The cheerful rays of a golden yellow sun shone down to cast a large city in a gleaming dazzlement. However, despite the beauty of this bustling metropolis, two of its denizens were more interested in heading to the rather unglamorous strip district. It may have seemed a bit dirty, dark, and small to most eyes, but our two, favorite musicians knew very well that this end of town harbored a beauty that most would miss. That beauty, was the diverse, enchanting, sultry sound of music…and the duo was about to get a big taste of it.

It was around noon time that a stylish, blue, black, and white Porsche parked in front of B&W's Music Center. The Autobot in disguise could barely contain his excitement as he undid Kayla's seatbelt. The teenager had told her friend of the fun times she'd have in the store in question, and now Jazz just had to check the place out. However, that meant the saboteur was going to do something he hadn't done in ages; make his holo-human leave his car form. The teen knew very well the task was very taxing, and her concern didn't go unvoiced, "Are you sure this isn't going to drain you too much? I know it's kinda' hard to leave your car for a while."

The Southern voice drawled through the speakers, "Nah, I'll be fine. Now c'mon; I always wanted ta' go in 'ere!" That said, the red head opened up her cane and slid out of the cab, but this time, a warm and gentle hand took her by the arm. She shuddered a bit, nearly forgetting that Cybertronian holograms were practically the real deal, but soon, she leaned into the embrace; not caring what form he was in-a friend's a friend.

Jazz smiled as he led his charge to the door. True, the illusion wasn't real, but this was as close to being human as he could get, and he was down with that. To everyone else, he was as earthy as could be. He was thin, but defined; about age 20, with a face resembling of a young, Louie Armstrong. His dark skin and short, black hair was accompanied by jet black sunglasses that rested low on the bridge of his nose, revealing deep blue, friendly eyes. Clothing-wise, he wore a white T-shirt, black pants with a blue belt, and white sneakers with blue laces. All n' all, his entire image screamed "cool".

Actually…the store itself seemed pretty cool. Although there were no windows, save for the door, the entire front wall was bedecked with a painted collage of famous singers and musicians. Everyone from Ray Charles, to Henry Mancini, to John Williams, to the Beatles; they were on there; each one captured playing instruments or conducting; frozen at the pinnacle of their careers. The now-human saboteur stared for a long while at the portrait, in awe of its beauty, and let out a sigh as he thought, "Kayla deserves ta' be up der' wit' 'em…"

Said teen broke the silence, "I take it you like the painting?"

"It's swingin'!" he grinned as he looked to his charge.

"This place is a family-owned business", she explained, "Mr. White's dad's the one who drew it." The girl continued to smile, but her head dropped slightly, "Too bad old age took him…woulda' loved to meet him."

Jazz gave a solemn nod; he would've killed to see the artist as well…but she didn't seem upset, so his passing must have happened way before she was born…still… "Mr. White? Is dat' da' store owner now?"

"Yep", the red head cheerfully replied, "And I want you to meet him. If you think the outside is cool, wait 'till you get inside. That's where all the fun stuff happens."

That got the two musicians up and through the front door. Upon entering, the saboteur had to stop for a second time to scope out the musical wonderland. There were hundreds of shelves lining the walls; each one filled to the brim with CD's, then cassette tapes further back, and finally, vinyl records in the very back of the store. Within the large, island section, various instruments ranging from guitars, to drums, to trumpets, to every kind of violin, and a piano, were on display; polished to perfection in all their sound-inducing grandeur. Finally, there was the walls themselves. Whichever spots weren't touched by the many shelves, the blank void was filled with a poster of some kind; every last one being for some kind of singer or band. Even the ceiling hadn't gone unnoticed, for it was painted to look like a sheet of music paper; complete with the horizontal lines, G-Clef starting each bar, and notes dotting every line and space. It was then that the Autobot nearly melted into a puddle; this place was a musician's dream!

He was pulled out of his funk when Kayla gently tugged at his arm; motioning him to follow her. A few taps and motions with her cane, and the girl maneuvered easily around the storage units. To Jazz, it was no surprise; if this was her usual hangout, besides the Ark, it made sense she'd have this place committed to memory as well. Whistling a tune in her high spirits, the teen led her friend to the back of the establishment, where a desk that had seen better days awaited them. Seated behind said desk was an older gentleman; probably early 50's, with a neat moustache and a mop of brown hair that was graying on the sides. He must have had a bald spot, however, for a black bandana adorned his head; one that sported the light prism symbol for Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. With a faded green shirt and brown vest (must have been from the hippie generation), his worn out jeans and black boots became visible when he propped his feet up onto the desk and kicked back in his chair.

A powder blue guitar was perched in his lap, and the man was happily strumming away; his eyes blissfully closed. So naturally, Kayla and Jazz's entrance went unnoticed. The two merely stood there; both smiling as they chose to remain quiet and listen to his playing, as his aging voice tried to sing the opening tune to a classic television series.

Here we come…walkin' down the street
Gettin' funniest looks from…everyone we meet

Hey, hey, we're the Monkees
And people say we monkey around
But we're too busy singin'
To put anybody down

We're just tryin' to be friendly
Come and watch us sing and play
We're the young generation
And we got somethin' to say

Hey, hey, we're the Monkees
You never know where we'll be found
So you better get ready
We may be comin' to your town

With the notes fading away and the song finished, the saboteur clapped for the impromptu performance; startling the store owner out of his revere and making him nearly tip over in his seat. During the excitement, Kayla attempted her best Ed Sullivan impression, and drawled, "And now, the oldest hep cat from Liverpool, Mr. Billy Ray White!"

The girl's delivery finally made the older man realize who had surprised him, and he burst into a huge grin, "Welly, well, well; my favorite customer returns!" He gently set his guitar aside and practically hopped the counter; giving the teen a friendly hug, "Haven't heard from ya' in a while."

The red head shrugged, "Well, I-was just making some new friends lately." Inside, she was chuckling; if he only knew…

The statement made Mr. White happier, "Good! Good! You can never have too many friends."

The human Autobot looked on at the exchange with an amused smirk. Between the stories she'd told him, and what he just witnessed, it wasn't rocket science that these two were long time buddies. He perked his head up more when Kayla motioned in his direction; addressing the store owner, "Speaking of whom, I'd like to introduce you to my best friend, Jazz."

"Pleasure ta' meet ya'", the saboteur greeted as he extended his hand.

The man gingerly took the offered hand for a shake; giving the newcomer a once over fairly quickly. He seemed pretty tidy and polite enough, but the warm smile and caring blue eyes spoke enough words; all positive. The older musician knew that look anywhere, thanks to 50 years experience. He proceeded to smile even bigger, "Jazz, huh?" A chuckle, and then, "I like him already. Worked the turntables in '89, so everyone calls me, Scratch."

The 'Bot hummed a laugh and stole another glance around the shop, "Gotta' love da' swingin' pad ya' got."

Scratch crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, "Well, thanks, but when my old man first opened this place, you'd be sayin' this is a groovy and far out pad I got."

Jazz enjoyed a belly laugh at that statement; intrigued also by this sudden lesson in past, Earth culture. His eyes then layed to rest on the powder blue instrument, leaning against the back wall behind the desk. "Is dat' your guitar?" he asked; pointing at it.

The owner's chest puffed out with pride, "You better believe it! Actually, it was my dad's; played it during Woodstock '69. He taught me how to play, and I've been keepin' the family history goin'."

"And", Kayla said with a smile; pointing in Scratch's general direction, "It was this man that taught me how to play."

The saboteur's eyes went wide and mouth agape in excitement. It was then that he remembered that she'd mentioned this little tidbit before, but never knew her mentor by name, only as "my buddy at the music store". And now, here he was; the man who had essentially started it all! "Really?!" was all he could say. The man nodded and the 'Bot continued, "Aww, man! Whatever your secret is, it definitely worked! I never heard a more talented player or beautiful singer 'fore in ma' life!"

The red head blushed at the comment, while Scratch chuckled and sighed as he glanced at her, "She mighta' got her 88 fingers from me, but all her spirit and gumption, she gets from her old man."

The teen was now beet red and scuffing her shoe on the floor, "Aww, come on…"

The owner's grin faded slightly as his voice, surprisingly enough, took on a more serious lilt, "That reminds me; how is your father doin' anyway?"

A look of thought came over her as she scratched her head, "I'm not sure…the last letter I got from him said that he and his men were being shipped off somewhere…musta' been a last minute thing, 'cause he was supposed to be getting shore leave soon."

The older musician nodded, as he too, knew of her dad's captain position in the army, "Well…when he does call, you just tell him we're all thinkin' about him."

"Second dat'," Jazz added in.

Kayla smiled once more; humbled by her friends' sympathy for her, "Thanks…"

"Hey, no prob'," Scratch shrugged, "It's what buds do." As he said this, he started to make his way back behind the desk.

Remembering the song he had barged in on earlier, Jazz asked, "So, I take it yer' into da' Monkees?"
The man took a seat and motioned to his store wide collection of melodies, "I'm into a lot of things." He then raised an eyebrow, "What about you? What's your preference?"

The saboteur smirked as he put his hands in his pockets, "If it's gotta' beat, I like it."

Scratch nodded and rubbed his chin, "Kayla's told me a little bit about you. But how come you haven't been able to come until now?"

The music junkie had to think for a second. It was now obvious that the red head hadn't told her buddy that he was an Autobot, so until they could discuss the matter privately, he'd keep it that way. But now, how to answer the question? Remembering that this guy was a musician himself, the 'Bot opted for a more clever approach. With a tilt of the head, he answered, "Well, I missed da' last train ta' Clarkesville, so I had ta' take da' long an' windin' road."

At that moment, the owner busted a gut; slapping his knee as he laughed. He hadn't expected this aquatience to answer him with two song references; one by the Monkees, the other by the Beatles. He then gave the young man another stare. He looked to be in his mid 20's, yet he made references to songs and bands that were way before his generation. It was clear this guy had a respect for the oldies too; not just some constant MTV watcher…whoever his parents were, they certainly did him justice in naming him "Jazz". When Scratch finally composed himself, he drawled, "I like you. It's not often I get a young who's into old. We need more people like that." The owner then glanced around, "In fact…we need more people here; period."

Kayla gave a look of concern, "What do you mean?"

The older musician heaved a sigh, "Well…so many peeps now a 'days can just download all the music they want on their IPods and stuff, you almost don't need music stores anymore." A pause and then, "But most of the songs are fairly new; there aren't many who're lookin' for old stuff, and a lot of the old ones-I mean like the 50's and older-aren't even available. Some songs, you can only find on cassette or vinyl, but no one hardly wants that anymore…and there's pleasure to be had in old fashioned." His eyes seemed to bore into the desk, "Business is startin' to come to a stand still…there's gotta' be some way to bring the new generation in; show em' how it started."

Jazz scratched his head as he pondered the man's predicament. As a music lover, there was no way he would let a place like this be lost in the masses that seemed to dismiss the lore of yesteryear. He could see Kayla was mulling over it as well. He may have known the guy for all of about 15 minutes, but already, the saboteur felt a dire need to help him. This guy was fighting to save a previous generation of music, and darn it, he was going to help, one way or another. After what seemed like an eternity, the 'Bot snapped his fingers as an idea came to him, "Say, maybe a show a' some kind might attract da' crowd."

A sparkle came to Scratch's eyes, "You know, that's not a half bad idea." He proceeded to stand up; put one foot on the desk, and point his finger up in the air; doing a few moves reminiscent of Saturday Night Fever, "All I need to do is dust off my old routine." Jazz, however, stared at the man as if he'd gone crazy; shocked by this dancing display he'd never seen before. The man, in turn, stared at the saboteur and explained, "Son, when I was your age, I caught a nasty bug called disco fever…"

At that point, Kayla was shaking her head and laughing, "Scratch; disco's dead…and if anything, a 50-somethin' guy wearing platform shoes and dancin' a jig'll scare people away. We're tryin' to drum up business, not make em' blind like me."

Jazz chuckled, "Yeah, well, I was thinkin' more along da' lines of a music performance. You guys kin' both play guitar; maybe if ya' put on a concert or somethin'. Hearin' music live's a whole 'nother ball game."

"Yeah…" the owner nodded. He then turned to the red head, "Kayla; you wouldn't mind comin' down here to play, would ya'? You're one of the best guitarists out there, and it'd really help the store a lot." Although he hated to make her sound like a carnival act, he had to admit, however, that a blind guitarist would be big news in the neighborhood.

The musician smiled warmly, "Of course I'll do it. Anything to help you out."

Scratch's hands made a clap in excitement, "Great! Of course, it'll take me a while to spread the news, so this concert probably ain't happenin' for a few weeks, but I'll give you the date as soon as I know."

His two compadres nodded in agreement. It was then that Jazz stole a glance at his watch, "Well, I hate ta' bail on ya' man, but we gotta' get goin'. It was nice meetin' ya'."

"Nice to meet a fellow music junkie too", the older man smiled, "I'll see you guys. Take care."

With that, Kayla gave a good bye as Jazz took her by the shoulder and led her out. As soon as she was safe and buckled up, the Porsche took off down the street; the radio softly humming a soft rock station. A few minutes into the drive back to the Ark, and the 'Bot replied, "Thanks fer' introducin' me der'; I had a great time."

"I knew you would", the girl grinned as she settled into the seats, "Scratch's really nice guy…he may be a bit eccentric, but he wasn't born yesterday."

There was a pause, and then the saboteur asked, "Um…you're gonna' tell him I'm an Autobot at some point, right?"

The red head thought for a moment, for this same question was on her mind long before. Finally, she shrugged, "Probably…but not yet. I don't wanna' scare the pants off of him…besides, he's weird enough already."

"Gotta' point", the 'Bot reasoned. To that, both Jazz and Kayla shared a fresh batch of laughter as he revved up the decibels on the stereo.

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AN: And so enters a NEW character of my own creation; wacky store owner, Scratch! Granted, he's not going to show up alot, since this is Kayla's story, not his, but I figured we needed to find out where she learned to play guitar. But, he WILL show up again!