The Devil's Beat (The Devil's Mark)

by VanKirk, R. Scott

  “No, I'm not going to start a space program.”

  Mike sighed. “So what are you invested in?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Mike got up, headed to the one table in the room and grabbed the sheet with Max's net worth on it. He studied it for a while. He said, “Hey Max, I can see a problem here.”

  Max glanced at him, “What's that?”

  “You've only got six hundred, sixty-six million, six hundred, sixty-six thousand and two cents in liquid assets. That's barely enough to last you till next week!”

  “Ha, ha, funny guy.”

  Mike laughed again, “Seriously Max, how can you not laugh at this? It's ridiculous.”

  Max sighed, turned toward Mike with one elbow propping himself up. “Mike, that's all blood money.”

  Mike was taken aback, “What do you mean, blood money”

  “That money all came from other people’s work, not mine.”

  Mike frowned down at the paper, “So maybe you didn't write all those songs, but that doesn't make it blood money. Isn't that what they found at the trials? Every one of those songs was paid for. Legally, they were yours.”

  Max swung his feet off his bed and sat up facing Mike. He said bitterly, “Yeah, don't you think it was weird that those documents only ever turned up at the last minute? Wasn't it convenient that several of the song writers just withdrew their claims?”

  “What do you mean, Max? It sounds like you’re buying into all the conspiracy theories that those nut-jobs kept throwing around.”

  “I mean that I think every single one of those songs was stolen and that six billion dollars buys a lot of reality adjustment, and when reality didn't want to cooperate, it's even cheaper to pay someone to make the problem go away.”

  Mike looked confused, “Why would you think that? I know you said that a lot of the songs came from your manager, but come on, given the kind of money you were making, why steal the songs instead of just paying for them?”

  “Because you don't know my manager. I think he did it just for the fun of it. That, and to fuck with me.”

  Mike said, “That just sounds ridiculous and paranoid, Max. Why would he do that when you were making so much money for him?”

  Max was tempted to tell Mike who his manager really was, but he didn't want to deal with that fallout. “He's a sadistic SOB, and he doesn't care about the money.”

  “Max, no one doesn't care about money.”

  “He doesn't. Believe me, he works for other reasons.” When it looked like Mike was going to object again, Max cut him off. “Let's just drop that, please. I don't like to talk about him.”

  In the silence that followed, Max reflected on Lucian's heady promises.

  ***

  Lucian and Max were in a darkened bar, heads together, drinking expensive single malt scotch, talking over the loud music in the background. Max was drunk with alcohol and the continuous praise of Lucian who was obviously a man of wealth and power.

  Max had hit a slump and couldn’t seem to find anyone willing to give him a chance. He was a hit at the local bars, but every time it seemed he might make a contact and break into the music biz, it fell through. The continuous streams of dashed hopes and rejections had gotten him down and he hadn’t written a new song in months. His dreams were dying.

  Then Lucian appeared and those dreams were being resuscitated.

  Lucian said, “I will make every one of your dreams of fame, wealth, and glory come true, but you will need to do everything I tell you. You will follow my advice without fail. You will give me everything that you are, and I will make you the biggest star since Elvis. Your name will ring down through the ages as the greatest bard of your time. You will sing songs that will make people dance, weep, and laugh. You will change lives and give people purpose. Women? They will throw themselves at your feet... Wealth? It will flow to you like a river, and you shall never want for anything. Give me your heart and soul and I will make you great. How important are your dreams, Max? Will you do anything to see them come true? Do you have the strength to put yourself into my hands, heart and soul, so I can make you great?”

  “Hell, yes!” Max agreed enthusiastically.

  Lucian sat back with a self-satisfied smirk, lifted is arm, and snapped his fingers. Three incredibly beautiful women who had been waiting out of sight approached their table. One had a briefcase and the other two undulated to Max's side with eyes for no one but him. Through the alcoholic haze, Max looked at the two sumptuous creatures who were suddenly in his arms and thought he must have died and gone to heaven. Lucian pulled out a large contract and said to Max, “Here you go Max, sign this and your trip to fame and wealth begins.”

  Max struggled through the alcohol and the other distractions. “I don't know, Lucian, I'm pretty drunk right now. I think maybe I should wait till tomorrow so I can read what it says, maybe get my mom to read it too.”

  Lucian leaned forward, his lips pursed in disapproval. “Max, don't tell me that you're a mama's boy, running home every time you get a booboo?”

  Max's companions stopped caressing him and stood back. Max said hotly, “No, I'm no mama's boy, but I'm not an idiot either. I'll sign it after I’ve had time to read it so I know what I am getting into.”

  Lucian looked intensely into Max's eyes. He said, “I'll tell you what is in it, Max. I promise to give you everything, and you give me everything in return. If I fail to deliver, the contract is null and void.”

  Lucian's intensity would have frightened Max if he hadn't been drunk. Lucian let up, smiled. “Besides, Max, you will have plenty of time to read through it. I wouldn't want to have a partner who wasn't happy, so I tell you what, sign this tonight, and I will give you a week to change your mind. Look, I knew you weren't a fool. It's even dated next week.” He showed Max the contract so he could see that he wasn't lying. More seriously, Lucian said, “If you decide you don't like the contract, we can cancel it and go our separate ways. Me, I'll find some other star, and you, well, you will go back to that little podunk town you call home and work for McDonald’s or something.”

  Max leaned over the contract and tried to ignore the women who were once again pressed into his sides and stroking him in a particularly distracting way. He thought, hell, if I can cancel this in a week, what's the harm? He grinned up at Lucian and held his hand out. “Give me a pen.”

  Lucian grinned back, handed Max a heavy and expensive pen, and watched with delight as Max signed his name with a flourish. When Max offered him the pen back, he said, “Keep it. You will want to frame that pen because it has just bought you everything you've ever desired.” Lucian offered his hand, and Max took it. Instead of letting go after shaking, Lucian said, “Oh, one last thing.” He jabbed Max's thumb with the nail of his left pinky. It hurt, and Max tried to pull back his hand, but he couldn't budge Lucian's vice grip. A drop of blood welled up and splashed on the contract, where it instantly soaked into the parchment. Lucian released Max's hand and laughed when Max snatched it back. “Relax, boy! There is just a certain way this business is done. You still have your week to back out.” Lucian motioned his hands to the two women at Max's side. “Ladies, show Max what is going to be coming his way.”

  Max soon forgot about everything else and gave into the pounding music, alcohol, and lust.

  The next day, an agent called from a huge label and arranged an audition. The two women went with him everywhere and made sure that not one of his needs, or whims, was not met. He never even bothered to read the contract.

  ***

  Back in the motel room, Mike was waving his hand in front of Max's face saying, “Max? You in there bud? Yoo-hoo!”

  Max started, shook his head. “Huh? What. Sorry, just thinking.”

  Mike had Max's balance sheet in his hands. “I was just asking if you knew any of these companies. I mean, “cash and CDs” is pretty self-explanatory, and Faust Marketing is pretty obvious too, but what are the others? You've got three billion invested into this A
baddon Industries. Have you ever heard about it?”

  Max shook his head. “No, I've never heard about any of them. Hell, I didn't even know there was a company named after me.”

  Mike raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Damn, boy, how could anyone be so clueless?”

  Max thought back to the seemingly endless streams of nights indulging in every physical pleasure and just shrugged. “I was distracted.”

  Mike snorted. “Well, we should look these up on the web and see what you own a piece of.”

  Max nodded his agreement unenthusiastically. Somehow, he had the feeling that he wasn't going to like the answer.

  He didn't.

  Abaddon Industries was easy to find. There were thousands of hits for it on the web. They were a massive defense contractor and their name was associated with every significant war or skirmish on the planet. There was no way Max was going to be a part of that anymore. He turned to share this with Mike, but he was fast asleep on the bed. Max paused for a moment and then called up Tony. He left a message instructing Tony to sell all shares in Abaddon.

  He also found Megabucks Inc. It was one of the largest paycheck lenders in the country. They apparently had locations in every major city and a lot of the minor ones. That didn't seem so bad to Max, so he moved on to Lux Lucidis. He didn't find a single mention of the company on the web.

  That can't be good.

  Blinded By the Light

  Max was busy researching his assets when someone knocked on the door. This knock was a little less exuberant than Mike's had been, but it was every bit as insistent. Max went and opened the door, expecting the maid or something, but he was blinded by the truth. As his eyes recovered from the flash that had just gone off in his face, he heard a female voice saying, “Maximilian Faust, what are you doing in this small town? Are you planning a comeback? Are you currently recording any new albums? Your loyal fans wait for your triumphant return!”

  Max blinked his eyes, trying to clear them. He quickly recognized the blonde from the television news. Behind and to the side of her was a man with a small camera mounted on a steady-cam and behind him were several other people leaning forward eagerly.

  Max slammed the door, or tried to, but the woman's foot was in the way. She had neglected to take into account that high-heeled pumps aren't much protection from anything, and she gave a most unladylike scream before she pulled her foot back. That was followed by even more unladylike aspersions on Max's character, and his mother, friends and pets. Max slammed the door. Even with it closed, Max and Mike could hear her quite clearly on the other side. She was now yelling at the cameraman, “Turn it off! Turn it off, you fat piece of crap, or I'll stuff it down your throat!”

  Max was momentarily distracted by her antics and then the full impact of this hit him. His days of privacy and quietude were over. The media had found him. Somebody had snitched, and he knew who. His panic turned to anger. “Godd... Shit! That asswipe bastard!”

  Mike had an odd, almost guilty, look on his face, “Who's an asswipe bastard?”

  Max glared at him. “Tony, that's who!” Max started pacing the room with his eyes glued firmly to the floor. “This is that two-bit little punk's revenge for forcing him to give me this balance sheet! Well, not only is he fired, I am going to New York to rip open his skull and piss on his eyeballs!”

  Mike said, “Whoa Max, calm down, what did he do?”

  “He told that God... Jeez... argh... that two-bit blonde vampire floozy that I was here!” Max stopped, turned on Mike. “How much does a hit man cost?”

  Mike turned a little pale. “Easy there, Max, let's not do anything hasty. We can't be certain that it was him.”

  Max stopped for a moment, stared at Mike. “You're right! It wasn't him, it was Lucian! It had to be him!” He started pacing again. “He's been dicking me ever since I told him to take a hike! It had to be him. Tony had to know that I would have fired his ass if he did something like this. Besides, no one else but Lucian would be this big of a prick.”

  Mike looked even uneasier than before, “Relax, Max, it's not like a few reporters is that much of a big deal.”

  Max whirled on Mike. “No big deal? Those vultures made my life hell for two years. Day and night, they followed me everywhere, pushing their microphones in my face, snapping pictures. There was no way to get rid of them! It was a nightmare!” He started pacing again.

  Mike's eyes got even bigger, and he said, “Shit, Max, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was such a big deal!”

  “I don't know what you are sorry about, why would you even think...” Max stopped again and glared at Mike. He said, “Why are you sorry?”

  “Uh, who? Me?”

  Max's face twisted even more. “You did it! Holy shit!” He watched the guilt pump into Mike's face. “You did it! You told those walking vermin where I was, didn't you?” He was now yelling. “Why would you do that to me? You're supposed to be my friend!”

  Mike stammered, “I didn't know, Max! I didn't know how bad it was. They were offering forty thousand dollars, Max! Forty thousand! I didn't think you'd care that much!”

  Anger and hurt filled Max. He said, “You sold me out for forty thousand dollars?”

  “Max! I swear I didn't know! I told you things have been rough! I needed the money to pay all my credit cards and subcontractors.”

  Disbelief was added to Max's gaze. “Why didn't you come to me? I would have paid you $100,000 just to keep quiet about it!”

  Mike looked shocked. “I couldn't do that! I didn't know how much money you had!” Mike threw back his shoulders and thrust out his jaw a little. “Besides, I earn my own money! I don't take charity. Especially from friends!”

  Max just gaped. He couldn't believe this was happening, and it was brought about by the only person he thought was still his friend. Mike deflated a little. “I swear Max, I swear that I never thought this would bother you so much. I wouldn't have done it if I had.”

  Max saw the contrition in every bone of Mike's body and the anger slumped out of him. After two years of anger and self-loathing, he just didn't have the energy to keep it up any more.

  Max walked over to the bed and threw himself down on it, face first. The rickety old thing gave a mournful shriek and then collapsed on him. Max followed the mattress to the floor and bounced a bit when it stopped. Other than that, he didn't give any indication that he even noticed.

  There was a hint of desperation in his voice when Mike said, “Look Max, I didn't tell them where you lived. All we have to do is wait here until it gets late and they call it quits for the day. Then we can sneak out and lose them.”

  Max laughed bitterly, he said, “Yeah, right.”

  “Look, if we have to, we can stay here for a couple of days and wait them out.” When Max just snorted in response, Mike shut up for a minute and thought. “Come on Max, you’re worth six billion dollars. If it’s really as bad as all that, hell, just get your money guy to buy you a rescue helicopter, have them fly out here, cut a hole through the roof, and carry you off.”

  Max turned his head to glare at Mike. “I've got a better idea. You’re going to go out there and kick some ass. You and your Popeye arms should be able to run her off, and her camera man too.”

  Mike thought about it a moment. “It’s had been a long time since I’ve opened up a can of whup-ass on someone. In fact, the last time, you were the one who dragged me into it. He looked at Max. “I will if you promise to bail me out of jail and pay any fines and legal fees.”

  Max glared at him. “I have a better idea, kick them down the road and bail yourself out with some of that forty thousand dollars you earned by selling me out!”

  There was silence in the room for a moment, and then there was more pounding on the door. Someone, not the blonde, was pleading through the door. “Mr. Faust! Please, let us just ask you some questions, please. Your fans have a right to know what's happening to you. Everyone is dying to know when your next album is coming out! Please, just a short
interview.”

  Mike looked at Max and determination filled his face. “Right, it's clobbering time!”

  Ten minutes later, Mike was standing in the room with his back pushed against the door panting. His nose was bleeding, his left eye was red and swelling, and he was breathing hard. “Holy shit, Max! They've got a crew of six, that little camera guy is stronger than he looks, and that blonde has a mean right hook!”

  Max felt it probably said bad things about himself, but he felt immensely better seeing how beaten up Mike was. He decided just to enjoy it. He was going to hell anyway. Mike staggered off to the bathroom, and Max's briefly lighter mood settled down to a more accustomed melancholy. When Mike came out of the bathroom and flopped down on the bed beside Max, Max was glumly thinking about how his chance for peace had just evaporated.

  The Hell it did! thought Max. Mike was right— he was filthy rich, wasn't he? He called up Tony, who answered on the second ring and cautiously said, “Max?”

  “Hi Tony, listen I need you to do something for me.”

  Tony’s voice was guarded when he said, “Sure Max, what do you need?”

  “Well, I got your financial summary and seeing how I'm filthy rich, I want to spend a little of it.”

  Tony's voice perked up hearing this. “That's it? You just want to spend some money? No problem, tell me what you need, and I'll wire it anywhere you want it.”

  “No, I don't need that. I need a half dozen bodyguards.”

  Now Tony sounded worried again. “Bodyguards? You made it exceptionally clear to me you didn't want any bodyguards with you down there, Max. Is everything okay?”

  “No, Tony, I've got a paparazzi problem. I need someone to run interference for me. See if you can get Dan and Ivan again, they're good guys. Let everyone know that their pay will be doubled for the hardship of living down here till things settle down and these leaches go away.”

  “Now you're talking, boss!”

  “Can you get them down here tomorrow morning?”

  “I'll have them down there in, let’s see... six hours or less.”