The spiky haired drummer waved a french flag above the audience, pausing for a moment to look at the flag with a squint. “Right colours, wrong country.” They blinked, throwing the flag back into the audience and adjusting the red circular sunglasses that sat atop their head, sitting back down to finish the set.
Ezekiel stared up at the drummer for a moment, trying to decipher the patches on their jacket in between their violently sporadic movements; he couldn’t pick up on anything but a logo patch and the letter ‘M’. His eyes carried from the stage to around the bar, looking to see if smoking was banned in the joint or not.
The lights flickered before dimming, revealing the light being emitted from Ezekiel’s lighter, shining through the gaps in his fingers which cupped his cigarette. The singer dipped her head before placing the microphone back on the stand and leaning in. “We’ll be back in 10!” She yelled, raising her hand in the air before turning and stepping off to the back of the stage, the rest of the band following suit.
Ezekiel’s eyes narrowed, leaping up on stage, far from nimbly, and following them to the back, he unquestionably received more than a few dirty looks from fans who’d paused their cheering to watch the hunched over detective shuffle his way to the back of the creaking stage; Ezekiel was far from stealthy with his way of getting to the bottom of things.
“Excuse me?” Ezekiel’s cigarette was held in the left corner of his mouth, the break room already filled with smoke before he’d even entered; the smoke was most likely a mix of tobacco and marijuana, mixed with the faint smell of liquor stained carpets; if anybody is be able to detect the scent of liquor it should be Ezekiel.
The drummer from before gripped a joint between their knuckles, getting a closer look Ezekiel could notice their intricate makeup and have a better look at the patches on their jacket, one stating ‘Mal’.
“Who are you…?” They glared toward Ezekiel, the other members seemed to be congregating around the snack table, The drummer was sitting on the ripped up faux leather couch, menacingly staring into Ezekiel’s irises.
“Ezekiel Martin, I''m here to speak with you about a show you performed about a month ago.” Ezekiel blew smoke through his teeth, pulling a torn up brown-ish notebook from his pocket; the drummer blinking before standing at his request to speak. They were far taller than Ezekiel expected.
“Mind if i get your name,” Ezekiel looked up with the posture of a prawn, clicking his pen over and over again waiting for the name of the fluffy haired drummer.
“Malice.” They frankly stated, crossing their arms and tapping their boots against the carpeted floor, their head was held toward the ceiling, chin raised while staring down at the grimy detective.
“Is that like, your real name? I need your real name…” Ezekiel tilted his head, he thought it was common sense that he wanted their real name, but perhaps they took him for some sort of interviewer, here to discuss the band.
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“That''s my legal name, yes.” Malice was clearly a tad annoyed with the question, just as Ezekiel thought it was common sense they needed a real name, Malice thought it was common sense that they’d given their real name.
“Wow, yikes alright. Either you’re really cool or your parents hated you.” Ezekiel blinked, raising his hand to rub the back of his neck with a squint. He was finding it difficult to believe such a stage-esc name could be their legal nomenclature, though perhaps they weren''t born with said name.
Malice let out a low growl toward Ezekiel, they found his words ever so slightly offensive, and they’d rather be continuing with their break than being questioned and insulted by a sad, sleep deprived, middle aged man. “Is there a point to this, i’ve only got 10 minutes before i’ve gotta get back on.” They lowered their head for a moment, glancing back at their fellow band members, Seraphim, and Label, both equally odd names compared to theirs.
“Yes you see, a young woman named Valery was here at your last show in town, I need to know if you interacted with her.” Ezekiel began scribbling out words in his notes, half of which were exactly that, scribbles, he wanted to do something to look busy and avoid staring at Malice.
“I don’t get the names of fans when they visit, I might let them get a photo or two but I never ask them who they are.” Malice crossed their arms, exhaling in a disgruntled fashion, the question was absurd, as Malice had assumed Ezekiel was nothing but an interviewer being paid to talk to a band he knew nothing about; it was a reasonable assumption. Afterall, who wouldn''t take some quick cash talking to a group of musicians for a few minutes or so.
“I understand, so you haven’t seen this woman?” Ezekiel paused writing for a moment, rustling for a photo of Valery he’d printed out about three days earlier, holding the image up for Malice to see. He didn’t expect a kidnapper or murderer to come out and say they did something, but also Malice seemed too disconnected from the situation, as they truly didn’t know what Ezekiel was talking about, it was difficult for him to believe they were involved, but he needed to be sure.
Malice leaned in, grasping the photo with the tips of their open gloved fingers, they were struggling to see in the dimly lit break room, it seemed they had trouble seeing in the dark. “Apologies, I’m having some trouble, do you mind if we go outside…?” Malice’s words were subfusc and ever so slightly aggressive. Ezekiel felt his lungs and breath sink into his chest, on edge about going into an enclosed alley with this muscular of a person.
The damp air in the room sank with Ezekiel’s breath, the two of them stepping toward the black back push door where the room’s suspended smoke was drawn to, leaking into the alley. Their feet were out of sync, a desolate rhythm; a rhythm that didn’t at all bring euphoria to the ears, it was a pounding, it was making Ezekiel irritated.