Devil’s Music

As Eric's stern voice echoed, the murmurs among the guests grew louder.

"What's happening? Is there some kind of problem?"

"Yeah, who's Sambo Cuff?"

"He's the general manager here, been around since B.B. King was alive."

"Eric Clapton looks really angry, doesn't he?"

The performance halted and the bewildered guests watched as the staff quickly informed Sambo. Sambo, rushing out, made his way to Eric's table with an awkward smile, scanning the room.

"Oh! Eric Clapton! Thank you always for visiting our establishment! Is there something wrong?"

Eric glared at Sambo with fiery eyes. Sambo, noticing the guests' stares, whispered to Eric.

"Let's not do this here, it's disturbing the business. Let's go to my office."

Eric glanced around before staring back at Sambo, who then put a friendly arm around Eric's shoulder and helped him up.

"Let's go to my room, Mr. Clapton. What are you waiting for? Band, start playing again!"

As Sambo escorted Eric away, an uneasy silence filled the club. William, regaining his composure, grabbed the microphone.

"Ah... Apologies for the interruption. Let's get the show going again, hey drummer, give us the beat!"

Music started flowing again, reviving the atmosphere, but Geon still looked towards Sambo's office with concern.

'Eric, why are you here in such a condition...'

Just like Geon worried, Eric was not in a normal state. Supported by Sambo, he coughed as he settled into the sofa in Sambo's office.

"Cough, cough."

After seating Eric, Sambo stood with his hands on his hips.

"Now, Eric, why disrupt someone else's establishment when you're not well?"

Eric, covering his mouth and coughing for a while, gasped for air.

"Gasping. I asked you to help Kay with blues, not to put him on some stage like that. Gasping."

Sambo, looking frustrated, patted his chest.

"Look, Eric. I have to make a living too, don't I? Do I look like a charity worker to you? This is a club, my club."

Struggling to sit up, Eric said,

"I don't need to hear more. I'll take Kay and leave."

Sambo, removing his sunglasses, said,

"Ads have been running for days. If you take Kay, you'll have to compensate for the damages to the club."

Eric, half-rising, glared at Sambo.

"Are you underestimating me? I've been in the music business for decades. Did you even sign a contract? Did you offer Kay a guarantee?"

Sambo stuttered, flustered.

"Well, that... I intended to share Kay's part of the band's guarantee..."

Eric fully stood up.

"No contract then. Thought as much. Why have you changed like this, Sambo? You weren't like this when B.B. King was alive. You've become all about money!"

Sambo grabbed Eric's arm, trying to appear friendly.

"Now, don't be like that. What about the club? Just sit down for a moment!"

Eric shook off Sambo's hand.

"Let go! We'll finish today's performance. But cancel next week's."

Sambo, sweating, said,

"I've advertised on our website that Kay will be performing regularly on Saturdays. Let's sit down and negotiate. Talking it out is the only way to solve this."

Eric coughed again and weakly sat down.

"Cough! Cough!"

Sambo urgently called to a staff member,

"Bring some hot coffee here!"

After hanging up, Sambo spoke to Eric, now half-lying on the sofa.

"Let's have a cup of coffee and talk, Eric."

Eric, silently gasping for breath, gave Sambo a stern look. When the staff member brought in the steaming coffee and left, Sambo started,

"What's the issue? Kay gets to practice and perform, gaining experience, and I make money. Isn't everyone happy?"

Eric looked at Sambo with a mix of sadness and disappointment.

"Sambo. How did you end up like this?"

"What do you mean 'end up'? Am I wrong? This is a club, a business. We need to make money to keep going! And keeping going means keeping B.B. King's name alive!"

Eric quietly observed Sambo raising his voice. Sambo, seeing Eric's silence, hesitated before lighting a cigar, then put it down after seeing Eric's pallid face. Calming down a bit, Sambo spoke more softly,

"Eric. If I pull Kay now, what about the guests who've come expecting to see him? There are people coming from far away because of the ads. Please, see our side too."

Eric's gaze shifted to a photo of B.B. King on the wall

beside them. In the photo, King appeared joyful, playing his guitar against the backdrop of the club. It felt like you could almost hear his soulful playing from the image alone. Eric, after a moment of looking at the photo, turned back to Sambo.

"Keeping going... you mentioned maintaining the club. Is there a problem?"

Sambo sighed and shook his head.

"No, there isn't."

"Why do you think we've suddenly started selling brunch? It used to be a practice space for musicians during the day. Now, bands without their own practice rooms are renting nearby spaces with their own money to practice because of financial difficulties."

"Why are there financial difficulties? The place seems to have plenty of customers."

Sambo hesitated for a moment, then sighed deeply.

"It was to honor B.B. King's will."

Eric frowned.

"A will? B.B. King left a will?"

"Yes, I was there at his deathbed."

Sambo stood up and, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, began to wipe a picture of B.B. King.

"Did you know that B.B. King provided scholarships for underprivileged black children all his life?"

Eric nodded.

"Yes, I knew that. He started when he was about thirty-five, continued for over forty years, and everyone respected him for it."

Sambo, not taking his eyes off the photo of B.B. King, continued.

"It's been over three years since he passed."

"Yeah, I'm aware of that."

"The scholarships are still continuing in B.B. King's name."

"What? Is his family continuing it?"

"No, it's being maintained with the income from this club."

Eric, looking side-long at Sambo, was momentarily at a loss for words. After a silence, Eric finally spoke.

"Is that why? The reason you became a money-grubber."

Sambo bowed his head and admitted,

"Yes. When he first passed away, I thought we could easily maintain the scholarship. But I was foolish to think the club would remain the same without him. No matter how many famous blues musicians we invited, the customers kept dwindling. Old fans who came for B.B. King's performances don't come here anymore. It's turned into a place where fleeting tourists come to take pictures against the backdrop of performances and brag on social media."

Seeing Eric's surprised look, Sambo sat next to him and met his eyes.

"There's no club filled with music like when he was here anymore. It's all my fault. I was inadequate and shortsighted. I wanted to honor his will at least. To be a light for suffering black children, just as he had been. If it weren't for his grace, I would probably be selling drugs in some alley and now rotting in a moldy cell, full of regrets and bitterness towards someone."

Eric looked at Sambo with deepened eyes.

"The person I remember... used to watch B.B. King's performances with a face full of reverence and longing, knowing the joy blues could bring. Seeing how you've changed, I just thought money had corrupted you. But now I feel sorry. As someone who was quite close to B.B. King during his lifetime, I should have looked out for you more."

Eric spoke gently to the dejected Sambo.

"Shall I help you out?"

Sambo chuckled wryly and sighed.

"Sigh, Eric, with your wealth, helping wouldn't be difficult. But do you think that's what he would have wanted? I'm no longer the Sambo who scraped by on handouts as a child. He didn't leave this club to me, someone with no blood relation, just so I could rely on others to carry out his will. I don't want to disappoint him, watching over us from heaven."

Realizing his faux pas, Eric fell silent. Sambo took a sip of his now-cold coffee and said,

"I'm sorry about Kay. He's a rising star with quite the reputation, so I saw it as a good opportunity and pushed too hard. But really, can't we make it work, Eric?"

Eric closed his eyes, pondering deeply. After a long wait, he opened his eyes.

"Let's do this."

Sambo brightened up.

"Tell me. If you'll just allow Kay to perform, I'll agree to any condition."

Eric leaned forward, getting closer to Sambo.

"You have a sub-band that only plays instrumentals, right? Not currently performing. Hand that band over to Kay."

"Yes? Those guys aren't on stage right now. They're just musicians who play during downtime, not contracted, and they don't even have a band name. You want me to hand them over to Kay? They're a no-name band."

"Yes, that's why I'm suggesting it. I wanted to show Kay the joy of blues. It wasn't about joining an already complete band."

After checking the performance schedule, Sambo asked,

"When could they possibly perform? Wouldn't they need time? The ads are out, and we need to perform next week."

Eric relaxed back into the sofa.

"Leave it to him. If it's that kid, he'll bring you an answer in time."

Sambo looked intently at Eric for a long while. Seeing the hate-filled gaze turn into the warm look of their younger days, Sambo couldn't help but smile. He then became serious again, looked down, and after a moment, lifted his head.

"Alright. Let's try."

>

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