Broken Strings (A Rock Star Novel)

by Brynn O'Connor

  “Oh but they can. They’ll know by the IP address whose computer was used to commit the crime and then they’ll just narrow it down to the person responsible and they’ll be in some deep shit. It’s like federal crime when an email is sent from a hacked account.”

  “How did they find out?” I ask, quietly.

  “They thought the retraction thing sounded pretty bizarre given how confident I was in my article. So they sent an email back to me asking about it, and of course I was shocked too. I told them the article stands and that I never sent the email. They’re going to pursue it and in a few days we should know whose computer was used and soon after that the little fucker who did this is going to prison! That’ll teach them...Are you okay Junie?”

  “Yeah, sorry Brand.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. You wore yourself out coming up here for me and all...”

  “It’s not your fault. In a few days I’ll come by and I’ll be perfectly normal, you’ll see.”

  “June...there’s just one thing I don’t understand. How could anyone, Lunatic or not, have known I sent the article?”

  I rush out, pretending not to have heard the question. Sometimes a quick exit is simply the best strategy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Busted

  I pour myself a generous glass of red wine and leave the bottle next to me. I may need it. I take a long drink and relax as the liquid warms my throat and belly. Here we go.

  Cory answers my call on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Cory, its June.”

  “You’re calling late. Something wrong?”

  “Yeah...actually there is. Apparently when I sent my retraction letter, it seemed strange to the magazine. They contacted Brand to see if he really wanted to retract his entry.”

  “And now there’s an investigation into who hacked the computer, am I right?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll tell them it was me.”

  “You? You’re going to convince them that you hacked his email? You know that’s a federal offense because you sent an email right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re willing to take the fall, is that it?”

  “I got you into this, I’ll get you out.”

  “They’re not going to believe you for a second, June.”

  “Sure they will. I’ll say I saw him type in the password. What is the password?”

  “Ilovejune123”

  “...What?”

  “Yeah. Apparently you’ve got a love sick puppy on your hands.”

  “How’d you guess the password?”

  “Trade secret. Now you have the password. Don’t forget it. And don’t worry too much. Just tell him it was you. He loves you. Do you actually think the man that is in love with you will press charges? You’re not going to jail. Just be honest and it’ll turn out alright.”

  “Yeah, you’re just saying that because this gets you off the hook.” I reply.

  “Maybe. But I’m really tired so maybe we can talk about his later? Call me after you talk to him. You know, in case you need a shoulder to cry on.”

  He ends the call. That wasn’t so bad after all. I really expected him to rake me over the coals, especially since he didn’t really want to help me in the first place. Now I have to talk to Brand, and I know that’s not a conversation that is going to go down as nicely as the one I just had. I could end up alienating my boyfriend and my favorite band all in one fell swoop.

  Suddenly a loud knock jolts me wide awake. I look at my clock, it’s nine in the morning. Holy crap! I slept through the entire night. I peer through the little eye in my door and see two policemen standing at my door. Should I answer? Maybe they’ll think I’m gone and go away. I can’t believe this. I didn’t even have the chance to come clean to Brand and now it’s too late. This cannot be happening to me. I’m a good girl. I’ve never done anything wrong my whole life until this little indiscretion, and now I’m going to go to jail for it.

  “We know you’re home, so just open the door nicely,” the bigger of the two cops is shouting. They look pissed off. I barely did anything and they’re pounding on my door like I’m some kind of murderer. I really should open my door before they break it down, but I can’t seem to move. Fear has covered me it it’s icy grip.

  “We’re going to count to five, then we open your door by force. Do you really want that? Do you really want resisting arrest on your record as well?” the bigger one shouts through my door. I’m pretty sure every one of my neighbors is hearing this as well, so I better just open the door and face the music.

  “Three, two…”

  “Wait!” I shout. I take the chain off the door and step back as I turn the knob.

  The door bursts open as the two burly men in uniform charge in. Without being asked, I drop to the floor on my stomach. I don’t want to give them any excuse to rough me up. One of the men starts putting on the cuffs while the other covers him.

  “Miss Manziel, you are under the arrest for the murder of Jose Caputo. You have the right to remain—”

  “Who?” I can’t help but interrupt him.

  “Jose Capu-”

  “No the other name. Who did you just call me?”

  “Manziel, Maria Man-”

  “Cho. I’m June Cho.” The fear I was feeling is beginning to be replaced with indignation.

  “Do you have some ID?” asks the cop.

  “My purse is on the table. You’ll find my driver’s license there.”

  While the officer retrieves my purse the one who cuffed me helps me to my feet and escorts me to my couch. After a couple minutes, the cop with my purse comes over to where I’m sitting. I can tell by the look on his face that he knows they have screwed up big time.

  “Ma’am, on behalf of the Oakland Police Department, I apologize.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “We’ll just let ourselves out,” the officer says as they close the door behind them.

  I decide to sit down on my couch and try to calm my nerves. What a cluster fuck of a morning! And to think, I may have to relive this little incident if I don’t hurry up and do something about my own crime. What I wouldn’t give for a valium right about now. I sit for a few more minutes, then decide to call Gabby.

  She’s sure to be in her hotel sleeping off Fringe’s show last night. I retrieve my cell phone from my purse and am just about to call her when it lights up. Brand is calling. Crap—the piper wants to be paid. The question is, do I want to pay now or later? I’ll go with paying later. Soon as my phone stops ringing I dial Gabby. She answers just before it goes to voice mail.

  “Do you have any idea what time it is?” she asks by way of greeting.

  “Of course. That’s why I’m calling you so late.”

  “You know I didn’t get to bed until four, so this had better be good.”

  “It’s definitely not good. I’m gonna go with tragic. Monumentally, tragically, Titanically—”

  “June,” she interrupts, “You’re not making any sense.”

  “Okay, let me try this again...” I give her the condensed version.

  “Dude, you’re going to jail.”

  “Don’t say that! This is serious. What do you think it gonna happen?”

  “I don’t know June, how strong is your relationship with Brand? Is it strong enough to weather a betrayal?”

  “Doubt it...”

  “Me too. You’re screwed. You gotta talk to Brand. Tell him what happened, Tell him...actually, I have no idea what you should say. This is one mess you’re going to have to clean up yourself. And you better do it before someone figures out that you had help. It’d be horrible if your friend went to jail because of you.”

  “Oh man, don’t even start. He knows what happened and he’s probably terrified too. Look, Brand’s calling again. I better go.”

  “Goodbye jailbird.”

  Brand is still calling when I finish my call with my best friend, but I cannot bring myself to speak to him, not j
ust yet. Instead I decide to go for a walk to clear my head. My hand is on the door knob when there’s a knocking from the other side.

  “Miss, are you okay?” comes a voice through the door.

  I know that voice. I’ve heard it somewhere...recently.

  “June,” comes the voice again. “Can I come in?”

  Suddenly it hits me. It’s Stewart, the band’s manager. What the hell is he doing out here? I open the door and sure enough, Stewart is standing on my doorstep. I look over his shoulder. There’s a black limo parked at the curb.

  “Are you going to let me in?” Stewart asks.

  I step aside and he walks in and deposits himself on my couch. I walk over and stand in front of him, wondering what in the world he is doing here.

  “So what brings you to my neck of the woods, Stewart?”

  “I’ve come to collect you. For Silas. I’ve come to bring you back to the tour.”

  “Why would I want to go on tour with them?”

  “It’s Silas. He’s asking for you, June. I’ve never seen him like this June. He’s completely lost interest in his fans. He’s only interested in you. Will you come back?”

  Just the thought of seeing Silas again is exciting. And when I think about it, this is going to be the last time. Soon the article will come out, and he’ll never talk to me again. Being with Silas will help me think about something other than Brand and my trouble with the law.

  “Fine. But for one day only. If that’s not enough, then I’m staying put.”

  Stewart smiles with relief. “Our transportation is waiting.”

  I follow Stewart out to the Limo. On the way to the airport I decide to question Stewart about his nephew.

  “So what can you tell me that the newspapers have all got wrong?”

  “Wow, where to start?” Stewart laughs grimly. “You have no idea how wrong they often are and the volume of crap that gets put out there about the band. They wonder how a nobody like Silas got the lead guitar position in one of metal’s biggest up and coming bands. They wonder how an unknown guitarist got to be able to play so well. You Google any other band’s guitarists and you see a proverbial paper trail of achievements.”

  “What do you mean paper trail?”

  “Take any bands lead guitar player and you can find out every accomplishment, everything he has ever done, and you can find it chronicled on the internet. Most of the best musicians are prodigies to a certain degree and you can see early YouTube videos of them playing, or you can find other proof that they came up through the ranks to get to the position where they are now.”

  “But not for Silas?”

  “Right. There are no YouTube videos as a child. No records in the school systems of him playing in any bands or doing anything musically at all. It’s like he was just dropped on the planet, guitar in hand, with skills rivaling Eddie Van Halen.”

  “Sounds to me you’re making a case for your nephew being a fraud or something.”

  “Truth is, June, I don’t think he even touched a musical instrument until he was twenty years old. And when he did, the stuff he made that instrument do...blew you away.”

  “I see…”

  “He’s not well-liked, June. The fans adore him, but not the musicians.”

  This is all new to me. “I don’t get it.”

  “Think about it. You’re a paramedic right? Imagine if you came into the ER to work one day and some young hot looking blonde showed up with skills rivaling that of and ER doc. But he never went to school, never passed a test, never had to work hard to hone his skills, could do things you could only dream of in terms of saving patient’s lives. What would you think?”

  “I’d be suspicious.”

  “Rock and Roll is filled with musicians who have given their lives to their crafts from very young ages. Kids who played till their fingers bled, practiced hours and hours while their friends were outside playing. They didn’t date, didn’t go to movies, do kid’s stuff, missed the prom, didn’t get the pretty girls...all in the name of their craft. Suddenly someone comes along who never had to work at it a day, never had to pay his dues, not a callused finger on his hands, and he’s so damn good he puts them all to shame. He is that good June, and he’s not even trying.”

  “I think I understand.”

  “It kills him that not one of his peers can say a single thing good about him or his ability with the guitar. They’re the people he wants to impress. It’s the Kirk Hammett’s and Dan Donigan’s of the world whose opinions matter to him. You wouldn’t believe what I had to go through to get him into Fringe.”

  “How did you get the job for him, anyway?”

  “Called in a lot of favors. Fringe’s record label owed me big time. He’s got a Trojan horse in the ranks backing him and that’s in part why he got the job. But don’t say anything about it. That has to be totally confidential.”

  Stewart tells a good story, and while I would love to believe him, it supports the theory that Silas really doesn’t know how to play. Maybe the record label pushed for his hire because of his amazing looks and charisma. I just don’t know what to think anymore. Just as I’m about to ask another question, we pull up to a private air strip being used by the record label. Fifteen minutes later, I’m sipping a mineral water in a private jet waiting to take off. The thing is amazing. It’s certainly not like any aircraft I’ve ever been in.

  We land and zip over to the venue. When we get out of the limo, we walk by a group of Lunatics who have gathered by the back entrance in hopes of seeing members of the band. As I walk by next to Stewart and two bodyguards, I can’t help but recognize a few of my fellow fans. I get one or two shocked friendly smiles and a dozen shocked, angry faces too.

  “What the fuck she doing here Stew?” a particularly nasty looking girl shouts.

  “Which one is she fucking?” another girl shouts.

  I do my best to tune out the rest of the cat calls and angry remarks as we approach the back door. Once inside, I can finally breathe a sigh of relief. At least now I’ll be surrounded by people happy to see me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Reunited

  As we’re approaching the rooms that are designated for the band, I can feel my excitement soaring. After all that’s happened over the last few days with Brand, I thought I would be too distracted to enjoy this moment. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. I can hear music up ahead, vintage Soundgarden. We get to the room and Stewart raps on the door with his knuckles.

  “Who is it?” hollers a voice from within.

  “Stewart and June,” the manager yells back.

  “You’ll be wanting the next room down,” comes the reply, followed by a coughing fit. Thought I smelled something funny coming out of that room. I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on there. Stewart knocks loudly on the next door. To my surprise it opens, and standing there in the flesh is Silas.

  A huge smile lights up his face as he opens the door to let me in. I feel all warm inside, like a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven. Warm, sweet, and willing...so willing.

  “Give us a couple hours, Stew,” Silas says as he draws me into the room. I scarcely notice the door closing behind me. Silas holds me at arm’s length, studying me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Just making sure you’re real,” he replies.

  My eyes linger on his pair of faded black jeans, kick ass motorcycle boots, and a muscle tank. He pulls me into his embrace, and suddenly we’re kissing like a couple of teenagers. His mouth on mine sends shivers down my spine, and I’ve got goose bumps all over. Brand has never had this effect on me. The thought of my boyfriend makes me tense up momentarily.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “Sorry...just got distracted for a second, that’s all.”

  “That was some distraction Junie. You went all cold and stiff like a fish.”

  “It’s just a work thing. For a second there, I wondered if I had forgotten to make sure my shift was covered.” He l
eads me over to the couch. I can tell something is on his mind suddenly, and it’s not sex. Now it’s my turn to as ask, “What?”

  “It just occurred to me that I don’t know what you do for a living.”

  “Sure you do. I told you I’m a paramedic.”

  “Yeah but what do you really do? Where do you work?”

  “ER. I work at Highland Hospital in Oakland. They call it the home of the ‘Guns and Knives Club’. It’s where everybody goes whose been shot or stabbed.”

  “No shit? What’s the most, outrageous thing you’ve seen in the ER?”

  “Oh man...I don’t know. You see a lot of crazy stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  The man will not be dissuaded. “Take my last shift for example,” I start, “This woman drives her husband to the hospital, and when she gets him out he’s got these towels wrapped around his arm. Blood’s pouring out of the end like a hose or something. The guy is in agony. He’s this big burly guy who has been reduced to a ball of anguish. He groaning, and trying his best not to scream and it’s just awful. I can tell his wife is just about to pass out.”

  “Oh man...What the hell happened to him?”

  “He got his arm caught in some machinery, and it chewed him up from his fingertips to his elbow. It was a mess. I have no idea how people cope with that kind of pain. It’s kinda scary when you stop to think about it.”

  “Wow, I could not do that. Not in a million years. I bet you’re really good at it, too.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I bet they really respect you there. How long have you been a paramedic?”

  “Something like ten years. And they do respect me. The doctors and the other nurses, they listen to me because they know I know what I’m doing. I can think fast, make the right decisions, and perform well under pressure. But lots of people can. I’m not that special, you know.”

  “No way, I got mad respect for you. You save people’s lives. I just play a bunch of loud music, and sometimes not very well.”

  “Not very well, my ass. You’re amazing!”

  “Yeah, tell that to the guys...not everyone’s a believer, you know.”