“You’re right. I usually do fly wherever I go, and in a private jet. But I am a firm believer that one should never forget from whence he came. So every year on this day, I take the bus trip that saved my life. I get on the bus here and take it back to Oakland and use the time to reflect on what has happened over the past year. It has always been time well spent. So what’s your story June?”
“Wow, I wish I could say I was using this time to reflect and become a better person, but I just wanna go home.”
“Well you don’t look like the typical passenger either. There’s gotta be some story there.”
“What are you, a reporter or something?”
“How many reporters do you know who fly about in a private jet?”
“That could have been a story you made up.”
“Is that really what you think?”
“No.”
“Okay, then let’s play a little game to pass the time. It’ll be fun.”
“Fine, what sort of game do you propose?”
“I’ll start by saying something about myself is true and something that is a lie. You have to guess which is which.”
“Okay...So If I guess right, what do I get?”
“This is just a way to get to know each other and to pass the time. So here I go. I was raised in an orphanage. That’s the first statement, and the other...I used to be married.”
“That’s easy, you were raised in an orphanage.”
“Wrong answer. I was married for three years before I finally decided to stop lying about who I really am and come out of the closet.”
“Oh. Okay, well...I killed a man once, and I was married myself once upon a time.”
“That’s easy June.”
“Really? I’m that easy to read?”
“You’re that easy.”
“So which statement is true then, Walker?”
He doesn’t answer right away, then leans over and speaks quietly in my ear so no one else can hear. “You killed a man once,” he says.
“What?”
“I’m wrong?” he asks.
“No you’re right, but how did you know?”
“I’m not just some brainless hunk, June.”
“Apparently not. Now aren’t you going to ask me why I...you know...”
“No, that’s not part of the game. Now I’ll go. Since we’re getting all dark and ominous here...I killed my own mother, and I have put my father in a mental institution.”
“Heavy! Well, your skills are slipping then because this one’s easy. You’re not a killer, I’d know it if you were. So, you put—”
“You’re wrong.”
“You killed...? Walker, why’d you do it?”
“Ah, you’re forgetting the number one rule in the game. You don’t get to ask why.”
“Damn! Okay, my turn. I watched my little sister die and I did nothing...and then I died.”
Finally the smile that he’s been wearing on his handsome face ever since I sat down finally fades. “Now why’d you want me to know that, June?”
“What’s your guess Walker?”
“Well you’re not dead...”
“Sorry, I kinda cheated. I actually died too.”
“What?”
“When I was seventeen and my sister was thirteen, I was driving her to a school play she was in and I lost control of the car. I was seriously injured and trapped in my seat. Sometime later, an off-duty paramedic came upon the accident and started to work on her, but she never regained consciousness. I sat there next to her and watched her die.”
“Wow...I am so sorry, June,”
“Me too. They say I died in the ER and was dead for five minutes before I came back.”
“I always wanted to ask this. Did you have one of those out of body experiences, or did you go down some long dark tunnel towards the light?”
“Neither. I don’t remember anything between my sister dying and waking up from a coma fifteen days later.”
“Since you have been so candid with me...My mother died giving birth to me, so in a way you could say I killed her. I actually used to feel guilty like I really did kill her on purpose, you know? But thirty years and $20,000 of psychotherapy later and I have no guilt whatsoever.”
“Wow...”
“I didn’t mean to get so dark, and so fast here with the game. It’s just that you...there’s something about you that just makes me trust you. I don’t know why you’re here, why you didn’t have a ticket or a purse and you look like you haven’t slept in a week, but I do know this. You’re a good person. Whatever you may have done that led to you being here in this condition, you’re still a good person, and I trust you.”
“You don’t know how badly I needed to hear that Walker. Every day of my life I feel guilty about my little sister. I could have saved her, you know?”
“I thought you said you were in a coma or something.”
“Before I passed out, I saw her. She was trapped in the seat next to mine. She was bleeding badly from a gash in her forehead and she was having a hard time breathing. I could have saved her. All I had to do was a jaw thrust, chin lift maneuver and she would have been able to breathe normally. But I didn’t do—”
“What’s a jaw lift chin whatever maneuver?”
“It’s a way you can open up a person’s airway without compromising their C-spine. I’m a paramedic.”
“Weren’t you only seventeen or something when the accident happened? You couldn’t have been a paramedic then right?”
“Well no, but...”
“You blame yourself for not doing a medical procedure on your sister that you didn’t even know how to do, or even knew existed? And, didn’t you say you were trapped in your seat and couldn’t get to your sister?”
“No, yeah. I didn’t know how...” I can’t continue. My voice is caught in my throat. I reach up to rub my tired eyes and notice that my face is wet with tears.
“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to upset you. It was a stupid game.”
“It’s okay.”
“There was nothing you could have done, even if you had not been trapped yourself and seriously injured. You did the best you could have done, given your situation.”
I don’t know how long I’ve been crying, but it seems like a long time. When my eyes finally run dry I feel light, like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I wipe my eyes on my already wet sleeve and venture a look up at my new best friend. He looks at me with compassionate eyes.
“You look like you’ve just shed five years off your life, June. How do you feel?”
“Better...”
“So, what brought you to that Greyhound station?”
“Yeah...You might want to rethink your whole, ‘June’s a good person’ theory, until you’ve heard my whole story.”
“You can tell it, but I’m a pretty good judge of character. I doubt you can change my mind, but do your worst.”
I end up spilling my guts about the whole obsession with the band and why I’m a Lunatic. I tell him about Brand and Silas and, finally, what I did to them both. He listens the whole time without interrupting, yawning, or giving any sign that he’s getting bored or uninterested in what I’m saying. He’s just a very good, attentive listener.
“Thank you,” he says when I finally run out of words. Then he closes his eyes and appears to have fallen asleep. I’m just about to say something when he beats me to the punch. “So what are your plans now?”
“To get home. To take a ridiculously long shower and a 12 hour nap. Why?”
“Just thinking. If you came upon a magic lamp and a genie popped out and granted you some wishes, what would you wish for?”
“Oh wow. Don’t I wish I did have one. I’d wish that Silas wasn’t fired from Fringe and that the band was back together and on their world tour again. I’d wish I never helped Brand get the dirt on the band, and I’d wish I never hacked his account and impersonated him. That’s what I’d wish for.”
“Hmmm...Interesting that you ask for nothing for yourself.”
“Yeah, well. Before you go calling me mother Theresa, I wasn’t finished wishing.”
He laughs and once more my usual dark mood lightens dramatically. “Well June, I’m no genie, and I’ve got no lamp, but I just may be able to help you out of your current situation.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, I think I can. Your guitarist friend Silas, can he really play the guitar? Do you know for certain he’s not faking? And what about the rest of the band? Can they really play or are they pulling another stunt like Shadowspawn?”
“Yes. Silas can play. Well, I think he can.”
“And Brand? What are you willing to do to set things right regarding him?”
“Anything.”
“So you’d be willing to take the fall. You’d be willing to make a statement about the information you gathered as being false, and that knowing it was false still gave it to your friend to use for the contest? Would you be willing to face and accept the consequences for your illegal actions regarding accessing his email account and impersonating him?”
“I said anything, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. I just want to make sure you understand what is at stake here before I get the ball rolling on this whole genie thing.”
“I don’t understand, how can you help me, and why would you help me?”
“I’m a rock promoter. I can book any venue in the country and in just about any in the UK as well. I’ll book the venue. You just get Silas and the rest of the band on board. And don’t forget about Brand, you have to get him there as well.”
“I’ll do it. I’ll tell him I’m going to the press to make a statement about my actions.”
“And promise him exclusive interviews with the band afterwards. If he writes the story, I’ll get it in Guitar Player and Rolling Stone. Do you think that’ll get him there?”
“That should do it. Where are you thinking of making this happen?”
“Well I have to do some checking around to see which venues are available. I’m thinking this has to happen fairly quickly considering how fast things are blowing up. And you certainly can’t do your part from jail either, can you?”
“No...It’ll have to be done yesterday.”
Walker pulls out his cell phone and starts punching in numbers. “Well I guess I’d better get started then, shouldn’t I?”
Chapter Twenty
The Con
A man walks into room 4335 on the fourth floor of Highland Hospital and pulls up a chair next to Brand’s bed. “Dude, how’d you do it?”
A smile creeps across Brand’s face as he opens his eyes. “Holy shit Hector, you’re back!”
“Yeah I’m back.” Hector Oh slouches down in his chair, props his feet up on Brand’s bed and gives the other man a wolfish smile. “I’m back…”
“So how was it? What’re they really like? Are they as crazy and out of control as everybody thinks? Come on man, spill your guts!”
Hector laughs, then closes his eyes as he recalls the last six months of his life. “Yeah,” he begins, “They’re every bit as crazy.”
“You’re killin me. How was it?”
“Dude, Creeping Death makes Slipknot look like a bunch of choir boys. They are the epitome of metal at its darkest, most primal form. These guys may be well on their way to being the top metal act of the decade, but their brains are gonna be so scrambled they won’t last much longer than that, and I think they know it. There’s this sense of urgency, like they gotta do it all now, today, before it’s too late. Everybody wants to be rich and famous, but most bands accept that it takes time. Not Creeping Death. Not only are they not creeping up on death, they’re leaping into it. This doesn’t leave this room, alright? It’s gonna be in the magazine.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Hector closes his eyes again and starts talking. “We were in Iowa, Slipknot territory. They’d just finished this marathon three hour show and we’re all backstage partying in Creeping fashion. In other words, tons of drugs, tons of chicks, and tons of insane antics as the band begins to blow off steam and kick it into party mode which usually lasts well into the next morning.”
“Shit…”
“As you well know, these guys are into blood and knives and any sharp objects they can find to draw a little blood. So Sebastian has got this knife, and he’s flipping it up in the air and catching in on the handle every time. Don’t know how he does it, given how much vodka, coke, and heroin is in his system. So pretty soon the whole room is focused on this guy as he throws the knife higher and higher. Each throw, the knife does more and revolutions yet he still manages to avoid the razor sharp blade every time...but one.”
Brand cringes. “Oh man, I think I can guess what happens next.”
“The dude misses and the point ends up about an inch deep in his right wrist. Good thing he’s not a guitar player.”
“No kidding. He could have bled to death.”
“Oh yeah, but he wasn’t through yet. He grabs their drummer’s wrist, puts the edge of the knife to the inside of his left wrist and asks, “Are we brothers?” Then he buries the tip into the dude’s skin. By the time management stops them, Sebastian, Derrek, and bassist Craig are bleeding like stuck pigs. It was like this spontaneous suicide pact. We nearly lost the whole band right in the middle of a sold-out tour. As it was, the next ten dates had to be cancelled because their drummer and bassist couldn’t play. That, my friend, is why they’re on the fast track to not only fame, but death.”
Brand is suitably stunned. “Holy shit, that is un-fucking-real!”
“Man, shit like that happens on every night of the tour.”
“So the stories about them keeping doctors and extra blood for transfusions, that’s all real, and not just some publicity stunt?”
“Oh no, it’s all real man, scary real. Now you gotta tell me what’s up with you. I heard from Frank over at the magazine, he said you were making quite a splash there. Care to enlighten me? And how’d you get the girl to turn on her favorite band? She’s a Lunatic right?”
“Oh man, it wasn’t easy,” Brand begins with a laugh. “Actually...it was kinda easy.”
“So you faked this whole injured thing?”
“Oh no, that part is true. I really did get busted up. I just played it up. I wasn’t really in a coma that long. I’m just a damned good actor, that’s all.”
“So you didn’t fall for this girl then...”
“No way. Those Lunatics are nuts.”
“So is she really in trouble with the Feds for hacking your account and impersonating you?”
“Yeah sorta...I get the idea it really is up to me. They got so much more serious internet crimes going on that they’re not that gung-ho about prosecuting this unless I really demonstrate injury and right now, her actions have done nothing but help me.”
“Well you’re right about that. You know you’re gonna win this thing, right?”
“What? Are we talking Get the Dirt, or you talking about something else?”
“Oh no bro, I’m talking Get the Dirt! There’s even talk of giving you further assignments beyond the one you get when you win the contest. Not only do they like the information you came up with, but more importantly, they love your edgy writing style. You’re in dude! You’re gonna be one of us!”
“Oh my god, I can’t believe this is finally happening! After all those years of writing shit for two cents a word for the web I’m gonna finally be in print.”
“And it’s not just any magazine Brand, its Guitar fucking Player magazine!”
“This is un-fucking-real man. I owe you big time. I’m sure you’ve been pulling some strings at the magazine.”
“Not really man. This is all you. They were already excited about your work before I returned from the tour. I just kinda endorsed you. A word of advice...maybe go easy on the girl. You don’t really want to fuel her fire. The magazine doesn’t need her to start
crying foul and the editors to start thinking that the info in the article isn’t real. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I follow you.”
“In fact, if you ah...got any dirt on her that would help keep her in line…”
Brand nods slowly. “You know my dad’s a cop right?”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well, I had him check out June, the girl, when we first met. Turns out she’s got a marijuana conviction that was conveniently buried so she could get her paramedic’s license. If that little indiscretion just happened to see the light of day, she’d lose her license to practice as a paramedic. My prediction, she’ll do anything to keep her precious job at the hospital.”
“You’re a devious man Brand, a fucking devious man.”
“Hey, I’m just trying to get ahead, that’s all, just like my father taught me.”
“Good.” Hector removes his feet from Brand’s bed and gets up out of the chair. “Congrats Brand, it’s really good to have you on board with the magazine. This is gonna launch your career, just like it did mine.”
“Thanks man.”
Hector turns and walks out. “Later dude,” he calls back over his shoulder, and closes the door behind him.
~~~
Finally the trip from hell is over. I finally walk through my doorway and collapse onto my couch. Despite the long bus ride, I still couldn’t sleep. This time it wasn’t despair that was keeping me awake, it was excitement fueled by adrenaline. What a strange turn of events, me meeting the one guy who can help me pull this off. If everything goes right, Silas gets his job back, the band reforms, and I don’t have to go to jail—which means I get to keep my career. I’m not even going to try to go to sleep. Even though I have to work tonight, I’m going to have to put off sleep until after my shift. I have too much planning to do. I have gotta come up with something that will convince Stewart to listen to me, trust me, and do what I instruct him to do. It’s not going to be an easy sell.
I crack open my laptop and see if I can draft an email that will convince Stewart to answer my calls. The moment I get my computer booted up, my cell phone starts ringing.
“Hello?”
“Hi June.”
Broken Strings (A Rock Star Novel) Page 16