The guitar crunched out the end of the chorus with a cymbal crash.Across the room, the bouncer of Butcher’s looked like he was having a bad night. He leaned against the slightly lopsided bar and scanned the thin crowd with contempt, arms crossed over his denim jacket and a semi-automatic pistol visible in his belt. He shook his scarred, buzz-cut head every minute or so like he was trying to knock the sound of the music out.Mike didn’t care what the bouncer thought of the music. He hadn’t seen his brother’s ghost all day, and he needed a drink to keep things that way. The only reason Mike even noticed the bouncer was that the man was between him and the alcohol. The booze would keep his brother at bay for a little while. Also, after the set, Mike planned to shoot himself, and he preferred to die drunk.Mike launched into the break, his memory guiding him through the changes. He’d arrived minutes before the show and Eddie had barked at him through the first part of the set, scrawling some notes on a greasy paper bag.
