by Joseph Reid
“Okay.” I had absolutely no idea if I could actually pull that off, but where was the harm in trying? She’d been so nice to help, it seemed rude to disappoint her.
As I was listening to Enjeti talk, things started to dim around the edges. I tried to concentrate on what she was saying, but it was as if my body knew she’d finished everything important, and now it could shut down and rest. All my muscles started yielding—my eyelids drooped, my head sagged to my chest.
Last thing I remember, she was talking to Brian and Shen. “Have him ice it on and off for twenty-four hours to reduce swelling. Then he can take ibuprofen or naproxen for the—”
CHAPTER 6
Pain.
Everywhere.
I had no idea what time it was, or how long I’d been unconscious. When my eyes finally opened, they found the room filled with bright, natural light and decided they’d rather go back to being closed. The earpiece was chattering in my left ear, as always, and now the background noise felt particularly reassuring.
Gradually, my brain reached out to each extremity in turn, asking how it felt, gauging the damage.
I was surprised at the results.
My whole body throbbed with a dull ache. Various parts were colder than others. But overall, it could have been worse. Much worse.
The fact I’d slept straight through the night was a pleasant bonus.
I decided to force my eyes open again, and shortly after I did, the doorknob turned.
Shen ambled in and, seeing I was awake, smiled. “I was coming to change your ice.”
“Time?” My voice croaked; my throat felt raw and sore.
“Almost four in the afternoon.”
I went to swallow, then realized I didn’t have any spit to do it with. “Max?”
“She’s up and around. Been eating like a horse.” Circling to the opposite side of the bed, he pulled bags off my shoulder and knee. I heard the ice crunching and shifting, but as I tried to roll and see where he put them, I realized I was wedged in place by stacks of pillows on either side of me.
“Anjali didn’t want you rolling over. Said you needed to stay flat on your back to avoid messing up your shoulder.”
Only now did I realize I was wearing different clothes—one of Shen’s T-shirts and some baggy athletic shorts. My left arm remained bound up in the sling, draped across my chest. The skin on my shoulder started to tingle where the ice bag had been, but otherwise the whole area felt pretty numb.
“Lemme up,” I said, realizing I needed his help with the pillows.
“Sure, but sit here a minute and drink something. She said you might be dizzy if you stood too fast. You still need more fluids.”
Shen helped me sit on the edge of the bed, then handed me a glass of water. I held the first sip in my mouth for a moment, letting my tongue bathe in it. Then I swallowed, the cold liquid slipping down my throat, smoothing out the roughness and convincing me I needed more. I downed the rest of the glass in two large swallows and said, “Okay, I’m ready.”
Pushing myself off the bed with my good arm, I noticed Shen readying himself just in case, but my legs felt reasonably strong. “I’m all right,” I said. “I’m good.”
He started out of the room, glancing back at me periodically, and I began to follow. But where standing had been easy, walking turned out to be harder. My left knee had turned a deep purple, with a tangerine-size knot swollen on the top of it. With the stitches, my right leg felt oddly stiff, and I didn’t want to flex the muscle too much. Together, the injuries on both sides left me unable to limp, so I kind of staggered, each leg shuffling forward awkwardly, then pausing for the other to do the same.
Slowly, I made it to the hallway, and then to the kitchen, where I moved a bar stool so I could stand at the counter.
“You don’t wanna sit?” Shen asked.
I tried to crack a smile. “I’ll never get up again if I do.”
Max was seated across the bar, talking to Brian, who was moving around the kitchen with his usual flair. Whatever he was cooking, it had a deep, warm aroma. She was munching on an apple and looked the healthiest I’d seen her since the plane ride.
“Hey,” she said, noticing me, “you’re alive.”
Nodding, I said, “You, too.”
“Thank you,” she said. “For last night. I’m sorry you got so . . .”
I shrugged. “Risks of the job.”
Max’s lips pressed against each other, like she was going to say something else. But she paused, and then glanced to each side. “You have cool friends.”
“Yeah, they’re the best.” In my peripheral vision, I caught both guys smiling. “I don’t suppose you’ve thanked them for taking us in?”
Max opened her mouth, but before any words could pop out, Brian said, “She has, actually. We’ve been having a nice conversation.”
She gave me a teasing smile. “They were telling me how you used to be some kind of giant tech nerd. Back before you learned how to shoot people.”
“I think I still am. A giant nerd.”
“Oh yeah.” Shen nodded vigorously at Max. “Biggest smarty-smart I know. And given the people I work for, that’s saying something. Gimpy over there ran an entire division of the electronics company that probably makes half the devices you own.”
“Really?” She turned her gaze to me. “Why did you—”
“Long story,” I said, realizing it was past time to change the subject. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she said. “Sleep helped.” You could see her thinking for a moment; then her face fell. “When are you turning me back over to the FBI?”
“I’m not.”
She perked up at that, but I’d already focused on a pad and pencil sitting in the middle of the counter. Stretching desperately for them, I found they were just out of my reach. I’d just resigned myself to having to shuffle around to them when Shen came over and pushed them closer. My cheeks grew hot, and I wondered if I was still pale enough for the blush to be noticeable. “Thanks.”
Shen shook his head before returning to the back of the couch he’d been leaning against.
“I’m thinking someone must’ve hired those guys to come after you. We need to make a list of all the people that could’ve done that.”
Max cocked her head. “Hired them?”
“I don’t think they’re trying to kill you ’cause they hated your last CD. You said you’d never seen them before, never had any dealings with them, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay, so they must be working for someone else. As I see it, that’s one of two kinds of people: either someone criminally connected, or someone who’s rich and powerful. Let’s start with criminals. You know anyone with a record? Drug dealer, maybe?”
Max’s eyes narrowed and burned at me. “I don’t do illegal drugs.”
“You drink.”
“Alcohol’s legal.” She started scratching at her forearm with the nails of her opposite hand.
“Not for someone your age.”
Sighing, she rolled her eyes so hard, it tossed her head back slightly. “Haven’t we had this argument already?”
“C’mon,” I said, “you’re a rock star. You’ve never smoked pot? Never tried anything?”
“I don’t have a drug dealer. The tabloids say all that stuff, but the only person who’s ever given me any drugs is my pediatrician.”
“Okay, okay.” I held up my hands. “Anybody else? Anybody you can think of who might be tied in with sketchy people who do sketchy things? What about that bodyguard your dad fired?”
“Brad? He’d never try to hurt me.”
“Wasn’t he angry when your dad got rid of him?”
“Sure. But you heard the FBI—they checked him out.”
“At this point I don’t think we can necessarily trust their work. What’s Brad’s last name, and where’s he live?”
“Brad Civins,” she said. “He used to live in Austin, where we live. Now, I don’t kn
ow.”
I wrote down the name. “Okay. Anybody else with criminal connections? Roadies, anybody tough?”
Max shook her head definitively.
“All right. Let’s try the rich-and-powerful angle. Who’ve you pissed off that has more money than God?”
She tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, then started twisting the stool so her knees swung from side to side.
“And don’t tell me nobody,” I said. “I’ve listened to enough news pieces—I know there are some serious grudges out there against you.”
“I’d say probably the person who was the most mad at me—like, yelling, angry, flipping out—was Nancy Irvine.”
I made another note. “Who’s that?”
“She’s a movie producer in Hollywood.”
“What happened?”
Max smiled dismissively and shook her head. “This was, like, forever ago. But I was supposed to star in this musical she was doing. Just before shooting was about to start, my dad caught her trying to screw with my contract. When she refused to fix it, he had me ‘withdraw from the project.’” She made air quotes with her fingers.
Although I seriously doubted some Hollywood producer would be out hiring a tattooed militia over something like that, I scribbled some notes on the pad. “You said she flipped out?”
“Yeah, she called me on my phone and yelled at me. Called me names and all this other crap. Said blonde little brats like me were a dime a dozen, and I should be on my knees thanking her ’cause she was so important, and she’d never been so insulted, and she’d end me over it.”
I glanced up. “She actually said she would ‘end you’? Those were her words?”
“Uh-huh.” Max nodded, then smiled with her chin raised in the air.
“Did you tell the FBI about this?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They never asked. They never asked me any questions, they just talked to my dad.”
I looked at Shen, then Brian. They were often better judges of character than I was, particularly with women. Both raised their eyebrows at me as if they were thinking the same thing. I turned back to Max. “Okay, we’ll look at her. Anyone else?”
“Well, if you really want to know who I think is out to get me, it’s Charlie.”
“Charlie?”
“Charlie Garcia.”
“Who’s that?”
She shot me a look like I said I’d never heard of George Washington. “He’s president of my label.”
“Your record label? Why would he want to get rid of you? You must make him piles of money.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t care about that. Not anymore. The label was pure Tejano before I got there, and he wants to dump me so he can go back to that.”
“You really think so?” I asked.
“Charlie said so. Told me I’m too much of a hassle, and that he wished I never came along. After everything I’ve done for him.” Max’s voice had picked up a nasty edge.
“It doesn’t sound like you and Charlie like each other very much.”
Max shook her head and looked wistfully off into space. “For a while, it was good. I . . . trusted him. But then my dad figured out Charlie was screwing me on royalties. He still owes me a ton.”
“Did your dad confront him about the money?”
“I think so. And that’s when things changed. He’d always been cool before, but he turned . . . I don’t know, controlling. Always telling me what to do. Where my career should go, what kind of songs to record. Yelling at me.” Max paused, then leaned back in her chair. Her eyebrows rose, and a smile spread across her face.
“Why are you smiling?” I asked.
“’Cause Charlie’s in for a big surprise.”
I checked both sides again, but the guys looked as confused as I was. “What do you mean?”
“He thinks he’s gonna ditch me, but I’m totally getting rid of him first. My contract is up the day I turn seventeen, and we haven’t worked out an extension. So on my birthday, I’m walking, and Charlie can go back to searching those scrubby little barrio clubs for his next big thing.”
“You told me your birthday’s coming up, right?”
“Twenty days.”
“Does Charlie know about this?”
Max shook her head. “Of course not. That’s why it’s going to be so great. The look on his face when he finds out is going to be awesome.”
“What about your dad—does he know about you wanting to switch labels?”
Max hesitated before answering. “It was partly his idea.”
It seemed like there might be even more there, but I didn’t press any further. Instead, I looked down at the pad and scribbled something unintelligible to keep Max from seeing the expression on my face. I wasn’t totally sure I bought the idea that this Charlie Garcia was actively trying to chase off the biggest act on his label. But if she was about to double-cross him and walk out? That was plenty of motive. And while Max didn’t think he saw it coming, I guessed he might be more observant than she was giving him credit for. Garcia had just jumped to the top of my list of suspects.
“Is there anybody else we should talk about?”
Max looked up at the ceiling again. “I don’t think so.”
“Where does Garcia live?”
“Austin.”
“And Irvine’s out here?”
Max nodded. “I went to her house once. Big place, right on the beach.”
An electronic timer sounded in the kitchen. After consulting the pots and pans, Brian announced dinner would be served in twenty minutes. Max snatched her little purse off the counter and said she was going to the bathroom.
I turned to Shen. “Can you and I take a little drive?”
Climbing into the passenger’s seat of the Lexus with all my injuries was a painful chore, but I told myself at least it wasn’t a Miata. As we were backing out of the garage, Shen asked, “Where to?”
“Someplace crowded,” I said. “Lots of cell towers.”
“I’ll take us down into Hollywood.”
Shen guided the Lexus along a series of winding streets. As we moved down the hill, the foliage gradually disappeared, and the houses grew closer together. After two silent minutes, he asked, “You think it’s one of those people Max said?”
I shrugged. “Garcia sounds like the best bet. Although I was surprised the producer said she’d ‘end’ Max. That was weird enough to make me wonder about her. What’d you make of it all?”
He grimaced and shook his head. “Trouble.”
“You think Max is lying?”
“No. I just think she’s trouble.”
I grinned the best I could manage. “I thought you were a big fan.”
“Let’s just say the idea and the reality of her are two different things.” He paused a beat. “She’s not your responsibility, you know.”
“My job is to keep her safe. Literally.”
“No, your job was to fly her ass from New York to LA. Which you did. Now you can turn her back over to the big boys who do this all the time.”
“’Cause they’ve done such a bang-up job so far?”
“From what you said, they got caught off guard at the airport. That won’t happen again.” He paused until I looked him in the eye. “You ain’t up to this. Not right now.”
“Anjali did a good job patching me up—”
“I’m not talking about your body, fool. How much time did you have to grieve over Sarah, five minutes? Now you’re back, doing this again?”
“Look, if you’re worried about Brian and the house, I’ll get us out ASAP.”
We’d reached a red light, and Shen turned to face me. “That’s not it, dude. You know—”
Nodding, I said, “I do. And I appreciate you looking out for me. But don’t worry. I’m just going to chase down a couple of things—”
“That’s what you said last time.”
The light changed as he said it. But as the Lexu
s lurched forward, it felt like I left my stomach behind at the intersection.
I looked to my forearm, where the tattooed initials seemed to sizzle on my skin. Despite all the other things on my mind, even over the hum of the earpiece, all the images of Sarah I’d tried so desperately to file away came spilling back out of their hiding places.
The bright sparkle in her eyes. The way she’d seemed to fit so naturally in my arms.
The expression of fear and betrayal she’d worn that last time we’d talked. When she’d actually fallen for the frame-up and feared I was a killer.
The last time I’d seen her before . . . before she was never the same.
After the initial shock of it, my brain rushed to clean up the mess, even as my muscles tightened and my fists clenched. “Last time was different,” I said, doing my best to make sure Shen knew I believed that. “Here, I just need to see if I can get the heat off Max. Or at least figure out where it’s coming from. She’s a kid, for chrissake.”
Pursing his lips, Shen nodded silently, like I imagine he does at work when he realizes one of the patent examiners isn’t going to budge on a point. Still, he didn’t argue any further, and that was a relief. I needed to think through exactly what I could and couldn’t say on this phone call.
Shen turned from Sunset onto Santa Monica Boulevard. With the summer days at their longest, the sun was still a couple of hours from setting, and it painted the street and sidewalks with bright, golden light that half blinded us as we pressed westward.
Once we reached East Hollywood, Shen asked, “Anyplace special?”
“No. I just didn’t want them getting a fix on your house.” Even before integrated GPS, you could track a cell phone by triangulating the distance between it and the surrounding cell towers it was using to communicate. Now, the second your phone made contact with the tower, the carrier likely had your exact location.
As Shen pulled into a spot at LA City College, I turned on the phone and dialed. The number rang three times before Lavorgna answered.
“Vince, can you talk?”
“Seth, thank Christ! We heard about your house—local police roped us in once they figured out who owned it. I sent Linda out to stand guard.”