Categories > Celebrities > Guns n' Roses > His Master's Voice
His Master's Voice
0 ReviewsImagine going into a record store in some out of the way place. There's nothing out of the ordinary about it. There's young guys working the tills and... an older guy walking among the aisles. He d...
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: - "If" - Rudyard Kipling
With his hat pulled down over his ears, the dark-haired man looked like every other struggling commuter on that murky December Monday. The sleet fell, dusting the streets with a brief flicker of white before disappearing into the gutters, cars and buses splattering it over the already icy pavements.
Dark eyes peered out from beneath the peak of the cap as the man nimbly dodged workers and shoppers alike, arms pulling the heavy coat closer to his slender body. No-one looked at him, no-one smiled at him, not one dead Christmas eye flickered with recognition. And that was the way he liked it.
Walking to the front door of the store, the man paused to remove his hat, shaking droplets of water out into the busy street. Even though it was before 9am, the streets were already swimming with people looking for the immortal pre-Christmas bargains. Pressing a keypad, he pushed on the door and slowly strolled in, eyes surveying the empty aisles of CD's and DVD's.
~~~~
It had started a few months before. The boredom had begun to set in. The irritation and itchy feet. The need to be on the move. Izzy didn't want to be Izzy any more. Didn't want to be wheeled out by Axl whenever the singer wanted to attract more of a crowd. Look! I'm still great! I can get my original rhythm guitarist to share a stage with me again.
Picking up his wallet, Izzy had driven to the airport. Handing over his credit card, he'd brought the last seat on the first flight out of the country. By the time the plane landed at Heathrow airport, eleven hours later, he was no longer Izzy Stradlin. By the time he picked up a hire car, he was no longer Jeffrey Dean Isbell.
~~~~
Quietly he walked through the darkened store, footsteps loud in the momentary silence of the cavernous space. Soon it would be filled with noise: shoppers, voices and the constant rotation of the latest trends in music, movies and games. Little of it appealed to him, the majority of it he didn't understand.
~~~~
Pulling onto the M25, Izzy had driven north. Driven until he could no longer drive, eyes tired and heavy from jet lag and the mind-numbing monotony of the motorway. He'd finally pulled off at junction 21. The twenty first exit for the lost.
He'd spent his first few nights in the dreary provincial city in a hotel, hiding by day and exploring by night. It wasn't the greatest place in the world, not by a long shot. But it was anonymous, a city where no-one knew you and no-one cared. A city where famous people ran from instead of settling in. Izzy had smiled as the realisation had settled in. He was a /nobody/, a nameless, faceless entity that worked and lived, dreaming the dreams that one day he'd maybe make something of himself.
~~~~
There seemed to be something magical about the pre-Christmas season. Before, he'd been dragged from place to place, forced to spend extortionate amounts of money on gifts that people neither needed or wanted. But now he had a freedom that he'd never felt before. A glorious, airy feeling. A feeling of weightless and joy. He smiled to himself as he hummed, a dark shadow with jewel-case filled arms.
He was mainly ignored by the younger members of staff. With their funky hair and baggy jeans, he was pretty much a relic, someone who had lived and seen the world before they were even born. They didn't know about his past and showed no signs of caring. They were pleasant enough in passing but he would forever be that guy Jay.
But someone had noticed him. Tom, a scruffy haired metal-head with a penchant for colourful badges on his coat, had long suspected that their older staff member had more of a story to his life than just being sick and tired of his homeland.
Serving customers with one hand and bagging their good with the other, Tom watched as Jay ambled through the store. The older man moved as if he were in a slow-motion film, everyone else moving past him at high speed. It was as if the guy didn't have a care in the world, a strange sense of serenity that no one else in the city possessed. Dark doe-eyes focused on the few customers who questioned him, answering them with a tiny smile and nod before moving on, the tortoise among the hares.
Shoving a small stack of CD's into a bag, Tom smiled as his eyes tracked Jay. He was pretty sure that he'd discovered Jay's past.
~~~~
"/But/ Izzy."
Izzy was tired of hearing that voice whine down the phone every time Axl wanted something. This time it was to come out and play another couple of dates. "Another couple" meaning finishing the tour. Izzy suspected the tour wasn't going as great as Axl had expected. Well, what could the guy expect by holding up the new album for over a decade?
Sighing, Izzy leaned his head against the cool wall of his lounge. He squeezed his eyes shut as Axl's voice whined and pleaded down the phone.
"Just two dates Izzy, that's all I'm asking."
"But it won't be two dates, will it?" Izzy retorted. "Two will turn into four. Four will turn into eight, and before I know it it's the end of the tour. The answer's no, /Bill/."
Clicking off the phone, Izzy dropped it back onto its cradle. It wouldn't stay silent for long. In a moment it would ring again and Axl would be back, pleading and begging and offering silly amounts of money for Izzy to pick up his guitar and get his ass out to wherever Axl was. But it wasn't going to happen. Not this time. Not ever again.
~~~~
Lunchtime had rolled around at the music store and Jay gratefully dropped into one of the staff-room's battered couches. Rooting around in his messenger bag, he pulled out a small box containing what the other staff would class as a pitiful lunch: a few sandwiches and a few pieces of fruit. With a bottle of water nestled between his legs, Jay pulled a music magazine closer to him. His eyes scanned the cover, noting the headlines, trying to work out what was hot and what wasn't so hot. But he knew he was fighting a losing battle with an industry he no longer cared about relating to.
Flicking the cover open, he took a sip of water and let his eyes trail over the news. One band had broken up, while another had been formed thanks to a TV show. A tiny news item, buried at the bottom of a page, caught his eyes. His heart pounded and eyes bugged as he read it.
It seems that GN'R rhythm guitarist, Izzy Stradlin, has managed to pull a Houdini on everyone. Stradlin, real name Jeffrey Isbell, was last seen at LAX airport in September boarding a flight to the UK. GN'R frontman, Axl Rose, is appealing to the public for any information as to Stradlin's whereabouts.
Suddenly not hungry, Jay pushed his measly lunch away from him and let his head drop back against the couch.
"Fucker," he hissed.
"Who's a fucker?" a voice asked.
Opening his eyes, Jay turned his head to look at the person sitting next to him. Straggly hair fell into the guy's eyes and a hand with bitten nails clutched a packet of cigarettes. His damp, musty smelling, coat was covered in badges, each pledging allegiance to a different band. The free hand was held out to Jay. With suspicion, Jay took it and shook it.
"Tom," the guy said with a smile. "I don't believe we've met."
"No," Jay slowly replied, eyes narrowing.
There was something about Tom, a gleam in his eyes which said he knew something. Had he read the news item? Had he put two and two together?
Jay's heart dropped further as Tom continued, "I know who you are, man. I know you're Axl Rose's runaway." A smile illuminated Tom's face as his eyes sparkled. "Izzy fuckin' Stradlin, right?"
Swallowing around his dry throat, Jay closed his eyes and shook his head.
"No," he said weakly. "I'm not him. You've got the wrong person."
"Don't lie to me, man," that voice kept creeping into Jay's head. "I read the music rags and the internet forums. Your face is plastered across all of them. Besides, you're probably the only American for about fifty miles. "
Ah, the internet. Jay had heard of it but knew very little about it. Checking his e-mails was about all he'd learnt to do and even that had fallen by the wayside as his new identity crept through. He just knew that it was a dumping ground for every rumour, conspiracy theory and crack-pot idea that the world had to offer.
~~~~
After the fourth consecutive phone call, Izzy had torn the phone cable from the wall. Frustrated and angry, he'd stormed around the house, yelling at no one but himself. He'd been a sucker to get drawn back into Axl's world, an idiot for letting the redhead take over again. But it stopped, it ended right now. In a fit of mad rage, Izzy had grabbed his car keys and his wallet. It took a lot for him to get mad and calmness normally returned within a matter of moments. But this time it had gone to far. It was time to get out.
Driving to the airport, he'd screamed blue murder, calling Axl every name under the sun. Why couldn't the guy just say no? Why couldn't he let go and move on? Everyone else had. Everyone else but Axl. And, like the snake that he was, he'd wormed his way back into Izzy's life. Crawled under his skin and laid his hooks, drawing him closer to the flame until Izzy couldn't help but get burnt. Axl's hope had been that Izzy would go back to the others, back to his former bandmates and tell them that Axl had changed, that everything was now okay and it was time for them to lay down their weapons and reform. Izzy had been close to doing it. On more than one occasion, he'd found himself dialling Slash's number, psyching himself up to try to talk sense into the curly-haired man. But every time, something had stopped him, something niggling in the back of his mind. Something telling him that it wasn't the right time. That it would never be the right time.
~~~~
He wanted to run, wanted to move again. But he couldn't. He was glued to the couch as he watched Tom. The sales assistant didn't move, just smiled at him, looking everything like the cat that got the cream.
"I won't tell anyone," Tom quietly stated.
"How do I know you won't?" Jay folded his arms and stared at him.
This is what he'd been dreading. Why he'd come to work in a music store, he'd never know. He should have gone and worked somewhere more anonymous. Like in insurance. No one would have rumbled him if he was selling insurance for things people didn't insurance for.
"There's something you need to know." Leaning forward, Tom removed a crumpled piece of paper from the back pocket of his tatty jeans and handed it to Jay.
It was an album release list for the store. He'd seen them a hundred times before, memorising the names and dates before passing them onto enquiring customers. Looking at it, he began to read. But he got no further than the first title and date.
Chinese Democracy - Guns N Roses - December 23rd.
Swaying, Jay looked at it, his mind barely absorbing the information.
"It can't be," he whispered sickly. "It'll never come out."
"It's already here," Tom replied, matter of factly. "It got delivered a couple of days ago. At night. By armed security guards. It's sitting in the stock room."
Jay looked at him inquisitively. "But I've been in the stock room and I haven't seen it."
Tom laughed quietly, face creasing as he giggled. "It's been shipped under Barney's Greatest Hits." He stood, motioning Jay to do the same. "Come on, I'll show you."
~~~~
He'd brought a little apartment in a downscale area of the city. Nothing fancy, just a one bedroom apartment with a view of a parking lot and a small park. A place to lay his head and be alone. The estate agent had raised their eyebrows when Izzy had offered to pay for the apartment in one. But Izzy felt he had no need for money and the estate agent had been happy to take the cash and run.
Izzy had spent the first evening sitting beside a window, watching as the sun disappeared behind storm clouds. Lightning had flashed through the sky and moments later, the heavens had opened, washing the streets clean of the day's dusty heat. Lulled into a sense of relaxation, Izzy had felt as if his old life was being washed away, swirling into the drains and away from him.
~~~~
Bright, glaring light flooded the underground stockroom, causing Jay to blink. Box after identical box were stacked, all in order, waiting to be put out on the shop floor. Shoulders slumping a little, he trailed after Tom, weaving in and out of the rows of metal shelves.
In a dark corner of the store room were a pile of boxes, hidden from view. Unclipping a box cutter from his belt, Tom sliced open a box and reached inside. He handed a CD case to Jay. In the dim light of the cold room, Jay ran his eyes over the cover. The new Guns logo, the one he'd seen numerous times before, was there, emblazoned along with the title. Running a fingernail along the edge of the case, Jay broke the seal. Nestled inside was the CD he, and many of others, had ever doubted could see the light of day.
Opening the box, Jay peered inside. Another forty or so copies were stacked in the box. And there were another hundred or so boxes, all filled with CD's. CD's of /Chinese Democracy/.
"Holy fuck..." Jay quietly drawled, fascinated.
"You've been out of the loop for a while, huh?" Tom broke the spell and Jay nodded slowly, brain still processing what he was seeing.
"Unfortunately," Tom continued, "I have some bad news."
There was the sound of tape tearing and the rustling of cardboard. A flyer was thrust into Jay's face. He retched as he shakily read the words.
AXL ROSE WILL BE SIGNING COPIES OF CHINESE DEMOCRACY! HERE! DECEMBER 23RD. 12.01AM.
Placing a hand against the wall, Jay steadied himself. Axl would be here, in the little bolt-hole of a city that he'd chosen to hide in.
"H-how?" he stuttered weakly. "W-why?"
"Dunno," was the reply. "Suppose they must have bribed him with a fuck load of money."
Nodding slowly, Jay slid down the cool wall, the flyer crumpled in his hand. Gasping for air, he dragged his free hand across his forehead, wiping away the cold sweat that had broken out over his skin.
Axl was coming. Axl was going to find him.
~~~~
The management knew about him, knew about his past. A general manager who had probably been about ten when Jay was first touring the world had looked at his application with suspicion. Why did this guy need a job working in a record store? Jay had shrugged and smiled weakly, explaining his position and his need to be free. There'd been a lot of too-ing and fro-ing before they'd offered him a job. No special privileges just the promise to keep his real identity a secret.
And so he'd started, the guy in the background who fetched and carried. No real face to face selling, just the dark shadow who slipped in and out of sight.
~~~~
He was sitting in Tom's bedroom, nervously perched on the edge of the messy bed as as Tom tapped away at a computer that wouldn't have looked out of place in a science fiction movie. One in a constant stream of Marlboro cigarettes dangled from Tom's lips, the blue-tinged smoke filtering out of an open window. For the first time in years, Jay found himself craving a cigarette. But he hadn't hadn't given into Axl and he wasn't about to give into another filthy addiction that had ruled his life for so many years.
He'd recounted his whole pathetic tale to Tom. Of running away. Of changing his name. Of hiding from the monster. Tom had listened patiently, nodding and smoking as Jay had ranted and raved, told him secrets that only he and Axl knew. Of the threats. Of the screaming matches. Of the beatings and the bloodshed. Jay knew that sooner or later the older, and supposedly calmer, Axl would snap. Jay knew that, while his body had grown stronger from the abstinence of drugs and alcohol, it may not survive another of Axl's temper tantrums.
Something had had to give. He'd done it once and this time he's hoped to do it permanently.
Obviously not.
~~~~
"Axl /NO!/"
Crack! Izzy found himself reeling into a wall, the breath knocked out of him as his back slammed into solid brick. Already he could feel the slow, warm trickle of blood sliding from his nose. Now his face stung from where Axl's hand had landed.
Looking up from beneath a veil of dreadlocks, Izzy watched as Axl advanced on him, a sneer tattooed to his normally pretty face. A hand wrapped into Izzy's twisted hair, forcing him to look at Axl. Closing his eyes was no good; it would only earn him another slap.
"Why'd you fuckin' leave?" Axl demanded for about the hundredth time that day.
Choking down the phlegm that threatened to suffocate him, Izzy rolled his eyes and shook his head. A scream ripped from his hoarse throat as Axl slammed a knee into his crotch. Doubling over, Izzy clutched at his stomach, only just held upright by Axl's hand in his hair. Tears began to drop from his eyes, splashing onto the hardwood floor of Axl's kitchen.
He'd come to talk, come to explain. Come to try and heal the rifts. But, as usual, it hadn't turned out that way. What Izzy had planned as a gentle chat had turned into the bloodbath he thought he'd left behind.
"Fuckin' cryin', you fuckin' pussy!" Axl slammed his head into the wall, white flashes of pain momentarily blinding Izzy as he slid to the floor.
Resting his head against his head against his knees, Izzy cradled the back of his aching head, trying not to give in and just howl in pain. That was a weakness and Axl fed off of weaknesses. It was like showing a wolf its dinner. He'd dance around his victim, taunting and pushing until they finally caved, too weak to run away. To weak to defend themselves as he laid into them for all manner of offences. Izzy's had been leaving the band. Now Axl was high and dry without a partner and it seemed that his perfectly formed world, the world he'd spent years crafting, was crumbling before his eyes.
"I said, why'd you fuckin' leave?" Izzy peered between his knees and saw Axl's sneakered feet pressed up against his legs.
"You know why," he dared to reply.
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: - "If" - Rudyard Kipling
With his hat pulled down over his ears, the dark-haired man looked like every other struggling commuter on that murky December Monday. The sleet fell, dusting the streets with a brief flicker of white before disappearing into the gutters, cars and buses splattering it over the already icy pavements.
Dark eyes peered out from beneath the peak of the cap as the man nimbly dodged workers and shoppers alike, arms pulling the heavy coat closer to his slender body. No-one looked at him, no-one smiled at him, not one dead Christmas eye flickered with recognition. And that was the way he liked it.
Walking to the front door of the store, the man paused to remove his hat, shaking droplets of water out into the busy street. Even though it was before 9am, the streets were already swimming with people looking for the immortal pre-Christmas bargains. Pressing a keypad, he pushed on the door and slowly strolled in, eyes surveying the empty aisles of CD's and DVD's.
~~~~
It had started a few months before. The boredom had begun to set in. The irritation and itchy feet. The need to be on the move. Izzy didn't want to be Izzy any more. Didn't want to be wheeled out by Axl whenever the singer wanted to attract more of a crowd. Look! I'm still great! I can get my original rhythm guitarist to share a stage with me again.
Picking up his wallet, Izzy had driven to the airport. Handing over his credit card, he'd brought the last seat on the first flight out of the country. By the time the plane landed at Heathrow airport, eleven hours later, he was no longer Izzy Stradlin. By the time he picked up a hire car, he was no longer Jeffrey Dean Isbell.
~~~~
Quietly he walked through the darkened store, footsteps loud in the momentary silence of the cavernous space. Soon it would be filled with noise: shoppers, voices and the constant rotation of the latest trends in music, movies and games. Little of it appealed to him, the majority of it he didn't understand.
~~~~
Pulling onto the M25, Izzy had driven north. Driven until he could no longer drive, eyes tired and heavy from jet lag and the mind-numbing monotony of the motorway. He'd finally pulled off at junction 21. The twenty first exit for the lost.
He'd spent his first few nights in the dreary provincial city in a hotel, hiding by day and exploring by night. It wasn't the greatest place in the world, not by a long shot. But it was anonymous, a city where no-one knew you and no-one cared. A city where famous people ran from instead of settling in. Izzy had smiled as the realisation had settled in. He was a /nobody/, a nameless, faceless entity that worked and lived, dreaming the dreams that one day he'd maybe make something of himself.
~~~~
There seemed to be something magical about the pre-Christmas season. Before, he'd been dragged from place to place, forced to spend extortionate amounts of money on gifts that people neither needed or wanted. But now he had a freedom that he'd never felt before. A glorious, airy feeling. A feeling of weightless and joy. He smiled to himself as he hummed, a dark shadow with jewel-case filled arms.
He was mainly ignored by the younger members of staff. With their funky hair and baggy jeans, he was pretty much a relic, someone who had lived and seen the world before they were even born. They didn't know about his past and showed no signs of caring. They were pleasant enough in passing but he would forever be that guy Jay.
But someone had noticed him. Tom, a scruffy haired metal-head with a penchant for colourful badges on his coat, had long suspected that their older staff member had more of a story to his life than just being sick and tired of his homeland.
Serving customers with one hand and bagging their good with the other, Tom watched as Jay ambled through the store. The older man moved as if he were in a slow-motion film, everyone else moving past him at high speed. It was as if the guy didn't have a care in the world, a strange sense of serenity that no one else in the city possessed. Dark doe-eyes focused on the few customers who questioned him, answering them with a tiny smile and nod before moving on, the tortoise among the hares.
Shoving a small stack of CD's into a bag, Tom smiled as his eyes tracked Jay. He was pretty sure that he'd discovered Jay's past.
~~~~
"/But/ Izzy."
Izzy was tired of hearing that voice whine down the phone every time Axl wanted something. This time it was to come out and play another couple of dates. "Another couple" meaning finishing the tour. Izzy suspected the tour wasn't going as great as Axl had expected. Well, what could the guy expect by holding up the new album for over a decade?
Sighing, Izzy leaned his head against the cool wall of his lounge. He squeezed his eyes shut as Axl's voice whined and pleaded down the phone.
"Just two dates Izzy, that's all I'm asking."
"But it won't be two dates, will it?" Izzy retorted. "Two will turn into four. Four will turn into eight, and before I know it it's the end of the tour. The answer's no, /Bill/."
Clicking off the phone, Izzy dropped it back onto its cradle. It wouldn't stay silent for long. In a moment it would ring again and Axl would be back, pleading and begging and offering silly amounts of money for Izzy to pick up his guitar and get his ass out to wherever Axl was. But it wasn't going to happen. Not this time. Not ever again.
~~~~
Lunchtime had rolled around at the music store and Jay gratefully dropped into one of the staff-room's battered couches. Rooting around in his messenger bag, he pulled out a small box containing what the other staff would class as a pitiful lunch: a few sandwiches and a few pieces of fruit. With a bottle of water nestled between his legs, Jay pulled a music magazine closer to him. His eyes scanned the cover, noting the headlines, trying to work out what was hot and what wasn't so hot. But he knew he was fighting a losing battle with an industry he no longer cared about relating to.
Flicking the cover open, he took a sip of water and let his eyes trail over the news. One band had broken up, while another had been formed thanks to a TV show. A tiny news item, buried at the bottom of a page, caught his eyes. His heart pounded and eyes bugged as he read it.
It seems that GN'R rhythm guitarist, Izzy Stradlin, has managed to pull a Houdini on everyone. Stradlin, real name Jeffrey Isbell, was last seen at LAX airport in September boarding a flight to the UK. GN'R frontman, Axl Rose, is appealing to the public for any information as to Stradlin's whereabouts.
Suddenly not hungry, Jay pushed his measly lunch away from him and let his head drop back against the couch.
"Fucker," he hissed.
"Who's a fucker?" a voice asked.
Opening his eyes, Jay turned his head to look at the person sitting next to him. Straggly hair fell into the guy's eyes and a hand with bitten nails clutched a packet of cigarettes. His damp, musty smelling, coat was covered in badges, each pledging allegiance to a different band. The free hand was held out to Jay. With suspicion, Jay took it and shook it.
"Tom," the guy said with a smile. "I don't believe we've met."
"No," Jay slowly replied, eyes narrowing.
There was something about Tom, a gleam in his eyes which said he knew something. Had he read the news item? Had he put two and two together?
Jay's heart dropped further as Tom continued, "I know who you are, man. I know you're Axl Rose's runaway." A smile illuminated Tom's face as his eyes sparkled. "Izzy fuckin' Stradlin, right?"
Swallowing around his dry throat, Jay closed his eyes and shook his head.
"No," he said weakly. "I'm not him. You've got the wrong person."
"Don't lie to me, man," that voice kept creeping into Jay's head. "I read the music rags and the internet forums. Your face is plastered across all of them. Besides, you're probably the only American for about fifty miles. "
Ah, the internet. Jay had heard of it but knew very little about it. Checking his e-mails was about all he'd learnt to do and even that had fallen by the wayside as his new identity crept through. He just knew that it was a dumping ground for every rumour, conspiracy theory and crack-pot idea that the world had to offer.
~~~~
After the fourth consecutive phone call, Izzy had torn the phone cable from the wall. Frustrated and angry, he'd stormed around the house, yelling at no one but himself. He'd been a sucker to get drawn back into Axl's world, an idiot for letting the redhead take over again. But it stopped, it ended right now. In a fit of mad rage, Izzy had grabbed his car keys and his wallet. It took a lot for him to get mad and calmness normally returned within a matter of moments. But this time it had gone to far. It was time to get out.
Driving to the airport, he'd screamed blue murder, calling Axl every name under the sun. Why couldn't the guy just say no? Why couldn't he let go and move on? Everyone else had. Everyone else but Axl. And, like the snake that he was, he'd wormed his way back into Izzy's life. Crawled under his skin and laid his hooks, drawing him closer to the flame until Izzy couldn't help but get burnt. Axl's hope had been that Izzy would go back to the others, back to his former bandmates and tell them that Axl had changed, that everything was now okay and it was time for them to lay down their weapons and reform. Izzy had been close to doing it. On more than one occasion, he'd found himself dialling Slash's number, psyching himself up to try to talk sense into the curly-haired man. But every time, something had stopped him, something niggling in the back of his mind. Something telling him that it wasn't the right time. That it would never be the right time.
~~~~
He wanted to run, wanted to move again. But he couldn't. He was glued to the couch as he watched Tom. The sales assistant didn't move, just smiled at him, looking everything like the cat that got the cream.
"I won't tell anyone," Tom quietly stated.
"How do I know you won't?" Jay folded his arms and stared at him.
This is what he'd been dreading. Why he'd come to work in a music store, he'd never know. He should have gone and worked somewhere more anonymous. Like in insurance. No one would have rumbled him if he was selling insurance for things people didn't insurance for.
"There's something you need to know." Leaning forward, Tom removed a crumpled piece of paper from the back pocket of his tatty jeans and handed it to Jay.
It was an album release list for the store. He'd seen them a hundred times before, memorising the names and dates before passing them onto enquiring customers. Looking at it, he began to read. But he got no further than the first title and date.
Chinese Democracy - Guns N Roses - December 23rd.
Swaying, Jay looked at it, his mind barely absorbing the information.
"It can't be," he whispered sickly. "It'll never come out."
"It's already here," Tom replied, matter of factly. "It got delivered a couple of days ago. At night. By armed security guards. It's sitting in the stock room."
Jay looked at him inquisitively. "But I've been in the stock room and I haven't seen it."
Tom laughed quietly, face creasing as he giggled. "It's been shipped under Barney's Greatest Hits." He stood, motioning Jay to do the same. "Come on, I'll show you."
~~~~
He'd brought a little apartment in a downscale area of the city. Nothing fancy, just a one bedroom apartment with a view of a parking lot and a small park. A place to lay his head and be alone. The estate agent had raised their eyebrows when Izzy had offered to pay for the apartment in one. But Izzy felt he had no need for money and the estate agent had been happy to take the cash and run.
Izzy had spent the first evening sitting beside a window, watching as the sun disappeared behind storm clouds. Lightning had flashed through the sky and moments later, the heavens had opened, washing the streets clean of the day's dusty heat. Lulled into a sense of relaxation, Izzy had felt as if his old life was being washed away, swirling into the drains and away from him.
~~~~
Bright, glaring light flooded the underground stockroom, causing Jay to blink. Box after identical box were stacked, all in order, waiting to be put out on the shop floor. Shoulders slumping a little, he trailed after Tom, weaving in and out of the rows of metal shelves.
In a dark corner of the store room were a pile of boxes, hidden from view. Unclipping a box cutter from his belt, Tom sliced open a box and reached inside. He handed a CD case to Jay. In the dim light of the cold room, Jay ran his eyes over the cover. The new Guns logo, the one he'd seen numerous times before, was there, emblazoned along with the title. Running a fingernail along the edge of the case, Jay broke the seal. Nestled inside was the CD he, and many of others, had ever doubted could see the light of day.
Opening the box, Jay peered inside. Another forty or so copies were stacked in the box. And there were another hundred or so boxes, all filled with CD's. CD's of /Chinese Democracy/.
"Holy fuck..." Jay quietly drawled, fascinated.
"You've been out of the loop for a while, huh?" Tom broke the spell and Jay nodded slowly, brain still processing what he was seeing.
"Unfortunately," Tom continued, "I have some bad news."
There was the sound of tape tearing and the rustling of cardboard. A flyer was thrust into Jay's face. He retched as he shakily read the words.
AXL ROSE WILL BE SIGNING COPIES OF CHINESE DEMOCRACY! HERE! DECEMBER 23RD. 12.01AM.
Placing a hand against the wall, Jay steadied himself. Axl would be here, in the little bolt-hole of a city that he'd chosen to hide in.
"H-how?" he stuttered weakly. "W-why?"
"Dunno," was the reply. "Suppose they must have bribed him with a fuck load of money."
Nodding slowly, Jay slid down the cool wall, the flyer crumpled in his hand. Gasping for air, he dragged his free hand across his forehead, wiping away the cold sweat that had broken out over his skin.
Axl was coming. Axl was going to find him.
~~~~
The management knew about him, knew about his past. A general manager who had probably been about ten when Jay was first touring the world had looked at his application with suspicion. Why did this guy need a job working in a record store? Jay had shrugged and smiled weakly, explaining his position and his need to be free. There'd been a lot of too-ing and fro-ing before they'd offered him a job. No special privileges just the promise to keep his real identity a secret.
And so he'd started, the guy in the background who fetched and carried. No real face to face selling, just the dark shadow who slipped in and out of sight.
~~~~
He was sitting in Tom's bedroom, nervously perched on the edge of the messy bed as as Tom tapped away at a computer that wouldn't have looked out of place in a science fiction movie. One in a constant stream of Marlboro cigarettes dangled from Tom's lips, the blue-tinged smoke filtering out of an open window. For the first time in years, Jay found himself craving a cigarette. But he hadn't hadn't given into Axl and he wasn't about to give into another filthy addiction that had ruled his life for so many years.
He'd recounted his whole pathetic tale to Tom. Of running away. Of changing his name. Of hiding from the monster. Tom had listened patiently, nodding and smoking as Jay had ranted and raved, told him secrets that only he and Axl knew. Of the threats. Of the screaming matches. Of the beatings and the bloodshed. Jay knew that sooner or later the older, and supposedly calmer, Axl would snap. Jay knew that, while his body had grown stronger from the abstinence of drugs and alcohol, it may not survive another of Axl's temper tantrums.
Something had had to give. He'd done it once and this time he's hoped to do it permanently.
Obviously not.
~~~~
"Axl /NO!/"
Crack! Izzy found himself reeling into a wall, the breath knocked out of him as his back slammed into solid brick. Already he could feel the slow, warm trickle of blood sliding from his nose. Now his face stung from where Axl's hand had landed.
Looking up from beneath a veil of dreadlocks, Izzy watched as Axl advanced on him, a sneer tattooed to his normally pretty face. A hand wrapped into Izzy's twisted hair, forcing him to look at Axl. Closing his eyes was no good; it would only earn him another slap.
"Why'd you fuckin' leave?" Axl demanded for about the hundredth time that day.
Choking down the phlegm that threatened to suffocate him, Izzy rolled his eyes and shook his head. A scream ripped from his hoarse throat as Axl slammed a knee into his crotch. Doubling over, Izzy clutched at his stomach, only just held upright by Axl's hand in his hair. Tears began to drop from his eyes, splashing onto the hardwood floor of Axl's kitchen.
He'd come to talk, come to explain. Come to try and heal the rifts. But, as usual, it hadn't turned out that way. What Izzy had planned as a gentle chat had turned into the bloodbath he thought he'd left behind.
"Fuckin' cryin', you fuckin' pussy!" Axl slammed his head into the wall, white flashes of pain momentarily blinding Izzy as he slid to the floor.
Resting his head against his head against his knees, Izzy cradled the back of his aching head, trying not to give in and just howl in pain. That was a weakness and Axl fed off of weaknesses. It was like showing a wolf its dinner. He'd dance around his victim, taunting and pushing until they finally caved, too weak to run away. To weak to defend themselves as he laid into them for all manner of offences. Izzy's had been leaving the band. Now Axl was high and dry without a partner and it seemed that his perfectly formed world, the world he'd spent years crafting, was crumbling before his eyes.
"I said, why'd you fuckin' leave?" Izzy peered between his knees and saw Axl's sneakered feet pressed up against his legs.
"You know why," he dared to reply.
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