"A moment of your time, Mr. Offdensen?"
Charles awoke with a snort and realized he had fallen asleep on the lounger beside the pool.
"'M I sunburned?" he groaned.
"No, sir. The Gears brought you a sunshade."
Charles groaned again and rubbed his face.
"Where are my glasses?"
"Here, sir."
The manager took his spectacles from the pink and white blur that turned out to be Conway.
"Where are the boys?"
"Pickles is sleeping in the chair next to you, Skwisgaar is in his suite with five retired teachers, and Murderface is in town getting a new tattoo," Matthias informed him.
"Where are Nathan and Toki?"
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about."
Instantly, Charles leapt out of the lounger.
"Send the Gears out in a search pattern, island vacation style! Keep in contact by . . ." Charles trailed off as Matthias waved his hands soothingly.
"We know where they are," the manager's assistant clarified. "It's just a bit worrying. Generally Dethklok band members and pressurized tanks are a recipe for disaster."
"I've seen them burn down a major stadium armed with only bicentennial quarters," Charles announced. "Pressurized tanks? What are they doing?"
"You're gonna want to come up slowly; never rise faster than your own bubbles," the dive master instructed. "We're gonna go down to about 40-50 feet, real easy. We gonna make a safety stop at fifteen feet. Gonna wait there three minutes, then fill your BCD and rise to the surface."
Nathan looked over at Toki.
"What's a BCD again?" he growled.
"Joo nots pays attentions, Nat'an! De BCD ams joo inflatesables vest." The guitarist squeezed a button on a tube leading from his vest and caused it to inflate.
Charles walked out onto the dock, Conway in tow, and looked down into the tide pool where his lead singer and guitarist floated with a dive instructor.
"Scuba diving?" he said in surprise.
"Hi Charles! We goings to swims wit' sharks!" Toki called, waving.
"Sharks?" the manager said worriedly.
"Not until tomorrow," Nathan corrected. "We're getting certified right now. We're going to go shark diving tomorrow."
"Ja, we's has to takes a boat out overs de reef an' dives down into caves and watches de underwater friends!"
"A boat? Caves?"
"Yeah, you want to come with us?" Nathan asked.
"Uh . . . I . . . I can't swim. Thanks, though," Charles lied.
As the boys put on their masks and made their descent under the watchful gaze of the dive master, the manager cast around. His gaze fell on his personal assistant: intelligent, reliable and unkillable.
"You go with them," Charles ordered.
"Bullshit. Water's not my thing."
The look Charles gave his assistant should have left his gory remains strewn around the beach. Employees of Dethklok did not say 'no' to the CFO. Conway appeared nonplussed. Apparently being unable to die made you fear your employers less. The immortal thought for a moment.
"But I have a friend. She'll make sure they come back alive."
"I suppose that's acceptable. See to it," Charles growled.
The manager fretted and paced the dock until Toki and Nathan resurfaced and struggled up onto dry land dragging their heavy gear.
"Charles! Charles! We saws de lionfishes and de dives master killeded one!" Toki announced gleefully.
"He did? Why did he do that?"
"They're like, invasive species," Nathan answered. "They're only supposed to be in the Pacific but they've been showing up and killing off the local wildlife. He stabbed it with this long metal spike, then cut it up and fed the pieces to an anemone. It was totally metal."
Toki's excitement was to be expected, but Charles was a little surprised to see a big smile on Nathan's face as well.
"You . . . ah . . . you boys had fun, huh?"
A few employees of the dive shop hurried forward to help Nathan and Toki take their tanks off.
"Yeah, it was cool. Ow. Fuck. Ow. Remind me to wear a fucking ponytail tomorrow," the lead singer growled, pulling off his mask and ripping away a few strands of ebony hair in the process.
"Eeeeeee, ja, I gonna braids mines hair," Toki agreed, experiencing the same problem as Nathan.
"Joo looks alls colds ands red rubber rings," Skwisgaar called.
The lead guitarist sauntered down towards the pier wearing what could only be described as a white sleeveless tunic and loose pants. The Swede exuded the sort of ethereal grace and masculine beauty that made you want to punch him really hard somewhere that would leave a mark.
"Ja, whats you does all day? Fucks olds ladies? Pffffft," Toki snorted, struggling out of his wetsuit. "Borings! We gets to sees fish murder!"
"Oh! Oh, song idea!" Nathan cried. The lead singer felt around where his pockets would be if he were wearing jeans. "Damn! Gear!"
An attendant Gear hurried forward with a pocket recorder and held it out towards Nathan Explosion.
"'Fish murder', Lionfish genocide/ poison creature invasion/ war underwater/ homicide on the reef!/ Poison barbs stabbing/ anemones grabbing/ struggle for survival in the sea!/ Kill for your home!/Kill for your lives!/ Crushing pressure . . . something . . . something dives! Okay, that's it for now. I'll clean it up later."
"Sounds pretty good!" Pickles called, strolling down to the pier with a drink in his hand.
Charles felt an urge creep over him. It was probably stupid and would come back to bite him in the ass, but there was no way he could resist.
"Nathan?"
"Yeah, what?"
"No working on vacation."
Without another thought, Charles threw his weight against the larger man and toppled Nathan off the edge of the pier. He barely had time to laugh before Pickles lunged forward and shoved him off as well.
"Tellin' us what t' do is your job! No workin' on vacation!"
There was another howl and Toki came to the edge of the pier, his arms wrapped around Skwisgaar's waist. The rhythm guitarist heaved his fellow Scandinavian into the surf.
"What did Skwisgaar do?" Pickles asked.
"Whats? Not'ings, I just wanted to does that since we gots heres!"
"Fuckin' Toki!"
Murderface came running up and shoved Toki off the pier, laughed, tripped on the boards and fell into the water as well.
"Douchebags," Pickles chuckled. "Ah, fuck it."
The drummer tossed his half empty glass over his shoulder, held his nose and jumped into the ocean.
After a hot shower and a fresh change of clothes, the band plus Charles went into town for dinner. They found an open air restaurant serving fresh seafood. A vendor came by selling Cuban cigars. They filled up on fish and shrimp, then sat around drinking and smoking.
"I take it back," Charles all but purred. "This is an awesome vacation."
Only Pickles appeared to hear him. Nathan and Murderface were trying to win a drunken argument by volume alone. Toki and Skwisgaar were switching between arguing and murmuring softly in a Scandinavian language – most likely Swedish.
"I tol' ya," Pickles slurred. "Tol' ya we could make you a nice vacation."
"Thanks, Pickles," Charles murmured, taking another toke of his cigar.
"So. Hey. Charles. Y-you got a girlfriend, right?"
" . . . what?"
"When . . when . . .when you got yer new assistant, y'said Nathan had talked to yer lady friends on the phone. Y'serious about one of them?"
"I'm serious about all of them," Charles answered.
"D-dude . . . how many you got?"
"Three."
"D-dude . . . that's . . . heh . . . dude. What'll ya do if they find out about each other?"
"Find out? They're sisters; of course they know about each other."
"Wh-WHAT? Dude . . . DUDE! That's awesome! You're like . . . you're like that dude on TLC with 19 wives!"
Charles considered this.
"I think you're thinking about the Duggars, Pickles. They're the family with 19 kids. The Sister Wives guy has four wives."
"Oh. Are you gonna marry 'em?"
"I can't. It's kind of illegal."
"Oh. Ya gonna have any kids?"
"Uh –" Charles desperately wanted to say he already had five children, but Dethklok would probably take him at his word and demand he produce five offspring he didn't actually have.
"You should. You'd be a good father."
Charles blinked owlishly at the drummer.
"You . . . you think so?"
"Yeah. Hey Nat'an! Wouldn't Charles be a good dad?"
Nathan pried his attention away from Murderface for a second.
"No!" the singer roared. "He'd be a great dad. Hey, hey Murderface; I'll admit you're right if you can tell me what this is."
Nathan held up a mostly-eaten plate of fish cerviche.
"Fuck you, Nathan!"
Maybe it was the alcohol swimming in his system, but Charles felt a lump welling in his throat.
"That's the nicest thing you boys have ever said to me."
"Why didn't you bring your chicks on vacation?"
"This is a boys' vacation," Charles answered. "I'll bring them here sometime. So; what about you, Pickles? Are you ever going to settle down and have kids?"
"Aw, fuck that; I got snipped years ago."
"'Snipped'? You got a vasectomy?"
"Keep your voice down! Geez; just 'cause I know I'd be a shit parent doesn't mean I want everybody t' know I shoot blanks. Nah, after growin' up in my fucked up family, I didn't want t' even accidentally make a kid. I had th' operation when I was twenty-four. They didn't want t' do it on someone so young, but I showed 'em my track marks and the doctor agreed I shouldn't have any kids."
The drummer paused for a long pull on his cigar.
"I don't think anybody here's gonna actually have a family. I know I'd be shit. Murderface hates everyone too much t' even get a chick t' hang around that long. Skwisgaar . . . . well . . . you know Skwisgaar. Nathan might actually be decent, but I don't think he wants kids. Toki . . . I don't have Toki's optimism. He thinks he can still be a good dad by jest doin' th' opposite of what his dad did. You're th' closest one of us t' normal. You should go for it. Ya got a picture of your chicks?"
Charles pulled out his Dethphone and flipped through the photos until he found one of the triplets.
"Here they are."
Pickles squinted at the screen.
"Cute," he announced. "But why do you have a picture of them snuggling up with this guy? Do they have another boyfriend on the side?"
"Pickles, that's me," Charles stated.
Pickles blinked at Charles, looked back at the picture, looked back at Charles and started to laugh hysterically.
"Oh my Gahd! Oh my Gahd! Dude – how old is that picture?"
"It was taken right before your anti-recession concert. What's wrong with it?"
"The beard?" Pickles prompted.
"I was trying to change my appearance."
"Oh dude! Nat'an, check this out!" Pickles snatched the phone away and held it out to the lead singer. "That's Charles!"
"Pickles! That doesn't belong to you and I was told I looked pretty sexy with that beard!"
"Told by whom?" Nathan asked, taking the phone.
"By experts," Charles snapped. He tried to stand to retrieve his phone, but every drop of alcohol in his system decided to cut him off at the knees. The CFO fell face down into a plate of half-eaten flan. He surfaced to the sight of the band laughing hysterically at him. His phone had travelled around to Skwisgaar, who was nodding in approval.
"Nots bads fors a butlers," he surmised, handing it off to Murderface.
"Three chicksh? You have three chicksh? How much are you paying them?"
Toki snatched to phone away and punched Murderface in the shoulder hard enough to knock the bassist out of his chair.
"Charles don'ts gots to pays dem! He probablies knows whats hows to has a reals relationships! Looks – awwwwwww, joo all looks sos happy! I joos in so much loves . . . dey probablies don'ts even cares dat's you's famous. Oh . . .oh . . . . Toki's wants dat . . ."
The young Norwegian's mood abruptly nose-dived from cheerful to morose and he started crying hysterically. Then Murderface staggered to his feet and broke a chair across Toki's back. After that, as Offdensen would say 'the meeting broke up.'
A pair of figures watched the dinner descend into drunken chaos from afar.
"That's seriously what all the fuss is about? They're idiots."
"Just keep them alive," Matthias instructed. "Morons they may be, but they're very valuable morons. A lot of very influential immortals have stakes in this game. Who knows? You may get to dabble your toe in more than sea songs, JB. Just be careful. Their reputation is completely valid."
"You know; I like this island. They better not fuck it up," JB growled.
"Just keep them alive."