This Machine Kills the Machine - 1. This Machine Kills the Machine

December 2006

It’s an impulse. Johnny stumbles out of the stage door of the concert venue, drunk and still on a stage high, and the car is just there. This flashy, brand-new Rayfield that clearly belongs to some rich corpo douchebag, sitting in the parking lot like it owns the place, lit up in purple and red by the neon sign above the entrance to the strip joint next door. He picks up a rock, hefting it in his hand. It’s got a sharp edge, which is perfect, and he walks up to the car.

‘Johnny?’ It’s Kerry’s voice behind him. They were going out for a smoke. ‘What’re you doin’?’

‘Makin’ art,’ says Johnny, then starts scratching into the immaculate paint job.

Kerry wets his lips nervously. ‘Whose car is that?’

‘Dunno,’ says Johnny. ‘Don’t care. Owner can’t care much either, leavin’ it out here like an asshole. Only got themself to blame.’ The rock scrapes against the metal with a loud screeching noise, like nails on a blackboard. Johnny steps back and admires his handiwork. The side of the car now reads, SAMURAI.

Johnny makes his way around to the front of the car and smashes the left headlight with the rock. It’s exhilarating, makes the stage high soar even higher. When he does, though, the car lets out a shrill, continuous shriek as the alarm goes off, like an amp in a feedback loop. Took it long enough; what a shitty alarm system for such a fancy car. Johnny drops the rock.

‘Fuck!’ Kerry grabs his hand. ‘C’mon, Johnny, run!’

‘Guitars’re inside!’ Johnny protests.

‘The others will handle it! For fuck’s sake, Johnny, we need to delta the fuck outta here!’

Johnny shrugs, kicking the right headlight for good measure, and is about to let Kerry drag him away when he hears a loud, angry voice. ‘The fuck you do to my car, you punks!?’

A man is standing in the open doorway to the strip joint. He’s wearing an immaculate suit and sporting top-range chrome. Coloured lights and pop music spill out from behind him.

‘Fuck you, corpo cunt!’ Johnny yells, pulling his hand out of Kerry’s grasp. Never mind that he’s unarmed at the moment and this guy is almost definitely packing; Johnny just got off stage after playing for a crowd of a thousand. He feels nigh euphoric, alcohol and adrenaline mixing in his system. Then he hears sirens in the distance. Of course the cops would rush out in seconds to rescue some poor, defenceless corpo’s property. Doesn’t leave much time to trash the car, but that only serves to make him even more excited as he picks up another rock and hurls it at the windshield, which shatters.

‘Johnny!’ Kerry grabs his hand again. ‘Seriously, come on, we have to go!’

This time, Johnny allows himself to be dragged away. The corpo’s on his phone now, and they’ve amassed an audience. They’re not exactly incog-fucking-nito, they’ve been seen and will probably be caught no matter what they do, but Kerry races ahead, desperately looking for a way out of the parking lot, and Johnny follows because why the hell not. He’s the one who spots the motorbike first, and he runs for it. It’s not his first time stealing one of those, and it’s easy enough to hack. ‘Kerry!’ he calls.

Kerry only hesitates for a second, but with the cops approaching it feels like an age. Finally, he gets on the back of the bike, pressed up against Johnny’s back with his arms tightly around his waist, breath hot on the back of his neck. After taking a second to adjust to his passenger, Johnny starts it up and they speed out of the parking lot just as the police car comes into view. ‘That’s them!’ the angry car owner yells, pointing. ‘After them! Don’t let them get away!’

Johnny has no plan. He sets off with a loud whoop in a random direction, then makes a u-turn as he realises that will put them straight in the cop car’s path. Kerry cries out in surprise at the sudden turn. Johnny revs the engine and sets off away from their pursuers. He doesn’t notice the red light, or the truck that’s driving out into the intersection.

‘Johnny, look out!’

It’s too late to stop, and they’re not going fast enough to pass in front of it, but Johnny somehow manages to swerve and slow down enough that they don’t crash into the truck. Still, the motorcycle slides, he loses control, and before Johnny knows it, they’re sprawled in the middle of the road next to the overturned bike, sirens rapidly approaching. Thank fuck they hadn’t had time to pick up too much speed, or they’d be roadkill. Even so, Johnny’s head hurts, he’s pretty sure he’s given himself whiplash, and the palm of his organic hand is badly scraped and bleeding. Just as he manages to get up, the police car comes to a screeching halt and an officer pops out, pointing a gun at them. ‘NCPD! Hands in the air!’ she yells.

‘Fucking pig!’ Johnny shouts back and spits on the ground—there’s blood mixed in and he licks his lip, which stings; it’s split and bleeding—but he knows when to back down. He raises his hands into the air, and once Kerry’s off the ground, he does the same. He doesn’t look much better, both pant legs torn, showing ugly, bloodied scrapes on his knees, and he has another scratch on his forehead, blood trickling down the side of his face. Neither one of them is armed; they couldn’t fight back at this point even if they wanted to.

A second police officer approaches them with handcuffs. He starts with Johnny, grabbing his hands and pinning them behind his back.

‘Ooh, kinky!’ Johnny smirks. Kerry just rolls his eyes where he stands next to him, hands still in the air. With Johnny’s wrists safely cuffed, the officer turns to Kerry.

‘This really necessary?’ Kerry grumbles while the cop manhandles him.

‘Shut up, punk!’ the cop says, and Johnny has just enough presence of mind not to kick him in the dick for being so careless with his friend. Wouldn’t do either of them any good.

They’re roughly shoved into the back of the police car and left there while the officers do whatever it is pigs do before they lock you up. Kerry lays his head back against the neck rest, eyes shut tightly, and groans. ‘Fuuuuck, my dad’s gonna kill me!’

Johnny just grins at him. ‘We’ll be fine! Label’ll bail us out.’

Kerry gives him a sidelong glance, frowning. ‘How you figure?’

‘You got any idea how good this is gonna look for ’em?’

‘That we trashed some guy’s car, crashed a bike and got arrested?’ Kerry scoffs. ‘You’re crazy.’

‘This is PR, man! Us against some rich-ass motherfucker? Trust me. They’ll bail us out. Prolly settle the whole thing with that corpo-douche too.’ Johnny shifts and he winces as his scraped up palm rubs against the metal of his chrome hand.

‘That why you trashed that guy’s car? For publicity? What, you had this fucking planned!?’ Kerry’s clearly freaking out now.

‘Seriously, chill out, man! There was no plan. Jesus . . . Did it ’cause I thought it’d be fun.’ Johnny grins. ‘And it was. You should take a more proactive role next time, Ker. Be good for ya. Bring out that rocker’s soul you got hidden in there somewhere.’ Johnny gives him a smirk for good measure.

Kerry laughs. ‘Fuck you, man! Ugh . . . gettin’ arrested and I didn’t even do anything. And—’ he looks down at his lap, eyes going wide. ‘Holy shit, look at my knees!’

‘See? Join the fun next time and it won’t be for nothin’.’ Johnny glances out the back window, his reflection looking back in flashing red and blue. ‘Hey, Kerry.’

‘Mhm?’

‘You ever make out in the back of a police car before?’

Kerry scoffs. ‘Johnny, I’ve never been in the back of a police car before.’

‘Well, you wanna?’

Kerry just stares at him for a few moments, looking bewildered. Johnny can understand why. It’s not like he’s ever initiated a kiss with Kerry before (which isn’t to say they haven’t done it many, many times, it’s just always Kerry who makes the first move). But he just feels good right now, feels alive and a little turned on from all the adrenaline, and he really wants to make out. And Kerry’s the only one here.

Well, he’ll do.

It takes way longer than Johnny expected, but in the end Kerry nods, and Johnny leans in.

He starts slow, the kiss lazy and almost chaste. Horny though he is, Johnny’s in no real hurry. But Kerry will have none of that and dives in with his tongue, and Johnny can’t fight the groan drawn from his throat. He’ll never admit this to Kerry, but the boy’s a good kisser. He meets Kerry’s tongue with his own. Kerry’s hot mouth tastes of beer and cigarettes, mixing in with the metallic tang of blood from Johnny’s split lip, which aches pleasantly. Johnny throws his mind back to the concert earlier, soloing back-to-back with Kerry, screaming into the same microphone, like they always do. There are no guitars involved now and they’re face-to-face, but making out isn’t entirely unlike singing a duet. He wonders how the audience would react if they actually kissed on stage. The thought makes him smile.

When they come up for air, Kerry stares at him, wide-eyed, like he can’t believe they just did that. It’s kind of cute. Johnny shakes his head and laughs. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing.’ Kerry swallows. His face is flushed, his lips swollen and red from kissing. No, Johnny realises a second later, they’re stained from contact with his bleeding lip. Kerry looks hot, even with blood on his face. Maybe especially with blood on his face—evidence of rebellion. Then he leans in again, and they kiss some more.

Johnny wishes his hands were free. Wishes Kerry’s hands were free. He figures the only thing hotter than making out in the back of a police car would be giving each other hand jobs too. His dick fills out in his pants at the thought. He was a little turned on before, but now he really wants to get off.

They don’t stop when the cops get into the front seat, the car rocking a little, even as one of them notices and says, ‘The fuck are they doing?’

The other one shakes her head and grumbles, ‘Goddamn rockerboy gonks . . .’

They make out the whole way to the police station.

#

After they’ve received some basic first aid (and it’s a fucking miracle neither of them has more than a mild concussion to worry about, though Kerry’s shoulder is a little worse for wear from where he landed on it), Johnny uses his phone call to get in touch with Nancy. ‘Hey, Nance?’

‘Johnny! Where the fuck are you? Is Kerry with you?’

Johnny rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah, Kerry’s with me. Just landed the PR coup of the century.’

There’s silence for a moment. When Nancy speaks it’s with a definite air of suspicion. ‘What did you do now, Johnny?’

‘Well . . . we kinda got arrested.’

He hears her sigh. ‘For fuck’s sake . . . So it really was you who trashed that guy’s car?’

‘Yup,’ says Johnny proudly. ‘Just me, actually, but Kerry’s a good choomba; just wouldn’t let me go down alone.’

‘Right. Sure. He okay, though?’

‘He’s fine,’ says Johnny dismissively, neglecting to mention the motorcycle accident. No need to cause a freak-out, they walked away from it okay. ‘Don’t worry about it. Anyway, can you take care of our guitars?’

‘That why you called me of all people?’ Nancy sounds incredulous.

‘That and I figured the band should know,’ says Johnny.

‘Well, we already got your guitars in the van. Thanks for keeping us posted on what fuck-ups you are, I guess.’ She laughs. Seems like she’s finally seeing the absurdity of the situation. ‘Jesus Christ, Johnny . . . Never a dull moment with you, that’s for sure. What’re you gonna do about bail?’

‘I’m pretty sure the label will cover it. Kerry’s gonna use his call for that.’ Johnny glances over his shoulder. ‘Aren’t you, Ker?’ Kerry just gives him the finger.

‘Huh, yeah. Front men of their new big chart-topping band getting arrested for destruction of property? You set that up on purpose or something? Well played if so,’ says Nancy, then amends, ‘Nah, ’course you didn’t, you’re not smart enough for that. Just a lucky gonk accident. Still, good PR.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ says Johnny, ignoring the slight on his intelligence just this once; it’s not like she’s wrong. ‘And we’re on contract for a tour and another album, so they wouldn’t let us rot in prison. I mean, not over a car.’ And a motorbike.

‘Well, all right. I’ll let the others know what’s going on. Stay put.’

Johnny snorts. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

He and Kerry change places, Kerry looking deeply uncomfortable while he explains to their manager why they need to be bailed out of jail. When he hangs up, he turns to Johnny, lips in a thin line. ‘They’re gonna bail us out, but sounds like they’re leavin’ us to stew overnight.’

‘Well,’ Johnny smirks, ‘better hope they put us in the same cell. You’re too pretty for this place.’

#

True to their word, the label posts bail and they’re picked up by their manager Steve the following morning, tired and aching but none of worse for wear. Though he’s been telling himself the label will be nothing but pleased, Johnny thought the man would at least look disapproving. But, to Johnny’s unexpected relief, he does not. On the contrary, he beams at them both.

‘Mornin’, boys!’ As they get in the backseat of his car, Steve tosses them a screamsheet. ‘Page three.’ They open it to the specified page, and looking back at them is a picture of Kerry and Johnny.

A picture of Kerry and Johnny kissing in the back of a police car, under red and blue lights. The headline reads: Under Arrest! Silverhand and Eurodyne get cosy.

Kerry gapes. ‘What the—how did they even get this?’

‘Media drone, prolly,’ says Johnny nonchalantly.

Kerry squints at him. ‘And you wouldn’t happen to have noticed this media drone, did you?’

‘Me? No way!’ Johnny shakes his head, but halfway through, the shake turns to a kind of bob and he amends, ‘Weeeell, I might have caught a glimpse of it. Wasn’t sure what it was, though.’

‘You asshole!’ Kerry growls. Then his apparent anger gives way to that sad puppy look and he lowers his eyes to his lap, fidgeting anxiously with his hands. ‘Did you only kiss me ’cause of that?’

Johnny’s fully ready to shrug his shoulder and refuse to answer, or even to tell him that he absolutely did—even though it’s not true—but Kerry almost looks like he’s about to cry or something equally awkward, and as much as he likes teasing, not even Johnny’s that much of an asshole; he can’t bring himself to be that mean to him.

Not right now.

‘’Course not,’ he says. ‘Did it ’cause I was bored and horny and I thought it’d be fun.’

Kerry’s sad look turns to a sheepish grin, and then he laughs. ‘You’re such an asshole, Johnny.’

‘Yeah, but I’m a lovable asshole,’ says Johnny, putting his arms behind his head and leaning back in the seat.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kerry smile. ‘Yeah.’