The place was a real fixer-upper. The group stood outside a ramshackle bar affectionately titled "The Dive". A porch that hadn't had its floorboards replaced in decades sprouted weeds and moss from between the boards, and a rocking chair with only one rocker and a spittoon half-filled with what was hopefully rainwater stood outside.

The boys sighed and pulled their stuff around back. What awaited them, however, was a complete surprise. A stadium about half the size of a football field was being set up for the evening; a huge banner proclaiming it "Blues Night" stretched from the roof of the bar to a tall yellow pole about twenty yards away.

Ray watched Elwood and Cab fight their way through the working crowd to find the owner. Mack leaned over and nudged her with his elbow. "This is where we get paid, kid. See that?" He pointed to a flyer describing the big show for the evening as "the amazing comeback revue of the incredible Brothers Blues and crew!"

"They knew they couldn't put our real name up without risking a police raid and ruining the show. But people will know who we are. We'll have this place packed tonight." He grinned and pushed his sunglasses back on his nose.

Ray nodded. Then she cocked her head. "Why do you guys wear those things?"

"What?"

"The suits. The glasses. What, do you want to make fun of the government or something?"

"Nah. Just image. People expect the blues to be played by a bunch of loose old black guys. But when professional Caucasian men in black suits looking like the CIA get up there and start wailing, it throws them for a loop and they eat it up with a spoon."

"So it's all an act?"

"More or less, I guess. But being in the suit…it's something special."

She made a sound of acknowledgement and turned to follow the band, which was trudging towards the stage, instruments in tow. Suddenly she felt something pushed into her hand and looked down. A beat-up old harmonica lay in her palm. She glanced up to see Buster rushing away to the front of the mass.

Ray scowled. The little kid knew. But she played it off, shoving the harp deep into her pocket and offering to carry an amp for Matt.

The band had just barely tuned up and began to warm their routine when Cab came running over, looking really distressed. Ray was busy untangling and rewiring cords to the best of her ability as Cab addressed the other members of the band.

"We got a bad problem!" he managed through hard, taxed breaths. "Some jive-ass numbskull over unloading the chairs knocked Elwood down and dropped a full load of fold-ups on his hands. The guy's swelled up nasty. He's not playing tonight. They think he sprained two fingers."

A general rise of pissed-off feelings came out as they damned their bad luck. Ray caught herself sighing; she realized she'd actually been looking forward to hearing them play.

"Ask Ray to do it!"

The words made her freeze in her spot behind a stand of amplifiers. In her mind, she cursed Buster Blues off with words that would've made a sailor's ears bleed. She only hoped they'd play this off and find someone else. Still as a rock, she waited for a response.

Painfully, none came. She heard the men shuffle over and look down at her, crouched over a spider-web of wires. She slowly raised her eyes to meet their confused and hopeful stares.

"No. I don't play," she lied.

"You're a bad liar, Ray. How good are you?" the kid demanded.

"Hey! I'm just a roadie! That was the deal! I'm not a replacement!"

"How good?"

"I don't play an instrument!"

"How good!"

She clenched her eyes and growled. "I play for two bands and duo with a guitar player! But we're no good! I can't do this!"

"Play something."

She glared daggers at the little brat. If only she could pummel him! Did he have any idea how cliché this sounded? Let the daughter take over for the father? It sounded like some cheesy plan to draw in crowds: "The Blues Brothers: Second Generation!" It made her want to retch.

"I'm not playing. You do it. You know how!"

"I'm not as good as Elwood. Maybe you are."

"Maybe I'm not."

The guys looked to one another uneasily. "Listen, Ray," Willie shrugged. "We get that you don't wanna. But we need a harp, dig? If you're no good, we won't force ya. But if you are…ya don't get much of a choice. Play something."

She calmed for a moment, triumphant. "I don't have a harmonica."

Buster reached down before she could stop him and tore the said instrument out of her pocket. Ray ripped it out of his hands, bit her lip to keep from calling him something ugly, and played the melody and harmony to "Carolina In My Mind" by James Taylor.

When she'd finished, the group's faces were slack.

"Wow. You're not too good," Don chuckled, scratching his head.

She pouted and folded her arms tight. "Told you."

"But maybe…" Mack studied her hard. "Maybe she's good enough. Think it'll fly if we just keep to the basics?"

Fed up to the boiling point, Ray stood up, balled her hands into fists and gave them all both barrels. "Listen, I'm not doing the show! I signed on to follow you around, cart your crap and pull my weight. But I'm not gonna play dancing-monkey just because Elwood had an accident and I happen to play halfway-decent harp, damn it! Get Buster to do it! I don't play!"

With a final gesture of defiance, she threw the harmonica to the ground by Mack's feet and stormed off the stage, leaving the band to wonder what in the Hell was wrong with her.