it for use as a demo or release it as is as an EP.
Dani couldn't remember their names, but best she could tell she got along fine with the studio musicians they'd hired. They acted like they'd known each other a long time—all but the keyboard player. He couldn't have been far out of high school and mostly kept to himself, sitting in a corner and hanging his head when not laying tracks. The others were quick enough to take Dani under their wings, talking shop and sharing whatever drugs were on the menu.
"Quit telling myself I was gonna quit years ago," said the drummer, a throwback to the early '70s with a backbeat as thick as his Southern accent.
"Yeah," Dani said, passing a laced joint. Easier to just avoid getting pregnant again.
A voice made Dani jump. She'd thought she was alone in the studio late at night.
"Why not just go home?" the voice repeated.
She turned, cussing a blue streak, to see a familiar face. "Stoner?"
"In the flesh. Been a fan since day one," he said, emptying a trash can. "Enough to know this ain't you. You look like hell."
"Why don't you go home?" It was all she could think to say.
"Got my dream job." He grabbed a push broom, starting in the corners. "Besides, I don't have a family that loves me to go back to."
The next day, Dani received an eviction notice and spent the rest of the day trying to reach Basil.
Trying to calm herself, she turned on the radio. Nothing but rap, bubble gum, or grunge. A vaguely familiar voice growled over a second-rate garage band. When the song wrapped up, the DJ announced, "That's the new one from Jon Ryder."
"Lyrics still stink," she said as she tried dialing Basil for the thousandth time.
"Look," he said when she finally reached him. "I've put everything I can into you. Hit up everyone I know. Called in every favor. No one's buying. They all say the same thing. You were just big enough in hair metal—can you believe that's what they're calling it now? You were just big enough we can't sell you as a grunge act. Word 'poseur' came up a lot. Face it, kid, you're busted. Time to go home."
"Can't." Dani needed a hit of something. Blow, preferably, but any port in a storm. "Got anything to settle my nerves?"
"I'll give you a lift."
"No way I could face my father like this."
"You're outta options, kid. But who knows? Maybe this Seattle thing will pass, and we can try again in six months."
Dani gulped hard, holding her hands tight to her jeans to keep them from shaking. "What about Playboy?"
***
"Not long ago, I worried about keeping the doors open," Vic said. "Now, my worries are finding employees to handle the workload. Any car salesmen looking for work in the house?"
A chuckle rippled through the crowd. There were no fewer than five car dealers at the breakfast.
"The just man walketh in his integrity," Vic read to the suits and ties gathered at Broken Yolk Breakfast Nook. "His children are blessed after him."
Setting his shiny new black leather Bible on the table, Vic thanked the Full Gospel Business Men's Fellowship for the opportunity to bring the morning's devotional. "The turnaround of Fidelis Classic motors can all be credited to the blessings of God passed on to me by my father, who walks in integrity. He served his country as a Marine. He served his customers and built the company by word of mouth. And it was the fact that his integrity was known far and wide that allowed us to take the steps we needed to take to recover after a difficult stretch. I am blessed, and I know someday my children will be blessed because my dad walked in his integrity."
By the time the meal was done, Vic had three invitations to speak at other chapters of the Christian business organization, two invitations to preach, and one burning desire—to build his business to the point that he could turn it over to someone else and turn his attention back to preaching the gospel.
Vic whistled an old hymn as he left the prayer breakfast. I can juggle business and ministry a few more years if I need to. There'll be plenty of chances to go on missions trips and do other short-term missions work. Contrary to everything he'd expected, sacrificing ministry goals to build his father's business actually gained him opportunities to preach.
"Lord, your plans are always better than mine," he prayed as a Prevost Coach pulled into the parking lot, a giant image of Jon Ryder screaming into a microphone stretching from top to bottom on both sides. He'd had his hair cut and wore brown flannel, but there was no mistaking Dani's boyfriend.
"Day keeps getting better," he said, adding a silent prayer of thanks. Maybe Dani's on board. He'd been praying for another chance to talk with her since the limo drove by the house that night. Might not have been her, Pastor Stenger said when they'd talked about it, but who else would drive a stretched Cadillac down his street in Rio Flaco?
The side door opened just as Vic reached the bus, and Jon stepped out, shielding his eyes against the light.
"You get one phone call."
Vic had never felt so sore.
The arresting officer hadn't cared what names the victim had used for his sister. He hadn't cared what kinds of details the victim had spouted of the things his sister had done. He hadn't cared that the victim had drawn a crowd or even that the victim had placed himself within two inches of Vic's nose.
The arresting officer cared that Vic hadn't stopped the ground and pound when told to do so. He hadn't cared whether Vic heard him.
"Don't ask any questions," Vic said when Greg answered the shop phone. "Come bail me out of the County Jail. Whatever you do, don't say anything to Dad."
The first cancellation was waiting on the answering machine when Vic got to the office. The pastor had seen the whole fight. By the end of the day, he'd received four more cancellations. The pastors and organization leaders were no more impressed with his reasons than the officer had been.
"Hello," Vic mumbled into the phone, expecting another cancellation. Just business, this time. More cars coming in. Big account, almost as big as the Wilkins account.
Big deal.
By that night, his fight and arrest were all over the local news. The next day, the Associated Press picked up the headline:
Part-time preacher publicly pounds rock star
The story, published all over the country, painted him as a religious nut who had stalked the singer waiting for revenge for dating his sister, whom the paper described as pursuing a solo career after the breakup of Inferno—the first Vic had heard of the band's demise.
"At least there's some good news in all this."