Part 2: Uncle Norm's

It was a surprisingly nice evening, so Stu figured as he glanced out the front window of the Emporium, tapping his chin absently. Nice looking outside, terribly slow in here. There had been hardly any customers since five o'clock, and it was nearly nine now. Almost time to close up shop. Norm (the "Uncle" wasn't necessary beyond formality, Stu had dropped it within a week) was in the back room organizing stock and cleaning to kill time while Stu managed the front. He had been there long enough now that he was left alone almost all the time, and that suited him just fine. The idea of theft had never been a concern. At worst, Stu would simply space out and forget himself, or get bored and start picking at the counter. Tonight it was the latter. He desperately wanted a cigarette; and he was just about to mention this to Norm when he heard a car pulling into the lot. A clamour of loud chatter and rock-n-roll met his ears as the front store was illuminated by headlights and Stu perked up immediately, leaning forward on the counter and craning his neck to see who was coming.

The door flew open in a rush, sending the bell above it into jingling hysterics. A group of young men several years older than Stuart shuffled in noisily, and the scent of alcohol and pot followed after them like a heatwave, making Stu cringe. It had been a long time since he'd taken a hit, and the smell made him feel both ill and alive all at once. He made an attempt to greet the men, offering a smile and any assistance they might need, but he was completely ignored. Frustrated, Stu began to leave the counter when the doorbell rang again, softly this time, and he turned to see who was coming.

The newcomer was another man, but he seemed significantly younger than his companions, much closer to Stuart's age. He was short and wiry, dressed in black jean and leather, and Stu watched as he put a set of keys into his jacket pocket, humming in realization. The young man appeared sober; Stu guessed he was the evening's designated driver, and when their eyes met Stuart's suspicions were confirmed - no haze, no bloodshot - the other's eyes were dark and sharp and clear, and they lit up upon taking in Stuart's face. The man sauntered over with a grin, and his suave, collected behaviour had Stu's undivided attention.

"Hey, duck," the man said amiably, resting his hands at his sides. "Slow night?"

Stu blinked before nodding, shifting into his standard customer service behaviour with little effort. "'s never that busy on weeknights," he said, relaxing his posture. "I didn't think anyone else was gonna come in, actually."

"Eh, we're just visiting town and trying to hit up as many music stores as we can. Wanted to see if you lot had anything besides keys, but I guess not."

"Oh no, we have more instruments in the back!" Stu started, pulling away from the counter enthusiastically. "I can show you where -"

"Nah, it's okay," the other interrupted with a shrug. "Idiots hardly brought any money anyway, they're just stoned and browsing. I'll try to have 'em out of here as soon as I can; they're a mess."

Stu nodded, trying to hide his disappointment at being denied a chance to stretch his legs and escape the prison of the check out. There was a moment of silence that he fidgeted through, listening for any ruckus going on in the back of the store, but there was only laughter and nothing of any real concern. He turned back to the man across from him and smiled, suddenly alight with a possible topic. "Are you a musician?" he asked. It could have been a very stupid question, but the thought hadn't occured to him.

"Yeah, I fucking try anyway," the other man chuckled, swiping at his nose as he laughed. "I play bass. Mostly self taught. You?"

"Keyboards," Stu replied, glancing pointedly at the walls of the store and chuckling back. "I'm self taught too, mostly! Tried lessons for a while but I can't read music worth shit. I can learn almost anything on my own though, if you let me try. I'm jus' better at feeling it out, you know?"

The other man nodded, seeming impressed. "Playing by ear's a bloody gift, kid. Have you ever considered making a living out of it?"

"Oh jesus, no! I mean, not really. I mean... I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind a couple times. But getting that shit off the ground is hard, yeah? Bands. 's'not an easy thing to do."

"Fair enough," the other shrugged, running a hand through the mess of wavy dark hair on his head. "But hey - if you ever change your mind..." he leaned forward conspiratorially, and from this distance Stu could make out the ruddy, red gleam of his left eye. "We're trying to get something together, and I would kill for a pianist. If you can do any vocals too that would be incredible. Right now all we have is Mark, and if I'm being polite... he sucks absolute ass."

Stuart's face flushed and he snorted, covering his mouth to stifle his laughter. He was considering the offer though, quite seriously. "Have you got a number or somethin' I can reach you with?" he asked, clearing his throat. The man nodded and reached across the counter swiftly to grab one of Stu's pens. Stu began to print off a slip of reciept paper when he felt his hand being tugged, and before he could protest the man was scribbling down his phone number on Stu's palm.

"Call me whenever, every night except Sunday or Monday. I gotta drive my aunt to Mass..." He rolled his eyes and shook his head, but he was smiling. Stu nodded, looking down at his hand and puzzling over the text.

"M... Muirdoc?" he asked haltingly, glancing up. The man nodded.

"Murdoc Niccals, yeah. Sorry my writing's shit."

"Nah it's okay. 'm Stuart," Stu said cheerfully, extending the hand that was still clean out of habit. Murdoc took it and shook it a bit awkwardly, pulling back and mussing his hair again. A gold cross swung across his chest at the motion, and the reflection from it caught Stu's eye. A proper catholic crucifix, turned upside down and hanging from a matching gold chain. The bottom where the chain attached looked damaged and whittled, as though it had been done post purchase. Perhaps at home. With a rusty screwdriver.

"You're cross is upside down," Stu remarked with a puzzled expression, and Murdoc's voice was rough and gravelly when he laughed.

"Yeah, don't I fuckin' know it," he said with a touch of pride in his voice. This didn't help answer any of Stu's questions. He had no time to ask for an explanation though before the sounds of Murdoc's companions noisily making their way back to the front of the store reached his ears and interrupted him. The tallest of the group approached Murdoc first, nudging him roughly.

"There ain't nothing worth buying here, Muds," he said gruffly, seeming irritated in his intoxicated state. "Take us home, yeah?"

Murdoc frowned slightly and backed away at the other man's touch, but he said nothing. Instead, he took out his keys and offered Stu a nod before heading toward the door. No sooner had the bell rung when Stu noticed something jutting awkwardly out of the tallest man's back pocket. He recognized it immediately as one of the packs of guitar strings from the store, and he cleared his throat loudly to get Murdoc's attention.

"You plannin' on paying for those?" he asked as casually as he could, motioning toward the lifted goods. Murdoc's skin grew pale instantly and he whirled on the taller man, stomping his foot sharply.

"Hannibal! For fuck's sake, give the kid back whatever the hell it is you grabbed!" he shouted angrily, glaring up at the other with murder and something akin to betrayal on his face. Hannibal growled, snatching the strings from his back pocket and chuckling them carelessly towards the check out before shoving roughly past Murdoc and out the door. The others followed after him quietly, all seeming equally as pissed with Murdoc as Hannibal had been. The sound of heavy metal flooded the room, followed by a collection of forceful car door slams. Murdoc stood uncomfortably in the doorway, biting his lip. Finally he pulled away from the door and back into the shop, cursing softly under his breath. He fished around in his pockets and came up with a handful of five pound notes and coin, slamming them to the counter and looking ashamed.

"Keep the change, Stuart," he said quietly, sighing. "Don't bother calling." And he was out of the store and starting the car before Stu had a chance to respond, leaving the store dead quiet with his absence. The screech of rubber on concrete was the last indication that Murdoc had been there at all, and Stu was left wondering what the hell had just happened.