Reno chuckled from where he was leaning against the front of the tour bus (aka World Watch One). "He stole possibly the fastest car on earth, and he's still late."
New jersey glanced about from his seat on the steps leading up to the back porch of the club. "Is it really stealing?" he wondered, suddenly concered about what was to happen to their wild friend. "I mean, it is his car... his experiment... right?"
Reno shrugged. "his car, his experiment..."
"But the Banzai Institute is responsible for it." Rawhide interupted. "That is why we had a professional driver for the test run. We'd just hate to see some one ran over while one of our experiments is going 500 mph down the road."
Always the worrier, Jersey frowned. "I hope he's alright."
"He'll be fine." Buckaroo Banzai assured everyone as he stepped down from the bus. "And he'll be here in his own time. There is plenty that the Hong Kong Cavaliers can do without a rythm guitar. Now, shall we step inside and see if we can't get this joint rockin'?!"
There was a mumbled imitation of enthusiasm and his band grudgungly climbed the steps to the stage door. Rawhide held the door open for the band waiting for Buckaroo. When it was just the two men, Rawhide asked "You sure about this, boss? He hasn't been very steady of late."
Buckaroo sighed. "He's bored. Gotta get him something to do before he gets himself killed."
"Been there, done that." Rawhide returned, referring to his not all togeather pleasent tryst with death he had thanks to an alien spider. "It might be a good lesson for the boy."
"I prefer that we learn our lessons without dropping dead." He patted his big friend on the shoulder. "Don't worry. He'll show up when he's good and ready." Buckaroo added with confidence, though his brillent blue eyes betrayed his uncertainty, a very rare sight for the young geniouse.
"Found him!" some one called from inside.
Buckaroo smiled slightly, sighing with relief. "See?" he said, before stepping inside.
Sure enough, there was Perfect Tommy sitting on the back corner of the stage, blowing cool air on a rather badly scraped elbow. Besides a few scrapes and bruises, he looked his usual stylish, perfect self; from his newly dyed jet black hair to his polished loafers to the blck leather jacket laid across his lap (no time for a hospital, but, apparently he had time to change his clothes).
Jersey stood beside him, preparing a bandage for the wounded elbow.
"What happened?" Buckaroo wanted to know, stepping up to take a closer look.
Tommy shrugged. "I flipped the car." he admitted. "Don't worry, it's just a blow out. Fix it, add some weight to keep it grounded, and we can try again."
"WE being the choice word here." Rawhide pointed out. he took Tommy's hand and inspected his scraped knuckles. "Can he still play?"
Perfect Tommy yanked his hand away. "'Course I can! I'm not dead!"
New Jersey took his arm and turned it so he could place the bandage on the worse of the scrapes. "Yes, he's fine. Just don't expect him to do any jigs."
Perfect Tomm started at him as if he was insane. "Jigs?"
"Where's the car?" Buckaroo asked, bringing the discussion back to the original subject.
"Sam towed it back for me. Dropped me off here on the way." Tommy answered. He glanced at the crowd that was getting restless waiting for the music to start. "So, we going to rock this joint, or what?"
"At the moment, the `or what' sounds tempting." Rawhide answered, reaching down, grabbed Tommy by the collar, and hauled him to his feet.
Buckaroo grabbed Tommy's arm before going to their places. "We will talk about this after the gig."
