Shattered Glass
Page 12
“Bart would have been the perfect foil, giving Liam back a taste of what you experienced when you saw Liam with Danny,” Sam replied. “Even if you were interested, Bart’s oily and didn’t have enough sense to let you come to terms with what happened before he made his move. I still don’t think you gave Liam a fair shake.”
“Maybe. On the day we got into the murderous fight and Liam left the studio, Bart was all over me, pushing me harder than ever. He made blatant sexual advances in front of the crew. Liam would know better. I told Bart yet again that the band couldn’t afford for any of its members to be ‘out’.”
“Yet you need a drummer for the tour, to say nothing of a singer,” Sam said.
“I don’t care what you say. You’re it. Bart’s history. Your assistants can cover for you for a few weeks. You owe me. Sam, why won’t you tell me where the kid is?”
“Because I don’t know. Rick talks to him, says Liam won’t communicate with me because he feels you and I are too close. And frankly, I really don’t want to get in the middle of this. I told you how I felt in the beginning.” Sam stood abruptly and put his empty glass on the table. “I told you, I don’t have time to play around on the drums.”
Despite Sam’s pleas that he did not have time to do the tour, Milo remained adamant. “Sam, as far as I’m concerned, Bart’s gone.”
Then Milo returned home from New York after the press conference at the Plaza and found everything Liam owned cleaned out of the house. The brat even took the goddamned cats.
Milo left messages all over town for Liam—not a single callback. Not even a fuck you, just dead silence met all pleas. Liam never answered his phone and Milo’s letters returned, unopened. Rick claimed he heard from Liam periodically, but that Liam wouldn’t say where he was.
Milo finally gave up.
Chaos reigned. Sam came in for the tour dates and took over for Bart. Even though Borchoi, who filled in as lead singer, did his own stuff well, he wasn’t Liam. The magic left with Liam.
After the tour, Shattered Glass folded their tent and went quietly into the night.
* * * *
In the first six weeks, Rick only had sporadic contact with Liam, usually the kid calling him in the middle of the night and crying while Rick reassured him Milo would call once he calmed down. Then, silence. After two weeks of not seeing or hearing from Liam despite what he told Sam and Milo, Rick grew worried. Liam may have taken a lot of attention away from Rick, but getting rid of him hadn’t made anything better, only worse. Not only had the band folded, he’d lost his friends. He decided to pay Liam a visit.
Besides, he needed money. Bart cut him off unless he had cash. Both Sam and Milo knew he had a habit and wouldn’t lend him any more money. Perhaps I can tap Liam.
He pounded on Liam’s door for fifteen minutes to rouse him from wherever in the house he’d holed up. Liam looked terrible. He’d lost at least twenty pounds, hadn’t shaved or showered in a while, and could barely stand. The boxes of stuff brought over from Milo’s house hadn’t been unpacked and littered the floor. Everything remained untouched except for one open duffel bag.
“Rick,” Liam said, “do you know what happened to my cats? I’ve looked everywhere. Are they safe? Does Milo have them? Should I call Sam?”
Rick knew damn well that Bart took the cats, but tried to reassure Liam. “Milo has them, kid. I’m sure they are just as pampered and spoiled as they were when you had them.”
“I miss them, you know,” Liam said in a flat voice.
“Why don’t you shower and dress, and we’ll go for something to eat?” Rick suggested.
“Can’t. Waiting for Milo to call or come and get me.” He stared at the ring on his finger, the one Milo had given him. “He’ll give me a chance to tell him I didn’t do that stuff when he calms down. You know I didn’t do it, don’t you, Rick?”
From Liam’s tone of voice and vacant stare, Rick seriously worried about his friend’s grasp on reality. “Liam,” Rick gently said, “I think you’ve got to wrap your head around the fact that Milo isn’t coming.” Rick avoided the second question.
He felt too guilty.
Liam set his lower lip into a pout Rick hadn’t seen since Liam was twelve. “Yes, he is. He always comes. He knows I don’t lie. I’ve never lied. He’ll figure it out. This can’t be all there is.” Liam started to cry quietly.
“Maybe if you went out a bit more and saw people, you’d run into him.”
“Do you think so?” Liam asked, almost childlike in response, then frowned. “I said I’d stay out of his way. Don’t I need to wait on him?”
Rick thought fast. “I’m sure he didn’t mean everything he said. Besides, I’d be with you. I’d help you talk to him. And I’m not making any guarantees we’ll run into him, but anything’s possible. Let me run down to the deli and get you a sandwich while you clean yourself up. Then we can talk about it.”
Rick got into his car. During the drive, his conscience ate at him. Bart’s plan not only failed, but Liam looked a step away from hospitalization. It wasn’t worth it. He called Bart. “Look, buddy, I’m about to go to Milo and Sam and confess everything. I’ve just been to Liam’s, and he’s on the verge of a psychotic break.”
“Bullshit. He needs to get laid, that’s all. He needs to get Milo out of his system. I have an idea.”
Rick turned the corner into the deli parking lot. “I don’t like your ideas. They wind up hurting people.”
“Are you beginning to get the shakes? You need your fix, right? You are in this as deep as I am. If you confess now, you’ll be doing pushups for a guy named Bruno in one of New Jersey’s finest correctional institutions.”
“I may be an addict, but I’m not stupid. I haven’t done anything illegal.”
“You set up Liam with enough dope that you could be accused of dealing, and as someone concerned about Liam’s well-being,” he sarcastically said, “I would be happy to point the finger in your direction.”
“Why do you hate the kid so much? What did he ever do to you?” Rick asked as he parked the car.
“That’s none of your business. It’s much better for you if you stay stupid.”
Rick got out of the car and headed into the deli.
“If you listen to me,” Bart continued, his voice turning persuasive, “you’ll get your stuff and you might even make the kid feel better.”
“Hold on, I got to get the kid a sandwich. He hasn’t been eating.”
“Don’t get anything too greasy, and get chicken soup if they have it. I need him in shape for what I’m going to arrange.”
Rick ordered both the sandwich and soup at the counter. He knew the act of getting the soup meant he planned to do as Bart asked, despite his self-loathing.
Bart instructed him to take Liam to one of the underground Asbury BDSM clubs. He told him to slip Liam a roofie, along with some X. Rick remained dubious, but he did need a fix and he’d done that combo before to no ill effect. He knew Bart wouldn’t kill the kid, and maybe Liam did need to get away from his fixation on Milo. It’s not as if it did him any good. Once they got there, Bart would take care of Liam, and Rick could leave.
Rick pulled back into Liam’s driveway and found the kid waiting anxiously at the door.
“Let’s go. I want to find Milo.”
“Whoa, kid. First you eat. Second, no one goes out to a club until after nine. It’s not done, and you haven’t cleaned up yet.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. I’m a little nervous.”
“Here, some chicken soup and a turkey club. Eat up.”
“No chips?” asked Liam with a ghost of a smile as he started eating.
“Not unless you want to barf. You know, you really need to get Milo out of your system. Maybe since he’s the only person you ever fucked, you need to do a comparison.” Rick felt a little ill. He didn’t know if from guilt or needing his fix.
Maybe both.
Liam shook his head in denial. “No, Rick. Only Milo.”
“Yeah, I know about Milo and Bart. I’ve gotten some letters.” Liam frowned and a tear slipped from one eye.
“What kind of letters?” Rick asked, shuffling his feet. Maybe Bart was up to more than he admitted.
“Nasty letters telling me what Bart and Milo are doing. It hurts.” Liam slumped down to the floor, tears streaking his face.
“Any signature?” The hair on the back of Rick’s neck stood on end.
“No signature, but there have been a few so-called presents.” Liam looked away from Rick.
“What kind of presents?” Rick asked bending down to look Liam in the eye.
“Flowers in black ribbons.” Liam tried to shrug as if indifferent.
“Have you called the cops?” Rick asked, not knowing whether he wanted to hear the answer.
“Yeah, but they think it was a disgruntled fan. They told me to hire a bodyguard because they didn’t have the manpower to have someone watch the house.” Liam attempted to stand. Rick gave him a hand. He could see the kid had already gotten a little wobbly. The stuff had hit him fast.
“Have you told Sam about it?” Rick nervously asked.
“No. You told me he won’t talk to me.” He looked close to tears again. “I need Milo.”
Rick felt more sick relief. “Maybe you should start being seen with someone else. Make Milo see what he’s missing. I bet that would work.”
“Who? I don’t know anyone but you guys, and I don’t even know how to begin to find a date.”
“Look, I’ll take you to a club in Asbury I know. I can give you a little something to ease the way, so to speak. You go to the back room, fool around a little, and come back out. Tell the guy to tell his friends and Milo will find out. If he really wants you, he’ll come running.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“No actual fucking, right? Otherwise, I don’t know if I could go through with it.”
“Don’t worry kid, Dr. Rick will fix you up with the right mixture of chemicals so that you won’t even remember what happened until I remind you.”
“I won’t use drugs.” Liam stared up at Rick.
“You already did. I put it in your Coke. Not so bad, see? You didn’t even know.”
Liam tried to focus on the clock. “It’s eight thirty. Should we go?”
“Not yet, let’s get you in the shower and changed.” Rick hustled Liam through a shower and change of clothes. In fifteen minutes, Liam walked out the door with Rick without setting the security alarm.
Twenty minutes later they pulled into a dimly lit parking lot in Asbury Park with Liam still uncertain. “Are you sure Milo will hear about this? Am I doing the right thing, or is this just going to make him angrier at me?”
“Come on kid, get out of the car. I guarantee he’ll hear about it. You’ll have a blast.” Rick opened the passenger door and dragged a reluctant Liam through the parking lot and down a half-flight of stairs.
The club lights blinked in rhythm to the beat of the hard, driving rock. The name Chains flickered on a discreet neon sign below the stairs. Rick kept Liam upright as the drugs kicked in and tried not to feel sick over what he was about to do. Men crawled on the floor like dogs while others were tied to what looked like medieval torture devices. Rick pushed Liam toward the bar.
“I can’t do this,” Liam said.
“Yes, you can.” Rick grabbed his arm and steered him to a barstool, practically holding Liam up because his legs wobbled. He helped him onto the stool.
“Sit here a minute. There’s someone I have to see.” Rick walked down to the end of the bar where Bart sat sipping a beer.
“Okay. I got him here. Now I want my stuff.”
Bart took another long swallow. “You have one more duty to perform tonight, then you’ll get anything you want after.”
“What’s that?” Rick tapped his fingers on the bar in impatience.
“I’ll get him home by midnight. You show up at the house at three thirty. He’ll be pretty wound up.” He handed him a small paper bag. “Give him a shot of what’s in this syringe. I guarantee he won’t remember what happened here, and he won’t feel any pain.”
“What is it?” Rick asked.
“Ketamine.”
“Okay.” Rick thought that Bart believed him to be a real sucker. He knew Bart didn’t plan to give him shit. “Give me the works.” Rick took the bag from Bart. It was going up his arm as soon as he hit the parking lot. He knew Bart intended to leave him high and dry after he dosed Liam. He’d slip Liam another roofie and keep the Special K for himself.
What did Bart intend for Liam? Despite his misgivings, Rick strode back to the other end of the bar, where Liam could barely stay on the stool by himself.
“Kid, I’m leaving you with a friend. Do exactly as he says and we can hope for a good result, yeah?”
“I’m feeling kind of woozy. Maybe I should go home now.” Liam reached out and grabbed Rick’s arm for purchase.
“Naw, you’re getting cold feet. Stay here. My friend will be along and you’ll do okay. I’ll see you later at the house.” Rick turned and left the bar, deliberately not looking back for fear he’d change his mind.
The thought of the Special K in his hand, soon to be in his veins, would go a long way to assuaging his guilt.
* * * *
Bart watched as Liam sat obediently at the end of the bar. His ebony hair and the lost look in his violet eyes attracted the leather Daddy crowd like bees to honey. Bart sat watching from across the room. He sent Liam a drink laced with another roofie in case the first hadn’t done an adequate job. He had paid most of the staff to stay home tonight and the bar was closed to customers.
He noticed one of his more sadistic buddies eyeing Liam. Bart strolled over to him, grinning in satisfaction at his friend’s predatory gaze. “New meat, Samson?”
“Yeah, never seen him here before. You know him? He looks familiar.”
“I sure do. How would you like to fuck the ass of the most famous bad boy in rock?”
“That’s Liam O’Shea?”
“Yeah, a little bruised around the edges, but that’s Liam. He was in the band with me.” Bart preened.
“Give me a shot at him,” Samson demanded, grinning.
“I’ll not only give you a shot, but round up a few of your most creative friends and meet me in the back room. You can have several shots, no limits, no safe words.” Bart grinned. “Bareback.”
Bart walked over and sat on the stool facing Liam. The kid was way too wasted to recognize him in the dark club. “I’m Tom. Rick told me to take care of you. I’ve got what you want.”
“Don’t I know you?” Bart noted with satisfaction that Liam’s voice sounded fuzzy and his eyes looked unable to focus.
Liam squinted and looked into Bart’s face. “Your voice is familiar. I’m not thinking too straight, but I know that voice. I don’t think I like you.” He started to pull away, but Bart grabbed him.
“Sure you do. I’m Tom, a friend of Rick’s, and he’s made me your host for the evening, so to speak. You trust Rick, right? Let’s get you up off that stool.”
Bart gripped Liam’s arms hard enough to leave bruises and to brook no resistance.
Confused, Liam said, “Ouch. Is Rick back there? He said he’d stay with me or did he say he’d see me later? I’m confused. I don’t remember.” Liam’s words slurred. He tried to pull away despite Bart’s merciless grip.
“You don’t need Rick for this party, bud. He’ll catch up with you later.”
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” Liam mumbled.
Liam tried to say something else, but Bart jammed a ball gag into his mouth. As Liam weakly tried to paw at the strap, Bart tightened and buckled it, laughing as he did.
Samson carried Liam to the back room and cuffed him over a padded spanking bench. Bart clamped stiff leather restraints aroun
d Liam’s wrists. One of Samson’s buddies stripped Liam of his jeans, then moved his legs up into a kneeling position and strapped them into restraints. The party began. They started with the cat…
A few hours later, Liam had passed out.
Bart dumped Liam at his front door about two A.M. Surprisingly, the kid possessed the stamina to last that long. He left him lying in the ceramic tiled entrance hall.
* * * *
Liam woke at three. His ass felt like he’d been impaled on a hot poker. He attempted to move his arms and legs as he shivered on the cold tile. When Liam ran his hand down his leg and touched nothing but skin, he realized he was naked. He moved his head to look down. Fiery red welts and bruises covered every inch of his skin, some of which still bled sluggishly. He hurt badly. He looked sideways and found jeans next to him on the floor. He tried to sit up but fell over again right away. He waited, he didn’t know how long, then tried again.
He made it. A small pool of blood remained on the tile where he’d sat. He touched himself gingerly. A mass of blood and semen ran out of his hole.
Oh God, what have I done? Now I am exactly what Milo said I am. Besides the pain he remembered nothing but an insidious voice in his ear telling him, “I’m watching, and enjoying your pain. You squeal so politely. You know you love it, look at you. Everything Milo said about you was right.”
Liam struggled to get up. He staggered to the spa room, which connected to the master bedroom and an outdoor patio. He made it to the Jacuzzi, taking one step at a time. With intense focus, he turned on the jets and crawled to his open duffle, which sat next to the door. There in the side pocket, left over from his trip to Baltimore, was a bottle of Xanax, prescribed after his blow up with Milo, to help calm his nerves. He reached for the bottle and downed the contents, followed by a bottle of the water he kept by the nightstand. Liam used the remote to turn on the stereo and put on Shattered Glass’ first CD.