Disclaimer: Rock & slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse.

Prologue

Detective Norrington looked with distate at the wrecked hotel room. Rockstars, he scoffed in his mind. He'd been called in to investigate the death of bassist Bootstrap Bill. The man had been a member of a known rock band, the Black Buccaneers. Apparently, he'd been intoxicated and fallen off the penthouse balcony. The blood splattered all over the asphalt was too tainted to check for an alcohol level, so all Norrington had to go on was the testimonies of those present. Considering the stories went along too smoothly for witnesses who were either drunk or drugged up... The detective was dubious of the whole affair.

The most sober person was the back-up guitarist, a man going by the name of Barbossa. Slick character that one, clearly had the others in control. They wouldn't say anything except to confirm what he said. The second bassist, Twigg, was lounging in a chair, while the drummer Koehler sat on its armrest, beating time with his drumsticks. A dark-skinned bodyguard with an Asian-sounding name leaned against the wall behind Barbossa's seat, his face unreadable. Norrington was sure that none of them would crack even in separate interviews. Maybe the two roadies would, but Pintel and Ragetti were too blitzed to even talk coherently.

"What about your main guitarist?" Norrington asked Barbossa. "Where is he?"

The other man gave him a shark-like grin.

"Oh, he's no longer part of the band," was the answer. "Jack lost his Pearl at poker. Pretty cut up about that, so he quit." The man laughed unpleasantly, soon joined by the others. "Anyway, he left before Billy took a dive. He's probably passed out drunk at some bar."

Their story sounded more and more fishy by the second. Clearly, the band wasn't sad to see their front-man leave. In fact, it seemed like a hostile takeover. The detective wouldn't have been surprised if the man who'd died had voiced his disapproval and gotten shoved over the railings for his trouble. Bo'sun, the bodyguard, seemed more than capable of doing that. Not that Norrington could prove any of it. He had no choice but to chalk up the incident as an accidental death, but he was definitely going to keep an eye on this band from then on.

Chapter 1

Years later...

Norrington waited beside the idling car for his charge to get out of school. He'd just recently left the force and become a bodyguard. His first client was a man named Swann, some big-shot in showbiz. In any case, it was the man's daughter that Norrington had to protect. Lizzy Swann might have seemed like a piece of peroxide fluff, but he knew better. There was an uncanny glint to her contact-blue eyes that spoke of street smarts. He wouldn't have recognized it if he hadn't worked the precinct and booked girls who should still be in school. The difference with Lizzy was that she had a class even her father's money couldn't buy. It spoke of Catholic school girls and her mother's old money upbringing.

After the woman in question had passed away in childbirth - a cherub memorial next to her own - Swann had buried himself in his work, while his daughter had gone wild. Clubs and celebrity bashes were the breeding ground of scandal and ruined reputations, yet Lizzy managed to emerge each time as an ingenue. Still, let it not be said that Swann was completely oblivious - or uncaring - of his daughter's lifestyle. Enter Norrington.

As of late, Lizzy had hooked up with a struggling artist. A bassist by the name of Turner - "Just Turner, thank you." Hah. Indeed. Well, in fairness, the boy seemed to be truly infatuated with Norrington's starlet client, seeming to be so innocent as to be unaware of the contacts he might tap out of her. Whenever they were at a party, he was so caught up in fetching her drinks that he just nodded half-heartedly to whoever she introduced to him. Clearly, he was not made for this sort of life as she was. But, as tightly wound he was around her finger, Norrington wasn't blind to how she clung to him also. He was a steadying influence on her as well. Thus, the tolerance for the young man's presence.

What truly intrigued Norrington though was his familiarity of the boy. Just to prove that everything in life went in circular motion, he recognized in Turner the focus of an old case. Apparently, he was the son of the bassist who had died under suspicious circumstances years past. The latest news was that the dead man's former band was on the rocks. They lacked the charisma that their old front-man had. In a last attempt to salvage their careers, they'd joined a battle of the bands sponsored by an international rock magazine.

Speaking of which, the pup was whining about it to his lady love. They'd joined him scant seconds ago, and together tumbled into the backseat, while Norrington shut the door after them and went around to slip behind the wheel.

"It'll be a chance in a life-time! All the best are playing! I can just imagine it'll be like...like...Rock Shangri-La!"

Norrington restrained himself from snorting. Lizzy just laughed.

"I'm sure it will be just that, love."

"But, I don't even have a band yet."

At that, Turner's spirits visibly fell.

"I'll talk to Daddy," Lizzy said casually. "Maybe he can fix you up with a band in need of a bassist. It'll be fine. Don't you worry."

The way Turner looked at her was enough to make Norrington gag.

"I love you, you know that?" He said in a soft, tremulous voice.

Norrington had never been so glad as to see the iron-wrought gates of the Swann estate. Upon reaching the front porch, he left the car in the care of an attendant and followed the two into the mansion. With her usual impatience, Lizzy headed straight for her father's study. Leaving Turner with Norrington, she shut the door behind her, closing off all sound from within. As soon as she was gone, Turner started to fidget, tinkering with pieces older than his great-grandparents and probably costing more than the boat they had arrived on. When a 17th-century pirate saber came off its hooks at his fiddling, Norrington moved to catch it before it could do any damage. Surprisingly though, Turner neatly caught it with a grace normally absent from his gawky body.

"I took sword lessons at a dojo."

He smiled sheepishly at the storm-faced bodyguard. But, before Norrington could reply, Swann and his daughter came out of the study.

Chapter 2

Swann said he'd see what he could do. A safe diplomatic answer. Although Lizzy did pout, he held firm and said it would have to wait until after that night's fancy-dress party was over. Lizzy herself would be busy as lady of the house. She chose her battles well and let this one pass for the moment.

While father and daughter later mingled with their masquerade guests, Turner trailed obediently after the latter. Norrington, on the other hand, walked the floor and kept a sharp eye out for any disturbance. As he was doing his rounds past the closed-off area, he overheard an argument. Stepping into the room, he first caught sight of two members of the security team, Murtogg and Mullroy. Loyal and well-meaning as they were, neither were the brightest crayons in the box. As it was, they seemed to be on the losing end of a lively debate with a colorful character. Only when he'd fully entered did Norrington see the other just as he delivered a lovely riposte.

"Unless, of course, he knew you wouldn't believe the truth even if he told it to you."

"So, you speak the truth then?" He noted dryly as he entered.

The pirate-garbed stranger did not seem startled at Norrington's unexpected appearance. Instead, he smiled charmingly and sashayed his way over to invade the man's personal space with his face and toothy gold-capped grin.

"But, of course! Is this a face that would lie to you?"

A hand gestured to an angelic smile. Norrington smirked.

"Yes."

"Oh! That hurt." A theatric wince and hand went to the heart.

"If you'll hand that over..."

Without waiting for affirmation, Norrington took the guitar the other had been cradling close with his free hand. Only the bodyguard's trained eye for detail noticed the empty spot in the music room. It wouldn't have been noticed missing by anyone else until the house help cleaned the next day. Too late then. Yet, as if not a bit shamed, the other man just looked longingly at the instrument with the face of a kicked puppy. Norrington had to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"And so, who do I have the dubious pleasure of meeting?"

He handed out his hand and as the other warily offered his own, Norrington caught sight of the bird tattooed on his arm.

"Well, well...Jack Sparrow, isn't it?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please."

"Well, I don't see a guitar or band...Captain."

"I'm in the market as it were."

"He said he'd come to commandeer a guitar, sir."

Murtogg piped up helpfully. Norrington arched an eyebrow at the news, while Mullroy continued.

"Told ya he was telling the truth," said to Murtogg. "These are his, sir."

Norrington gave a withering look at the guitar pick and slider given to him.

"Been playing an air guitar? You are, without doubt, the worst musician I've ever heard of."

"But, you have heard of me." Sparrow waved a finger in his face with a grin.

This time, Norrington did roll his eyes.

"Any excuses then before I hand you over to the local police for theft?"

"I'm here to see Mr. Swann, I am." The man crossed his arms and smirked.

"Is that so?"

"I don't believe you're in my schedule, but I believe I can fit you in."

Sparrow gritted his teeth in an forced grin as Swann himself stepped into the room with an amused expression. While Murtogg and Mullroy were dismissed, Norrington kept a sharp eye on the Sparrow, who seemed ready to take flight at any given opportunity. He came behind the man and forced him to take a seat as his employer did the same. Swann let the musician settle in his seat before he spoke.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, is it not?"

"That would be me." Another charming grin, more confident now.

"Well, I have a proposition for you."

Chapter 3

"A proposition, you say?"

An eyebrow arched in interest.

"Indeed."

Swann leaned back in his chair and lit up a Cuban cigar with the confident smile of a good negotiator.

"And the terms of this proposition?"

"You need a guitar and band to enter into Rock Virtuoso's competition. I'm willing to fund you in exchange for some small favors."

"How small?" Sparrow's eyes narrowed.

"I chose your bassist, and where the band goes so does my daughter and her guards." Norrington grimaced. "And of course, I'd expect a cut of the prize money if you were to win the contest."

"Is that all?"

"For now, yes."

"Those aren't very nice terms to offer - "

"Even to a desperate man?" Swann smiled.

"I wouldn't say I was desperate now."

The guitarist shook his finger at the other, who simply shrugged.

"Take it or leave it, Mr. Sparrow. I have other options. You, on the other hand..."

After a brief pause, the man replied in a wheedling, put-upon tone.

"Weeeeell, I don't mind you daughter and her entourage..." An eye at the glaring Norrington. "But, as to the bassist...I pick my own crew, or I might as well not join. I do fancy on winning. Which brings us to the money - I don't plan on sharing anything more than 10."

"50."

"15."

"30."

"20."

"25, last offer."

Sparrow sniffed.

"Deal. ...And what about the bassist?"

"I think you'll like who I've picked."

The kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed once more.

"Would you like another Turner in your band, Mr. Sparrow?"

At this, the musician's eyes widened momentarily in clear shock. He soon recovered his composure though and managed to casually shrug at Swann.

"Well, in that case, I think we have an accord."

He held out his hand and Swann shook it in turn.