Chapter 6: Harbor Sound

Linus walked through the glass doors of Harbor Sound Records at ten past noon, alone.

He had left the penthouse by the service stairs while Manolis ate his lunch in the kitchen with Quincy.

He had told no one where he was going.

The lobby was white marble and gold records, forty feet of wall hung with platinum.

In the center, under its own spotlight, hung a framed gold disc.

PAPER TIGERS, it said. GRIFFIN MOYER.

Linus stood and looked at it until the receptionist said, "Sir?"

"I'm here for Griffin."

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked.

"I'm his best friend."

She picked up a phone.

He did not wait for her to finish the call.

The elevator opened on the fourth floor onto a corridor of studios, and he followed the sound of a guitar.

It stopped when he opened the door.

Griffin Moyer sat on a stool in a booth, in a leather jacket Linus had never seen, with a guitar Linus had never seen either.

He was tanned and bleached, and he looked up with the smile that had always worked on everybody.

"Lin!" he said. "Dude. Where have you been? I called you eight times."

"I lost my phone."

"I figured." He set the guitar down and came across the room with his arms open. "Come here. I've missed you, man. This has been insane."

Linus did not step into the hug.

He looked at the guitar, the jacket, the watch on Griffin's wrist that cost more than his rent.

"You put your name on it," he said.

"It's a team thing. They needed one name for the credits. I was going to tell you."

"When?" Linus asked.

"When it blew up. It blew up, Lin, it's number four, your mom's going to be so..."

Linus hit him.

It was a clean right hand, the first punch of his life, and it landed on the corner of Griffin's mouth.

Griffin went backward over the stool and sat down on the floor with his lip split.

He stared up at Linus with real shock.

"You hit me."

"I wrote the bridge while you ate my cereal."

"It was a song, man!" Griffin touched his mouth and looked at the blood on his fingers. "It's one song! You've got a hundred of them!"

"It's mine."

"You think they would have signed you? Look at yourself, Lin. They'd have signed your face. They wanted a voice."

Linus stood over him, breathing hard.

His knuckles burned.

He realized, a bit stupidly, that he was shaking, and not from rage.

"I'm taking it back," he said. "All of it. The credit, the money, the name. I'll take every dollar."

Griffin laughed.

It was a wet, unsteady laugh, and it was not the one Linus knew.

"You and what army?"

"I've got one."

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