ow. Do you have a question for Rudy? You know the number. Paula from Austin, you’re on the air.”
Paula let out a squee! of ear-shattering proportions. “Omigod, hi! Rudy, I’m such a big fan, you have no idea—”
The next ten minutes pretty much went exactly like that. Plague of Locusts seemed to have a bevy of screaming teenage fans across the country, and they all called in to gush. Rudy seemed impressed and chatted with them all.
I had fifteen minutes left to the show when I cut off the calls. “Rudy? How about you and the boys play something for us?”
His eyes lit up. “Yeah! Cool!” He was way too cheerful to be a real punk. He called over to the band, seated with their instruments. “Hey guys, what should we play?”
Bucky said, “We could play, you know, that one. The one with the bum bum bum part.”
Len nodded quickly. “Yeah—the new version.”
“I don’t know,” Rudy said, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “We haven’t ever played that one live. How about the one with the cool bit in the middle?”
“We could do that one,” Bucky said. “But what about the other one?”
“That one’s okay too,” Rudy said.
I had no clue what they were talking about. I stared, rapt.
Then Tim said, in his rough, demonic voice, “Play the fast one.”
Rudy perked up, his eyes going wide. “Dude, yeah! The fast one!”
Bucky jumped to his drums, Len stood with his guitar, and Rudy raced to his microphone. Tim watched them, calmly as ever.
All this carried over the studio mikes. I almost hated to interrupt the entertaining exchange, but the musicians had already turned their attention to their instruments.
I leaned in to my mike. “Okay, listeners, it looks like Plague of Locusts is going to play us some music. I have no idea what the name of the piece is, but they’re calling it ‘the fast one.’ I, for one, am intrigued.”
Rudy called over, “Are you ready, Kitty?”
Ready as I’d ever be. “Go for it!”
Bucky the drummer banged out a count and the band plunged in, full speed ahead. They went straight from zero to manic in half a second. The fast one, yeah. Still, their playing was strangely compelling. Len hunched over his guitar, legs spread, head bobbing in time to the music; I thought the poor guy was going to get whiplash. Bucky did the same, his long hair flying, the entire drum set rattling. Rudy clutched his microphone stand in both hands, pressed the mike to his face, and screamed.
Tim kept up with the song, fingers dancing on the frets, bass chords rumbling. The man himself, though, remained still, intensely focused, the eye of this particular hurricane.
I couldn’t say I understood any of the lyrics, and there wasn’t a melody of any kind to speak of. The rhythm resembled that of a massive downpour on a tin roof. That only made Plague of Locusts the latest in a long line of anti-establishment, anti-musicality musicians. Call it what you will, the fans loved it. My phone lines lit up, listeners calling in to beg for more.
The band played two more songs, we took a few more phone calls from eager fans, and then came the end of the show. I was almost sorry we were out of time. This had been a hoot.
Rudy and the others apparently had a great time, too. After the closing credits, Bucky and Len shook my hand enthusiastically. Rudy hugged me like we were long lost siblings. He promised we’d do this again sometime. I basked in a general feeling of success and well-being. It hardly mattered that Morgantix the demon hadn’t agreed to speak to me through host body Tim. Though, I’d rather been looking forward to conducting the first live demon interview in radio.
Tim hung back as they left the studio, waiting until Rudy and the others were in the hallway, leaving the two of us alone. He had an air of calculating calm about him. I couldn’t help it; he made me nervous. My heartbeat speeded up, and I eyed the exit.
“Can I tell you something?” he asked me in a regular tenor—an unassuming, undemonic voice. Morgantix has left the building . . .
“Okay.”
He glanced at the floor a moment, suddenly looking sly, like he was about to tell a joke. “See, you’re pretty cool, and I just have to tell somebody. Can you keep a secret?”
“Sure.” Always say yes to that question. I learned the best stuff this way.
He said, “Okay, here it goes. I’m not really possessed by a demon named Morgantix.”
Somehow, I was simultaneously surprised and not. “Are you possessed by any demon at all?”