AT 29

by D. P. Macbeth

  “Parties costing a lot?”

  The sarcastic curve caught Winfield in a search for excuses. “No, no. I need a few thousand to cover me until we get back to New York.”

  “What’s a few thousand?”

  “Float me twenty-five. Take it out of the tally when we settle up.”

  McCabe was stone faced as he reached into his sport jacket for his checkbook. He was prepared. Writing the check didn’t bother him. He simply intended to signal that he knew more than Winfield thought he knew. That way the DJ would be back on his heels when the showdown between them took place in another month.

  Felix Massengill skipped the concert at the Orange Bowl. He spent the late afternoon driving around the city, taking in the sights and marking the route to the dock where launches waited to take people out to the islands. Marvel Island was the closest, a ten minute ride into the bay. At seven p.m. he was parked, watching for the bikers. He didn’t have to wait long. At eight, twelve Harley Fatboys, distinguished only by color, rumbled slowly into the marina parking lot. Despite the twilight, he was able to study each rider, using the skills he’d developed over the years. It was a habit. This one was brawny and bald, that one had a large tattoo on his forearm, and another had a slight hitch in his step. Who was the leader? It always helped to know who called the shots.

  The group idled for a moment, looking toward the dock for the launch. Up front, a wiry man of perhaps forty shouted something to the others above the engines. Then he turned his bike to the side and walked it to a row of spaces. He parked first, then the others followed, placing their machines side by side in a symmetrical row and kicking down the stands. The group huddled briefly, some lighting cigarettes and joints as they talked.

  One of the biker’s walked over to the dock, disappearing down the steps in the direction of the launches. A moment later, he re-emerged at the top of the steps and shouted at the others, waving for them to join him. The leader of the group turned back to his bike and retrieved a satchel. Five minutes later, the largest of the six launches, carrying all twelve men, moved out into the bay in the direction of Marvel Island a quarter mile off shore.

  Felix waited until the launch was so distant that he was sure none of the bikers could see him. Then he left his car and walked to the bikes. He took a small pen and notepad from his shirt pocket and took down the license plate numbers. He circled the number of the leader’s bike. Maybe drugs were in the satchel. Just a force of habit, but you never know. When he was finished, he returned to his car and headed back to his hotel. He called his son in New York and reported everything he’d seen including the list of plate numbers.

  Alice stayed close to Nigel backstage. Mercifully, they were both clean, at least for the moment. Whitehurst was a stickler for quality play. They’d done some heroin late into the previous night, but when they awoke together in his suite that afternoon, he insisted that they both avoid the stuff until after the show. Despite the abstinence, she was shaky and cold. Peggy was on the mark about something being wrong. It began two weeks earlier and became steadily worse. A cold, she thought at first, but now she wasn’t sure. She had trouble breathing, not so bad that she couldn’t get by, but a concern nevertheless. She was glad the tour was ending. Glad, too, that she’d decided to skip the last two shows in Australia. Her readers cared little for the happenings a million miles away. An article about this last U.S. concert in Miami, that’s all her editors expected. Then she was done for a while. Lots of sleep, that’s what she needed and that’s what she would get as soon as she returned to New York.

  The time with Nigel was pleasant. He was different from the others, smart like her. The conversations were as good as the drugs and sex. He listened when she read parts of her articles. His comments were always insightful. They compared notes, what she saw and heard versus what he was trying to do. When the big Australian was gone Alice knew she would miss him. Not the sex, not the partying, not some emotional bond that true lovers shared. She’d miss the intellectual exchange. She’d miss their friendship because that’s what it was between them, with benefits, but nothing more.

  She also thought about Winfield. It was Mike who brought Chase into the mix, the connection with an endless supply who invited his biker pals to wreak havoc. Without Winfield’s protection he would have been gone a long time ago. Miles McCabe would have gotten wind of what was going on and sent him packing. As for what the bikers did to her, she was still shaken and terrified by the gang rape, frightened to be anywhere without Nigel by her side. They wouldn’t try anything when the big Australian was around. She never should have stayed at the Atlanta party after he went back to the hotel. It was an invitation to hell. Four a.m., she remembered that much. Everyone else was gone, only Winfield, Benson, Chase and three of Chase’s biker buddies. Everyone was coked up.

  “Be my guest.” She remembered the words uttered by Chase to his three friends as they forced her into the bedroom. Benson laughed as he took another snort. “She does everybody.” Winfield didn’t make a move. The rest was a blur of pain and humiliation.

  Kate led Rebellion onstage to the roar of the cheering fans. It reminded McCabe of a Michigan football crowd. The stage lights accented her figure with brilliant hues captured on the huge video screens. Winfield was gone. He stayed for another fifteen minutes after taking the check from McCabe, but it was obvious he was itching to leave. When Cindy returned to her seat the DJ mumbled something about going backstage and hurried off. Ellis took the seat on Miles right.

  “I saw you write him a check. You know he’s doing coke. That’s where it’s going, right up his nose.”

  “He won’t be going to Australia. I want you to go in his place.”

  Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief when Kate finished her last song. His thirst was hard to ignore. Now, he could ascend the stage and forget scotch for an hour. The night air had succumbed to a cool breeze from the ocean. Dew was forming in the shadows. He worried about the instruments. He cautioned his band to do a thorough sound check.

  Cindy looked at her watch. After the concert she’d catch-up with Les at the hotel. Then she’d take her to Jimmy. She was aware of the party on Marvel Island. He usually skipped these things. Tonight was different though, the end of the U.S. tour. He might decide to attend. Maybe she would ask Ellis to call her and let her know. If Jimmy went she and Les would go, too. Not what she preferred.

  The last live rendition of Back and Blue in the U.S. went smoothly. In fact, it was better than smooth. The Miami audience seemed to know that this was a farewell of sorts from the huge star who rose from the ashes only a year earlier. Each song was greeted with a mixture of applause and encouraging shouts. The verses that had been played thousands of times on radio stations all over America were fixed in the minds of everyone. Thus, the throng was compelled to sing along, adding a euphoric chorus to Jimmy’s excellent vocals. It was a happy experience for the band. None more elated than Jimmy, who let his mind wander to thoughts of Les. Sonny and Ted alternated guitar riffs with harmonica play that extended the scheduled hour by twenty minutes. When the last callback was finished Jimmy exited the stage to a standing ovation.

  He walked into the tunnel beneath the stadium just as the Whitehurst contingent took the stage to a thunderous ovation. He lingered briefly, waiting for the opening chords of the first song. It cracked loud just as a bevy of fireworks exploded into the night sky. The Australian’s segment was an event.

  Winfield was already exiting the launch at the Marvel Island dock, when Whitehurst opened. He’d noticed the Harley’s parked in a neat row back onshore. Their presence bothered him because it meant he would spend another night pleading for the wild bikers to stay peaceful. That these same toughs were his connection only made matters worse. It was a delicate balance. He could not be so forceful that they would cut him off. Yet he could not afford another trashing like the one in Atlanta. That house was large and beautiful, but this one was a majestic mansion, corporate owned with all the finest furnishings
.

  He fingered the check in his pocket. Ten thousand, that’s what Chase said it would take to keep him supplied through the end of the year. That left the DJ a mere fifteen to survive until the final settlement with McCabe. WAGZ-FM was bringing in cash, but it was already earmarked to payoff the debts he was forced to takeover when he stole the station away from its previous owners. Of course, there was the obligatory lawsuit that always seems to occur when somebody thinks he’s been shortchanged. This time those somebody’s, WAGZ’s original founders, were right. Winfield owed his lawyer a bundle. Then there was his wife. He was two months in arrears with her, too. Cash out with McCabe. Dump the station. That’s what Winfield would do. Then back on the road with Blossom Presents. No Chase and no Benson this time. He’d find another source for his cocaine. The Vultures were nothing but trouble.

  He followed the neatly sculpted pathway to the house. The lights were on and loud music was coming from the great room inside. As he approached the steps to the front door, he cast his eyes to the right where the large pool shimmered in low light from underwater lamps. Four muscled bikers were sitting along the pool’s edge, stripped to their briefs. Two young women were in the water a few feet away, frolicking topless. The party was getting underway. He girded himself as he turned the doorknob. No telling what he might find inside.

  Jimmy entered his darkened townhouse, flipped on the lights and placed the Gibson against the wall. He spotted the brown paper bag in the corner, walked over to pick it up and quickly pulled out two bottles. He placed one bottle on the table and carried the other into the kitchen, twisting the cork stopper off as he opened the cabinet and retrieved a glass. He downed this first drink and poured another. He carried it into the living room and plopped onto an easy chair next to a side table with a telephone resting on top. He picked up the telephone and dialed the fourteen digit international number. As he waited for the call to ring through, he downed the second drink, a feat for anyone not accustomed to large amounts of alcohol. For him, it was simply a veteran drinker quenching a mighty thirst. After fifteen seconds he heard the familiar beeping, but it was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “Jimmy boy, open up.”

  In a panic he returned the telephone to its cradle. He leapt from the chair and rushed into the kitchen, emptying the glass in the sink and hiding it with the half empty bottle in the cabinet. He hurried back to the living room just as Ellis shouted through the door again.

  “You in there?” His agent knocked louder.

  He scooped up the other bottle from the table and put it back into the bag, making sure to wrap it closed before placing it on the floor beside the chair. Then he went to the door.

  Ellis wasn’t smiling when stepped into the room. He looked around then he took his client’s arm and pulled him close.

  “Say something so I can smell your breath.”

  Jimmy wrenched his arm away and retreated into the room. “What are you doing here?”

  Ellis continued to give Jimmy a sharp study. “You’re supposed to be at the concert.”

  “Seems to me that you should be there, too.”

  “Are you going to Winfield’s breakup party?”

  “Thinking about it. You?”

  “That’s why I’m here, to make sure you do.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can keep an eye on you. We both know something’s not right.”

  Jimmy slid into the chair. Ellis watched, spotting the paper bag on the floor.

  “What’s in the bag?” Jimmy averted his eyes without answering. The agent’s shoulders slumped. “Don’t bother to answer. I already know.” He moved across the room and took a seat on the couch opposite Jimmy. “When did you start drinking again?”

  Jimmy gave up his pretense. “A few weeks ago, Atlanta.”

  “Cindy saw the signs.”

  “McCabe?”

  “He doesn’t know.”

  “It’s only temporary. I’m leaving the stuff behind when we go to Australia.”

  “That simple, huh? It took you six months the last time. Now, you think you’re going to break the habit nice and easy?”

  “It’s not as bad this time.”

  Ellis shook his head. “It’s always bad. You need to own up. Detox a couple of years ago, six months of hell last year when you almost lost your career. Now, it starts all over again. Jimmy, when’s it gonna stop?”

  “I told you, Australia.”

  “What’s so different about Australia? Why not now?”

  Jimmy thought about the engagement ring, and Les. “I’ll get it under control.”

  “Cindy wants to know if you’re going to the party.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. She asked me to call and let her know. Look, let’s go together. Leave the booze. Better yet, stop right now. I’ll take the booze off your hands.”

  Jimmy didn’t want to argue. “Go ahead and take it.”

  Ellis left the couch to pick up the bag. He pulled out the unopened bottle. “Where’s the rest?”

  “Finished the last one. That’s all that’s left.”

  Les waited for her luggage. She scanned the terminal looking for the exit that would take her to the taxi queue. After an interminable wait, she spotted her suitcase and hurried to retrieve it before the rumbling carousel made another revolution. Outside, she hailed a cab, delighted to take in some fresh air. She was exhausted from the thirty-hour sojourn. Hopefully, she’d have time to take a shower and put on some fresh clothes before Cindy arrived. Apart from the welcome relief of finally being on the ground, she could think of nothing but the thrill of seeing Jimmy.

  Jimmy and Ellis reached the dock just as Nigel and the rest of the Blossom entourage exited vans in the parking lot. It was midnight and Jimmy concluded that they had come directly from the Orange Bowl without stopping in between. Everyone was in a partying mood, even Jimmy. The group came together with handshakes and backslaps as it made its way down the stairs to the launch led by an ebullient Benson with Chase at his side. The last U.S. concert had gone extremely well, a sellout with good play by all. Now, it was time to enjoy the rewards of the long tour with only the last two venues ahead in Sydney and Melbourne. No one took notice of the Harley’s.

  Miles caught up with Felix in the hotel bar. He knew his security man had spent the afternoon scouting Winfield’s venue for the party.

  “They showed up at the dock around eight, twelve of them like my son said.”

  “Winfield?”

  “I didn’t see him, but I assume he’s there.”

  “So what’s the deal with, what did you call them? The Vultures?”

  “All I know is what my son told me. He said the Bronx DA is building a case against the whole bunch, drugs, guns and whatever else he can dig up.”

  “Then I should be concerned.”

  “Maybe not tonight, but like you said, we should think about heading off any trouble in the future. I’ve changed my mind about that Chase guy. You should cut him loose. LaSalle, too, if you can live without him.”

  “Nobody’s so important that I’m going risk Blossom’s reputation.”

  “Good. After the Australia shows, get rid of them. What about Winfield?”

  “I’m going to settle up with him in January. Then he’s done. Look, Cindy is going to this thing tonight. Are you sure she’ll be safe?”

  “If she was my wife, I wouldn’t let her near the place.”

  The party was already wild. Shouts and loud music greeted the launch when it docked. Up the hill, the big house was lit with floodlights shining into the night sky. They exited the launch behind Benson, Chase and Nigel, who hurried up the path. Travis fell in with Ellis and Jimmy who lagged behind. As the group rounded the path, the huge pool opened up to their eyes on the right. A dozen women were in the water and milling about. Many of them were topless and a few, completely naked. Ellis stopped to look, halting the others who came up on either side, also gawking. A boom box blared loudly from
a corner where ten men, most wearing bandanas on their scalps, stood talking and laughing with more scantily clad girls. The odor of pot was everywhere in the air.

  “Who are those guys?” Ellis asked, directing his question to no one in particular.

  “Bad bunch,” Travis replied, “more of them than usual, Chase and Benson’s mates. Mr. Winfield has them at his parties sometimes.”

  ***

  Nicky Aldridge tossed fitfully in the upper bunk of his dormitory room. The other three boys, who had been carefully selected to share his space, were too deeply asleep to notice. This was another of Les’ experiments to see if the youngster could assimilate. While she was close everything went well.

  Her assumption that the little boy understood everything she’d explained about her departure, especially that she would be back soon, was wrong. Yes, he knew what absence meant. His mother had left him many times and for long periods. Each time it resulted in another temporary foster home, where neglect or worse followed. He was convinced that with the morning light, he would be shunted off to more of the same. He cried quietly in his tiny bunk, unable to sleep and fearful beyond reason.

  At five a.m., the first glimmer of impending dawn shown through the small window above his bed. He shook nervously. Soon they would come to take him away. He peered down at the floor beside the lower bunk where another boy was still fast asleep. He had to get away and hide where no one could find him. With stealth that only a frightened child can summon, he slipped down to the floor, careful not to make a sound. He made for the door, looking back to make sure no one was watching as he reached for the knob. The hallway was empty and dark, but he knew where he wanted to go.

  The night shift attendants went off duty at six a.m. Normally, the attendant assigned to Nicky’s floor would make one last round at five-thirty, but this morning she was sick with a cold. It had been a long night, shuffling papers amidst sniffles and sneezes. When the appointed hour for her last walk through came, she was dozing at her desk. Only the sound of footsteps, the day shift’s arrival, woke her in time to avoid embarrassment. Nicky had found his way to Les’ upstairs office by then. He huddled inside the cubbyhole beneath her desk, making sure to pull her big chair in behind him so that no one would know he was there. Feeling secure, he relaxed. Soon, the lack of nighttime sleep overtook his tiny body and he drifted off.