The janitor/drummer/demon’s expression shifted from shock, to what briefly seemed like anger, to friendliness, or at least trying to look friendly.
“Hey! You’re the Lamashtu fans from yesterday! How’s everything going?” The janitor broke the silence with his thick, Eastern European accent. Both of us continued to stare with our mouths agape for a few more seconds.
Eventually Travis somehow managed to blurt out the worst possible thing he could say to the person who was not only an insane metal drummer, but also responsible for saving our butts, and our ticket to notoriety in the metal scene: “Are you even supposed to be here?” First Tom Seiks, now the janitor. You are on a roll today, Travis.
The janitor didn’t seem to be offended. “Heh heh heh, I could ask you that same question. How did you even get in through the back door? Shouldn’t it be locked?”
I finally came to my senses and tried to change the subject. “That was some pretty brutal drumming you were just doing! My friend Travis here and I are big metalheads, like you probably figured out, so when we heard you playing we wanted to come see who it was.”
“Hey, thanks!” he replied. Then he leaned in and spoke to us in a lower voice, “I’m going to level with you boys; I’m not actually supposed to be playing drums here. But my drum set barely fits in my crappy apartment and my neighbors will complain to my landlord if I try to practice there. So I practice here after I lock up because no one is ever around in this part of the building to hear it and the acoustics are phenomenal. I guess I forgot to lock a few of the doors today. I’m going to ask you boys as a fellow metalhead to keep this a secret. Can you do that for me?”
I couldn’t believe it. Not only did we (well, mainly Travis) not screw up our chances of getting this guy to do something for us, but he was asking us to do something for him. I had to think quickly about how to properly respond to him. I couldn’t immediately say yes and lose my leverage, but at the same time I couldn’t come across as too demanding and scare him off. I had to play my cards just right.
“I guess that sounds reasonable,” I replied, trying to look like I was considering it, “the only problem is Travis and I were looking around the music wing for a place to rehearse as well. Our parents hate it when we play metal music at home, and this band room fits the bill perfectly.”
The janitor’s expression shifted from hope to concern as he realized he might lose his rehearsal space or even his job because a couple kids ratted him out. “Maybe we could alternate every other day?” Travis suggested, “That way both of us get some time with the band room and neither of us can narc on the other.”
“No!” The janitor quickly shot back, startling both of us, “I mean, I have to practice every day. It is very important for me to…get better. I need to get better,” he said, sounding almost unsure of himself.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, “You already sound like a pro. You’re a freaking monster, man. Travis and I are only getting started. We need a lot more rehearsal time as beginners to get to your level.” Travis and I were no expert persuaders, but by subtly threatening to narc on him for our own benefit then following up with flattery, we were slowly getting him where we wanted.
“Errrr,” the janitor’s eyes darted back and forth as he tried to think of something he could say that would let him keep rehearsing in the band room without us spilling his secret. “What if…what if we rehearse together? I could actually give you a few pointers. You play guitar, right kid?” he asked, looking at me.
“You know, that’s not actually a bad idea!” I said, trying to keep my expression from revealing that I had gotten exactly what I wanted without having to suggest it myself. “Travis here actually plays bass. We could jam together!”
“Sounds like a plan!” The janitor forced a smile and he still had hesitation in his voice, but a deal was a deal. We both extended our hands for a handshake to confirm our arrangement. “My name is Charlie,” he said. That definitely wasn’t the name I was expecting. Maybe it’s short for something.
“Nice to meet you, Charlie, I’m Eric.”
But just before we shook on it, Travis blurted out “And we need you to be a demon, too!”
At that moment, I understood why Varg stabbed his bandmate Euronymous to death.
“You need me to be a what?” Charlie looked more shocked than confused, like when someone threatens to tell your crush that you like them.
“WHAT TRAVIS MEANS TO SAY…” I shouted to drown out whatever Travis was about to say. I didn’t need him screwing our deal up any worse than he already had. However, I only got those five words out before I realized I didn’t know how to answer that question without sounding any less crazy.
“IT WAS WHEN JEFF HENNESSY,” Travis tried to take advantage of my pause.
“YOU CAME OUT OF NOWHERE,” I shouted back.
“GUITAR STRINGS!”
“PEOPLE ARE AFRAID OF US!”
“RUMOR GOING AROUND!”
“METALHEAD STREET CRED!”
“SO WE NEED YOU TO BE A DEMON!”
If Charlie didn’t look confused at our first request that he be a demon, he did after we screamed it a second time. Travis and I both had to take a few seconds to catch our breath after our screaming match. Once the emotions and adrenaline had run through our systems and we regained our ability to speak in complete sentences, we explained what had transpired in the last 24 hours, how Charlie was involved, and why we needed him to be a demon for our band to get metal street cred. I thought we even sounded pretty convincing, if I say so myself.
Charlie stared at us, his face revealing nothing other than deep contemplation. After what seemed like hours, he said with a completely straight face “You want me to be the drummer for your metal band? I can be your drummer. You want me to defend you from bullies at school? I can defend you. You don’t want everyone to know I’m a janitor? They won’t know. You even want me to be a demon? I can be a demon.” I could have sworn I saw him crack a sly smile as he said that. “All I ask of you two is to promise two things: keep this arrangement a secret, and make a real effort to get better at your instruments. You want to be metal gods, you have to learn to play like metal gods. I can help you get better, but I can’t make you better just like that. Not anymore. Do you understand?”
Travis and I looked at each other, gave each other a brief nod, and looked back at Charlie.
“You’ve got a deal,” I said.
Travis and I both shook hands with Charlie, his catcher’s mitt-sized hand engulfing ours. Immediately after I felt more confident, more in control of my surroundings. I could tell by Travis’s expression that he felt it too.
“Now,” Charlie said, “let’s begin our first lesson.”
“What, you mean like right now?” I was a little taken aback. Travis and I had already been here a while, and we still had our homework to do.
“That was the deal,” Charlie stated as he held out a bass and guitar I hadn’t seen anywhere in the room until now. “You mentioned you don’t have your own instruments with you,” I didn’t remember mentioning that at all. “See how you like these.” These instruments were pristine, far beyond what a middle school janitor should be able to afford. Where did he get these?
“You boys ready?” Charlie asked as he sat back down at his drum set and picked up his sticks.
“Wait, what are we playing?” Travis asked, bewildered.“Just play what comes to you. You’ll get the hang of it soon,” Charlie replied as he lifted his drum sticks up to tap together, “Alright, here we go! One, two, three, four!”