Mace was sitting on the edge of the bed platform tugging on his boots when the buzzer went.
“Jesus Christ,” Mace muttered and Hector moved toward the panel.
I bent to put the bowl of food on the floor and Juno shoved her face in it before it was settled. I was rubbing down her body when I heard the disembodied voice of Hugo in the room.
“We gotta know a secret password or what?”
“It’s the band,” Hector told Mace (I wil note he told Mace, not me).
“Let them in,” I said.
“I’l talk to them,” Mace said at the same time, getting up and walking toward the door.
Erm, what?
Now wait just one effing minute.
“You can just let them in,” I told Mace as I fol owed him.
“Stay here with Stel a. I’l be back with the band.” Mace ignored me and spoke to Hector.
“Mace!” I snapped. “Just let them in.”
Mace turned to face me. “We’l be right up.” My eyes narrowed on him.
“What’s going on?”
“I just want to get a few things straight with the band.” I did not think so.
“About what?” I pushed.
“About ‘no comment’.”
Oh.
Okay.
I could see that.
Mace and I both knew everyone, including the grieving Buzz, would be happily loose-lipped with reporters unless warned. Especial y if they thought they could get The Blue Moon Gypsies and any of our gig dates in print.
“You can talk to them up here,” I told him.
“I’m talkin’ to them downstairs.”
“Mace.”
“Stel a.”
“Jesus, is someone gonna let us in or what?” Pong’s disembodied voice didn’t come through the panel, we could hear him shouting from outside.
“Two seconds,” Hector said into the speaker and before I could say another word, Mace was gone.
I looked at the door then at Hector and remarked angrily,
“He’s annoying.”
“He’s probably got his reasons,” Hector replied.