Thank Again To Everybody Who Read Along With That’ll Be The Day: A Power Pop Heist Over The Last 12 Weeks!
As I mentioned in the final installment of my power pop-themed crime fiction novella, I don’t plan to serialize the sequel, Good Girls Don’t: A Second Power Pop Heist—but I am sharing the first chapter today.
If you’re interested in a signed copy Good Girls Don’t….
There are a handful of signed copies available exclusively through Big Stir Records.
Good Girls Don’t: A Second Power Pop Heist
by S.W. Lauden
Chapter 1 (Sample Chapter)
Fucking Record Store Day.
Jackson Sharp muscled down the crowded aisles of Cavern Vintage Vinyl. His Dwight Twilley T-shirt was damp with sweat and his head throbbed. Their record shop was lucky to get a handful of diehard music lovers on a normal weekend. But one Saturday every April the place flooded with wannabe waxheads. It was all his younger brother, Jamie, talked about for weeks. The timing couldn’t have been worse since their band was gearing up to record a reunion album.
“Beat City” by 20/20 blared overhead. Jack brushed bangs from in front of sunken eyes as he approached the counter. His hair had grown a few inches since he got out of prison six months ago. The length verged on a mop top now, thick black locks streaked with neon veins of silver.
Jamie barely looked up from the register. A brand-new Blondie T-shirt clung to his wiry frame, but his shag haircut was the same as it had been for decades. He slid a stack of records toward his older brother.
“Those go in the Indie Rock section. When you’re done with that, get that crate of new vinyl from the office. Somebody said we’re out of Taylor Swift’s new album.”
Jack had to give that some thought since their father was back there doing inventory. Of the three Sharp siblings, Jack was the only who never fully forgave their dad for skipping town when they were kids. The old man had recently come back into their lives, near the end of his thanks to a terminal cancer diagnosis. Their younger sister, Jenna, was a soft touch beneath her prickly exterior, especially when it came to family. While Jamie was always more “forgive and forget” than Jack’s “fuck you, forget it” attitude.
Jack turned to Jenna, her unruly brown curls tamed in a small pony tail. Black Flag’s iconic four-bar logo was emblazoned across her chest. She either didn’t get Jamie’s power pop T-shirt memo or, knowing Jenna, more likely completely ignored it. She winked at Jack before waving the next customer over. The checkout line stretched all the way to the back of the store. It had been like that since they opened eight hours ago. They weren’t scheduled to close for another four.
Jack quickly filed the LPs before ducking outside for a cigarette. The Tulsa air was still as he pulled a crumpled pack from the pocket of his jeans. He flipped his Zippo, sparking the smoke. A familiar voice came from behind him as he took the first drag.
“Your boss know you’re taking a break?”
Jack didn’t bother looking back. His drummer’s growl was unmistakable.
“Careful, Chaz. He might put you to work, too. Not that you know what that is.”
Jack brought the butt up to his lips as another voice chimed in.
“Actually, Chaz works for me. All three of you do, come to think of it.”
That got Jack’s attention. He whirled around to face Russell Patterson, the eccentric Memphis multi-millionaire funding the Jamie & The Jaxx reunion album. Patterson got rich building up a popular Tennessee restaurant chain called King’s Chicken Shack, but that was little more than a front these days. The Sharp brothers knew him as a ruthless collector who bought, stole, traded and sold music memorabilia on the black market. And now that they knew him better, Jack had a hunch that wasn’t the only illegal business Patterson ran.
The sturdy old man wore the same outfit as the only other time Jack met him in person—cowboy boots, blue jeans, plaid shirt and a white Stetson hat. He was flanked on either side by expressionless bodyguards. The one on the left glanced side to side, on the lookout for any unwanted surprises. The one on the right kept his dark sunglasses pointed straight ahead. They were a couple of joyless drones that made Jack uneasy.
His cigarette dangled as he spoke. “You in town for Record Store Day?”
It was a feeble attempt at a joke. Patterson coughed in response, or it could have been a laugh. The old bastard was too hard to read.
“We both know Record Store Day’s for amateurs. I’m here to check up on your progress. Chaz tells me things are going great. Can’t wait to hear some new Jamie & The Jaxx music.”
Jack shot his drummer a sideways glance. Chaz folded two thick arms, beads of sweat dotting his shaved head. A frown and a shrug was the best he had to offer.
Jack agreed with the sentiment. The new songs were…fine. Nothing to write home about yet. They’d need another solid month of rehearsals—without any more goddamned Record Store Days—before they had anything real.
Jack ground the cigarette into the sidewalk with the tip of his sneaker. “We’ve got a couple good riffs and a hook or two. Probably have something ready to play for you the next time you’re in town.”
Patterson’s laugh was unmistakable this time. “Well, I guess you’ll have to finish writing in the studio then.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve booked a week at MCA Whitney.”
Jack fumbled to light another cigarette. His mind reeled at the thought of recording a bunch of half-finished songs at a Los Angeles studio. The seasick feeling was nothing compared to what Patterson’s goons would do if the band didn’t deliver.
“Isn’t that where The Knack recorded their first album?”
“Yup. I spent a boatload of cash making sure it was fully refurbished. Only the best for Jamie & The Jaxx.”
Jack gave Chaz the stink eye. “That’s, uh… amazing. When should we be there?”
“This coming Wednesday. You’ll probably need to start driving on Monday. Make sure to bring all that new gear I bought you.”
Patterson threw an arm around Jack’s shoulder. His breath smelled of expensive cigars and mint juleps. “Speaking of The Knack, I got a little side job for you while you’re out in LA.”
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