AFTER THE SET finished, the guys in the band shook hands and patted King on the back. The piano guy avoided King and left the room without talking to anyone.
King packed his things and grabbed his crutches and headed backstage. I started preparing everything for closing time. The bar would have stayed open for another hour (or later, if it was a busy night), but no one seemed interested in ordering drinks, so I started turning empty chairs on to the tables.
I was just finishing up when a disheveled King came stumbling out of the back, moving up towards the front of the club. I followed him, since the door was now locked, and I’d need to open it for him.
“Hey, King!” I called. “Hang on a minute.”
He slammed into the front door and pushed against it, without success.
“Hang on, the door’s locked. It’ll just take a minute—”
I was just about there when suddenly I saw stars. It took a second for my eyes to clear, but an angry-looking King had his fist in my face.
“Get back!” he shouted at me. “Back!”
“Whoa, okay. Geez! Take it easy!” I’d taken my fair share of punches, so I was okay—but then he hit me with his trumpet case. So I slugged him in the gut and dropped him to his knees.
The bartender was on us in an instant. “Geez, man, you okay? I can’t believe he hit you.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Help me get him up.”
“Your nose is bleeding.”
“It’s nothing. Let’s get him outside.”
I unlocked the door, and we helped get King into a waiting cab.
“Sorry King,” I said. “I really liked your set tonight.”
Curtis King was silent. He was still hunched over in the back seat..
“He’s not going to be sick, is he?” asked the cabbie.
“No. Just had a bit of a rough night,” I said.
As the cab pulled away, I followed it with my gaze.
“I’m fired.”
“Yeah,” said Sam. “Most likely.”
I sighed. It was bound to happen.
“You can help me finish cleaning up, though.”
“Sure thing.”