Editing Getting the Band Together (section)

=== '''Finding Their Sound'''===

Several days passed as the band remained in hiding. The band spent the time playing music, getting to know each other’s playing rather than the singular sounds the busking they had been doing taught them. They ate well, finishing off what Colette had brought. She stepped out to make another food run on her last day before she left.

Cali sat beside Jax, silently, her hurts mended as best as medications could, but the memories went deeper. Those scars might never heal.

During that week, the group played for each other as they never had before. They shared the squat but had never shared their music. Now they did. The hallways echoed as they developed rhythms, harmonies, and solos. They sang all the songs they knew and shared the ones they wrote. Gadget sat back a lot, playing her bass guitar and lamenting that the only thing she missed from home was her piano. She let Eddie take the lead on guitar, playing his beloved surfpunk renditions. Holden played rhythm. Tiffy was a virtuoso on the violin, weaving her sound among the others, playing counterpoint and solos. Gadget nearly cried.

Gadget would go out at night alone. She met with groups of dogs that had heard about her, and she bound them to her, as her father and mother had taught her. Her skill at the bonding grew quickly.

The streets were eerily quiet, the distant hum of a generator the only sound as she walked through the deserted industrial areas near the Station. Gadget’s boots scraped against cracked pavement, her mind drifting to Mandalay. In her world, shadows whispered secrets; here they only swallowed sound. She tightened her grip on the Trump card in her pocket. No magic here to guide her—only instinct.

Jax was pretty good on the bongos. He told them about the music store at home that let him play their drums. The school he and Cali had gone to had shut their music departments. Eddie talked about the private school he and Tiffy had attended. It was wonderful to them, but their homes were hells.

The group opened up to each other, sharing their lives. Something they had never done before.

Gadget told a tale that paled to the others, but hers was fiction. They were not ready to learn her truth. Mandalay, Fleece, Snack, the Dramaturge, her pack—the Hounds of Mandalay, Raphael, Ang Ri, Fort Garland.

After four days, Cali was walking, Jax supporting her arm. She carried her bass guitar but didn’t play it. The closest she came was quietly tapping out the beats Jax played.

Jax told a story, "This one time, we played for an audience of zero. Just me and the drums, Cali and her bass in some crummy bar in Wisconsin. Felt like a rehearsal—until the bartender started crying."

Gadget smiled faintly, "Why cry over a song?"

Jax said, "Said it reminded him of his son. Music’s like that—it hits people in ways you don’t expect."

Gadget stared into the camp stove flames, silent. Music and magic weren’t so different. Both were bridges.

Gadget reveled in the experience. Eddie Black and the Stone Bench Group, here, before the fame, before the glory. And in this shadow, Cali lived and didn’t become the inspiration for Jax’s sad ballads and his descent into alcoholism and self-destruction as happened in so many shadows. She knew shadow was vast, and there were places this group never suffered their tragedies. Those shadows sometimes had weaker groups, without the passion. Bands that played at State Fairs, not the Coliseum or Madison Square Gardens. It was a gentle process, but Gadget coaxed them into sharing their tragedies and building on them. After all, they all had horrors in their pasts. Things that brought them together.

She knew one day she would leave them. Leave them to their glory. But till then, she became a member of the Stone Bench Group. She wished she could stay. She also knew that if at all possible, her goal was to guide them past a few roadblocks and eventually bring them to the Dramaturge in Mandalay. If, if...

Eventually, the claustrophobia began to grow on them, and a time came when they returned to the plaza and reclaimed their stone bench. This time, when they took turns leading, singing, solos, the rest of the band played to back them up.

Now the strollers stopped more often. They bought pizza and ate while listening. Some started taking their regular lunch breaks from offices and businesses nearby to come and listen. They might even be the seeds of the fandom that would one day follow them online as well as from city to city.

After a week on the plaza, Waldo showed up. He was apologetic, but Cali couldn’t stand the sight of him. She admitted that Waldo had never touched her, but he had
 been part of Wart’s group. He was a shadow of his former swaggering self. Gadget knew Wrecker and Reggy had taken to correcting his attitude while getting all the information out of him they could. It showed. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. In time, Waldo started helping carry things and set things up. Pignoses, a few cables. A mic-stand. Gadget’s eyes nearly popped one day when Waldo brought chalk and drew a half-circle around the front for whoever was doing their lead. The famous singing circle. The cover of their epic first album before her eyes.

Somewhere in there, he and Cali made peace, but Gadget knew that in most of the shadows, Cali was known to hate the chief roadie. She guessed in this shadow that would be Waldo. She never saw Holden exchange more than a few words at a time to Waldo, and he always managed his own amp.

Eddie started to develop the stage presence that would make him famous. Tiffy, on her rock and roll violin, matched his every note, making his voice sound musical. His fingers danced on the strings, while she held the back line steady and soulful. Gadget closed her eyes as the melody washed over her. Each note was a heartbeat, a reminder of what they were fighting for—a world where music didn’t fade into static, where hope lingered in the chords. She could see Cali’s fingers matching her own. It wouldn’t be long till the two of them developed the dual bass sound the group would be famous for. Then Gadget would be replacing stray bassists the band would pick up for a gig or two at a time. Maybe, just maybe, she could stay.

A few days into their second month, Gadget saw Wrecker and Reggy stroll through the plaza. They listened and threw a wad of bills in the guitar case.

Gadget slipped away and met them behind Little Caesar’s.

Wreck lit a cigar as she approached, half offering it to Gadget, who declined. "What’s up?"

Wrecker, the brains of the two such as they were, said, "We have a target. Your contact helped sort it out. The Blind Reapers. A motorcycle gang. They have deep pockets and deep protection. They have a bunch of cops on the payroll."

Reggy said, "Hey! That doesn’t make them bad cops, just realists."

Wrecker looked at him incredulously, "Really, Officer Clifton?" Reggy shrugged.

Wrecker continued, "They are middlemen for sure. They get good product from the people down at the port. They stomp on the stuff at their clubhouse out in Daniville. We’ve looked the place over. Ten targets at least, including two high-value targets. From what we have learned, drug running is top, but they run guns and girls. Slave trade. The gang leaders are Black Carl Smalter and Dale Genkin. They have contacts all over the place. Permission to scrub them."

Gadget asked, "What did Lisha say?"

Wrecker told her, "They are unofficially untouchable by the cops."

She nodded. "Conditionally, permission granted. We need to know more about them. Talk to them first. See if we can flip them." She turned and returned to the band.

Wrecker nodded, "Infiltration it is."

The pair left, and Gadget went back by way of Little Caesar’s for a few $5 pizzas.

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Certainly! Below is the continuation of the story, revised to maintain consistent past tense. I'll continue from where we left off, ensuring all tenses are corrected and the narrative flows smoothly.

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