Author's Note: Story takes place, second season, sometime after Devil in the Deep Blue Sea.
This story is written to be read as a stand alone, but will eventually be part of my In the Light Series.
Rated M. Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16. Contains possible strong but non-explicit adult themes, references to violence, and strong coarse language.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or situations created for tGAH; I am borrowing them purely for entertainment purposes. I make no profit from their use.
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Chapter 1. The Slammed Box
"Tony, are you sure this is the right place?" Rhonda asked, as the band looked suspiciously at the bar across the street, from the comfortable overstuffed leather seats of the Villacana Piranha.
"Hey, Villacana, she's right. This can't be the right place." Cyler added, as he watched people gathering around the entrance.
"Yeah... yeah. The Slammed Box. This is it. I heard this is the place where all the new bands outta L.A. are comin' outta."
Cyler shook his head, amazed that he once again agreed to let Tony Villacana manage their band, L.A. Freeway. He swore he would never listen to Tony again, especially after the last booking fiasco. Tony booked the band to open for a lizard named Stanley Sharpe at a lounge next to the Howard Johnson's just outside of Bakersfield.
"Man. This is going nowhere!" Cyler shook his head.
"Hey, come on, guys. Let's see what's going on." Paco, the eternal optimist and opportunist, was willing to give it a try. "Maybe these guys in there could give us some fashion tips, you know!"
The rest of the band turned to Paco, and looked at him as if he was out of his mind.
"Aw, come on Tony, I don't know about this," Rhonda asked, looking at the black leather and spiked hair of the crowd forming at the doors. "They don't seem to be... well, you know... our type."
"Yeah, Tony. These guys look like punks." Cyler said, as he quickly removed the thin silvery headband fixed like a crowd around his head. Somehow it no longer looked cool.
Tony looked at the crowd, then nervously turned his gaze to his friends. "Whaddya you guys talking about!" The young man adjusted his leather jacket, then asked defensively, "Ain't I some kinda punk?"
"No, you're not, Tony," Rhonda assured her boyfriend. "Not like this..."
