"Iron Lions" saga continues

Finallly found notes. Here's an excerpt from the Prologue of
my much (maybe too much) talked-about book


PROLOGUE

"I done! No more foolishness! I can do better than this!"

His trumpet case secured with an imperious snap of the
metalcatch, Bobby Nelson charged past his six bandmates
and headed for the large door of the top-floor hotel
suite.

The band, Iron Lions, was just coming off a 13-city
bi-coastal US tour (up the West coast, then down
the east, after a seemingly interminable flight across
the country.) Thirteen cities in sixteen nights, with
extra gigs in some cities.

"Bobby, wait," called pianist Ezekiel Parry, known to
all as "Deacon". "You can't make a decision like that
based on how you feel right now. We all tired and..."

---"and nothin' dammit!" Bobby cut him off thunderously,
his six-three, two hundred and thirty pound frame heaving
with fury. "Don't gimme none a your preachin' here today
Deacon!"

Outside their suite, fifteen floors up, the early afternoon
air was deathly still, red-orange streaks of sunlight
lining the tufted tops of the cumulus clouds, like some
kind of Impressionist nightmare. It was a common but dreaded
vista in the Caribbean. A storm was coming. A big one.





Hope to have the next bit for you in about a week.