Read Online Armageddon Rag by George R.R. Martin - Free Book Online Page A

faintly petulant tone. Sandy listened to him with a certain amount of astonishment, hoping it didn’t show on his face. Gopher John’s post-Nazgûl career had been less than distinguished. Nasty Weather, which had formed around Slozewski and Maggio in the aftermath of West Mesa, had been a derivative band at best. The Smokehouse Riot Act had shown a lot more promise and a lot more originality, but internal dissension had torn them apart after only one album. And the less said about Morden & Slozewski & Leach the better. You would have thought that Gopher John would just as soon have all those groups forgotten.
    Still, Sandy managed a thin, sympathetic smile. “I know where you’re coming from,” he said. “My first book,
Copping Out,
sold twice as well as the later ones. I still get these reviews that say it’s been all downhill ever since. Sets your teeth on edge, doesn’t it?”
    Slozewski nodded. “Damn straight.”
    What Sandy didn’t add was that he agreed with the conventional wisdom in Gopher John’s case. Jim Morden, Randy Andy Jencks, Denny Leach, and Slozewski’s other, later partners had all been competent professional musicians, but not a one of them had been fit to set up Hobbins’ microphone or string Peter Faxon’s bass. Tact prohibited his pointing that out, however. Instead he said, “Still, I can understand why you’re sick of questions about the Nazgûl, but I’m sure you see why Lynch’s murder has to kick up a lot of interest, right?”
    Slozewski scowled. “Yeah, OK. Don’t mean
I’ve
got to be interested, though.”
    “Have you had a lot of media people coming round to ask questions since the news got out?”
    “Not a lot,” Slozewski admitted. “A guy from a wire service phoned for a quote, and one of the Philadelphia TV stations sent out a crew. I talked to them, but they didn’t use any of it. I didn’t have much to tell ’em. Nothing interesting.” He sipped at his drink. “Got nothing interesting for you either, but if you want to ask questions, go ahead. I got a couple hours till we open.”
    “You have no idea who might have killed Jamie Lynch, then?”
    “Nah.”
    “Or who might have wanted him dead?”
    Slozewski’s laugh was a nasty little chortle. “Half the fucking
world
wanted Lynch dead.” He shrugged. “At least that was so ten years back. Lynch hadn’t done anything nasty to anybody
recently,
I got to admit. He wasn’t in a position to. But back when he had clout, he was a ruthless sonofabitch. I guess whoever killed him was someone who held a grudge.”
    “Some grudge,” Sandy said. “You sound like you didn’t get on well with Lynch yourself.”
    “No comment,” said Slozewski.
    “That seems a little ungrateful,” Sandy said. “I thought Jamie Lynch was responsible for discovering the Nazgûl. He gave you your break, made you one of the biggest things in rock.”
    “Yeah, sure. He made us big. He made us rich. And he made himself richer, too. I pay my dues, Blair, that’s why I run this place like I do. I know how to be loyal. But Jamie used up whatever loyalty he had coming a long, long time back. He knew how good we were when he found us. He knew how hungry we were, too. You ought to have seen the contract he signed us to. What the fuck did we know? We were four kids who wanted to make music, get on the cover of
Hedgehog
.”
    Sandy wrote it all down. “You saying Lynch took advantage of you?”
    “He
used
us. And he fucked us over royally.” Slozewski’s voice had a bitter edge to it all of a sudden. “You ever wonder why the Nazgûl didn’t play at Woodstock? We were big enough. We wanted to be there. Still pisses me off that we weren’t. Lynch kept us away. Said he’d get us on breach of contract if we went against him, sue us for millions. That fucking contract gave him sole discretion over when and where the Nazgûl played, you see, and he didn’t think Woodstock would be good for us.
Good for us! Jesus!
” Gopher