We got to a stop
sign and Daniel leaned over to look. I showed him the phone. All I had to do
was hold it, while Sherwood scrolled through the images. Pastor Rocky and Marty
scowled at the camera, looking like they did in the pictures from the band's
glory days. Except …
Except they were
wearing current clothes. None of the grunge rock outfits. Black t-shirts and
jeans and cowboy boots and black leather jackets. Their hair was short -- well,
Father Marty had hair, period. The man I had been running into when he
practiced with Pastor Rocky's retro band wore the typical Friar Tuck haircut,
glossy dome with a straggly fringe. In all the pictures I had seen from Pastor
Rocky's boxes of memorabilia, they had had long hair, past their shirt pockets
-- if they wore shirts at all.
"This is a
story that was slated to release next week," Sherwood said, when Daniel sat
up and continued driving to the church.
"How did
you get hold of it ahead of time?" Daniel asked.
"I didn't.
It was released in reaction to an accident last night. Read."
My phone showed
a series of newspaper articles and police reports and online news bytes.
Sherwood didn't give me time to read much more than the headlines and a few of
the first lines. I didn't want to read more than that, because the headlines
and lead lines told me the whole story.
Magna Magma's
tour bus had collided head-on with a semi hauling a fuel tanker. There were no
survivors.
Okay, we were going to comfort Pastor Rocky on the tragic deaths of his former friends. So why were we trying to get there before Father Marty?
My phone display stopped on the final article, and I realized I was wrong. There was a whole lot more to last night's accident.
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