Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two) (23 page)

I hear Vikki’s dulcet howls from behind
the drums and the Stratocaster. Her voice cracks a little as she
sings, because she’s pushing herself. I get up, look beyond the
stand I’ve been sitting behind. She’s sweating, swinging the mic as
if it were a person’s neck, and her music’s strangling
it.

Singing about the
pain
, I
think.

I decide I’ll never again look into those
forums. If I get booted out, I don’t wanna know what’s being said
about me behind my back. I just don’t. I think it would destroy me.
Sure, Mad-Ass’s ego is stung right now. But what would happen if he
saw all these comments? He might stop mixing altogether.

Or, worse, he might mix while high.

And
end up dead with a needle in his
arm...

“God.” I delete the text with the login
details. The password was pretty complex, so I’ll never remember
it.

I look up at Vikki again.

Even though I’m the only one in this
warehouse she’s singing to (Vlad and his partner Sasha don’t really
count as a crowd), she might as well be singing to a packed house
at Madison Square Garden. She believes it. And believing it could
still happen is probably what keeps her singing ever
day.

The love of it
.

And if you lose that, you’ve lost
everything.

I decide I won’t hunt down Mad-Ass (or even
try and figure out what his real name is.)

Let him keep loving the
sounds.
When
you have nothing left, you at least have that.

A week ago, I had no boyfriend, no best
friend, no gig lined up at the hottest nightclub in Brooklyn. No
hope of making the rent. I was six months away from being out of an
apartment. My mind was filled with thoughts of a friend whose final
image had embedded itself in my very aura because it was so
gruesome.

And now?

I have the hottest, kindest, most
incredible
man
who I can
call more than just a boyfriend. He’s my lover. I can call him the
guy who pulled my mind away from horrors of the past, simply by
being there for me, by listening to me. By
understanding
me. I have a wild and crazy girlfriend who
I can relate to and who doesn’t do drugs like so many other people
in this scene. Something I really need in a friend. I have two boys
I can call brothers (big and strong older brothers!) How awesome is
that? Not to mention the monsters at the entrance to this abandoned
shack of a warehouse—Vlad and Sasha—in black suits and ready to
kill. They’re my bodyguards as much as Vikki’s. I know
that.

I have a place to stay. I have a record-deal
just on the verge of happening. I’m gonna be mixing at the greatest
club this side of the East River.

And who did this all for me? Even if he
hadn’t planned to: A boy I’ve known since I was five. A drug-dealer
who’s own H killed his very own sister. A boy—because Xavier is no
man; age is not what determines that—who grabbed me by my wrist and
flung me off a chair at the
Swallow Café
. The same boy who stood up for me when Tolek tried to fuck
me by virtue of my state of ultra-inebriation, pulling a
Ruger
revolver and pointing it at
Tolek’s filthy head.

And the boy who took my virginity, kindly,
slowly, gently.
Regardless of circumstances.

That
boy.

Forgiveness
is an easy thing when put in
perspective.

I decide
I don’t need any “protection” from him. I
want
to meet Xavier again. He won’t
hurt me. I know that. Deep down, I do.

But he might hurt himself. And I can’t let
that happen. Not to a friend of mine.

Not again.

I text him. He answers instantly. I
quickly come to appreciate that he was probably never hiding from
me, he’s more likely embarrassed for what he did. Here’s the
exchange:

Me: How are you?

Xavier: I’m sorry.

Me: I know, but how ARE you? Your head.

Xavier: Cut, as it deserves to be.

Me: You need help, X. I can’t
lose another friend.

Here, a tear breaks loose on my part. I
wipe it away quickly, but I’m thinking about Savva. Thinking deeply
of her, because this is her brother I’m talking to. And he looks
like her, same diamond-shaped face, same black hair. Same
amber-eyes.

Xavier: I’m no friend, Blaze. I
am what I am.
You’re better off without me.

Savva spoke in dark tones before she died. I
never read the hints.

Me: You ARE a friend. And
also an asshole. Did
no one tell you never to hit a girl? But I do love you,
X.

No answer.

Me: X? You there?

Xavier: I’ve also always loved
you, Blaze. Since we were kids. I love you...more than you
know.

I’ve heard this from him before. And
believed it. Because we’d always been friends. And, I think, when
you’re deep in the world of drugs, when you’re surrounded by people
who’d kill for a fix, you might believe you love anything remotely
human. As far as I recall, I was Xavier’s only real friend. He and
Patryk were “buds.” But Patryk got onto the H when Savva did—not as
much as her, but enough to fry his brain. Enough for him to lose
just enough of his built-in humanity so that people sensed there
was some sort of emptiness there within him.

As far
as I know, I was Xavier’s only real human friend. One who
didn’t have her brains fried yet.

I decide to call him. He squashes the
call.

Me: Answer my call, Xavier. Please.

I call again. He squashes it.

Xavier: Blaze, I’m embarrassed. I just want
to be alone.

So did Savva
, I think.

Me: No! I won’t let you!
Now
answer my
call!

I call. He answers. His voice is hoarse and
harsh. “You baked?” I ask.

“I was. I’m on a serious downer.”

“How much of a downer?”

“A hard one.”

“Xavier, where are you? Don’t do anything
stupid!”

“
Blaze...look, I’m just really
sorr—”

“
Xavier, where are you!?”

“Blaze, I’m cool. I’m at my place.”

“And where is that these days?”

“
Blaze, I swear, I’m good.”

“No! You’re freaking me out! I need to come
see you...”

Here, he starts sobbing. Vikki has stopped
playing because she notices I’m panicking. She comes over to me and
gestures,
What’s wrong?

“Xavier? Please, answer me!”

“
Blaze, it’s cool, baby. We had a good
run
—”

“
No!”

He puts the phone down.

When I look at Vikki, she’s pale and
freaked out. Her face looks foggy, so I figure I’m tearing
up.

She shakes me by the shoulders. “What!?
Tell Vikki—what is it?”

Through quivering lips, I tell her. And I
also tell her I think he’s about to take himself out. She cries,
“Vlad!”

Vlad stomps over. She talks in Russian to
him. He calls Sasha over. Vikki says to me, “This Xavier... He is a
dealer?”

I nod. She talks in Russian to Vlad. I
hear Xavier’s name being repeated by her. Vlad makes a call. He and
Sasha confer. Then Vlad pulls out a picture on his phone. Sasha
looks at it. He shows it to me. Vikki says, “This is
him?”

“
Yes.”
She talks in Russian to Vlad. In an I-barely-speak-English
accent, he says, “He live here!” He points down. “In
Villiamsburg
.”

Vikki says to me, “WE GO TO HIM NOW!”

We run out of there
fast
.

Band practice is over.

Declan Cox

The problem with Tatiana is that she’s all a
man would look for in a woman. A shallow man.

She’s got the temperature in her luxury
Brooklyn Heights condo so hot that she’s walking around in a tee,
and white shorts so high that they could double-up as a bra. A bra
which she desperately needs, because her tee is so see-through I’ve
been able to make out the dark shade of her areolae already several
times this morning.

Two grand an
hour
, I keep saying to
myself. With an option to get three for her “friends.”
Just put up with her
shit and take the two grand an hour
.

We’ve done everything from move the couch
to the east wall, then back, then to the east wall again; moved two
Picasso-style paintings from the bedroom to the lounge, and back
again. We’ve also moved the bed, several times. And the couch in
there as well, while she’s lain on the bed and watched us, sucking
on an ice pop. Slowly. And using a lot of tongue.

I’ve tried to keep it professional, but
this is so far beyond
it
that I can’t even think straight.

At twelve, things get worse. Her posse
arrives. And they’re equally tightly clad (although, thankfully,
they all have bras).

Every time Tatiana
Watkins
—who has not
bothered to take her ring off—opens her mouth, she sounds like
Marilyn Monroe singing
Happy Birthday, Mr. President
.

“
Declan. Trevor. Please meet my
girlfriends. Samantha Ryder and Dalya Somerset.” Samantha is a
straight-haired red-head, blue eyes to kill. Dalya is as blonde as
Tatiana, although a lot better endowed. A
lot
better. The temperature is suddenly too hot for
me. The three women stand by the door and smile demurely at Trevor
and me.

“
Pleasure to meet you,” I say, and extend
my hand out to them, right in between them so they can decide
amongst themselves who’s gonna take i
t first. Samantha Red-Head does. She holds onto it
a little too long. There’s no ring on
her
finger. Dalya the D-Cup does have a ring—a monster of a
rock if I’ve ever seen one.
And a man who probably compensates with money for
what he doesn’t have
.

In a voice you’d expect to hear in
a
Legally
Blonde
movie, Dalya
says, “Why, yes, Sammie and I been hearin so many good things ’bout
y’all.” Southern accent. And I’m thinking,
Hello Mizz Parton
. “Now, I must say, you weren’t
exaggerating, darling!” She flicks a hand at Tatiana (which I’m
pretty certain smacks her breast), then makes no effort to disguise
her ogling at me and Trev.

We’re both in tees, and sweating, and it’s
taking every ounce of energy I have to not take even that off,
because it is
hot
in
here!

“
Boys,” Tatiana says, “me and the girls are
just gonna sit and chat in the bedroom. I think I liked layout C
better than any of the rest in here. You go ahead and set that up
and then, when you’re done, just holler—or simply
come
in
.”

Layout
C—that would be one of the A to P layouts she took the time
to prepare on very detailed sheets of blueprint paper. We’ve been
through A to P at least once. And C is where the couch sits on the
north wall. I’d bet money on the fact that either Sammie’s
boyfriend or Dalya’s husband is an interior designer. And that
maybe he was suckered into preparing the layouts “for the
girls.”

Said Trio disappears into the Den of
Sin
which is Tatiana’s
bedroom. “Trev, we gotta get the fuck outta here.”

Trev smacks me. “Bro! Are you
fucking
insane
! Damn!
There’s three
hot hot HOT
women in there right now just
asking
for it!”

I slap him hard on the chest. “Then you go
in there and satisfy them! I can’t fucking do this, bro! Damn, and
the
heat
! What the
fuck is up with that?”

“
Deck, we both know what’s up with
it
.”

“
You’re a whore if you fuck her. You
understand that, right? A male whore. I mean, she is
paying
us to be here.”

This quickly kills Trev’s grin. “Fuck. I
didn’t think of that.”

“
Right, because the babe has got you
thinking with the wrong fucking head, homes! Now go spank that
fucker
in the bathroom
if you have to, but you gotta focus!”

“Me? What about you?”

I’m thinking of this angel I
have back home. And every time this skank appears with her
nipple-flaunting tee in my face, I wanna blow this joint and tell
her to go fuck herself. Or her vibrator. Or maybe even her
husband.
How’s that for a thought?
“I’m fine. Let’s just get
Layout C
done and then scram. I think I’m gonna put Skate
on the next job with her.”

“
Just be sure to tell him that if he wants
to
do her, he needs to
do it on his own time.”

That statement somehow gets me laughing.
And eases my mind about the utter crassness and
openness
about this chick! We start moving the
couch over to the famed North Wall. “Trev, how long do you think
some other dudes would’ve lasted here?”