Chris groaned as someone threw open his curtains. He rolled and pulled a pillow over his head in an attempt to hide from the light,but he knew better than to hope for sleep. In mere seconds, hands were shaking him. He groaned again, peering up at the intruder.
“God Greg, what time is it?” Chris mumbled, irritated. He expected the usual goofy grin as response. Instead Greg held up the newest issue of Seasons.
“We've got a problem. A serious problem.” The worry on Greg's face didn't concern Chris nearly as much as the picture on the glossy magazine.
“How the hell did they find out?” Chris demanded, sitting straight up in bed. his own face looked back at him from the cover of the magazine, along with the faces of his band mates; Greg, Roy and Dylan. “Loose board hotties hiding out Canada” was sprawled in big bold letters underneath them.
Loose Board. Over a year ago the band had been lucky to get a gig at the local bar. Then one day they'd been busking on the side of the road when everything changed. None of them had thought much of the man that stopped to listen while they played, as it wasn't an unusual occurrence on the streets of Los Angeles. He was dressed to the nines in a tailored gray suit, his Italian loafers shining in the sun and his salt and pepper hair was slicked back into a short ponytail. He watched the band for an suprisingly long time, his eyes unreadable through his mirrored aviators.
After they had finished the set, he sauntered towards them with an aire of superiority. They expected him to start with the formal greeting of hello, but instead he began right into his dialogue.
"Have you boys heard of Closed Mind records?" He talked in a voice that was nasally, a perpetual sneer on his lips.