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Bingo. Okay, now we were getting somewhere. Claude hadn’t bared his soul with any of us, not like this, but these guys seemed to hit on something tonight that got him talking.

“Screw that, I got my fucking GED,” Jagger said, “there was no way I was stepping foot in a school one day more than I had to. I was already playing up and down the coast in places I shouldn’t have been allowed in, but I had one hell of a fake ID.”

“Dude,” Johnny grumbled, elbowing him. “It wasn’t the ID that got you through the doors so don’t even pull that shit. That face makes people forget themselves.”

“Pot, kettle?” Jagger replied. “I wasn’t the only one flashing a smile or my assets for people to let me play.”

“Damn.” Tibby muttered. “That…that’s…how long have you guys been performing?”

They looked at each other, grinned and shrugged, reminding me of the silent language Bowie and Tony used.

“I was what…fourteen and playing Ziggy’s with Russel Vellego’s grunge band?” Jagger said. “You were like, fifteen the first time you and Rebel played an actual gig. That was pretty much the birth of Blissfully Immune.”

“Yeah, about that,” Johnny replied. “Shit, that’s like half my life right there.”

“Do you guys still get along as good as you did in the beginning?” Tony asked.

“Better,” Johnny explained. “We were friends when we started. We’re family now. Even with the changes in drummers, we still talk to Ozzy every fucking day. He’s still part of the band, just like Draven is still part of Damaged Saints.”

I glanced over at their manager, who nodded. He didn’t contribute much to the conversation around the firepit, but only because Pressley had been peppering him with questions about dog accessories since he arrived. At this point, I was beginning to think Pressley’s words of caution had been meant as much for himself as they had for Bowie.

“I’d written a lot of lyrics, but I’d never worked with anyone to turn them into songs,” Jagger explained. “So, we polished some together and in the process, started writing new ones. The guys were already a solid unit before I joined, but being able to gel with them on and off stage, let us become friends and now brothers.”

“Not every band looks the same when it forms,” Johnny said. “Mine would have looked hella different if Rebel had hooked up with Jagger instead of joining me.”

I was glad they shared that. Our guys needed to hear it after the way they’d been treated by a few different interviewers so far, not just the one at the radio station. While most asked genuine questions about the music and what inspired it, many choose to highlight the fact that Imminent Danger hadn’t come together in a traditional way, like that held any weight when it came to the quality of their music. The only way to overcome those opinions and get them to change their tunes was to keep pulling off the stunning, powerful performances they had since we’d gone on the road.

“Have you guys ever been in a band together?” Tony asked. “Like, wouldn’t that be the coolest thing in the world, to be in a band with your best friend.”

They nodded, twin smiles, despite the physical differences. Johnny had more of an old school grunge vibe, while Jagger looked like a skater, complete with the undercut and streaks of color in his hair.

“An actual band, no, but we played together even when we were in bands with other people,” Johnny explained, “since neither of us plays an instrument, and most bands don’t have two singers. Now we show up onstage and do a few songs together almost every night. It just took time to get to where we could do that.”

“Folks said I wouldn’t be able to fill Draven’s shoes,” Jagger said. “Funny part is, when I auditioned, that’s exactly what I thought I needed to do. Fill his shoes. Mimic him. I binged the hell out of their songs, singing along, trying to match every breath and note to the way he’d delivered them. Turns out that was the last thing they wanted. Once I made the songs my own, the critics shut the fuck up and quit predicting that the band’s last album would be the very last one.”

“He shut them up hard,” Johnny said, throwing an arm around him and hugging him until their heads were pressed together.

“The press loves to stir shit up,” Jagger said. “When Johnny was going through a court case, they tried to bury him, but man, they were hardly anywhere to be seen once the truth came out because it wasn’t sensational anymore. You should have seen the way they treated Dez Conway, with Tattered Angel, when he took over for their old frontman. They seriously asked him if he knew the band’s former singer was in attendance and if the band planned to switch back to having him heading the band.”

“What the fuck?” Tibby muttered. “That guy is a literal fucking beast on an axe. Shreds with the best of them.”

“Right?” Jagger said. “But they saw a potential controversy and decided to fuel the flames anyway, despite there not being a shred of proof that the band had been in contact with their old singer, let alone had plans to bring him back.”

“You guys are seriously badass,” Johnny said. “Kids are gonna be bombing the ave playing your music and guys are gonna be talking about you, Claude, even if they didn’t know you half as well as they claim.”

“Now that part I don’t mind,” Claude said when an alarm chirped on Draven’s phone.

“That’s it for us, guys,” Johnny said, standing and dusting himself off before helping Jagger up. “We’re rolling out super early in the morning, we’ve got a couple shows in Palm Springs, starting tomorrow. Gotta get our beauty rest. We’ll catch up with you guys out east. It looks like we’re going to be in Boston at the same time if you wanna get together.”

“Hell yeah,” Tony replied.

“Absolutely,” Bowie said.

“We’ll be in touch,” Draven’s electronic text to voice device said as he stood and walked with them, and their bodyguards, to a UTV. “Hit me up if you need any more supply tips.”

“I will,” Pressley said. “I’ll get with you on that other thing, too, and see if we can make it happen.”

“Now that would be wicked fun,” Draven conveyed through his device.