Deadly Loyalty Collection

by Bill Myers

  There was no missing the chuckles all around the group.

  Becka turned to Mom. “So, is it okay if I go to lunch with Mike?”

  “Will you be eating in the hotel?” Mom asked.

  Mike shook his head. “The hotel is too . . . popular. There’s a nice café just down the block. I can give you my cell phone number if you want.”

  “All right.” Mom nodded. “Just don’t be gone too long.”

  Mike wrote down the number. “I’ll be back to pick you up around 11:30, Rebecca.”

  As soon as he left, Becka raced into the shower, trying hard not to grin.

  Later as Mike and Becka headed out the door, Mike turned back to Scott. “Listen, if you can be ready to work in a couple of hours, you can ride with me over to the auditorium. They’re going to mike the drums for a sound check.”

  “Great,” Scott replied. “But . . . what about Doland? He didn’t seem to like me very much last night.”

  “Just act like you’ve never met him. He was too stoned to remember anything about last night. That’s how he always gets.”

  One floor above, Doland’s room looked as if it had been trashed the night before. Doland appeared to be passed out on the sofa, as if sleeping off the effects of partying. But Doland wasn’t passed out. His eyelids fluttered wildly. Strange noises — more like grunts and growls than words — came out of his mouth. One word formed on his lips again and again. It was a name . . .

  Rebecca.

  Becka could hardly believe that she was having lunch with Mike Parsek in a stylish Beverly Hills café. She wondered what her friends back in Crescent Bay would say if they knew.

  Her eyes widened when she saw the menu. Three-fifty for a Coke?! Get real! But Mike didn’t seem to notice. Apparently, he was used to this kind of place.

  “So how do you like L.A.?” he asked her as they set the menus aside.

  She shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. I really haven’t seen much of it yet.”

  Mike smiled. “Well, if you’ve got the afternoon free, we can fix that. After the sound check, I’ll give you a personal tour, all right?”

  Becka caught her breath. She was still having trouble believing that Mike — a celebrity — was so interested in spending time with her. But somehow she forced herself to stay cool. “That’d be nice. ’Course I’ll have to check with Mom first, but it sounds like a lot of fun.” She almost wished she didn’t have to check with her mom.

  When the waiter arrived, Becka ordered the shrimp scampi, but Mike ordered a plain old cheeseburger. As soon as the waiter had gone, Becka asked, “Are you sure this place is all right? I mean, we could cancel our order and go somewhere else.”

  Mike looked surprised. “I thought you liked this place.”

  “Oh, I do. I just wondered if it might be too expensive.”

  Mike laughed. It was a nice, easy laugh. Even though she knew he was laughing at what she said, she didn’t feel embarrassed. “Don’t worry about the price,” he said. “I told you I’d take you out to lunch.”

  “B-but . . . ,” Becka stammered.

  “But what?”

  “But you only ordered a cheeseburger.”

  Mike grinned. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. I just thought that maybe you ordered one to save money . . . I mean, with all the fancy things on the menu here.” She suddenly realized how foolish she sounded. Mike Parsek’s band was the hottest in the country. Of course he could afford lunch!

  Mike laughed again. “I like cheeseburgers. More than all that fancy stuff. I mean, the other stuff is okay and everything, but once you’ve tried all the different kinds of food . . . well, cheeseburgers still taste the best.”

  “Oh, good . . .” Becka let out a sigh. “I’m glad.” She paused for a moment and then continued, “You know, you really seem different from the other guys in the band.” She couldn’t help noticing the sadness in his eyes, even though he continued to smile. “I mean, the other guys seem so serious . . . kind of glum or mad . . . especially Tommy Doland. Of course, I don’t know any of them, but . . .”

  “They’re okay. Jackie and Grant are pretty good guys. At least they used to be . . . To tell you the truth, I don’t hang around with them much anymore.” He shook his head. “They spend too much time getting wasted. I’m just not into that.”

  Becka smiled, relieved.

  Mike shrugged. “It didn’t used to be so bad. Drugs and booze were just a once-in-a-while thing. But lately, it seems like they use them more and more to tune everything out. I’m afraid most of it has to do with Doland.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Doland . . . he’s pretty gone. Way over the edge. I think Jackie and Grant know it too, but no one wants to confront him.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, he’s the leader of the band. As lead singer, he’s the one everybody knows. His voice is a big part of our sound . . . Without him, there would be no band. And also . . . well, he’s really hard to talk to these days. He just wants to do what he wants and nothing else.”

  “Sounds like my brother.” Becka grinned.

  Mike laughed again, which made her feel glad. Whenever Doland’s name was brought up, Mike seemed so troubled. It felt good to see him smile again. “No, Scott’s not like Doland,” Mike continued. “Believe me.”

  “I don’t know,” Becka answered. “He sure wants his way all the time.”

  “Everyone’s like that,” Mike said, “especially toward their brother or sister. I know. I’ve got three sisters, and they all drive me crazy.”

  Again they both laughed. Becka was beginning to like this guy, and she could tell that he liked her. She shoved aside a momentary thought of Ryan back home. “When did you see them last? Your family, I mean.”

  Mike looked sad again. “It’s been a couple of years, ever since I dropped out of college. I didn’t even finish my first year. My sisters live in Arizona with my folks. My dad and I . . . we . . . we don’t get along too well.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Lots of stuff,” Mike said. “He wants everything on the straight and narrow, and I’m just not wired that way. I like to experiment, to do different things. He likes everything in a box, nice and neat. His career, his family . . . and especially his son.”

  “I guess that could be hard,” Becka agreed. “But I’m sure he still loves you.”

  Mike glanced up, clearly surprised at her remark. “Yeah . . . I suppose. But we can’t live together, I can tell you that. I never could live up to his expectations.”

  “Why did Doland ask you if we were from your dad’s church?”

  Mike sighed. “Before my dad retired, he was a pastor. Doland likes giving me a hard time about it.”

  Becka frowned. “What’s he got against pastors — or churches?”

  Mike looked out the window of the café for a moment before answering. “What’s Tommy Doland got against pastors and churches? Nothing . . . except that he worships the devil.”

  In a dimly lit hotel room, Tommy Doland sat at a table, holding hands with three other people. A black candle sat in the middle of the table. A large bald man with a short black beard began to chant softly. “Darkness and shadow hold back the light; darkness and shadow hold back the light.”

  Doland and the other two people quietly took up the chant: “Darkness and shadow hold back the light; darkness and shadow hold back the light.”

  The chanting lasted several minutes, growing louder and louder until it filled the room . . . until it filled their minds and bodies. “Darkness and shadow hold back the light; darkness and shadow hold back the light.”

  Finally, the leader raised his arms. The others fell silent and followed suit. Then the leader called out in a loud voice, “Overlord of the Western Hemisphere, Demon Prince of the city, what do you wish us to do with the intruder? What fate do you decree for the one who dares to challenge your authority over this carefully groomed project? What would you have
us do with this person who has come to undermine our brother’s efforts? What do you decree for Rebecca Williams?”

  There was no response. Only silence. Then an unmistakable chill filled the room.

  Suddenly the leader started to shake. The sound coming from him started as a deep rumble but grew into a vicious snarl. Doland’s hands broke out into a sweat, but he kept his eyes clenched tight, continuing to concentrate.

  Slowly the snarl evolved into a voice — a terrifying, guttural voice. As it spoke, the flame on the candle in the center of the table began to waver. Suddenly, the voice screamed four words that reverberated through the room for a long, long time:

  “DEATH TO THE GIRL!”

  6

  As soon as she returned from lunch, Becka asked Scott if she could use his laptop to contact Z.

  “Wait until I get back, and I’ll do it,” Scott suggested.

  “No, you’ll be gone for a couple of hours. I need to talk to him now.”

  Scott hesitated. “I don’t know. It isn’t mine, you know. It’s Darryl’s, and he’d be pretty mad if you messed with it.”

  Becka sighed. “I’m not going to play football with it, goofball! I just want to contact Z and ask him some questions about what Mike told me.”

  “All right,” Scott said, handing her the laptop. “It’s still got about an hour left on the charge, so you don’t even need to plug it in.”

  “Thanks,” Becka said, already typing on the keyboard.

  “Whoa,” Scott said, looking at his watch. “I’m supposed to be downstairs meeting Mike. Hope he holds the limo for me. See ya later.”

  “Bye . . . Oh, Scott, stay away from Doland. I’m afraid he might be — ”

  But Scott was already out the door.

  Scott bounded out of the elevator and into the lobby, where he could see the limo waiting. “Cool!” he shouted a little too loudly for the somewhat reserved atmosphere of the Regent Beverly Wilshire Hotel. Running also was frowned upon. Scott forced himself to slow to a fast walk as he headed toward the door.

  “Hey! Where’s the fire?” a voice called out behind him. Scott turned around to see Mike.

  “Didn’t think we’d leave without you, did you?” Mike continued.

  “Uh, n-no,” Scott stammered. “But who is ‘we’?”

  “Well . . .” Mike hesitated. “Doland wants to check out the effects unit. They repaired it after last night.”

  Scott was caught off guard. “Doland? But I thought — ”

  Mike cut him off. “Hey, Doland! Meet the newest member of our crew.”

  Scott hadn’t noticed Doland sitting near the door. The guy looked like his mind was a thousand miles away as he stood up to meet them.

  “Doland,” Mike said again as they reached the door, “this is Scott Williams. He’s going to help us get ready for the show.”

  Suddenly Doland’s eyes came into focus. His gaze was intense. “Hello, Scott.”

  Scott swallowed nervously. “Hi . . . Tommy.” He didn’t feel right calling Tommy Doland by the more familiar “Doland” like Mike did. He was relieved that Doland didn’t seem to recognize him from last night’s party.

  But as they headed out of the hotel entrance, Doland turned and said, “So where’s your babe of a sister today? Upstairs? In your room . . . I presume?”

  He said the last phrase in a singsong voice, as if it were a rhyme he’d made up especially for the occasion. Scott could only stare, still nervous that Doland might remember him.

  Doland said nothing, obviously waiting for an answer.

  Finally, Scott said, “Yeah . . . I guess. She was using my laptop to contact . . .” He’d almost said Z but figured it was none of Doland’s business. Why should he tell Doland anything?

  Doland smiled that twisted smile of his. “Using your laptop, huh? Guess that’s the story — A to Z.”

  He emphasized the Z. With a cold chill, Scott wondered if it was just a coincidence or if Doland had somehow read his mind.

  Becka had no problem getting through to Z, thanks to the instant message system. She quickly filled Z in on what had happened so far, especially about her conversation with Mike.

  What can I do to help Mike?

  She waited a few moments. Suddenly, Z’s reply came across the screen.

  Get him away from Tommy Doland.

  At first Becka figured she’d miscommunicated something. So she tried again.

  How can we do that? Doland’s the lead singer of the band.

  Z’s answer was typically honest and straight to the point.

  Doland has willingly given himself over to the devil. He will keep Mike from the spiritual truth he needs.

  Becka sat there, puzzled. Slowly, she typed:

  How can I ask Mike to quit the biggest thing in his life?

  The answer returned quickly.

  In Matthew 16:26, Jesus said, “What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?

  Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul?” Without Christ, there is no life. Everything else will pass away.

  Becka nodded. Z was right; she knew it. But his being right didn’t make her task any easier. She typed:

  The Scream is the hottest band in the country.

  Of course she knew there was no comparison between a hot band and the God of the universe, but she didn’t know if she could get that across to Mike. For a moment she wondered if Z would even bother replying. But the response soon came.

  Better to be the least within the kingdom of God than the greatest without.

  Finally, Becka typed out her greatest concern:

  If Mike’s father, a pastor, couldn’t reach him, how can I?

  The response was swift.

  Maybe you can’t, but you should try.

  Becka answered:

  But how? Maybe after we’ve known each other for a while, sure. But not yet.

  Z’s response appeared on the screen, filling Becka with dread.

  Mike does not have that much time.

  Becka remembered her dream of the fiery cannon and was suddenly terrified for her new friend. But before she could type anything else, Z’s final words appeared.

  Must go. Do your best. And be careful. The devil knows our weaknesses and uses them against us. Remember that people are praying for you. Z

  Becka didn’t fully understand the last part. Suddenly, she felt so overwhelmed that she didn’t care what Z meant. Instead, she did what she usually did when overwhelmed. She prayed. She guessed that Z had referred to Mike’s family when he said that a lot of people were praying. She figured it wouldn’t hurt to add one more to that number.

  Scott was amazed at how much bigger the auditorium looked when no one was there. “It’s like you could put the whole town of Crescent Bay in here!”

  Mike smiled, then turned to a scraggly-looking guy with a bandaged hand and several sores on his face. “Scott, this is Billy Phelps. He’s our stage manager. He got hurt at the San Francisco concert. But he’s doing better now, right, Billy?”

  Billy grinned. “Right.”

  “He’ll show you what you need to do,” Mike finished.

  “Hey, Scott,” Billy drawled with a slight Southern accent, “you ready to rock?”

  Scott shrugged. “Yeah . . . I guess.”

  Billy nodded. “All right. You can start with that bucket of empty whiskey bottles over there.”

  Scott turned to see a large tub filled with empty bottles.

  “Take ’em over to that sink back there, and wash ’em out real good.”

  Scott nodded. “Okay. Then what?”

  “Then come see me. I’ll be tinkering with the lights somewhere around the stage. Get me when you’re done, and we’ll fill ’em up.”

  “Okay,” Scott agreed, wondering why they wanted to reuse the bottles. Oh, well, he thought. Guess it doesn’t matter. I’m now part of the world of rock. Awesome!

  Doland watched the boy talking to Billy and Mike, feeling the
rage build inside of him. He leaned over the control panel at the edge of the stage. So Rebecca Williams sent her brother into the battle, did she? Well, that was just fine. He could handle them both. And handle them he would.

  After setting the sound levels for the drums, Mike quickly returned to the hotel to pick up Becka for a tour of the city. She had wanted to see a bit more of Los Angeles, and he had wanted to spend more time with her.

  Now they stood at the famous intersection of Hollywood and Vine and looked up at the Capitol Records tower just down the street. When Becka looked to the left, she could just make out Mann’s Chinese Theater, where the handprints of all the great stars — everyone from Clark Gable and Marilyn Monroe to Jack Nicholson and Michelle Pfeiffer — were encased in cement.

  It should’ve been an exhilarating experience, but it wasn’t. The Hollywood of old was long gone. Off to Becka’s right were overpriced souvenir shops and topless bars. The street was busy all right, but no movie stars were to be seen. Instead, the sidewalks were filled with drug addicts and prostitutes. There were tourists here and there, but there were far more homeless people present. And it cut Becka to the quick to see many kids her age — and some even younger — among them. Young people from around the country had come out to Hollywood thinking they’d escape their boring hometown lives . . . only to find themselves caught up in an urban nightmare. For them, the street of dreams was nothing but a street of pain.

  She felt a sense of relief when they headed for the limo. Mike had the driver take them past the fancy mansions of Beverly Hills and then out to the Venice Beach boardwalk. The afternoon was growing more perfect by the moment.

  They hadn’t talked much about the Scream. Becka was anxious to ask more questions after what she’d learned from Z, but she suspected the subject would upset Mike. She didn’t want to do that. Everything was too perfect.