"Just have them back by tomorrow," the roadie said, unlocking the trunks.

"I was thinkin' we might postpone the tour," Malcolm said. "We'll hide our guitars somewhere in the hotel an' you try to find 'em." He smiled proudly at his idea. 

"We could have some fans come in and find them," the roadie said. "They'd love that."

"Nah, can't do that," Angus said. "I'd like to have my guitar back if ya' don't mind." 

"You've got three or some here," Malcolm said, opening a trunk. "What's one missin'?" Stevie helped Malcolm pull his guitar out, pushing some cords out of the way. Angus grabbed a black guitar from a different trunk, along with a strap. I looked in the trunks, curious to know what was in them all. I knew some held microphones and a set of them held Phil's drum set in different pieces. Underneath a mic stand there was a round, white object sitting at the bottom of the trunk. Pushing the mic stand aside, I grabbed it and held it up. 

It was a man's sports cup.

"Hey, ya' found it," Malcolm said. He took it from me and I gave him a questioning and disgusted look. 

"What the hell was that doing in there?" I asked. 

"Sometimes the crew plays a round or two of footie while settin' up," Malcolm said. "We lost one of these a while ago."

"An' you were the lucky one," Stevie smiled. Yeah, lucky like finding a hair in your food...

"You're sure it's clean?" I asked. Malcolm looked it over, turning it over in his hand. 

"Hmm...no," he laughed and I groaned. "Can't be sure, no."

"We're not takin' the amps, are we?" Angus asked, still giggling. "Don't imagine that'd make the staff happy."

"Course we are, how the hell are we supposed to hear anything?" Malcolm said. "Still asleep or somethin', Ang?" Angus sniffed and rolled his eyes, knowing good and well his question was not an outrageous one. "We'll jus' turn 'em down a bit, now you lot help get 'em out..."

**********

After transferring all the instruments and amplifiers inside the hotel with the roadie's help, I stopped to have a look around, my arms sore and shaking. I suppose when the boys said 'party room' they really meant a hotel ballroom meant for receptions and reserved parties. A large room composed of only a few stray chairs and an ugly patterned carpet, I was surprised this wasn't the room used for breakfast. It was certainly big enough. Perhaps it wasn't close enough to the kitchens. Stevie and Angus got the amplifiers hooked up to their guitars, fiddling around with the volume. Plucking a string ever so delicately then hurrying to turn the dials the other way as the blast filled every corner of the room. My whole body vibrated with the noise. "Don't the roadies turn these down before putting 'em away?" Angus asked. 

"No point," Malcolm said. "They'd be goin' back an' forth every night, we play pretty loud." He turned to me, leaving his brother and nephew to swear and adjust. "Not too loud for ya', is it?"

"I'm sure it won't be in a few minutes," I said, my ears still ringing. 

"Ya' don't have to stay with us," he said. At first I thought he meant in general. As in, I didn't have to be their 'groupie' anymore and he was sending me away. But then he said, "If ya' want to save your skin an' leave us no goods to get in trouble..."

"I'm staying," I insisted. "How often do I get my own private concert?"

"How often do ya' get to travel back in time?" Malcolm asked. He looked like he wanted to say more on the subject but Stevie came over and he changed his mind. Stevie handed Malcolm his guitar, still tuning one last string. 

"Thought you'd wanna play first," he said. "Could borrow Ang's but I'm not used to his thinner strings."

"Ah, wanna a bit more punch, yeah?" Malcolm grinned. He looked over at me. "You play first, why don't ya'?"

"Ya' sure?" Stevie asked, surprised.

"Yeah, you need the experience," Malcolm said. "In case ya' ever need to replace me." I looked at the floor, uncomfortable. But Malcolm was all smiles. "I wanna talk to Hannah a minute anyway." Now it was my turn for surprise. Since when did any musician want to speak to me instead of playing their instrument? Stevie took the guitar back. 

"Alright," he shrugged. "Angus probably won't even notice." I watched Stevie return to Angus who was so engrossed in his own gentle playing. It was hard not to have a crush on him when his long hair fell over his focused eyes, doing what he loved to do. It wasn't until Stevie spoke that Angus looked up, realizing it wasn't Malcolm and glanced our way. Malcolm gave him a thumbs up.

"How long do ya' give before we're thrown out?" Malcolm said.

"An hour?" I guessed.

"Mm, I might give it a bit longer," Malcolm said, looking at his watch. "The guy who unlocked our stuff, Allen, he's keepin' watch outside. He'll let us know if somethin' goes down."

"We can recreate the Beatles rooftop concert," I suggested enthusiastically. "Have the cops wait outside while we pretend to get someone they can speak to."

"Not a bad idea," Malcolm said. "Could sneak onto the roof if Ang wasn't wary of heights. But let's hope it doesn't escalate to gettin' the police. As soon as they mention 'em we'll split." Stevie and Angus began their jam session, the music a nice low volume. It was a bluesy sounding number. I tapped my foot along, smiling when Angus looked our way. He was right at home, right in his element. Malcolm watched in admiration of his family. "You're really from the future, huh?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"Yes," I smiled, reaffirming for the tenth time. "I'm really from the future."

"But then your folks would be younger, wouldn't they?" he asked. "They'd still be around, right?"

"They'd be kids about now," I said, thinking it over. "Haven't even met yet." Malcolm's expression didn't show any signs of skepticism but maybe a hint of disbelief. 

"Kind of hard to think of my own parents as kids, ya' know," he said. "Always on the older side for me an' Ang."

"Mine are a bit older too," I said. "Well, they will be."

"An' you're really...." He studied my face, narrowing his eyes. "How old did you say you were? Can't be fifteen..."

"Twenty four," I said. "Almost twenty five." If the present timeline hadn't kept going while I was gone, I'd be twenty four anyway. That was another worry. What if time hadn't stopped while I was here? What if my family thought I was missing? Or even dead? I ran my tongue over my teeth out of habit, making sure they were still straight. 

"Good," Malcolm said. "Don't feel as gross makin' a move on ya'." Despite what he said I could tell he still felt a bit weird. After all, I shouldn't have even been born yet. A door opened and the roadie, whom Malcolm called Allen, poked his head in for a listen.

"No one's around," he said. "You're doing great." The door closed as he resumed his lookout post. 

"Must be awfully boring," I said. "Just standing around outside."

"He's not standin' around, hon, he's workin'," Malcolm said. "We've got him makin' calls to some tour venues. Askin' if we're still booked. Besides, it's not any different than standin' backstage while we play."

"I thought that would be a manager's job," I said. 

"Most of the time it is," Malcolm explained. "An' sometimes it's a roadie's job, sometimes it's our job, usually mine. Depends on the venue. A small pub, one of us can call in our spare time. A large stadium we booked months in advance, they like the manager to step up. It's 'cause he wears a suit an' tie," he added in a whisper. He gestured at his jeans and t shirt. "We're not official enough, so to speak."

"Angus wears a suit and tie," I said. "Isn't that official?" Malcolm laughed.

"I think it's the shorts, darlin'," he said.

**********

Malcolm and I watched as Stevie and Angus played, Malcolm either giving them praise or honest feedback. I always thought they sounded perfect but Malcolm's sensitive musician's ears could detect the slightest mistake. Angus and Stevie could too, and would often stop playing right as Malcolm spoke up. 

"Missed a beat," he'd say. "Harder with no drummer. Try easing up on the fret board, try jus' grazing the string. There ya' fuckin' go...."

Eventually Malcolm and Stevie switched places. Angus was restless on his feet. He'd pace around while playing and even while not. Malcolm reached over to tune Angus' guitar slightly as they started on Chuck Berry's School Days. For a moment I thought they'd leave it an instrumental but Malcolm surprised me when he started singing lead.

"Not quite Bon but he'll do, eh?" Stevie said. 

"It's weird," I said. "I've heard him sing a few times before but I'm still not used to it." I didn't mention his performance of Baby Please Don't Go. His sober singing voice was quite different than his drunken singing voice on the subway. Angus broke into a fit of laughter when Malcolm's voice cracked. Allen the roadie stepped inside, making a beeline straight for the Young brothers. Their song stopped short.

"Got a lad outside, looks like he works here," he said panting. "Said he heard music comin' from this room."

"What'd ya' tell him?" Malcolm asked. 

"Said there was a band rehearsing for a wedding later tonight," Allen said. "He went to check it out himself at the front desk."

"He'll figure it out," Angus said. "Do we clean up?"

"I can keep him away as long as I can," Allen said. "If he mentions police I'll let you know."

"Right then, back at it, Ang," Malcolm said. They continued to jam while Allen ran back out the door in case the staff member came back. 

"Mal's gonna push it," Stevie said. "He's gonna milk this session for all it's worth an' he's right."

"So Keith Moon can blow up toilets," I said. "Other bands can destroy hotel rooms and throw televisions out the window but we can't play a bit of music?" Stevie laughed. 

"Well, different hotels have different policies," he said. "An' I'm sure they paid dearly for their misadventures."

Almost immediately Allen ran back inside, a sheepish grin on his face. Malcolm and Angus once again admitted defeat and quit the song, Angus still plucking a few insignificant chords. "Saw security standing outside," he said. "Big tough guys. One pencil."

"They Sydney's finest?" Malcolm asked. 

"Nah, they belong to the hotel," Allen said. "Think they've been sent down here to-" The door burst open and a large man in a fancy brown sports jacket came marching up to us. Allen stepped outside to let us deal with him, checking around for anyone else. 

"You guys Martin O'Leery and the Stooges?" he asked. He was gruff and didn't shave. He smelled vaguely of Old Spice. "The band playing tonight?"

My pulse picked up. Of course we weren't Moe O'Larry or whatever the fuck he said. We were getting thrown out for sure. My heart almost stopped completely when Malcolm held out his hand, speaking to the man in a near perfect Scottish accent. 

"Right we are, pleasure to meet ya'," he said. "Rest of the band's sleepin' in but we're here sharp an' early."

Malcolm and the guy's conversation became a jumble of noise. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Malcolm just rattled off in his native Scottish accent and apparently I was the only one freaking out about it. Angus caught my eye and held back a laugh at my expression. Stevie kept very calm and quiet, nodding when he needed to. After Malcolm wished security a nice day and he was out of sight, all three of them burst out laughing. 

"Bit rusty," Malcolm smiled. "Jesus, never thought I'd have to pull that out again, almost fucked up a couple times."

"What the hell was that?" I asked in shock, laughing along. Could Angus and Stevie do it too? Stevie's accent was already a touch more Scottish than theirs but even so...Malcolm was practically wearing a kilt. 

"Jus' a trick up my sleeve," Malcolm said. "Comes with bein' around your Scottish family all the time. Ya' pick things up."

"I thought you would have lost it after moving to Australia," I said. 

"Nah, haven't lost it," he clarified. "Jus' put it away for safe keeping."

"Ya' know the real Martin's gonna show up an' they'll find out," Angus said. "Bloke's probably not even Scottish. Irish maybe."

"Hard to tell the difference to the untrained ear," Malcolm said. "Poor guy, probably made him look bad. Let's keep playin' while we still got time. Stevie, take my guitar an' I'll take Ang's."

"Don't break my strings," Angus said, pulling his guitar off. "You're an animal."

**********

"This is stellar," Allen said. "Incredible." Malcolm looked guiltily at his shoes while Angus huffed. Allen examined Angus' guitar, a look of wonder on his face. "Never seen such a clean break." 

"Warned him not to," Angus mumbled. "Should pull a Pete Townshend next time I play his."

"It's not that big a deal, Ang," Malcolm said. "Three strings is not nearly as devastatin' as the whole thing. That'd be overkill."

"Then what else can I do?" Angus asked, wondering to himself. Stevie laughed as Malcolm sighed. "Should tie your laces together. No, you're good at cuttin' strings, you'll jus' cut yourself loose."

"I'm sorry, I'll restring the damn thing myself," Malcolm said, watching Allen undo the broken strings. 

"What'd you do, rip them off with your sheer gorilla strength?" Allen asked as Stevie and I laughed. Since we weren't involved in the family drama it was rather fun to watch. "Just go ape shit on it?"

"Must have been wearin' thin already," Malcolm said. "Played 'em too much like my own guitar an' they snapped." Allen took a closer look at the last three strings remaining.

"He's right," Allen said. "Should get them all looked at. Don't worry, Ang, we'll have this ready for you in time for the tour." Allen looked very cheerful about it but Angus was still plotting vengeance. 

"What do you think, should I offer to make him some tea?" Angus asked us. Allen snickered as he started putting the equipment back in the trunks. "Maybe cook him a meal?"

"Not takin' anything from you that isn't a corked bottle of wine," Malcolm said. "Or ya' know, Phil can be my taste tester."

"Can't believe you guys got away with this," Allen said, smiling like a proud father. Malcolm checked his watch and snapped his fingers, showing me the time. Three hours. "Thought for sure we were done. Heard Mal's accent by the way, nice touch."

"Thanks," Malcolm beamed. "We can help ya' out before we head back." Malcolm and Stevie got to work putting things away while Angus hung back with me. 

"Should pass around his baby photos," he muttered to me. "Charge people for copies of him in the tub."

**********

"Ya' sure ya' can't stick around, Stevie?" Malcolm asked. "Can't persuade ya' with Bon tellin' us stories while he's pissed?"

"Can't stay as a witness in case I take Mal down?" Angus asked. 

"As much as I'd love to stay for that I gotta get goin'," Stevie said. We were standing outside Bon's hotel room when Stevie checked the time. "I'll be here tomorrow mornin' to see you all off."

"Not sure I'll be able to sleep tonight," Malcolm said. "The anticipation's killin' me."

"Very funny," Stevie said. "I'm goin'. Nice to meet you, Han-" Stevie didn't have time to finish before I tackled him in a hug. It wasn't every day you meet Stevie Young and I wasn't sure how tomorrow was going to go. Every second it drew closer. Every second I felt more and more dread about what I was going to do, what my final decision would be. Malcolm and Angus' hands were pulling me off and I figured it had been a while of us just standing there. 

"He'll come back," Malcolm said. "You'll see him again." Stevie, who wasn't used to the fans jumping on him yet, nodded once the surprise wore off. 

"Sure. Bright an' early. Bye then." We saw him off and I grabbed Bon's room key from my pocket. Unlocking the door, and knocking just to be sure, we pushed the door in. 

"I don't believe it," Angus said. "Well, I can, but..."

A pungent blast of weed hit us in the face along with the sight of Bon asleep on the couch. Fully clothed, thank goodness. His bowl of fruit was gone and was replaced by a joint on an ashtray. Malcolm marched up to him and picked up the ashtray. "An' when was he gonna tell us about this?" he asked. "Hoggin' it all..."

"Wanna call in some food?" Angus asked. "If he wakes up he won't mind us stayin' if we bring dinner. He'll be starvin' anyway."

"Yeah, why not," Malcolm said. "Can't have you cookin' for a while." Angus ignored the comment and picked up the phone to dial a number while Malcolm set the tray down and sat down on the armrest of the couch. My eyes watered from the smell but the boys seemed to be used to it. "It's everywhere," Malcolm said. "Drive ins, hotels, backstage...hardly even notice it anymore."

Couldn't imagine what my parents would think if I came back smelling like a dead skunk. I'd take a shower first thing in the morning. Or would it even matter? Was I really going home?