CHAPTER 1; Pilot
Let's just get one thing straight.
Ash was, without a doubt, a musician.
Ash played guitar; she made music with an instrument. Therefore by definition, Ash was technically a musician. However, that's where disagreements started. Unlike during the 50s and 60s when it was created, rock was becoming more and more of a dying art. The complex structure and tempo of it alluded many, yet still went unappreciated by most.
Take one look at Ash and you knew that she was one of the few that appreciated rock. Obviously dyed, straight, jet black hair, ripped jeans that squeezed the ever-loving life out of her legs, a wardrobe of torn tee shirts that only consisted of red, black, and gray, and black eyeliner that might as well have been tattooed on her eyelids. If you were to look up "punk rock" in the dictionary, you would see a picture of her no doubt.
Her boyfriend was the exact same, some even called him "Ash in Guy-Form". It was no wonder they had gotten together in the first place. Sure, 3 years of living with what was basically her twin sounded nice, but reality has a tendency of sneaking up on you like that. Not that Lance wasn't attractive, far from it actually. Even with his long greasy hair and scrawny stature, it was basically a universally known fact that he was, indeed, hot.
Anyway, back to the point. For that stupid, dick head bar owner to claim that Ash wasn't a musician… how dare he?! Right? How fucking dare he?! All she wanted to do was get down from that stage, march over there, jump an extra 2 feet up and punch the asshat square in the jaw. In fact, that's exactly what she was going to do, however she was quickly interrupted.
"You know what? Just get out, I don't wanna make this a bigger deal than it needs to be," the balding man said, letting go of the wire he had unplugged a few seconds ago.
'Is.. Is this guy for real?' Ash thought. I mean, yeah, she knew there were jerks in the world but this guy had to have OD'd on his douche pills this morning. After noticing that neither one of them moved, the older man raised his voice.
"OUT I said!" he screamed and pointed at the front door. Beside her, Ash heard her boyfriend heavily sigh before walking down a set of stairs. Blinking rapidly for a few seconds, Ash followed, gathering all her belongings in silence, knowing full well that Lance was furious. With everything back in their possession, they both walked past the giant man with their heads high. Ash was tempted to flip him off, but used her better judgment instead. As the walked out of the bar, Ash heard the man say one last thing.
"Why don't you come back when you have some talent?"
That hit her. It hit her like a glass door in her face. Actually, that was what happened. Too stunned by the old man's words, the guitar case in her hands fell slightly. Trying to retrieve it, she failed to noticed the door Lance had let go of after passing, resulting in a door to her face. She played it off well, only shaking her head and pulling the door back to walk out, and praying no one saw that.
"Ash, babe, I'm the lead singer. Just stick to the backing vocals, ok?" Lance said annoyingly as they continued to walk forward, not bothering to look back at her. Suddenly, Ash panicked,knowing from experience that even though he seemed calm Lance was pissed beyond belief.
"Sorry, I," she stuttered a bit, thinking of an excuse. "I just get carried away," she said quickly, making sure to stay quiet and stay behind him at all time so he wouldn't lose it in public.
In front of her, Lance let out an angry puff of air, before quickly following it. "Yeah, I know," and that was all that was said.
It could have been way worse, Ash knew. But she also knew that she would likely be receiving an earful once she got home, listening to Lance scream about "you didn't listen" and "why can't you just let me do my song?" and "you always ruin everything". Frankly, she preferred him screaming over the psychological torture he was putting her through right now. He wouldn't turn around, he barely spoke and when he did he they were usually snarky comments, all of it pointed toward pure anger. However when she did manage to see his face, it was expressionless; staring into a vat of black and nothingness. So… was he mad at her or not?
Whatever, she'd find out at home anyways.
They finally made it to the train station without Ash even realizing. Being their main mode of transportation, both logically had a pass, so they got to skip the huge line and make their way to the platform. Lance sat on a rotting wooden bench beside her, grabbing a phone out of his pocket and transfixing any attention he had left on it. Ash set down her guitar case and leaned her back against a pillar crossing her arms and letting her thoughts drift away.
(The Way I Feel Inside by The Zombies)
On the other side of town Johnny stood leaning against a wall, his back facing an empty alley.
'This is boring,' he even thought in a British accent. So what was the bored boy to do? He started to sing.
In his rational mind, he knew he should stop, but that bloody song had been stuck in his head all day and he needed to do something, anything, to get it out. And as he sang the chorus, he noticed that the nagging in his brain had stopped.
Singing was his escape; not to sound cliche or anything, but it really was the truth. Singing gave him the option to do something he genuinely enjoyed, something he thought he was pretty good at, and mostly it provided he with a way to keep his sanity. In his day to day life, practically living off the stupid walkie talkie his father made him keep on his person at all time, it was fairly easy for anyone to lose their cool. His father would remind him every day, in their lives' work it was most important to keep a level head.
Johnny had always admired his father, even in his early years back in the U.K., he always looked up to him, both literally and figuratively. His father was what all considered "a true man"; tall, muscular, chiseled, he had it all. Johnny had been blessed with good genes and lucky for him, he inherited most of his father's. The physical similarities were almost uncanny; the brown eyes that seemed to shift golden in the sun, the naturally thick black hair, and the full cheeks that made them both seem years younger than they actually were. However, despite all their similarities there was one big difference.
Johnny wasn't too keen on crime. As a kid, he was always taught that stealing was bad, cheating was wrong, and etc. When he moved to America he had no idea what the future held. If you were to tell Johnny that two years after the move, he would be an accomplice in major crimes with the help of his uncles and father, he would have told you to piss off. Yet here he was, standing watch in an alley while the rest of the gang (literally, they were a gang) were off in some snob billionaire's girlfriend's house, where apparently he hid all his money.
'Bloody brilliant' he thought. He kept singing, hoping his father would be done soon so he could go "home". And by "home" he meant "garage-turned-livable-space".
Suddenly, he heard what sounded like static from a radio from the street. Shutting his mouth, he quickly ducked behind the wall without a second thought. Double checking to make sure what he heard was real, he peered over the wall, letting only a sliver of his head poke out. From this position he could see two cops, both idly walking and making conversation with each other. Panic rushed through him as he barely heard one of them whisper "Heard someone singing over here". He held his breath as they walked past the alley, waiting till they were out of sight to grab the wilkie from his leather jacket's pocket.
"Guys, listen. Stay where you are, the cops are h-"
The sound of shattering glass and alarm bells interrupted him, and from an apartment not to high above him, two men jumped out of a broken window. After them, three beige bags filled with what could only be assumed as cash, and lastly another man. The three grabbed one bag each and were prepared to flee until two cops blocked their path, yelling "FREEZE!"
Johnny focused on the last man, his father, as he glared at him. This situation was already turning into something far worse than it should have been and Johnny knew he would be getting heat for it, that is if they made it out. The panic seemed to rise as he breathing became more erratic. Trying to calm himself down, he pressed himself further into the wall behind him, focusing on slowing his breathing and repeating to himself over and over again "cool head, cool head, cool head."
It was only until the getaway car approached him did he realize what was happening. Johnny watched it pass him, then sprinted after it, determined not to let them leave without him. In the back of the trunk his father, albeit angry, reached his body out past the bed of the truck and extended his hand. Yet another quality of his father's Johnny admired; no matter the situation, family always came first in his mind.
Taking no time for hesitation, Johnny latched on to his father's hand, but was surprised when he was lifted up off the ground and flung onto three filthy bags in the truck bed. His father turned around with the same fury as before.
"Johnny, you were supposed to be keepin' a lookout!" he said in his thick accent. Johnny knew making any excuses now would only make things worse.
"I-I know, I'm sorry, dad-" he said.
"And where's your mask?!" his father shot back, gesturing to his own face.
'Oh right, I took it off,' Johnny thought while reaching in his pocket. 'Can't really sing that well with a ski mask on'. He slipped it on haphazardly, not caring how it looked in the end.
'Well done, Johnny. Brilliant.'
Leaning against the cold pillar, breathing in the summer air, letting her mind clear up of any unwanted thoughts, it was all almost tempting enough to make Ash fall asleep right there. Then she heard the sound of a train approaching, the brakes screeching to a stop and the sound of the automatic doors opening, letting people pour out. She stayed still for a while longer, figuring that it'd take a minute till she could actually get on the train. It wasn't until she heard Lance call her name from ahead of her that she opened her eyes. Grabbing her case, she was about to follow him when a paper flew and hit her in the face.
'What the hell?" she thought. 'What is it with me and getting hit in the face today,'
She peeled off the yellow paper, already starting to crumple it up until the bold print caught her eye.
"Singing Competition Auditions
The winner will receive a grand prize of $100,000! "
She blinked once, clearing her eyes up in case she had read the paper wrong. Again, she read the paper and to her surprise she read the same thing. Suddenly, her breath was caught in her throat and she dropped the case in her other hand.
'$100,000?! Holy hell, that's a lot of cash!" she thought. It was enough for everything the pair could ever want; new gear, recording studio, advertisement, even some extra for savings. And all they had to do was win a competition?! Lance would be so excited!
Speaking of Lance, where'd he go?
She tore her eyes off the yellow paper and looked through the crowds of people in front of her in search for her boyfriend. She finally saw him, stepping into the train with his phone in his hand.
"Lance, look at this," she yelled, hoping he would turn around and walk to her. She couldn't help but stare down at the paper again, totally in awe. It felt like it was almost like a sign; how else could you explain that specific flyer hiring specifically her in the face?
"Ash, bab-" Lance's words were cut of by the sound of automatic doors closing and the release of the trains breaks. Ash looked up to see the train in motion, leaving her and the platform. But Ash couldn't care less, she hated that stupid train anyways, she'd just walk home. All that ran through her mind was the $100,000, a chance at a new life.
It didn't take long for the gang to lose the cops, making a couple unnecessary turns and blending in with the surrounding traffic made it possible in a little under 5 minutes. Once parked in the garage, the three men gathered the bags that were almost as big as them and slugged them over their shoulders, carrying them to a separate room. A driver emerged from the front seat, doing nothing but straightening his tie and following the other three. Johnny hopped out of the trunk bed, his breathing at a much more manageable level now, and watched them all pile into a tiny room at the back of the garage hallway. The sound of approaching sirens caught his attention and without any thought, he pulled the garage door down with a loud slam.
What he failed to notice was the slightly crumpled piece of paper that slipped in past him as he closed the door. Staring at it on the ground for a moment, he cautiously bent down to pick it up and read it slowly.
"Singing Competition Auditions
The winner will receive a grand prize of $100,000!
He blinked in awe. 'This cannot be real,' he thought. $100,000? That was probably more money that his dad managed to steal from that apartment today!
His mind already started to contradict himself. He knew that even if he begged, his father would never let him go. Johnny and his dad had always had pretty much contradicting point of views. While his father wanted Johnny to pursue and take over his crime industry, Johnny wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. Johnny just wasn't cut out for a life of crime, and his panic attack from today proved it.
'It was only two bloody cops, Johnny,' he thought. He was always too scared and timid when it came to pretty much anything illegal. Why his father wanted to continue making him apart of every heist he didn't know.
'I could just not tell Dad where I'm going.. he wouldn't mind if I just went out for a while.'
That could actually work. His father would most likely be preoccupied that entire day, they had no heists planned so he wouldn't be needed.
Plus, imagine if he won that $100,000. He could prove to his dad that crime wasn't the only way to earn enormous amounts of money.
So it was settled, tomorrow he would tell his dad he would be going out for a bit, and he make it to auditions. Now all that he needed was a song..
"Oi, watcha lookin at?" he heard a deep voice behind him say. He jumped a bit, crumpling up the paper in hopes that his father wouldn't see what was printed on it.
"Oh, uh.. Nothing just picking up some trash from the floor is all," he smiled, clenching the paper in his fist to relieve some nervous energy. His father only gave him a curious looking before rolling his eyes and continuing.
"Whatever, I need to talk to you," he said, his tone turning serious while. Johnny swallowed hard and kept his eyes forward, letting his father speak.
"I'm sorry for lashin out on you today," he said, keeping his hard stare. Johnny inwardly flinched, surprised that his father was apologizing.
"I know you tried to warn us, and I know how scared you were," his stare seemed to soften a tiny bit. "In those kinda situation, it's hard for me to keep a cool head, eh?" he chuckled a bit before continuing. "Anywho, I'm sorry for yellin," he said, offering a smile to his son.
Johnny, more than a little flabbergasted, took a few seconds to each his father, not knowing if this was all a trick or not. Once he felt as if he couldn't stare anymore, he started to speak.
"Uh, it's alright, Dad. Thanks…" he said skeptically. Moments of awkward silence passed between the two, neither know what to really do in this situation. His father broke the silence with an obviously fake cough.
"Well, I better get back in there," he said while walking backwards. "Your uncles are horrible at countin."
"Yeah, okay," was all Johnny said in reply as he watched his father turn around and walk back to the room he excited from moments ago.
'Weird,' was all Johnny thought, surprised his father said anything to him at all with that pile of cash in the other room just calling his name.
He was getting sidetracked, right now his main priority was to pick a song and sing it until he hated it.
