Preacher was on his feet in a flash and Dave was mumbling shit like, “Fuck, I can’t fight. I’m high,” and Timmy had his head bowed and was staring at the crappy-ass carpet of that camper, probably hoping what I was hoping. That no one had come to kill us after we got out of that last brawl that included Preacher having to deliver a beatdown to the bar manager who didn’t wanna pay us.

And after that, we had to haul ass.

In a camper.

When that knock came, I was in the middle of delivering a lecture, something I did a lot before Tommy, something that made me feel like I was my mom, which I fuckin’ hated.

I was doing this reminding Preach and Dave we kinda needed all our fingers to work so we could play music.

I’d learn, you know, later, where that shit came from for Preach.

I’d think about it a lot.

Hell, I still think about it a lot.

Wondering…

[Pause]

You know, if I should have let him…

[Trails off]

If he’d been able to get more of it out. If he’d have been able to work it out of his system.

If we hadn’t met Tommy.

Needless to say, Preach shoved me out of the way and opened the door.

Tom was outside.

I think Tommy said something like, “You’ll wanna let me in and listen to me.”

Now, Preach was a brawler and Preach had shit he was dealing with but Preacher was far from dumb.

Tommy Mancosa, as you know, was five foot eleven. Preach had five inches and probably fifty, sixty pounds on the guy.

But Tommy was also a former marine, still had the buzz cut, no neck, and he did not get the nickname “Bulldog” for nothin’.

There never was a Preacher versus Tommy smackdown.

From the beginning, total simpatico with those two.

But if it had happened, I wouldn’t lay money on either of them, ’cause honest to Christ, I’d have no idea who’d come out on top.

So, what I’m sayin’ is, Preach did not get up in his shit.

He just said, “I’m listenin’, but I’m not lettin’ you in.”

Tom said, “Fair enough.” Then he said, “I’m gonna make you guys the biggest rock band there ever was.”

I was standing behind Preach.

At that, Tim and Dave pushed up close and we all stood there, behind Preach, looking down at this five-foot-eleven hunk of muscle with a fighter’s face and mean eyes wearing a beat-up leather jacket who looked maybe five years older than Preach.

“You a scout?” Tim asked.

“Nope,” Tom answered.

“You a manager?” Tim asked.

“Not until now,” Tom answered.

Seriously.

That’s what he said.

Guy had big balls. Huge. Enormous.

Not until now, he said.

[Shakes head while chuckling]

“You sayin’ you wanna be our manager?” Preacher asked.