The Hidden Genre (C. H. H. Ain't Dead 01)

chapter six

TONIGHT WOULD be the first night Luke had a drink before a show. He went to the after party room with a one track mind, for only alcohol could help him rid the thoughts:

   Why did these Christian rappers keep showing up? Was he their target for some unknown reason? And if so, why him? There's so many secular artists, why weren't they annoying them? Liquor.

   He opened another door within the room that led to liquor paradise. Only then Luke noticed that he had a gun to his head. His heart jumped into his throat. He was okay with guns, but not okay with the gore they left people in from this distance. He gave the person a quick check in the mirror, but the human had his face covered with a mask.

   “Look, man, I'm seriously not in the mood for this,” he put a drink down and slowly faced the intruder. “Take whatever you want and get going.”

   “I don't know where you grew up, boy,” came a deep laugh as the person closed the door, but was careful not to lock it, “but where I'm from, which is in the heart of North City, the man with the gun calls the shots.” The masked man kept his focus on Luke as he walked backwards to go lock the first door, “I just want to have a special drink with you.”

   “Whatever you getting paid, I can pay double,” Luke started to panic, “I’m a famous celebrity that helps homeless children, you don't want to kill me, man. Think about the –”

   “Shut up and sit down!” shouted the masked gunman.

   Luke obeyed.

   “We can talk about that paycheck later,” the man licked his lips as he glanced over the variety that the open bar offered. “I really couldn’t believe all the expensive drinks you have at a snap of your fingers. You over-privileged, boy . . . by the way,” the man took a sip of a bottle that was kept aside, “I'm not here to kill you –”

   “You just damn well said you want me to drink poison!” said Luke, with a hint of rage in his voice.

   “Your language, boy,” he pointed the weapon and Luke went mute. “Who would have thought? You don't just talk crap in your music, apparently you do so in real life as well.” The man pulled out two tubes of water-like substances and put one back, “I said that I want you to drink something special. I never said poison.” He poured it into a cup and mixed it with alcohol like a bartender, “I just don't want you to perform for a little while, that's all.”

   “Not perform? I don't get it? What will you gain from that?” asked Luke.

   “Simple: a paycheck that's worth more than the tips I earn in a year.” He signaled for the celebrity to get up, “This will have you lose your pretty voice for a couple weeks. Now drink it!”

   Luke had to obey or risk being shot. He came here to the room to have a drink and get thoughts out of his head. The latter surely worked, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted a drink anymore. The celebrity slowly reached for the cup offered to him.

   What was taking security so long? This guy locked the entry door, didn't he? That should have triggered the panic button. The door should have been kicked in by now.

   “I don't get it . . .” said Luke, trying to stall for time.

   “What don't you get, boy?” asked the gunman.

   “I don't understand why you need a gun when you so adamant on not killing me,” Luke looked at the foam cup in his hand. “You should have just kidnapped me, how can I be sure this drink won't take me out for good?” asked Luke, curious of the intentions now.