Sedona Law 4 by Dave Daren (ready to read books TXT) 📕

shrugged. “It’s an old piece of junk, but we’re going to paint it.”

“It’s not an old piece of junk,” Jack said. “Most of it’s cosmetic. It’s got good bones, good engine and all. That’s all you really need.”

“I’m going to do murals on the side,” Harmony said. “And then we’re going to go to all the national parks. Jack does photography, so he’s going to do a photo book, like Ansel Adams.”

“I’m not Ansel Adams,” he said. “Stop telling people that.”

“But you’re really good,” she said.

“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” he said. “I want to make a statement about---”

My mom had caught up to us now and was yelling into the FaceTime connection.

“We’ve got Henry and Vicki and Harmony, and her friend Jack all here,” she shouted.

“Well, this ought to be interesting,” I muttered.

“Say hi, everyone,” she said and switched the screen around to our gathered group.

“Hey, Phoenix,” we all waved and smiled in unison.

In the fractured connection, I made out my nineteen-year-old brother that had shaved his head and was wearing red Buddhist robes.

“Hi, guys,” his voice came in and out.

“I guess they don’t have good signal in a Columbian Buddhist temple,” I said

“Huh?” he replied. It was clear he couldn’t hear me.

“I’m having a great time,” he said. “I’m meditating three hours a day and concentrating on learning the eightfold path.”

“What about your friends?” Harmony asked. “Are they at the temple with you?”

The picture froze for a couple of seconds, and then Phoenix answered, “No, they went on to Venezuela. I’m in a remote mountain village called Minca. But I couldn’t do the documentary without achieving enlightenment.”

“Why not?” I asked.

He had originally gone to South America with the intent of finding a documentary subject, somewhere along the lines of poverty and injustice.

“Why not, is that what you asked?” he said. “Sorry, you’re breaking up. Buddhism is all about ending suffering, and you can’t end suffering until you reach nirvana. So, I had to concentrate on the eightfold path, and the four noble truths before any of what I came here to do will make any sense.”

I nodded and turned to Vicki who shrugged. I knew very little about Buddhism.

“Well,” my mom jumped in. “Your dad is playing the PAH tonight. Do you still want to see the--”

The screen froze, and then the call dropped.

“I guess Phoenix won’t be joining us tonight,” she said as the lights dimmed.

“I’m so proud of him,” my mom said. “I wanted to do that when I was his age. Ugh. It was such a dream of mine.”

“You should, mom,” Harmony said as we headed back to our seats.

“And leave all of this behind?” she said. “Are you kidding me? When you’re young, you look for yourself. But, once you get to be my age, you realize you don’t find yourself anymore because you’ve created yourself. I’ve got a crown of wealth around me, with my children, and my friends. And I look around, and I see that that’s a beautiful thing.”

She looked in my direction, and I saw the most genuine smile I had ever seen her have. With the Hallmark moment subsiding, we all found our seats, and Jack started to tell me about his band.

“So, it’s like this thrasher group,” he said. “It’s hardcore, but not like hardcore.”

“What’s it called?” I asked.

“It’s called Devil’s Balls,” he said. “We play every week at this underground place called 312 Main. All we really need is one person to get behind us. If we just had one person that would be all we need.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, as I realized where this was going.

“So, I was thinking,” he said, as he not so casually leaned forward. “Harmony says you might know some people in the industry.”

“I’m not in that line of work anymore, really,” I said.

“That’s cool, man,” he said and turned to Harmony. “Do you have the demo, babe?”

“Sure,” Harmony pulled a homemade CD out of her purse and handed it to him.

“Look,” he handed me the CD. “If you can just listen to this, and tell me what you think. You know, maybe get it to the right people. I just think if the right people could hear us... Man, that’s all we would need. All we would need.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said. “But I can’t make any promises.”

“Thanks, man,” he said, and he smiled and put his arm around Harmony.

I handed the CD to Vicki who put it into her purse, and I shot her a look. It’s not that I didn’t want to help the guy. It’s just that if music was dead, rock was deader, and the market was so oversaturated, it was almost impossible to stand out. A blue-haired rocker with a band called Devil’s Balls was not particularly compelling material for the major labels. I pledged to give it one good listen for Harmony’s sake.

An emcee walked onstage and introduced the next act. “So joining us this evening is Sedona’s own Cabbages and Kings.”

The crowd emitted a polite applause, but our little group of followers cheered loudly.

My dad’s four-piece band filed out on stage. I thought they would do a bland rock set with mediocre originals. But, then my dad, supposed to be the lead guitarist, picked up this weird three string guitar looking thing, with an elongated wooden neck and a boxy canvas bottom.

“You see your dad on the shamisen?” my mom whispered to me. “It’s an ancient Japanese instrument he got at an antique shop.”

I raised an eyebrow and then watched my dad pluck out a banjo-like rendition of the opening lines to Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit. The crowd loved it, and I turned to Vicki.

“Did you hear that?” I asked her. “That