Full Tilt (Rock Star Chronicles) Page 10

  “Yeah, it takes an all-out brawl to talk about real life around here.”

  “Do you think you could find me a bottle of that water?” Karen was unsettled by the hostility between Madison and Sheila. Of course, she’d argued with her own mother once in a while, but nothing even close to this.

  Madison got up and went to the fridge.

  “Do you know where Wesley was last night?” Karen inspected the plants in front of her.

  Madison came back with the water. “Why?”

  “Something happened at my house. We saw a white Yukon. It’s a coincidence, I’m sure.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to get into it now. Let’s just say, I think whoever did what they did had to be on some kind of drugs. Was he home last night?”

  “About nine-thirty or so he showed up here with a friend. I’d just gotten back from the library and was freaked out because Dad wasn’t home. I was trying to call him when Wesley pulled in.”

  “In the Yukon?”

  “Yeah.”

  Karen stood and took a look around the corner. “Who was he with?”

  “Guy named Tony Badino. He works at that body shop I told you about. Bad news.”

  “Were they here the rest of the night?”

  “I heard ’em leave at 11:15 or 11:30,” Madison said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t get out of bed, but I heard them outside. They were laughing. Then the car pulled away.”

  Karen unscrewed the cap and took a drink. “Has Wesley been home since you heard him leave last night and this afternoon, when we saw him in the driveway?”

  “He could’ve been. I don’t hear everything.” Madison took a cookie from a jar on the counter. “Was it vandalism?”

  “Yes, but worse.” Karen’s strength seemed to drain away as she pictured Millie’s blood splattered on the snow…her lifeless body in the hole out on the ridge… Somehow, with that loss of life, she buried her dreams to have children along with her beloved dog. “I’ll tell you sometime. This is all just between us, by the way.”

  “What really happened to my dad last night?”

  Karen was spared from answering when Sheila came around the corner, the skin around her eyes and nose bright red.

  “I can finish these later.” She sniffed and waved at the plants. “Let me show you downstairs, Karen, while we have time.”

  Karen turned to Madison. “You want to come?”

  “No. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  Sheila led the way down plush carpeted steps and past framed family photographs and old-fashioned lanterns.

  “Wesley’s got his own apartment in there.” She gestured to the left and walked to the right. “The rec room is in here.”

  It was a sprawling room with dark carpet, nine-foot ceilings, a big-screen TV, stereo, and speakers built into the walls.

  “We have several of Madison’s paintings around the house.” Sheila pointed to one. “This is one of my favorites. She calls it The Grape Picker.” The splashy watercolor showed a close-up of an old man, hunched over, holding a huge bunch of purple grapes in his weathered hand.

  Beyond the entertainment area was a fully stocked bar, and hanging wine glasses. A billiard table was stationed near the bar, as was just about any game imaginable, including ping-pong, pinball, air hockey, and foosball.

  “We decided to turn this far end of the room into a gym.” Sheila rested her hand on the front of a large treadmill, and Karen watched her through the reflection in the mirrored walls that surrounded them. “Problem is, no one ever uses it.”

  They walked back through the room and got to the base of the steps.

  “I guess Wesley didn’t stick around.” She knocked twice on his apartment door and pushed it open. “We’ll just spin through here real quick.”

  The long rectangular room was lit only by the white light of late afternoon, which seeped through the partially opened blinds on three windows along the back wall. Sheila, who seemed as curious as Karen, turned on an overhead light and meandered through the messy kitchen, then sifted through magazines and books on the coffee table in the gathering area.

  “My goodness, here it is,” Sheila said to herself, then looked at Karen. “This was David’s journal. I read it sometimes.” She chuckled and admired it. “I guess Wesley does, too.”

  A phone rang upstairs; Sheila ignored it.

  Karen pointed to a painting of two bare-chested boys. “Is this Wesley and David?”

  Sheila nodded and walked toward it, as if she were meeting a long-lost friend. “Madison painted that from a photograph. We were in Maine one summer—Boothbay Harbor. We rented a house on a lake. It was wonderful.”

  “Mom,” came Madison’s yell from the top of the steps, “phone’s for you. It’s Heidi.”

  “Oh, I’ve got to take that. It’s someone from work.” Sheila headed for the stairs. “Excuse me, will you, just for a few minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  “Just come up when you’re done.” She was gone.

  Karen stood frozen, eyeing the dingy apartment. This was her chance find out, firsthand, what David had thought of Everett and, possibly, what part Wesley may have played in his little brother’s death.

  Take a deep breath and exhale. She picked up the journal and scanned its pages for Everett’s name.

  Many of the entries praised DeathStroke and idolized Everett. The slanted, somewhat sloppy printing mentioned the band’s new albums and repeated lyrics to David’s favorite songs. Karen found mention of a Christmas celebration Everett had missed, as well as a cancelled ski trip, and a forgotten backstage pass. She glanced at her watch. Eight minutes had blown by. Her hands shook as she read.

  I am so very confused. I barely sleep anymore. I’ve taken money from my mom and my dad, and even stolen from friends. I’m making enemies. My life consists of scrounging for money and getting amped on meth. I want to stop; I want to feel normal again. Let me out of this nightmare! Let me love again. Let me be a boy again. I used to be a person. I’m trapped. Can anybody help me?

  Mercy, such a tragic existence. Owned by his addiction—not unlike other Lesters before him. Karen flipped to the rear of the journal and scanned backward until she saw the last bit of writing, dated just before David’s death.

  I am a meth junkie … body DEMANDS crank … depressing existence … jump for the Other Side.

  She set the journal on the table. How would she share its contents with Everett without sending him into a deep state of dejection? After a quick visual inspection of the apartment, she went to the kitchen, where dirty dishes cluttered the countertop by the sink.

  Could there be evidence Wesley was at Twin Streams when Millie died the night before? The bloody knife that was used to slit the dog’s throat, perhaps? Opening and closing several drawers and cabinets, she saw only the commonplace: silverware, plastic wrap, pots and pans, coffee filters, foil, and dishes.

  She longed to know more about Wesley. Was he living a life of addiction and loneliness as David had, so trapped and unloved? Other cabinets revealed nothing out of the ordinary, just pens, scissors, batteries, matches, duct tape, straws, lightbulbs, and paper towels.

  Karen stood puzzled for a moment next to a cupboard that was filled with many packages of the same medicines and first-aid items, things like decongestants, sleeping pills, laxatives, hydrogen peroxide, rubbing alcohol, and numerous boxes of cold and allergy medicine. Although she found the duplicate items odd, she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

  Scampering back through the large apartment, the deck out back caught her eye. Unlocking the door, she stepped out. Chairs were scattered everywhere, as were ashtrays filled with damp cigarette butts. Next to one of the ashtrays she saw what she assumed was a homemade pipe. It had a thin, six-inch glass tube leading to a singed glass bowl filled with black ash and remnants of dried yellowish crystal.

  Glancing around, Karen picked up the pipe, smelled its pungent co
ntents, set it down, and returned inside.

  Knowing she’d better get back upstairs, Karen headed for the steps. But a door on the way—probably a closet—forced her to a standstill. The baby Jesus figure could be behind that door, or Millie’s dog tags… One quick look would pacify her.

  She rested a hand on the knob. Listening intently for noise at the top of the steps and hearing nothing, she opened the door.

  The room was dark and smelled strongly of dirty socks. She felt for a switch and flipped it. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, revealing much more than a closet. It was an unfinished portion of the basement. Concrete floor. Cluttered workbench. Probably Eddie’s stuff. Shelving with odds and ends, boxes of funnels, brake cleaner, and starter fluid. Jugs of antifreeze, drain cleaner, and paint thinner. But no baby Jesus.

  There was one more door across the room. Padlocked. If Wesley had invaded her property, she had a right to check behind that door.

  Hurriedly, she studied the unfinished walls and beams. There. A small gold key, hanging on a nail by some old wreaths. She grabbed it, rushed to the bottom of the steps once more, looked to the top, heard nothing, and headed straight for the heavy metal lock in the unfinished basement.

  When she opened the door, the key still in the lock, the stench overpowered her. Don’t breathe! She slammed the door shut, keeping a hand on the doorknob.

  What can it be? Nothing inside a home was supposed to smell like this.

  Something was dead wrong. Maybe even something dead.

  She had to keep going. This was Everett’s family. One last look and she’d be out of here.

  Lifting her arm, she buried her nose in the crease of her elbow, hoping her sweater would filter out the fumes, Karen pushed open the door again. Still repulsed by the odor—a cross between cat urine and fingernail polish—she coughed violently.

  With her free hand Karen fumbled for a light switch. Finding none, she stepped aside and let the overhead lights from behind shine into the darkness. Her eyes fell to a jumble of containers, tubes, hoses, and clamps—including a silver kettle with what looked like a candy thermometer hanging over the edge. On the ground were propane tanks, one-liter bottles, rubber gloves, and containers of lantern fuel, muriatic acid, and gasoline.

  He’s making bombs or drugs…

  When she leaned left to allow more light into the lab, she caught a glimpse of a piece of twine hanging five feet in front of her. A light. Karen’s heart slammed high in her chest as she stepped into the darkness—careful not to disturb anything—and reached out for the string.

  Clunk.

  Something had dropped on the concrete floor behind her. She spun, releasing her arm from her face.

  It was a man, backlit and standing next to a gray duffel bag.

  “Surprise.”

  She knew who it was when he spoke—Wesley.

  13

  EVERETT AND EDDIE BUNDLED up and left Pappano’s in silence. Everett closed his eyes, relishing each step of freedom and even the stiff, winter wind that assaulted him as they trudged the three blocks to Karen’s Honda.

  On the way to the bank, Everett came close to laying into Eddie for lying to him. The verbal lashing was right there on his tongue, but he relinquished it to God instead. Just left his aggravation at the foot of the cross, turned his back on it, and kept his mouth shut—at least until he could speak rationally.

  Eddie ran the extra money into Pappano’s while Everett crept along for a few blocks in the Honda. Turning the car around, he gradually worked his way back to the restaurant.

  “Done?” Everett asked as the frigid air blew into the car with Eddie’s return.

  “Done.”

  Everett looked behind him and merged into traffic. “I’ll bet that feels good,” he said, then winced. “Sorry. Bad choice of words. Who’d you pay?”

  “Mike.”

  “So, you wanna talk about all this?”

  “What’s there to say?”

  “Start with Mr. B.” Everett tried to keep his voice calm. “Who is he?”

  “Look, Ev, the less you know, the better. Can we just drop it?”

  “No we can’t! I’m involved now, man.”

  “That was your choice! You didn’t have to go in, get the captain all ticked off.”

  “And you didn’t have to lie to me!” The nerve!

  Eddie shook his head and fixed his gaze out the window.

  Everett drove and waited, quickly realizing he wasn’t going to get any more information unless he kept prying.

  “Look, I was there for you last night, I paid your debt, and I’m a big boy. The least you can do is tell me who these people are… He threatened Karen!”

  The car rolled on in silence, and Eddie didn’t flinch in their emotional game of chicken for another minute or so. Just when Everett was about to blow a gasket, Eddie put his window down several inches and started talking. “Captain’s real name is Dominic Badino. They call him Brain Picker. You don’t want to know why.”

  “What’s with the captain?”

  “He runs the show. Second in command only to the boss man. Mike, Sal, Paulie—they’re all just wiseguys, foot soldiers, for the top brass.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before? I could’ve handled it.”

  Eddie looked out his window at the passing buildings, and Everett wanted to pound him in the arm.

  “Who’s the boss?” Everett pressed.

  “Guy named Frank Mendazzo.”

  “I suppose he has a nickname…”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yeah.”

  Eddie looked over with a smirk. “Machine Gun.”

  “Machine Gun Mendazzo…great.”

  “This is what happens when you get involved in my life, brother. It’s like you said this morning, we Lesters got the baggage. That’ll never change.”

  “I shouldn’t have complained this morning. I felt bad for Karen and got down on myself. I’m sorry.”

  “But it was real. That’s how you felt. Are you supposed to suppress those feelings just because you’re religious?”

  “That was nothing but the enemy—”

  “Who’s the enemy?”

  “Satan.”

  Eddie stared straight ahead at the red brake lights of the cab in front of them. “Well, there’s one thing about you that hasn’t changed.” He chuckled. “It’s still all or nothing with you, isn’t it? You’ve really bought into this religious stuff, Satan and all.”

  What was I thinkin’, mentioning a foreign concept like Satan to Eddie? “Why’d you lie to me?”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth about the vig payments and the loan—and that you were dealin’ with the mob?”

  “I was ashamed, okay? What do I need to do, spell it out for you? Bow down and tell you how humiliated I am?”

  “Look, if it’s the money, I don’t care about that. It’s you I’m concerned about—”

  “My world’s caving in, Ev.”

  “Man, if you want to change, there is a way. God’s set me free from the addictions, all the drugs, and the bondage of all the rotten childhood memories. I’ve even forgiven Dad, in my heart. I wish he were still here, so I could tell him…”

  Eddie pursed his lips, shook his head, and stared out the passenger window toward Central Park. “I could never forgive him.”

  “You think the old Ev could have? After all the beatings and mental abuse? But listen, bro, with God living in here,” Everett rested his hand flat on his chest, “anything’s possible.”

  Eddie flipped down his visor, looked in the mirror, and peeled back a Band-Aid. Examining a cut that had scabbed over on his forehead, he ripped off the bandage completely, wadded it up, and flicked it out the window.

  “Bro, you’ve tried everything else. Nothing’s made you whole. Why don’t you just acknowledge your need for Him?” There. It was out there for Eddie.

  Large snowflakes began fallin
g, and Everett turned the wipers on. The Honda hummed southbound on Fifth Avenue toward the financial district and the lot where Eddie had left his car. For a few minutes, there was silence except for the muffled noise of horns and city life outside.

  “Look, Ev, all that’s happened to you, with your faith, is great. I’m glad that’s worked for you.”

  “Worked for me? You say it so casually, like it’s one of a bunch of options, like diet or exercise or yoga. Dude, this is the only thing that can transform you!”

  “You sound just like Mary did when she went off the deep end, you know that?” Eddie huffed. “Exactly! Gimme a break.”

  Although he’d usually been inebriated when they talked, Everett clearly remembered the days when his sister would preach at him over the phone while he was on tour with DeathStroke. And here he was, guilty of it himself. Although Mary later apologized for those years of what she called judgment and legalism, Everett suddenly understood her boldness—and urgency.

  It had all been about love and a faith that was real.

  Like Everett’s life back then, Eddie’s was disintegrating. He was so fragmented and miserable, so out of control that, like Mary had, Everett feared for his brother’s life. He truly believed he might be the only person who would ever have the opportunity to confront Eddie with the truth about the decision of an eternity.

  “I’m sorry,” Everett said. “I don’t mean to sound like I’ve done something great by giving my life to God and that you’re beneath me if you don’t. That’s not true. He saved me—through the love of other people. All I did was believe. I just want the same for you. I want to spend eternity with you.” Tears filled Everett’s eyes.

  “There’s been too much damage, my friend. And I got too much to do to sit back and try to talk myself into believing in something or Someone who’s supposed to love me but has done nothing but fill my life with pain. No offense.”

  “But, man—”

  “You’re gonna need to hang a right on Ninth, comin’ right up.”

  Everett lost his train of thought as he quickly maneuvered the Honda over one lane and made the right.