Full Tilt (Rock Star Chronicles) (12 page)

Everett formed a
T
for timeout with his hands. “So, it’ll cost an additional twenty thousand to get him completely out of debt with you—is that what you’re saying?”

“You move to the front of the class.” Sal chuckled.

Everett looked at his watch. “I can have the money back here today.” Out of the corner of his eye, Everett saw Eddie turn to face him.

“That’s good, Mr. Lester. Very good.” Mr. B stood, threw back the rest of his drink, and crunched the ice loudly as he took his overcoat, scarf, and gloves from Paulie. Then he raised an eyebrow to Everett. “Lemme have a word with you, alone.”

Hesitantly, Everett followed the captain to the far corner.

The captain spoke in a low voice, his back to the others. “I’m a fair man, Mr. Lester. Your brother has come to me to do business.” He wrapped the scarf around his neck. “As long as he does it in an honest manner—a fair and timely manner—we’ll get along.” He hoisted on the heavy coat. “If he continues to betray me, he
will
get burned.”

He flashed his capped white teeth and lifted his black gloves up to eye level, squeezing them on, one finger at a time. “And then, I hate to think of the prospect of what may happen next. We’ll need to get our money from someplace else, if you know what I mean.” He began to walk away. “Let’s just not go there, shall we?”

“Listen to me.” Everett boiled. “I don’t like being threatened, and I don’t like you takin’ advantage of my brother. You’ll get your money. Then, I expect you to leave us alone.”

The captain had stopped walking and stood for what seemed like a full minute with his back to Everett.

Everett had crossed a line, and although he instantly regretted it, he was full of electricity and ready to face the consequences.

Ever so slowly, the captain turned toward him with a face of stone. “Do the names Madison and Wesley mean anything to you? Or Sheila?”

This was bad. People like this had you executed, two behind the ear and fuhgeddaboutit. They gave you cement boots before a swim. They cut you into pieces and sent you around town in gift-wrapped boxes.

But Everett had never been one to back down. “Yeah, they do.”

“What about Karen?” Mr. B said. “Does that name mean—”

In a blur, Everett was choking him by his silk scarf. “You come near my wife or any of my family and you’ll regret you ever heard the name Lester.”

Mr. B’s men converged like a SWAT team, ripping Everett backward in a stranglehold, several delivering punches and jabbing him with elbows. Guns drawn, they hovered around the captain, making sure he was okay.

No one said a word but instead waited breathlessly for an edict from the captain, whose men surrounded a gasping Everett, panting like lions that had just been thrown a bucket of raw meat.

In short, brisk swipes, the captain brushed at his coat, tugged at his scarf to even it, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Excuse me.” The graying waitress stuck her head through the curtains, drawing everyone’s attention. “Heads-up—we got two cops on site for coffee, and it’s gettin’ loud back here.”

Thank You, God!

She disappeared, and all eyes shifted back to the captain.

He shook his head and spoke through clenched teeth. “You shouldn’t have done that.” He motioned his henchmen toward the rear exit. “However, unlike you, I don’t make fatal mistakes in the company of the wrong people.”

He headed for the back door, turning around one last time. “Watch your back, Mr. Lester. And Eddie, watch yours, too. Not only do you got a debt to pay—now you got hell to pay, too.”

12

WESLEY AND THE MUDDY
Yukon were gone from the driveway by the time Karen, Sheila, and Madison got downstairs.

“That’s funny.” Sheila giggled. “Where could Wesley have gone?”

“It’s like this all the time,” Madison blurted. “Everything’s a big mystery around here.”

Sheila had gathered five or six plants on the kitchen table and was watering them and collecting dead leaves while Madison searched for something in the refrigerator.

“What else is up with Wesley these days?” Karen took a seat at the kitchen table, unable to forget the white Yukon and wanting to hear more of Sheila’s perspective.

“Oh, he’s your typical twenty-year-old—”

“Oh, come on, Mom.”

“Well, he is, Madi! He’s had some different jobs—at the BP, at Circuit City. He took a Web-design course at the technical college. And for a little while he had a job at a sub shop. He’s just trying to find himself. You know…”

“He hangs out at a place called Fender’s Body Shop with a bunch of dead-end losers. They’re all drug addicts.”

“Don’t go there, Madison Kay. Wesley is a good young man. I know he smokes cigarettes and has a beer or two with his buddies, but who doesn’t at his age?”

“Mother, when are you going to come to grips with reality? I can’t figure out if you’re really as naive as you claim, or if you’re just living in denial.”

Sheila rotated a planter, stepped back to examine it, and plucked more yellow leaves.

“What about David’s death?” Madison came over with a plastic bottle of water in her fist. “Are you going to block that out, too? Alcohol and meth were found at the scene. I suppose David wasn’t responsible.”

Sheila reeled around to face her daughter. “Tom Schlater was in that car! He was older and dealt drugs. Now you leave David alone!”

“And where do you think Tom got his drugs?”

Sheila grabbed one of the plants and marched it into the family room while Madison and Karen exchanged a tense glance. Sheila returned, venting her frustration by dousing her plants, and much of the kitchen table, with water. “Karen, I want to show you the rec room downstairs when I’m done with these.”

Madison sat at the kitchen table. “Mom, you know they think David was high on meth when he wrecked his Camaro. That stuff makes you feel invincible—”

“Stop it! I suppose next you’re going to tell me he committed suicide in that car—while those other people were with him. That’s sick. It’s just sick. And the people who think it are mean. You leave David’s memory alone!” She started to break up and flew out of the room with another plant.

“Oh!” Madison steamed through gritted teeth. “There’s just no—”

“Calm down, Madison. She’s your mother. You need to respect her, no matter what.”

“No matter how deceived she is, how ignorant…how drunk.”

“Yes.” Karen tried to be gentle. “Honor her, just because she’s your mother. At least you’re generating some dialogue.”

“Yeah, it takes an all-out brawl to talk about real life around here.”

“Do you think you could find me a bottle of that water?” Karen was unsettled by the hostility between Madison and Sheila. Of course, she’d argued with her own mother once in a while, but nothing even close to this.

Madison got up and went to the fridge.

“Do you know where Wesley was last night?” Karen inspected the plants in front of her.

Madison came back with the water. “Why?”

“Something happened at my house. We saw a white Yukon. It’s a coincidence, I’m sure.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t want to get into it now. Let’s just say, I think whoever did what they did had to be on some kind of drugs. Was he home last night?”

“About nine-thirty or so he showed up here with a friend. I’d just gotten back from the library and was freaked out because Dad wasn’t home. I was trying to call him when Wesley pulled in.”

“In the Yukon?”

“Yeah.”

Karen stood and took a look around the corner. “Who was he with?”

“Guy named Tony Badino. He works at that body shop I told you about. Bad news.”

“Were they here the rest of the night?”

“I heard ’em leave at 11:15 or 11:30,” Madison said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I didn’t get out of bed, but I heard them outside. They were laughing. Then the car pulled away.”

Karen unscrewed the cap and took a drink. “Has Wesley been home since you heard him leave last night and this afternoon, when we saw him in the driveway?”

“He could’ve been. I don’t hear everything.” Madison took a cookie from a jar on the counter. “Was it vandalism?”

“Yes, but worse.” Karen’s strength seemed to drain away as she pictured Millie’s blood splattered on the snow…her lifeless body in the hole out on the ridge… Somehow, with that loss of life, she buried her dreams to have children along with her beloved dog. “I’ll tell you sometime. This is all just between us, by the way.”

“What really happened to my dad last night?”

Karen was spared from answering when Sheila came around the corner, the skin around her eyes and nose bright red.

“I can finish these later.” She sniffed and waved at the plants. “Let me show you downstairs, Karen, while we have time.”

Karen turned to Madison. “You want to come?”

“No. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Sheila led the way down plush carpeted steps and past framed family photographs and old-fashioned lanterns.

“Wesley’s got his own apartment in there.” She gestured to the left and walked to the right. “The rec room is in here.”

It was a sprawling room with dark carpet, nine-foot ceilings, a big-screen TV, stereo, and speakers built into the walls.

“We have several of Madison’s paintings around the house.” Sheila pointed to one. “This is one of my favorites. She calls it
The Grape Picker
.” The splashy watercolor showed a close-up of an old man, hunched over, holding a huge bunch of purple grapes in his weathered hand.

Beyond the entertainment area was a fully stocked bar, and hanging wine glasses. A billiard table was stationed near the bar, as was just about any game imaginable, including ping-pong, pinball, air hockey, and foosball.

“We decided to turn this far end of the room into a gym.” Sheila rested her hand on the front of a large treadmill, and Karen watched her through the reflection in the mirrored walls that surrounded them. “Problem is, no one ever uses it.”

They walked back through the room and got to the base of the steps.

“I guess Wesley didn’t stick around.” She knocked twice on his apartment door and pushed it open. “We’ll just spin through here real quick.”

The long rectangular room was lit only by the white light of late afternoon, which seeped through the partially opened blinds on three windows along the back wall. Sheila, who seemed as curious as Karen, turned on an overhead light and meandered through the messy kitchen, then sifted through magazines and books on the coffee table in the gathering area.

“My goodness, here it is,” Sheila said to herself, then looked at Karen. “This was David’s journal. I read it sometimes.” She chuckled and admired it. “I guess Wesley does, too.”

A phone rang upstairs; Sheila ignored it.

Karen pointed to a painting of two bare-chested boys. “Is this Wesley and David?”

Sheila nodded and walked toward it, as if she were meeting a long-lost friend. “Madison painted that from a photograph. We were in Maine one summer—Boothbay Harbor. We rented a house on a lake. It was wonderful.”

“Mom,” came Madison’s yell from the top of the steps, “phone’s for you. It’s Heidi.”

“Oh, I’ve got to take that. It’s someone from work.” Sheila headed for the stairs. “Excuse me, will you, just for a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

“Just come up when you’re done.” She was gone.

Karen stood frozen, eyeing the dingy apartment. This was her chance find out, firsthand, what David had thought of Everett and, possibly, what part Wesley may have played in his little brother’s death.

Take a deep breath and exhale.
She picked up the journal and scanned its pages for Everett’s name.

Many of the entries praised DeathStroke and idolized Everett. The slanted, somewhat sloppy printing mentioned the band’s new albums and repeated lyrics to David’s favorite songs. Karen found mention of a Christmas celebration Everett had missed, as well as a cancelled ski trip, and a forgotten backstage pass. She glanced at her watch. Eight minutes had blown by. Her hands shook as she read.

I am so very confused. I barely sleep anymore. I’ve taken money from my mom and my dad, and even stolen from friends. I’m making enemies. My life consists of scrounging for money and getting amped on meth. I want to stop; I want to feel normal again. Let me out of this nightmare! Let me love again. Let me be a boy again. I used to be a person. I’m trapped. Can anybody help me?

Mercy, such a tragic existence. Owned by his addiction—not unlike other Lesters before him.
Karen flipped to the rear of the journal and scanned backward until she saw the last bit of writing, dated just before David’s death.

I am a meth junkie … body DEMANDS crank … depressing existence … jump for the Other Side.

She set the journal on the table. How would she share its contents with Everett without sending him into a deep state of dejection? After a quick visual inspection of the apartment, she went to the kitchen, where dirty dishes cluttered the countertop by the sink.

Could there be evidence Wesley was at Twin Streams when Millie died the night before? The bloody knife that was used to slit the dog’s throat, perhaps? Opening and closing several drawers and cabinets, she saw only the commonplace: silverware, plastic wrap, pots and pans, coffee filters, foil, and dishes.

She longed to know more about Wesley. Was he living a life of addiction and loneliness as David had, so trapped and unloved? Other cabinets revealed nothing out of the ordinary, just pens, scissors, batteries, matches, duct tape, straws, lightbulbs, and paper towels.

Karen stood puzzled for a moment next to a cupboard that was filled with many packages of the same medicines and first-aid items, things like decongestants, sleeping pills, laxatives, hydrogen peroxide, rubbing alcohol, and numerous boxes of cold and allergy medicine. Although she found the duplicate items odd, she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Scampering back through the large apartment, the deck out back caught her eye. Unlocking the door, she stepped out. Chairs were scattered everywhere, as were ashtrays filled with damp cigarette butts. Next to one of the ashtrays she saw what she assumed was a homemade pipe. It had a thin, six-inch glass tube leading to a singed glass bowl filled with black ash and remnants of dried yellowish crystal.