by Tripp Ellis
Paxton tossed me a pair of handcuffs.
There was a sconce light bolted to the bulkhead. It had a double stem, L-shaped arm. I slapped one cuff around my wrist, then threaded the other through the arms of the lamp and ratcheted it tight. I figured with some doing, I might be able to pry the whole thing loose from the bulkhead.
"Where's Lyric?" I asked.
"I don't know why you bother asking questions at this point. Where you are going, the answers won't do you any good."
He took my phone before he pulled the hatch shut. I heard his footsteps shuffle across the deck, then up the stairs to the salon.
I tugged on the sconce, trying to pry it from the bulkhead. It felt solid. It would take a lot more effort than I anticipated.
A few minutes later, the engines rumbled to life, and soon we were idling out of the marina.
It was a troublesome development.
Bonnie's body was sprawled out on the bed. There was a bobby-pin in her hair. In the commotion of her death, and struggle for life, her hair had been tousled and the pin barely clung to a nodded tangle of hair. If I could reach it, I might be able to pick the lock to the handcuff.
I stretched for the bed, angling from the sconce. The bobby-pin was just out of reach.
I grabbed the sheets and pulled the body closer. With a few more tugs, the metal pin was within reach. I snatched it between my fingers, spread the clip, and inserted it into the key slot. It only took a few seconds of fumbling with the mechanism, and the cuff released. I pulled my wrist free and glanced around the compartment, looking for anything I could use as a weapon.
I rifled through the drawers in the stateroom but found nothing besides frilly lace panties, jewelry, clothing, a baseball cap, sunglasses, and other personal belongings—some of which were quite naughty. This was Nikki's stateroom, after all.
I padded across the compartment to the hatch and listened. The engine rumbled, and the boat pitched as it carved through the swells. Through the porthole, I could see the marina in the distance. We were heading out to the open ocean. There was no doubt that Paxton planned to kill me and dump me overboard, along with Bonnie's body.
I slowly twisted the handle and pulled the hatch open without making a sound. I tiptoed into the companionway and pulled the hatch shut behind me. Moving forward, I held up at the bulkhead near the stairs to the salon.
Paxton's voice filtered below deck. He was talking with his partner. "Go check on our guest. Make sure he is not getting into any trouble.”
46
I darted into the guest suite across the corridor and pulled the hatch shut behind me.
Duke's heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs, then he headed aft to the master stateroom.
I quietly pushed out of the guest compartment and crept aft. Just as Duke swung open the hatch to the master stateroom, I kicked the back of his knee. His legs buckled, dropping him to the deck. I planted a hard knee into his spine, then dropped an elbow onto his neck, causing him to tumble forward on all fours. I cocked my foot back and kicked him in the balls as hard as I could.
He groaned in agony, flattening to the deck. I pounced on his back and put him in a choke hold. I squeezed my arm tight, and he clawed at me.
Duke was a big guy, and I felt like I was trying to strangle an ox. He pushed off the deck and rolled onto his back. I held on for dear life, crunching under the weight of the massive beast. My already cracked ribs sent a jolt of pain through my body.
I mustered all the strength I had, trying to choke the life out of the bastard. He kept elbowing me in the ribs and clawing at me. He reached a meaty hand back, grabbed a tuft of my hair, and pulled as hard as he could. He torqued my neck, and I felt like the follicles were going to rip from my scalp if this continued much longer.
He reached for his pistol and drew it from its holster. He brought the weapon around, angling it behind him at my face. His thumb fumbled to click off the safety.
I kept squeezing tight, cutting off the blood flow to his brain. The gun hovered there for a second, drawing closer. Then Duke went limp, and the gun clattered to the deck. The big ogre melted like warm putty.
He was like a fallen sequoia on top of me, pinning me to the deck. Not a place I wanted to be. The guy weighed a ton.
With my left hand, I fumbled for the pistol on the deck and tried to shove the ogre off of me.
Paxton cut the throttle, and the boat settled into the swells. I guess Paxton had heard the commotion and made his way below deck to investigate. He pushed into the compartment with his weapon drawn just as I picked up Duke’s pistol.
There was no time for witty banter. No condescending exchanges. Paxton squeezed the trigger.
So did I.
I wasn’t naturally left-handed, but I had acquired the ability to shoot either way, though I was better right-handed.
The pistol hammered against my palm, and muzzle flash flickered from the barrel. Our bullets crisscrossed in the air, and the sharp smell of gunpowder wafted through the compartment.
I heard a dull thud and felt a jolt to my chest. That typically wasn’t a good sign.
My bullet hit Paxton in the chest, spewing a geyser of crimson blood as he fell back against the bulkhead, then slid to the deck.
I squeezed another shot off, pelting him for a second time in the chest, splattering the bulkhead red.
Paxton stared at me for a moment with bewildered eyes. He attempted to fire one last shot, but he could barely keep his pistol raised. His strength faded, and so did his essence.
The gun clattered to the deck as it fell from his hand, and Paxton’s body went limp.
The bullet he shot at me had entered Duke’s chest, and the big meaty ogre absorbed the impact, shielding me from the blast.
I crawled out from underneath the dead slab of meat and felt my chest for any penetrating wounds.
I’d gotten lucky.
I checked both of the stiffs, just to make sure they were dead. I searched Paxton and found JD’s pistol. I took it back and shoved it into the holster in my waistband. I retrieved my new phone. With my shirt, I wiped down Duke’s pistol, removing my fingerprints, then carefully placed it into his hand and made sure to put his prints on the weapon and on the trigger. I found the handcuffs and wiped my prints from the metal. There were three corpses on this boat, and I had no intention of reporting the incident to the LAPD.
I left the stateroom, wiped my prints from the door handle, and continued down the companionway, wiping any surfaces I had touched.
I climbed the stairs to the salon and surveyed the area. There was no one else on board, and the boat was drifting through the water a few miles offshore. The sun had dipped over the horizon, and the sky was midnight blue—the last traces of light keeping it from total blackness.
At the helm, I throttled up and banked the boat around, heading back to the marina. The engines rumbled, and the yacht plowed through the swells.
47
The boat idled through the inky water of the marina, and I pulled into the slip and tied off. There was no reason to connect water and power. I wiped down the helm controls and anything else I might have touched. I remembered there was a baseball cap in one of the drawers in the master stateroom. I grabbed the hat and a pair of sunglasses before leaving the yacht.
I stepped to the aft deck, pushed through the boarding gate, and onto the dock. The night sky had a purple-ish glow from the lights of the city, making it impossible to see any stars overhead.
I walked away from the yacht casually. There was no one else in this section of the marina. Before long, I was strolling across the dark parking lot. My phone was off, and I didn’t have any intention of turning it on. I didn’t want phone records to show I was anywhere near this place.
I kept walking. My body was sore and achy, but adrenaline still pumped through my veins from the ordeal. I wasn’t quite sure how far it was from Marina del Rey to West Hollywood, but it was a lot farther than I wanted to walk.
At a c
orner gas station, I saw a cab filling up. I approached the driver. “Need a lift to West Hollywood.”
“Hop in,” the driver said.
I pulled open the door and slipped into the backseat. He finished pumping the gas, replaced the nozzle and gas cap, then climbed behind the wheel. He started up the car and switched on the meter. I watched the red numbers increase as we drove up the 405 and took the 10 to La Cienega.
During the drive, I had a sour, nervous feeling in my stomach. I had no idea what happened to Lyric—and with Paxton’s demise, I would probably never know.
I had the cab driver drop me off at the corner of La Cienega and Sunset. I paid him in cash. I stepped to the curb and watched him drive away. He turned onto Sunset, heading east.
It was only a few blocks up to the Château. I staggered into the lobby, and requested another key from the front desk. I marched to the elevators and went up to my suite. Through the door, I heard commotion inside. I slipped my key into the slot, pushed open the door, and stepped into the foyer.
JD and the crew were pre-gaming before the show.
Jack’s face twisted when he saw me. “What the hell happened to you?”
“We don’t have a dirty cop problem anymore,” I said.
“I gotta hear this.”
I dug in my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. I powered the device on, and an instant later, a dozen texts dinged through, flashing on my screen.
Most of them were from JD.
But a few were from Lyric.
I called her back immediately. “Where are you?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all afternoon.”
“I was worried sick about you. They said you were missing on the news. The hotel said you checked out, and you weren’t at home.”
“Oh, I have to check in with you now?” she asked in a sassy, playful tone. “I’m still at the Château, silly.”
“They said you checked out.”
“I told them at the front desk not to tell anyone that I was here, and that if a cop came looking for me, tell him I checked out.”
I exhaled a breath, chuckling at my stupidity. “I didn’t consider that.”
“I forgot to call into the station, and since I didn’t have my cell phone, they thought the worst. Especially after all the threats and vandalism I’ve been experiencing lately.”
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I have to admit, I was getting worried about you.”
“I’m fine. Sort of. But, I think our situation is taken care of. I’ll tell you all about it later.”
“What about my car?”
I cringed. “Sorry about that.”
“I haven’t been inclined to call the LAPD and inquire about it. Do I even want to know?”
I gave her the full story and didn’t spare any details. She seemed understanding.
“Look, I’m going to hop in the shower. It’s been a rough few days. JD’s band is playing tonight. You should tag along if you’re up to it.”
“Are you kidding me? I’ve been cooped up in this hotel room all day, stressed out of my mind. The only time I left was to get my phone from the house. I need a little release.”
I gave her my room number and told her to come by when she was ready.
I went to the bathroom and peeled out of my clothes. My dress shirt was speckled with blood. I soaked it in the sink, trying to get the stains out of it before I sent it out to be cleaned.
I twisted the nozzle and, when the shower was steaming, climbed inside and let the water soothe my aching muscles. Afterward, I got dressed and prepared myself for a much-needed drink.
I rejoined the others in the living room.
“Can you believe who showed up?” JD asked, a proud grin on his face.
Sloan smiled. ”I couldn’t miss your big debut in Hollywood.”
“I’m really glad you’re here. This moment wouldn’t be the same without someone special to share it with.”
She mocked him, playfully. “Aw, isn’t that sweet?”
“It is sweet, if I do say so myself,” JD said. He looked at his watch. “We need to get going. Don’t want to miss our own show. Scarlett's running late, but she said she'd meet us there."
There was a knock at the door. When I pulled it open, Lyric’s eyes widened. "Oh, my God! What happened to your face?"
"I'll tell you all about it." I motioned for her to enter.
Lyric sauntered into the living room, wearing a tight black dress and stiletto heels. I introduced her to the gang, and in typical fashion, they drooled.
The two bottles of whiskey that I bought from the liquor store were tapped out, and the band had gone through everything in the minibar. It would be an expensive bill, but the studio was picking up the tab. I'm sure they were used to Hollywood excesses.
We left the hotel and walked several blocks west to Sour Mash. The bouncer recognized Jack from the soundcheck and waved us in. I think he had realized he wasn’t the famous ‘80s singer. The place was packed, and there was a line around the corner to get in. I think even JD was stunned by the size of the crowd.
"I knew we sold out, but I didn't expect this many people,” JD said.
Another band was on stage, cranking out solid rock 'n' roll. The deafening wave of sound blanketed the audience. The place smelled like spilled beer and whiskey, mixed with recreational herbal spices.
Scarlett showed up with one of her hot friends—a stunning brunette with sparkling blue eyes, tanned skin, and legs for days.
The band ogled the two and crowded around them. JD scowled at his bandmates, flashing them threatening glances.
Scarlett could take care of herself. She'd been surrounded by ravenous wolves many times before.
Unlike the bars back home, the band didn't get free drinks here. JD bought a round for everyone, and we all toasted to the debut of Wild Fury on the Sunset Strip.
It wasn't long before JD and the band headed back to the greenroom to put their game faces on. They finally took the stage around 11:30 PM. With all of Jack's promotional efforts—the billboards, the radio spots, the social media ads, and their aggressive flyer campaign on Sunset Boulevard—the eager crowd anticipated a monumental show.
The pressure was on Wild Fury to deliver.
The initial response from the crowd was optimistic, but not overwhelming. None of them had ever heard Wild Fury live before, except a few diehard fans that had found clips of the band's concerts online.
Styxx sat behind a candy apple red drum set and clicked off the beat. Dizzy and Crash chimed in. The bass boomed, and Dizzy's guitar crunched razor-like riffs. The kick drum pounded, and the wall of sound bowled over the crowd.
Jack pranced around on stage, his long hair flowing. He flung his hair, grabbed the microphone, and screamed the first verse.
The band hit the audience with a classic ‘80s hit. Waves of sonic bliss washed over the audience, soothing any apprehension they might have had about the quality of the band.
With perfect pitch, Jack howled the vocals, and the crowd roared.
Lights swirled, slashing the air. Fog machines billowed smoke onto the stage, and once again, rock 'n' roll ruled the day.
Howls erupted after the first song, and the audience cheered.
"You want more, or have you had enough?" JD asked the crowd.
His question was met with unanimous response.
He grinned. "This is one of our own."
The band launched into one of their originals. By the time the first chorus rolled around, heads were banging.
A surprised look painted Scarlett's face. She shouted in my ear, “Holy shit! They're actually good."
I chuckled. "Your old man's got talent. Who knew?"
The band hammered out a set that left the audience ecstatic. There were screams and whistles. Cheers and chants for more. Wild Fury had lightning in a bottle, and they had unleashed it on the Sunset Strip. The set created addicts and ex
panded their tribe of loyal followers.
After the show, the band was swarmed with groupies. There were short skirts, high heels, push-up bras, teased hair, and ample amounts of eye-catching cleavage.
Somehow, JD managed to ignore all of the luscious temptations. He made a beeline for Sloan, she was the only one he had eyes for. She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek and told him, “That was amazing. Best show yet."
A proud grin curled on Jack's face. "This is only the beginning."
48
A slick man in a suit plowed through the crowd of groupies, making his way to JD. He was in his late 20s, dark hair, dark eyes, handsome features, well groomed, expensive watch. He handed a business card to JD and flashed a brilliant smile. “Amazing show. And when I say amazing, I mean A-MAZ-ING! And I don’t use that term often. Jonathan Sullivan. Auralogic Records. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The two shook hands.
“Thank you,” JD said. “Good to meet you as well.”
“Has anyone ever told you you look exactly like…”
“All the time.”
“I did a double-take when I first saw your billboard. How have I not heard of the band before?”
“We are not local.”
Jonathan’s brow lifted with surprise. “Not local? Yet, you managed to pack this place. That’s no easy feat.”
JD grinned. “Well, we have a certain appeal.”
“And a lot of marketing savvy. I saw your billboards, I heard your interview on the radio. I had to admit. I was intrigued. You coordinated all this yourself?”
Jack nodded with pride.
“Amazing. Look, I don’t want to take up too much of your time, you have some well-deserved celebrating to do. But I like your style. And your sound is amazing. The originals you played… Did you write those, or did you hire a songwriter?”
“We wrote those as a band,” JD said.
“Amazing.” There was that rarely used word of his again. “I see big possibilities for you guys. What you’ve been able to accomplish on your own is—”