But it wasn’t that.
Lyla wasn’t there from the very beginning of the band.
But it felt like she was.
[Shakes head]
Straight up, those two were such a unit, there was a fade where one ended and the other started.
They came together.
They belonged together.
They were meant for each other.
So much so, I can goddamn conjure in my head the vision of her standing at his side, holding his hand and leaning into him as he stood beside Tim’s dad’s truck and told me I was a rock star.
I can conjure it as a memory, like it happened just like that.
We couldn’t be who we were without her.
And I do not hesitate in sharing, I didn’t think Preacher could exist without her.
So, I go see him at his place in LA, yeah?
[Drums fingers uneasily on arm of chair]
And I figure I first got the battle of him opening the door to me.
But he does.
Right off.
I then figure he’s gonna look like shit. Haggard. Sunken eyes.
[Scoffs]
It’d only been two days since the tour ended and this was Preacher McCade.
But I’d dramatized all this in my head, the band up in the air, Preacher removed from us, Lyla gone.
This is Armageddon, man.
The end of days.
[Tucks chin in his neck, then rights head]
He was not haggard with sunken eyes.
[Dips ear to shoulder, rights head]
His gaze was dead.
We’re not talking no one home, like he’s out of it or drowning his sorrows in booze or burying them in drugs.
He’s sober as a judge.
But he’s gone.
He opens the door right away, I come in.
He walks to the family room in the back without a word.
Lyla’s everywhere but she’s not.
There are pictures of her with Preacher that she’d framed and set around, but other pictures I remembered being there, with her mom and sisters, Audie and Lynie, Jen and Amber, the band, are gone.
This gives me a serious chill.
But she’d also decorated the place.
It’s comfortable and homey. Deep, rich colors. Total LA vibe. Kinda a mashup of mission and old-time Mexican, southwest and Native American. Interesting and a little bit edgy, not cluttered though.
Breezy.
Easy.
Lyla.
I’d spent a lot of time in that room and it wasn’t until then I realized how perfectly balanced it was between Lyla and Preacher.
He stands by the window that looks out at the pool and he’s still sayin’ nothing.
“Preacher—” I start to say.
“The band wants to go clean, the time for that is not in the middle of a tour,” he says to the window. “The time for that is when we’re home, we got time and space in our minds to see to ourselves and each other. You three goin’ through withdrawals while you’re rappin’ with DJs and journalists and havin’ your pictures taken every fuckin’ day is ludicrous. It’s dumb luck none of them cottoned on. We had a couple months left on the tour. Cut back along the way. Get your shit tight. Prepare. And, I don’t know, consider talkin’ to a doctor who could tell you how to do it right and do it healthy. Or if any one of you is that fucked up, we drop the tour and get you straight. Cold turkey was insanity.”
“That makes sense, Preach,” I tell him. “You think you coulda said that a coupla months ago?”
“I had things on my mind,” he tells me.
“You wanna share those?” I ask.
And I will admit, although he made sense, even telling you this now that I know all I know, everyone knows it, at that time, I’m beginning to get pissed.
That’s when he turns to look at me and he says, “We were the band.”
Now, I am not likin’ even a little bit that this is said in past tense.
“I know—” I start.
Then he says, “I shouldered the burden a long time, brother. I need you to do your part once. Once. And you fell down on the fuckin’ job.”
[Breathes sharply through his nose, then lifts hand to pinch the bridge and drops hand]
[Quietly] He was right.
He was goddamned right.
[After a very lengthy silence, off tape]
McCade’s parents were indicted for murder within a month of that final show in LA.
[Nods]
[Voice is gruff] There’s no statute of limitations for homicide.
As Tom Mancosa was dealing with a nuisance lawsuit that Lyla’s father was lodging, ostensibly to have family heirlooms he claims Lyla’s mother stole from him returned, but in reality, he was using this as a tactic to extort money from McCade, a journalist got through Mancosa’s shield.
He was able to connect directly with McCade.
He was investigating the death of McCade’s six-year-old brother.
[Nods again]
McCade, without Mancosa’s assistance, but in part with the aid of DuShawn Williams and Williams’s family in Louisiana, had successfully buried this information as the band gained status and fame.
At the same time, McCade had plans to take a different tack.
Somehow this journalist got through the net and McCade was working to stall him from publishing, something this journalist was unhappy about, and thus was putting a significant amount of pressure on McCade to accommodate, or he’d publish without McCade’s involvement.
At the same time, McCade was cooperating with the Lafayette Police Department in Louisiana, as for some time after he’d attained substantial celebrity, McCade had been in contact with them, using that celebrity to urge them to direct resources to the cold case of his missing brother. A case that they’d never actually investigated, because the child was reported missing in Florida.
[Nods again]
Yes.
Baptiste McCade’s remains were found buried under the coffin of McCade’s maternal grandmother.
Yes.
An autopsy concluded he was beaten to death. However, his remains shared his abuse was ongoing, likely from the time he was an infant.
Yes.
Loretta and Oscar Williams refused to be interviewed for the article, though both testified at trial, but other neighbors and acquaintances shared with this journalist information corroborating their testimony.
This being that it was known Preacher McCade was the victim of regular and prolonged abuse at the hands of both of his parents.
Yes.
“Give Then Take” refers to the giving of life, then taking of it, and is the story of an adult male’s anger at his parents for taking the life of his little brother. The lyrics are enraged, but vague. However, given this information going public, the meaning of this song, debated for a long time, and never fully explained by McCade or any member of the Roadmasters, became understood as McCade’s story.
Yes.
Neighbors and acquaintances also shared with the journalist and during trial, McCade was particularly close to Baptiste, and many suggested, due to his protective nature when the boys were seen together, that McCade, with greater and greater frequency, missed school or was visibly bruised, battered or otherwise injured, and this was not solely about the abuse he had been enduring, but that he put himself in the path of the abuse his brother would receive.
Yes.
McCade would testify at both his parents’ trials that he was bound in the basement, after having been beaten, but he heard the murder taking place upstairs.
Yes.
McCade’s parents then reported Baptiste missing from their hotel in Pensacola during a vacation six weeks after the child was actually killed. As it was summer, the absence of the child until then had gone unnoted.
Yes.
At that time, McCade reported to a detective that his parents were providing erroneous information, but as this information was recei
ved from a child, it was disregarded.
Yes.
As per your account, McCade kept all that was happening during that tour not only from Lyla, but also Mancosa and the entirety of the band.
Yes.
He was surrounded by his family, but he went through this alone.
[Closes eyes slowly]
Yes.
Jesse:
[Returns to room with two drinks, one mixed with ice—a rum and coke—which he hands off, one a healthy two-finger dose of amber liquid, which he takes back to his seat]
[Off tape]
Thank you.
[Muttering before taking a swallow] Don’t mention it.
I’m sorry, but considering the most recent bent of your story, I feel the need to ask. You drink?
[Lifts drink and grins wanly]
Not really.
A beer now and again.
My baby likes wine, so I take her to Sonoma. Napa. France, ’cause that’s where the really good shit is.
I’ll have a glass with her.
Most of the time, I avoid it.
But after all of that…
[Trails off]
I understand.
I’m a fuckin’ millionaire.
[Suddenly smiles with genuine humor]
And when I drink the serious shit, I drink Wild Turkey.
[Lifts glass in a salute]
You can take the boy outta Indiana, but you can’t take Indiana out of the boy.
You remember when I told you about Tommy and Preach sitting at the table in that camper, planning world domination?
[Off tape]
Yes.
Well, there’s a lot of stories about a lot of bands. From the almost pathological dysfunction of Fleetwood Mac to ZZ Top’s “same three guys, same three chords.”
Preacher and Tommy were determined that we were not gonna be Fleetwood Mac.
[Shakes head]
Don’t get me wrong, every move was not calculated.
Lyla for one.
But it is very rare a member of a band goes into that band with a mind to keeping that band together at all costs. With a plan on how to do that. Understanding the pitfalls and planning to avoid them.
They wanna write music.
They wanna play music.
They want people to want to listen to their music.
They wanna bag chicks.
They want success.
They want adulation.
And the last thing on their mind is: this band has talent, it’s going places, so no matter what, this cannot go wrong.
When he opened that back-camper door and saw Tommy Mancosa, like he’d sussed out me and Tim, Nicky and Ricky, he sussed out Tom.
And Tommy was an answer to Preacher’s prayers.
It wasn’t about making the band the greatest band in the world.
It was about keeping us together and guiding us to a career, not a one-hit wonder, not a footnote, not a cautionary tale.
A career.
I thought it was Tommy, but they had it all strategized.
The both of them.
Tom took care of the journey.
Preacher took care of the band.
[Shifts forward in his chair]
You see, and now this is the important shit, so listen up.
From nine years old, Preacher McCade lived for one thing.
To acquire the clout where someone would listen to him.
He told that detective his brother had been murdered. He took a major risk doing that. Literally a mortal risk. His parents beat the absolute snot out of him when that cop asked some throwaway questions to his folks and they figured out Preach did that.
But the man didn’t listen to Preacher.
And at the time, this risk he takes is about ending his own misery.
But it’s also about finding his brother.
Like men who beat women, parents who beat their children are master manipulators.
They told that detective that Preacher was prone to telling tales before their son went missing, and since the brothers were close, Preacher was not himself, worried about his little brother and that was how he was coping.
These people are white trash, poor as dirt, but they’re goddamn masterminds.
Dia-goddamned-bolical.
He was Larry Bird.
[Nods]
Now, makin’ it clear, Larry doesn’t have murderous parents.
But yeah.
Preacher had a dream and he had talent.
He took that talent and he worked his ass off.
To realize his dream.
I have no excuses.
Looking back, there are none.
I shoulda seen it.
I had nine years to see it.
Nine years to see how Preacher took care of the band.
I noticed all Tommy did to keep our shit tight.
I didn’t notice all Preacher did.
Dave’s a fuckin’ lunatic.
Tim’s an airhead.
Shawn’s got more talent than all of us, a solo career he could just reach out and grab, so he could walk at any time.
And I’m clueless.
Preach wrote most of the music. He helped produce the music. He played the music. He promoted the music.
And all that is more than a full-time job.
But he did all of that and also held the band together.
When we wrote songs, he listened to them and included them.
He’s got killer basslines for me. He’s sure Timmy’s got a number of solos, songs he plays lead, songs he sings lead. He sees to it that onstage, Dave gets a ten-minute drum solo and the occasion to act like a wild man. He gives Shawn an opportunity he might not have had to a life he deserved, but the world wasn’t gonna make it easy for him. He includes us in production. He delegates to Tom who sees to our every other need.
So yeah, he was the creative force behind Preacher McCade and the Roadmasters and the star of the show.
And he held the band together.
And that’s basis for sainthood.
[Off tape]
The trial was interesting in the sense of the Roadmasters.
[Nods]
That story hit, we were all in to back Preacher.
But he’d disappeared.
We had fucked up, and Tom, DuShawn and me felt that the most, but Dave and Tim also felt like total assholes.
So, even though no one can find him, we’re not gonna make that mistake again.
We’re hopin’ he’s with Lyla, but Tommy reaches out to her and she asks that we maintain a distance but shares she hasn’t seen Preach.
This is bad.
Where is the fuckin’ guy?
And how’s he coping with all this shit, especially without Lyla, because you know, sister, it’s a goddamn feeding frenzy in the media.
People dissecting every one of our songs.
That detective who didn’t listen to Preacher is still alive, but retired, and he feels like absolute garbage he let that situation slip like he did, and Tommy has to hire security for him because he’s getting death threats from our fans.
Fuckin’ hell.
[Shakes head]
And through this, Preacher is a ghost.
I wanna think this is a tactic.
That he’s got it all planned.
That he thinks, if he’s not part of feeding that frenzy, it’ll die down and that’s why he’s keeping his head low.
[Pauses]
It isn’t.
But Lyla is with the band.
[Nods]
She’s Lyla.
We’d hit a squall and the boat was rockin’.
So yeah.
Fuck yeah.
She’s with the band.
During both trials, every day of each trial, every member of the Roadmasters sat in the gallery.
[Nods]
With Lyla.
[Nods]
However, McCade only attended the days when he was testifying.
[Drums armrest with his fingers and nods]
And he walks into the courtroom, gives his testimony, then out of it, all without looking at the band or Lyla.
[Blows out audible breath and nods]
Now, Shawn might tell you different, because I know he feels the weight of it, but this is on me.
I was not sixteen years old and gettin’ my friends together to jam in my garage.
I was a grown man.
Preacher’s name was in the title, but he made it clear from the very beginning, and with every move after, that we were partners.
In my mind and everyone else’s it was his band.
In Preacher’s mind, it was our band.
His and mine.
And what he said to me that day in his crib in LA, the last time I saw him before the trials, he was right.
Once.
He checks out once ’cause he’s dealin’ with his own shit, and it’s big fuckin’ shit.
Just once.
He doesn’t need to have to come to me and say, “Hey, brother, my world is about to blow up, can you look after the boys?”
[Hits chest with his fist]
I’m a grown-ass man.
Straight-up, I should have been at his side all along helping to look after the boys.
And I was not all that time.
And I was not when it mattered.
It isn’t my place to say, but in listening to these words, I must point out that it’s easy to see you did step up. You might not have handled things the way McCade would have, but you stepped up.
No, I did not handle things the way Preach would have.
Because he would not have lost control of the band.
When Trelane’s book releases, and Preacher is absent, Lyla has for the most part vanished as well, and regardless of the band’s attendance at the trials, once they’re done, Preacher does not resurface and Lyla is removed, therefore, the band faces an onslaught of breakup rumors.
Preacher was right.
I fell down on the job.
I know that.
I feel that.
That shit lives in me.
And I’m not gonna let it happen again.
Fast Lane Page 24