Blind Faith (Sequel to Something to Believe In)

Three

December, 1991

A month after meeting him, the rest of Poison'd long since come to the definitive decision that Richie wasta be their newest band member. They all agreed that his playing was absolutely phenomenal, and they weren't likely to find that kinda talent anywhere else. Sure, their other top choice–a guy by the name of Blues Saraceno–was no dummy with a guitar or piano either one, but even he wasn't as talented as this young prodigy was.

        On the Day before Zep's first birthday–which was supposed to be their last jam Day before they split up for the holidays–the remaining original members of the band were awaiting their newest band mate. He somehow usually beat even Rob to the studio, and said bassist'd to be the most prompt band member besides him. It wasn't just being a father that made him that way, either–he'd been referred to as the band slave-driver many Times over the Years. After all, he'd grown up so poor, there'd been plenty of Times that he was lucky to get two squares a Day, and he never wanted to go back to that.

        Even Rikki was starting to get irritated, the way he twirled his sticks as they waited being a clear sign of that irritation. It was pretty obvious they were all thinking the same thing–that Richie was gonna be a no-show, thus giving the vocalist a reason to explode on him, if and when he did show up. But none of them were expecting the young man to storm in with a Thunder Cloud so Dark, it scared even the bassist Dominating his face, his fists clenched around his case and amp handles in a white-knuckle grip.

        "Some fuckin' Christmas present to wake up to this Morn," he grumbled. Somehow, he managed to take care not to just throw his gear like he no doubt wanted to.

        "Um, good Morn to you, too," the drummer said hesitantly.

        "Sorry, guys–wasn't trying to be so late getting here," Richie grumbled. "Woke up to a damn eviction notice on my front door."

        "Damn, seriously?" Even Bret looked sympathetic when he said that.

        "Landlord's a shady bastard," the younger brunette growled. "Been giving him the check every month, but his records show that I'm three months behind in rent."

        "Sounds like he's been doing something else with the money once he cashes those checks," the taller blonde mused.

        "That, or he's been ripping them up," Rob said, his brow furrowed with a frown.

        "Had to've been ripping them up," he told them. "'Cuz when I stopped by the bank on my way here, they haven't any records of the right amounts being withdrawn that'd suggest he'd been cashing the checks."

        "Guess you're stuck spending your holidays finding a new place, huh?" the vocalist asked.

        "And therein lies the problem," Richie sighed, unpacking his guitar. "I can't afford anything else in the area since I'm pretty much in starving artist mode."

        Rikki glanced over at the one band mate who hadn't said much, and he could practically see the wheels in his head turning. "Whatcha thinkin', Bob?"

        "Shut up, asshat–ya know I hate being called that," the bassist growled. "And don't worry about it."

        This made what was now the Melody section of their band cock their brows at him curiously.

        "Gotta make a phone call before I even remotely mention it, but we need to get to jamming or just leave," Rob chuckled. "We paid good money for today, but if we're not gonna use the Space, we might as well free it up for someone else."