“Is there a safe in the office?”

“I don’t know.” Lloyd put his hands in his pockets and looked nervously at the other men. “You going to go busting open a safe? Tommy didn’t say anything about that.”

Steve picked up the flyer and held it at different angles, trying to see it as a floor plan and not a naked fat man. “Don’t worry about it. What we want is probably in the display case.”

“Okay. ’Cause I don’t want to lose my job or anything.”

Steve set down the paper, having given up on Lloyd’s art. “Don’t worry, Stevie Ray Vaughan. We’ll be as quiet as a moth taking a dump on a daisy.”

“Cool. So, is there anything else you need?”

“Yeah,” said Jorge, turning over the flyer. “What the hell is a pearl serpent?”

“It’s my band.”

“I know that. But what does it mean? Like the Beatles spelled their name funny as a play on the word ‘beat.’”

“I didn’t know that,” said Steve. “That true?”

“I swear to Caleximus,” said Jorge.

Steve and Jerry stared at him.

“To God. I swear to God,” blurted Jorge.

“What’s a Caleximus?” said Lloyd.

“It’s a kind of booze,” said Jerry looking at the others.

Jorge nodded. “Yeah. Cheap south-of-the-border stuff. You swear to it and if you’re lying, you’ve got to drink a shot.”

“It gives you a bitch of a headache,” said Steve.

“Awesome,” said Lloyd. “You have some? I have some beers outside. We could party.”

“Maybe later,” said Steve, shooting Jorge the evil eye. Jorge returned the look with a grim, hangdog nod.

“So, is there anything else?” said Lloyd.

“We never really resolved the Pearl Serpent question,” said Jorge.

“Are you serious?” said Steve.

“Sue me. I want to know.”

“It’s just the band, man,” said Lloyd a little desperately. “You know. Whitesnake. Pearl Serpent. Get it?”

“Oh yeah,” Jorge said. “What kind of music is it?”

“Metal.”

“Hair metal,” said Jerry.

“Hey man, metal is metal,” said Lloyd.

“Not if you’re dressed up in a leotard like my mom doing aerobics.”

“It’s Spandex and it’s expensive. And chicks dig it.”

“In 1989. You guys play a lot of old-folks’ homes?”

“Pearl Serpent kicks ass,” shouted Lloyd.

Steve put up his hands. “Let’s everybody take a breath and talk this over. Now Jerry, even though hair metal isn’t your favorite, you have to admit that some of it is, in fact, capable of kicking some amount of ass.”

“If you say so,” mumbled Jerry.

“What?”

“Hair metal kicks ass. Some.”

“And Lloyd,” said Steve. “You have to admit that hair metal is a bit on the nostalgic side and a boy like Jerry, raised on more contemporary forms of the metal arts, might not immediately be able to appreciate all the nuances of your particular version.”