“Fucking asshole!” Pete screamed, shaking his fist as the car disappeared in the distance.
He heard laughter coming from the backseat.
“What are you laughing at?” Pete demanded of the pair huddled together and smirking at him through the window.
“You, you fucking piece of shit,” Max said. “Get back in the car. We’re gonna miss the boat.”
Pete got back in and glared at the couple in the rear-view mirror. They’d already stopped paying attention to him. He checked his image: the pale face, as though he’d grown up under a rock; the now-permanent dark circles under his eyes; and the dry, stringy hair. What a fucking mess. The factory was killing him. Clearly, he spent too much time indoors.
Sami Lee’s giggles reached him from the back seat. He looked back to see her smirking.
“Get going, man,” Max commanded.
Pete ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Gotta keep my cool, he reminded himself. These two are trouble enough without getting on their bad side. He turned the key and eased the car back onto the road.
“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” he said over his shoulder.
He heard a grunt.
“Money. What the fuck do you think?” Max said.
“You sure you and Spike will be able to get along after all this time?” Pete asked, wondering if that was possible. They’d been inseparable in the early days, like some sort of freakish science-fiction twins. Since the breakup, as far as anyone knew, they hadn’t spoken a word to one another.
“Harvey says he’s into it,” Max replied with a bored shrug. “If that cunt can do it, so can I.”
A train sped past them on the left. They held pace with it for a while before it veered off into the hills. They might have outraced it, but Pete had to stop the car every time he saw an Arby’s. He didn’t know why; the Voice just told him to stop. Pee time, he’d say, to groans from the back seat. Or, Got something in my eye. Won’t be a minute. How else to explain you’re under the control of a voice in your head? Then he’d go in, take a breath, and wash his hands in excessively hot water before returning. He didn’t know why he had to do it, but if he didn’t follow the Voice’s commands the tension became unbearable. By now, he knew it was easier to submit.
An hour later they arrived at a small fishing village — mostly locals and a few tourists in town for the season. The car windows rolled down as the three occupants looked around. Sami Lee hated small towns. Small towns, she knew, tended to breed small minds. Anyone different was looked on as an outcast. They were either feared or scorned and sometimes both. Her mother had lived through Second World War Japan — she remembered Hiroshima — so Sami Lee knew humans could adapt. If she had to, she could survive worse. In some ways, punk rock had been kind of an atomic blast.
Pete stopped the car to ask for directions to the boat landing. A woman with a small boy looked the car over. The kid’s face was shiny with wonder. Probably never saw a limo before, Pete thought.
The woman smiled when he greeted her, but her expression darkened at the mention of Shark Island.
“The wharf’s down past Pacific Ave,” she told him, pointing out a few clapboard houses up ahead.
“Uncle Mark nearly died on Shark Island,” said the boy, his face alive with this colourful bit of news.
“Is that so now?” Max said to the boy through his open window. “What did he nearly die of?”
“Experiments,” the boy said, both solemn and proud to impart such important facts.
Max looked at the boy’s mother.
An anxious look crossed her face. “My brother-in-law was helping with the construction on the island last year. They said it was just ordinary construction, but I don’t know. He’s all right now, but he got some bad burns on him when it happened. It was some secret government operation, is what we think.”
Conspiracy theory bullshit, Max thought. He nodded. “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was aliens behind it. Happens all the time,” he said, as the window rolled up and the car moved on.
By the time they reached the dock, a small crowd had gathered. Fans, Pete thought with a hint of excitement he hadn’t felt since the old days. They’ve heard about the reunion. But in fact, it was just a group of fisherman come to look at an old rig they were thinking of rejuvenating. No one paid much attention to the trio of rock ’n’ roll misfits passing by as if they were looking for a costume party that had ended twenty years earlier.
Then Pete saw the red Saab off to one side. He didn’t have to guess it was the same car that nearly knocked him off the road earlier. And there, standing next to the Saab, was the man who’ d barely glanced at him as he raced past.
The guy was watching them with a cocky expression. Pete thought of saying something to wipe the smirk from his face. In the old days, with Spike and Max and Kent to back him up, he would have done just that. These days he was more cautious. You never knew what son of a bitch might be carrying a knife.
He was saved any further aggro when a big man in a lumber jacket came toward them. He could have been ex-navy or a gym trainer a little past his prime.
“Are you for Shark Island?” the man asked, looking them over.
“That’s us,” Max said. “I’m Max. This is Sami Lee and Pete.”
“Edwards,” the man said, holding out a hand. “I’m here to take you over in the boat.”
They all shook hands.
Max looked down at the bags. Edwards picked them up without a word and hoisted them over his shoulder.
“Are you a Rain City native?” Max asked.
Edwards gave him a queer look. “You mean a Seattleite?”
“Yeah, that. Are you?”
“No. Just a Spokane boy off his turf.”
“You don’t say,” Max said. “Us, too.”
Just then the Saab driver came up to them. “Are you heading for Shark Island?” he asked.
“Yes,” Edwards said.
“I’ll be going with you then,” he replied. He looked at Max. “Hello, Max.”
Max gave him a flinty-eyed assessment. Pete knew that look. If he wanted to, Max could take you out with a glance. If he decided in your favour, though, you were treated like a member of the in crowd.
“Who the fuck are you?” Max grunted
“I’m your lawyer,” the man said with a wink. “I’ve been hired to make sure you get what’s coming to you.”
Max’s features hardened. “And what might that be?”
“A fair deal — this time around, at least.”
Max nodded gruffly. “What makes you think I need a lawyer to get a fair deal?”
“Believe me, Max — you’re going to want my advice before you sign any of those offers they’re about to throw at you. You can’t trust the record companies as far as you can throw them, which isn’t far.”
“Record companies?”
“They didn’t tell you?”
Max shook his head. It was the first he’ d heard of a record deal.
The man gave him a shrewd look. “I’m talking about Endgame, Max. They want you and Spike and Pete here” — he glanced over at Pete — “to finish it. If you want to, that is. No one tells the great Max Hardcore what to do. Least of all me. I’m just here to give you my professional advice.” He paused. “It worked for you once before.”
Max glanced at Pete and Sami Lee, but said nothing.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” the man asked.
Max squinted hard and gave him a good look. In fact, he did look familiar, though he couldn’t have said why.
“Think back, Max. Twenty years back.”
All three of them looked at the guy again.
“What did you say your name was?” Pete said.
“Noni Embrem.”
“No shit! Fuck — I hardly recognized
you, man!” Max said, grabbing Noni’s hand and pumping it enthusiastically.
Pete stared at Noni. He felt unsettled by this turn of events. Noni Embrem had been a brilliant young civil rights lawyer when Harvey hired him to defend the band against manslaughter charges laid when a fan died of a drug overdose after one of their parties. At the time, everything seemed to be against them. Everyone predicted the band would go down, but Noni Embrem’s decisive arguing prevailed. The crime had been pinned on the drug dealer who supplied the party favours that night. The group was exonerated.
“So you’re joining us on the island?” Pete asked.
Noni smiled. “Harvey hired me to protect the band’s interests, Pete. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
Max shook his head. “Fucking Harvey. Does he really think we’re going to trust him again?”
“No — he doesn’t. In fact, technically this has nothing to do with Harvey. He’ll get his cut for bringing you back to the record companies, but I’ll be the one to advise you on what terms you should accept from them.”
Max grunted. Sami Lee wrapped her arm around his waist. Pete waited and watched. The Voice had nothing to say.
“So where are the others?” Noni asked, looking around. “I can’t wait to see them again.”
“Gone on ahead in the first trip,” Edwards said. “I took them all over half an hour ago. I just got back when you arrived.”
He looked up at the sky. Dark clouds were moving in on the open blue.
“We’d better get started. There’s a major storm expected to hit the coast later in the day.”
“So Spike’s really here,” Max said, staring out across the water where he could see the outline of an island jutting up in the distance. “Then let the games begin. And may the worst man win.”
Chapter 6
The ride to the island seemed to take forever. The waves grew in size, steadily rocking the boat the farther out into open water they got. Halfway across, Noni Embrem surreptitiously threw up over the side. He turned and apologized to the others for his seasickness. Sami Lee glanced over, a cigarette stuck in the corner of her mouth, then looked away again. Edwards watched Noni with concern, but said nothing. He had his hands full steering the boat. Clearly, the storm was not far off. Rough water might not be the worst of it unless he was vigilant. Pete began to feel queasy, too. His fingers kept up a steady thrumming on the gunnels. The Voice warned him it would help keep them afloat till they reached solid ground again. Of course his rational mind didn’t really believe this, but he was unable to resist. The fear was too strong.
The distant blur that was Shark Island grew in size and intensified as they approached. It seemed to rise out of the ocean to meet them. The island wasn’t large — a little longer and wider than a football field — but up close it was foreboding. There appeared to be nothing welcoming about it. Anyone approaching would be put off by the sheer verticality of the dark cliffs that rose some twenty or thirty feet at the waterline. The trees, mainly hemlock and red cedar, grew densest around the edges, forming a barricade. The entire island seemed designed for isolation, as though it resented scrutiny. It wasn’t until they rounded the point that they saw a cove facing away from the mainland, the only place where a boat could safely dock and allow passengers to disembark.
The autumn sky had turned grey overhead. The wind, barely noticeable earlier, blew harder as they approached. It carried a chill warning that winter was not far off. Sami Lee turned to look back. The mainland was just a smudge on the horizon, as though someone had been scribbling an outline with a dull pencil before erasing it.
The boat slid onto the sandy bottom of the cove. Edwards leapt out and quickly tied it to the dock beside a wooden boathouse. He turned and offered his hand to Sami Lee. As she reached for it, the boat shifted and she momentarily lost her balance.
She spat her cigarette in the water and glared at him. “Watch it! Are you trying to kill me?”
He shot her a look, but held his tongue. “Sorry. Just a bit rocky at the moment.”
Pete made it off the boat without incident. Noni leapt nimbly ashore, his face a picture of relief. Max stepped out of his own accord, balancing his bulky mass as he stretched a foot to dry land. Once on solid ground, they all stopped and looked around. An impressive piece of modern architecture rose three stories ahead of them, dwarfing the trees around it. The severe planes and angles of its cubist design seemed imposing and strange on the deserted piece of rock.
“That’s something,” Noni said, staring at the house. “Someone has a great sense of style.”
“And money,” Max grunted.
“Piece of shit,” said Sami Lee.
Edwards unloaded their bags and started up the path. The others followed in single file — Noni and Pete walking in front, Max and Sami Lee behind — picking their way along the path. The house lay dead ahead. As they approached, Pete had the distinct impression it was waiting for them, though he couldn’t say why. Maybe it was just from knowing Spike was already inside waiting to come face to face with his former partner, and archrival, Max Hardcore. He was dreading the moment as much as he anticipated it. But there was something else. Something not quite tangible. It hung in the air around them, watching their approach. It almost seemed to be judging them.
The door opened as they climbed the stairs to the front porch. Spike stood there, looking pretty much the same as he had fifteen years earlier. Still skinny as a rake, Pete noted. His hair was a ratty mop with hints of green, not unlike the Joker in Batman, the angry scowl on his face only slightly more entrenched.
Spike stared at them as though he might gun them all down if he had a weapon. A grin broke out on his face. “Maxie! You old fucker. You got fat!”
There was a moment’s hesitation before Max Hardcore walked up to Spike, glared in his face, and, without warning, embraced his former partner.
“And you, you cocksucker. You still look like a heroin addict. Fuck you!” Max roared.
Laughter engulfed the pair as they did a jagged little waltz around the porch together before acknowledging the others who had been waiting to see whether the pair would kill or kiss. For a moment, no one knew what to say.
Edwards broke the silence. “I’ll take your bags inside. Come in and get settled when you’re ready.”
He turned and went in.
“I didn’t know this motherfucker was invited or I’d never’ve come,” Max said, laughing. “I might have to kill him before he tries to kill me.”
“And I can’t wait to kick your fucking carcass from one side of the island to the other,” Spike replied. “But there’ll be plenty of time for that later. Come on inside, all of you, and let’s have a drink!”
A ring of curious faces met them in the parlour. The harsh words and edgy tones of Max and Spike’s greeting had made it difficult to know exactly what was said in earnest and what in jest. The five people seated there waited hesitantly to see what had just walked in the door.
Verna was first to recover. She approached the newcomers and held out her hand. “Hello, I’m Verna.”
Pete stood blinking in the doorway, unable to speak. Max eyed the blonde bombshell standing before them like Venus on the half-shell.
“Well, don’t all speak at once, boys,” Verna said, hands on hips.
“This is Pete and that’s Sami Lee,” Max said, pointing. “And I’m Max, of course.”
“Of course you are,” Verna said. “I know all about you. I’m a true fan.”
A cough sounded from the doorway. Heads turned to see Noni Embrem.
“And I’m Noni,” he said. “The brown guy.”
“He’s a fucking asshole lawyer, but he’s a good guy, regardless,” Max roared as he turned to take in the rest of the room.
“I’m Sandra.” A woman came forward wearing a grey skirt and an old sweater. Her face was lined and a stoop
seemed to keep her from reaching her full height, but on second glance she looked more worn out than old.
“Good to meet you, Sandra,” said Max.
“I’ll be doing domestic work. I’m also a qualified nurse, so I’ll be taking on occasional duties as health attendant while you’re on the island.”
Max gave her a cockeyed grin. “Does someone think I’m gonna have a heart attack?”
Sandra shook her head gravely. “Oh, no. It’s just a courtesy, really. We’re not expecting any medical emergencies.”
“Good.” Max nodded. No sense of humour, he thought. By the looks of her, I’d say she’s probably had it beaten out of her.
Over in a corner, a hand lifted a glass of beer in greeting. “David here. I’ll be your friendly real-estate broker this weekend.”
“Are they selling the place out from under us already?” Max looked over at Spike. “Have we made it famous just by setting foot on the ground? Are there hordes of fans waiting to buy the island where Spike Anthrax and Max Hardcore met up after fifteen years?”
“Goddamn right!” Spike crowed.
Another woman stepped forward. Pink V-neck sweater, black dyed hair. Not much of a looker, either, but sexy in her own way.
“Hello, Max,” came the sultry voice.
She stood there as Max looked her over.
“Holy shit!” he spat out. “Is that really you, Sarah?”
“Yes, except my name is Janice now.”
Over in the corner, the man named David choked on his beer. He hadn’t just imagined it when he thought she reminded him of someone else. In fact, she was that someone else. Sarah Wynberg, for fuck’s sake. Here she was twenty years later. Obviously she’d changed, too. He could have shit himself. And after they’d just … it was too freaky.
“I recognized her right away,” he heard Spike say.
Endgame Page 3