Chapter 3

Richie looked the guy over his brow arching. He was a scrawny guy, not much taller than his mid chest, but the resume and the degree were impeccable "Okay Ed, Obie here thinks I should give you a chance."


Going over, he laid out two of his guitars, his mind on the last tech he’d suffered through. That guy didn't even know how to hold a guitar. "I got two guitars behind you on the truck...go bring me the Ovation."


Eddie nodded and turned, one hand lifting to shift the ball cap a little lower. Please don’t look too close, please don’t look too close. Stepping towards the guitars, one hand slipped into the back jeans pocket for the linen gloves put there earlier in the morning. Sliding the gloves over fingers, inquisitive eyes hungrily traced over both guitars.


"Serial in the 30k range, sunburst red, 11 attachment screws. Just look at that pick up and fretboard, bet it's fuckin' maple. Oh you’re an early 59 beauty, there’s your neck date below the truss rod adjustment. You’re a Fender for sure." Head shaking Eddie turned to the second guitar, a double neck as one finger slowly caressed the jet black guitar. "Aren't you just a beauty?"


With the slightest of care two fingers gently rubbed over the top. "Who dared leave a fingerprint on you Beauty?" Studying the guitar closely, Eddie kept muttering, "multi-piece epaulets, white bound rosewood fingerboard and abalone elite style fingerboards with Op +24 electronics? " Nodding the double neck was carefully lifted. Turning, arms stretched out to offer the guitar to its owner, Eddie spoke again. "I believe this is what you asked for."


Obie looked at Richie whose mouth hanging open. The little shit certainly knew his guitars at least. Question was would he know anything else? Making a note on his clipboard he showed it to Jon who along with Richie sat in on the interview.


Jon glanced at the scribbles of his long time friend. The little shit even wore gloves?


Richie took the guitar and looked it over then handed it back to Eddie after turning one of the pegs taking it out of tune. "I just came off stage and need to take this back out because Frank over there decided to change the set list on the fly and I need it for Wanted. It's in the key of C major. You got your stop watch Ob?"


Obie held it up and nodded."Go!"


Eddie took the guitar and leaned against the crate. Reaching up one handed, teeth pulled gloves from first one hand then the next, letting them drop to the ground. Settling fingers on strings Eddie strummed, stopped, adjusted tightness, strummed again and nodded. Handing the guitar back, Eddie leaned over to pick up the gloves. "How's that?"


Jon looked over Obie’s shoulder and shook his head when the guitar was handed back. He’d tuned it in less than a minute? Shit my tech can't even do that.


Richie couldn’t help the grin. "Not bad, not bad at all. We have to go from an outdoor gig to an indoor one...what's the first thing you need to do?" The last guy had missed this question. Hell, not many people knew that taking guitars from hot humid conditions to an air conditioned required something special. A humidifier had to be run in the area where they were stored.


Eddie snorted, "Ya kiddin' me right?" "Nodding to the crates, "First ya set up the area man, run the humi's, at least 3 or 4 hours before uncrating the beauties. Anyone worth his damn salt knows that."


Richie nodded his head and smiled at Jon over Eddie's head. If he passes the time test I got me a new tech. "Excellent, just excellent. I'm impressed. I guess you're worth you salt." He reached over and bopped Eddie on the shoulder about knocking him over. "Sorry dude. Forgot you're like Frank over there...little dude."


Eddie grunted and straightened. "Some of us can't be Gigantor you know. We can’t help if some guys can’t figure out how to stop growin’."


Jon laughed and rolled his eyes "Dean’s got a new name Ob, need to put it on his laminate. Gigantor...I like that Ed."


Richie snorted then turned back to the little guy. "Last test Ed. Pass this and Frank, Ob and I will need to discuss the outcome. I take about 25 guitars on tour...each one is numbered or named on the set list. They get packed into trunks of that hold either six or eight guitars. Those trunks then into crates and you have only an hour before the rigs move out to the next gig."


He continued, "we have a set up in the studio with cases and crates, so when he say's go then you haul ass." Richie and Obie had set up the right numbers for the right cases but had one guitar that was not to be cased with the others. Please God...I need this one not to drop my babies in this time race...I still have one in the shop from the last tech.


Obie walked Eddie into the recording studio where the guitars sat in the stage racks and the cases were across the room next to the crates. Holding up the stopwatch he watched the second hand sweep around. As it hit twelve he hollered, "GO!"


Eddie took a deep breath, moved to study the crates for the briefest moment, noting the shape of each set of specially made holders for each neck, along with the numbers. With a swift nod, after sliding on the ever present linen gloves Eddie stepped quickly to the left side of the room, looked at each guitar intently then lifted one. Moving back to the crates the guitar was gently settled into a slot.


Taking a deep breath Eddie made the trek twenty five more times, each time taking a few brief seconds to ensure the guitar was hanging clear of the guitar settled in before.


Finishing up, the lone guitar was lifted as eyes scanned the room, grinning when a single guitar case was noted standing against the wall. Walking over to the case the instrument was settled in lightly and locked in. Handing that one guitar case to Richie, Eddie moved back to the trunks, closing them carefully before setting the locks, hands reaching for the bolts of bubble wrap found against the wall. After each trunk was wrapped, Eddie stood and turned to Obie. "Damned if I try to lift those alone. Not gonna get me that way man. You either have me two extra guys so they get lifted easy or it’s a no go."


Obie stopped the watch and smiled.


"We got Ollie and Butch that will help load, they go with the rig. Not bad Ed, not bad at all. Rich, you got any more questions?"


Jon cleared his throat. "I got one." He walked over and picked up an old battered ’63 Fender Strat, snapped a string and handed it to Eddie. "He has to have it back out for the next song...Lemma is starting the opening chords for Lay your hands...say 15 bars. Get it stringed and tuned and in Richie’s hand in that time. "


Richie cringed when he heard the string pop, yeah he was bad on the strings when he got in the zone. Pisses Jonny off when I break a string.


Eddie glanced at the Fender, noting which string was broken. Reaching into one jeans pocket a small ornate wooden box was pulled out. Opening the box Eddie selected the correct string, took the Fender from Jon and quickly settled it against a thigh. Within moments the string was tuned and handed back.


At Jon's arched brow Eddie muttered, "What? No one around here carries spares too?"


"Got ya there Kidd." Obie tossed the watch to Richie and headed out of the studio to chat. Jon handed the guitar back to Eddie and followed the two out.


"I want him. Did you hear him mutter over the ladies? He knew the serial numbers and the types of wood man." Richie smiled like a kid on Christmas morning.


"Man if you want him that bad buy him a new gear box. Did you see the one he pulled out of those baggie jeans? It had bows and rhinestones on it." Jon cringed at the visual of the box.


"With what we pay him he'll be able to buy one after the first two gigs, but Jonny, I want  my  Ed! He has gloves!"


All three turned at the sweet sound that suddenly came from the studio. Walking back in looking for Clapton or Chuck Berry, their eyes go wide at the sight before them. Eddie was sitting on a crate playing the old beat up Fender and it never had sounded so good. One of the other applicants had dropped it and nearly broke the fret board, to Richie’s sorrow.


At the sound of three distinct throat clears Eddie glanced up and winced. "Uh sorry, just checking to see if she could still make music."


Glancing at Richie, who had a wide eyed look of something that resembled amusement or amazement Eddie continued. "Not much wrong with the beauty. Little love and TLC? She'd be good as new. If you want, I could try to repair her, no '63 Fender Strat should be left lying around in this sorta shape man. Who was the beast that left her in this sad condition?"


"The last man who tried to get this job dude.” Richie didn’t need to see any more. This guy was THE GUY, he felt it to his bones. “Obie give him the welcome to the circus spiel. So you repair them too?” Richie glanced at the guitar. “You think you can get Lucy back in playing shape? I don't think it could sound any better than what you had her doing, but Luce there ...she holds a special spot in my heart dude..."


Obie handed Eddie the Crew shirt and the laminate that read Richie's tech. It was easier than ordering a new laminate each tour or gig some days...


"As Richie says...welcome to the circus known as Bon Jovi. Lose the shirt? Costs thirty dollars replace it, lose the laminate and its bye-bye techie. Checks are handed out on the fifteenth and the thirtieth. You got a passport? You need to apply for one if you don't. Richie likes his tech to fly with the band. If Frank, or rather Jon over there wants to change the set list and he needs to change guitars then his tech needs to be close. He says it easier that way. Here is the name of the airport be there by nine."


Eddie snorted. Passport? Eddie had a passport thanks to a globe trotting girl friend. Looking over at Obie with a nod Eddie gruffed out, "got the passport, not a problem man."


Turning back to Richie, Eddie cradled the guitar now known as Luce. "Won't take much to fix her, hell I can have her ready to travel by embarking time man."


"Then Luce is in good hands." Richie nodded; Luce was special. His dad had bought it for him when he came home and told them he was going on the road with Jon, a kid from Sayreville.


Eddie nodded, "Course she is." Hands gently brushed over the beautifully lacquered surface, "She'll be ready for you by the time you board the plane Monday morning."


Glancing around, Eddie saw the spare case lying beside a couch. Walking over Luce was carefully placed inside, the case latches firmly connected. Straightening, Eddie rolled shoulders and nodded. "See ya at 9 a.m."


Walking out, eyes intent upon the old beat up bug, Eddie couldn't stop the grin. Reaching the car, one hand lifted in a victory punch of the air. Opening the passenger door Luce was settled gently and seat belted in. Moving to the driver’s side Eddie slid into the car, punched the dashboard once and cranked up before hitting the gas and heading for the beltway.


Jon cringed as 18 and Life by Skid Row belted out of the radio. "Hey Dean...give the kid some better music before we have to watch him drive off again...damn skinny ass Bach...fucker still owes me money."