He lit the second one by striking it on his shirt cuff, but when Carlina leaned in, it went out by itself. The third, he didn’t strike on anything, just snapped his fingers and it flared to life.
He held it to Carlina’s cigarette and she breathed in, making the flame waver and gutter. She started to pace back and forth and the lead guitarist followed her, playing a solo that made me think of cracked glass and scrambled wires. He was wearing a black top hat and the shadow of the brim made his face look hard and hungry.
In back, the drummer still kept the tempo, but every time Carlina threw her hips to the side, he’d add a hard double beat on the bass drum. If she arched her back, that got the snare, a sharp rat-a-tat. I was utterly focused on her progress, and so was every other guy in the audience.
She stood in the spotlight while the guitar player circled around her, panting like a dog. She winked and put the cigarette out on his tongue. The whole time, he kept up that same complicated progression, and in the pit, the punk rock kids were slamming like it was the end of the world.
Carlina gripped the microphone and sang the bridge, Going low, going down, going to burn the spires / No one in this sleepy town wants a race of monsters.
Behind her, the guitarist spit out a mouthful of ash, making the solo climb. When the crowd stopped thrashing and started screaming for him, he raised his head, smiling up into the spotlight like he’d just found sunshine.
The chill started at the top of my head and poured down through my chest and arms. I knew him.
The angle of the stage made it hard to see his eyes, and the top hat shadowed his face, but even in the dark, I knew him. I’d seen him on the footbridge. He’d called me out on my dark eyes, sneered at my shaky hands and my blue mouth.
I stood in the crowd, looking up at a scary man with a scary smile.
I knew his secret and he knew mine.
After the Rasputin set, they tore their equipment down, and Concertina came on. The lead singer’s voice was decent, but their arrangements were sloppy, with too much distortion, and without the expert stage presence of Carlina Carlyle, the Starlight was back to being dusty and run-down. Just rented space.
Alice still stood in a little herd with her friends, and I had an idea that I might feel better if I got a drink of water. It would be an excuse to go over to her. I could walk past. Maybe say something, or maybe she’d say something to me. I started for the bar.
