“Nothin’!” Wesley’s whole body jerked. “Dude said I’d been geekin’ over there for hours.”
Tony looked at his watch, one of those mod ones on a thick, black leather band.
“What time you got?” Wesley murmured, his head doing a one-eighty one way, then the other.
“We’ve been here awhile.” Tony looked back at the car stereo display. “I had my heart set on one of these bad boys…”
“I’m not kiddin’, Tony, we gotta blow. The whole store’s probably been alerted by now. Listen for an announcement like Code Red or something secret like that, you know what I mean? Where they use code words to alert the employees. Have you heard anything like that? Over the PA?”
“You’re losin’ it, Lester,” Tony puffed, examining Wesley up and down and giving the stereos one final touch. “We better scram, just in case you’re not hallucinating for once.”
Tony led the way by several paces, heading toward the front of the store. Wesley peered back toward sporting goods as he tagged along, but old Blue Vest was out of sight.
“You’re so paranoid. I can’t take you out in public.”
“Not quite.” Wesley’s heart drum-drum-drummed like a rabbit’s inside his baggy green army jacket. “We’ll be lucky to make it to the car. Keep your eyes peeled. You don’t have anything on you, do you?”
“Just the usual.” Tony sneered, buttoning the top of his coat.
“Are you crazy? How’d you get it?”
“Dude went to help a lady find somethin’. Left the pharmacy door wide open. No one else around.”
Wesley shook his head. “They’re gonna bust us for sure.”
“They ain’t gonna bust nobody, Lester.”
They trucked past the paint, past the hardware, then past the toys, toys, toys. Past the pet stuff, beauty supplies, and pharmacy.
“I guarantee this place is going to be crawling with heat when we hit the doors,” Wesley whined. “You watch.”
“You watch me walk straight to the car, you wimp.”
A cold wind ripped through the giant entryway, where all the candy and pop machines, shopping carts, and arcade games were situated. The thin, orange-haired lady whose job was stamping returns shot them a crooked-toothed smile.
As they hit the huge parking lot, Wesley shoved his hands in his coat pockets and wrapped the army coat tight around his waist. Passing a homely Santa wearing headphones and ringing a bell by a red kettle, Wesley gnawed at the inside of his bottom lip again. Chewing, chewing, chewing. But there wasn’t any pain now—wouldn’t be for a few days.
Tony was four feet ahead of him, gray stocking cap tight over his head, hands cupped at his mouth, lighting a Marlboro. He took a lungful of smoke and waved his arm through the air in a big circle.
“I told you you were freakin’ out over nothin’. That’s ’cause that stuff we smoked was la glass, baby. One hundred percent pure meth-am-phet-a-mine!”
Wesley was relieved to be out of the store and breathing fresh air again. He even allowed a smile to break out as they hustled in the direction of the SUV.
Just get to the Yukon, get to the Yukon, get to the Yukon.
“I stepped all over that package we sold your buddy last night,” Tony boasted from his own little world. “That stuff was half baking soda and vitamin B.” He cackled as a pang of sorrow unsettled Wesley then disappeared.
Footsteps. Coming quickly.
You’re just paranoid.
A stocky white guy in jeans, a tan coat, and a Mets stocking cap locked a big arm around Tony’s shoulder.
Wesley heard the words in-store detective and beat it for the SUV, the pavement feeling like it was a mile away from each step.
Keys out of pocket, dancing with each stride, he looked down frantically and hit “unlock.”
The Yukon’s lights flashed and horn beeped at the same moment Tony exploded, ripping the detective’s arm from his shoulder and whirling the dude around with all his might. In the fray, four yellow boxes of cold medicine tumbled to the pavement from beneath Tony’s overcoat.
As the detective’s eyes flashed toward the ground, Tony squinted and sent his legs into the air like a windmill. His right boot bashed the detective’s Adam’s apple, sending him crunching into the side of a maroon Toyota Tundra then to the hard ground.
Wesley brought the Yukon to life, and Tony found the passenger handle as it was darting backward. The detective gasped for air and clutched his neck as onlookers gathered at the store entrance some forty feet away.
As soon as Tony’s left boot touched the floor of the passenger side, Wesley mashed the accelerator. The force of the Yukon lurching forward almost threw Tony back onto the blacktop, but he pulled himself in, laughing hysterically as his door slammed shut and the Yukon sailed through the Wal-Mart parking lot.
4
MIST SPRINKLING HER TEARSTAINED face, Karen walked the barren hillside in silence. She’d forgone the concert in Queens and returned to Twin Streams, Everett’s and her farm estate in Bedford. The leafless trees on the ridge in the distance were black and spindly against the bleak sky, resembling black ink spills, like the stains that threatened to blot out the vibrancy that once filled her heart.
As usual for December in New York, the late afternoon sky was pale gray, almost matching the color of the melting two-day-old snow on the rolling hills. The only sound Karen noticed was the soft squash of snow beneath her boots. The collies, Rosey and Millie, tagged along out of breath, their pink tongues dangling, their fluffy tails wagging, with no clue Karen’s world had forever changed.
She struggled to put one numb foot in front of the other. Her insides ached for her home and church in Topeka, her roots and family and things familiar.
Unreal, wasn’t it?
Married less than a year to the handsome rock idol whose salvation she’d prayed for since she was a teenager. Wealthy beyond measure. Yet, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit how often she contemplated the drastic changes her life had taken. Everything used to be so easy, so carefree. Now, it seemed, there were new trials to bear each day, new crosses to carry at every turn.
But she couldn’t say she hadn’t been warned.
Stopping in the snow, eyes closed, her mind drifted back to the slimy, lukewarm waters of South Florida, the slinking alligators, the rope cutting into her wrists. Back to the filthy green camper—and her accoster, Zane Bender, laughing hideously during those endless days, crying out in torment at night as he swore to stop Everett and her from leading their followers to God. And if Zane didn’t, he promised others would come against them—evil spirits, vessels of dishonor, antichrists…
In an attempt to banish the lurid memory with motion, she forged her way up the hill once again, taking in the 218-acre farm with an utter sense of nothingness, recalling how she and Everett had envisioned rearing children here, lots of them. There were woods and open spaces, two fast-running streams, a large two-story barn and silo, and seventy acres of tillable farmland, which Everett decided would become his hobby and, perhaps one day, that of their children.
Not to be.
She trudged toward the stately, white, two-story house, which they had bought to be closer to Everett’s brother Eddie, his wife, Sheila, and their children, Wesley and Madison. They’d lost their youngest son, seventeen-year-old David, in a tragic car accident, and Everett made it a mission to reach out to them. Although his aim was admirable and compassionate, it was one Karen questioned in the secret parts, and prayed about often.
Everett had come from such a different world than hers—a tough, nasty, troubled, rebellious world. He was a new Christian, still a little jagged around the edges, and greatly in need of her encouragement, energy, and support.
How’s he going to react when he hears the news?
Would he determine Karen’s infertility to be his fault? Some kind of cruel payback for his past sins? He was still prone to guilt at times, and she didn’t know if she had the strength to deal with his reaction.<
br />
The headlights of Everett’s Audi popped over the hill about a half-mile away. The sky was darkening fast.
Give me strength.
Karen climbed the slope approaching their home at the top of the plateau and prepared herself for the scene that was about to unfold. Everett would be anxious to talk about the concert. She would let him share first—determined to listen and encourage.
The sickening news that churned like acid in her stomach would wait until later in the evening. If she could hold out that long.
Before Karen could eke out a greeting, Everett marched into the kitchen, hoisted her into the air, and spun her in a half-dozen circles.
“Where’ve you been?” He swallowed her up in his muscular arms. “I didn’t see you at the show. I’ve been calling—”
“The appointment lasted longer than I thought.” She rested her arms across his broad shoulders. “I just came home. I’ve been outside—I didn’t have the phone.”
He lowered her feet back to the floor, grabbed her hands, and held her at arm’s length. “How did it go?”
She was thankful he asked. But after the momentum with which he’d sprung into the house, his question was like asking the First Lady about her new dress when the President was about to announce a cure for cancer.
“I want to know what you’re so fired up about first.” She assured him with a half smile. “Talk to me.”
“Babe, it was so incredible. Come here.” He led her by the hand into the den, turned on a lamp, and brought her down next to him on the couch. “The crowd was insane. There were nasty signs, people throwing stuff, drugs, mosh pits—”
“Oh my gosh. What’d you do?”
“We just got out there and jammed. It was amazing. Honey, there must have been two hundred people who came forward near the end.”
“Praise God, Ev.”
“People were screamin’ in their faces, but they just kept coming.” His voice succumbed to the sentiment, and he buried his head against her shoulder. “This is what I’m supposed to be doing,” came his muffled voice. “I just know it. This is why I’m here.”
Karen held him, stroked the back of his short wavy hair—and waited. Dusk had passed, and the antique lamp cast a warm golden glow over their favorite room. Rosey and Millie moseyed in and curled up on the floor.
Everett pulled back from her and wiped his face with the back of his hands. “These people are so desperate, hon. I could so relate to them…”
“You’ve been there.”
He nodded and laughed. “I was so emotional sharing my story, by the end, they were fighting their way down front, praying.”
Karen reached her arms around him and latched on tightly, celebrating with him, seeking the comfort she so desperately needed.
“I know it wasn’t any Billy Graham crusade—”
“But it was good,” she whispered.
“Oh, it felt so right, babe. Think about it. We’re gonna see those people in heaven!”
Karen nodded. With their faces nestled close, they rocked silently in each other’s arms.
Souls were saved today. Isn’t that all that matters?
Could it be that God didn’t want them to have children because of what lay ahead? Concerts much of the year? Worldwide travel? Menacing crowds? Danger? They’d had their share of that already.
Everything in Karen wanted to spill over, but she made herself stop.
Wait.
She didn’t want to ruin this for him. “Did Gray show up?”
“He sure did. He was nervous, ’cause people were shoulder to shoulder. The place was a firetrap. But by the time it was over, he was diggin’ it.”
“How is he?”
“Great. He’s on some kind of health kick. Lost weight. Feels super. And get this, he’s going to church.”
“For real?”
“Yep.” Everett leaned forward and reached into his back pocket. “He brought this.” Everett sat back and unfolded a page from a magazine. “From Billboard. Just out yesterday. Read it with me. I haven’t had a chance.”
As he read, Karen closed her eyes and forced herself not to be angry. There was no one to be upset with but herself. She’d made the call to hold off about her news, and he wasn’t a mind reader.
She glanced down at the headlines, the photographs of Everett, and was sucked into the story.
Billboard
DAILY MUSIC NEWS
Former DeathStroker Inks Dates for FREE World Tour
The once beloved bad boy of rock, Everett Lester, is gearing up for his upcoming Living Water tour, which will send the former DeathStroke lead man to venues in thirty-six cities worldwide. And get this, each concert will be offered free to all who choose to come to the well.
“Everett’s desire is to take his new music—and new message—to as many people as possible,” says former DeathStroke manager Gray Harris, who will quarterback the tour that derives its name from Lester’s latest solo project, Living Water. “Obviously, some dramatic things have happened in Everett’s life, and he wants to share those experiences personally with his new fans and hopefully the old.”
However, the recent album and news of the tour have not been music to the ears of some former DeathStroke fans, who are still distraught over Lester’s departure from the group and, ultimately, the band’s demise. Although original DeathStrokers John Scoogs, David Dibbs, and Ricky Crazee attempted to keep the band flying after Lester’s exit, going through several lead singers, it seemed destined for failure without its flamboyant front man.
Ever since Lester, thirty-five, left DeathStroke and was acquitted for the murder of LA psychic Endora Crystal last winter, his newfound faith has hit a nerve among diehard fans and with some of the public in general. Lester has reportedly been stalked at times and has received hate mail and even death threats.
“Although many people in the Christian community have embraced Everett’s new direction, we’ve received a great deal of disturbing correspondence from former fans, and others,” says Jeff Hall, former president of the DeathStroke fan club, whose services have been retained by Lester to help transition as many fans as possible toward his new music.
“DeathStroke meant the world to literally millions of people,” says Hall. “While the majority of those folks have let the band rest in peace, some refuse to accept its end and even seem determined to impair Everett’s new mission, which is to share what the love and power of Jesus Christ have done in his life.”
Lester comments, “The anger and hatred definitely hurt, because my intent is to build relationships with our old fans. But frankly, the threats are nothing new. I received similar hate-filled thoughts from people who were opposed to DeathStroke, long before I became a Christian. However, in my eyes, at least now I’m being persecuted for something worthwhile—my Christian faith.”
Tour manager Gray Harris says security will be extra tight throughout the Living Water tour, which will kick off January 7 in New York City and conclude February 27 in Lester’s hometown of Cleveland, Ohio. (While in Cleveland, Lester is expected to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum.)
The band has been practicing for the tour on and off for several months in New York with a warm-up concert scheduled for Queens at this writing. Rumor has it that Lester’s new wife of less than one year, Karen Lester (formerly Karen Bayliss), twenty-nine, has quit her job as a business manager for a Topeka software company and will join her husband on tour. Likewise, her father, Jacob, will join the Living Water entourage while taking a brief sabbatical from his independent insurance work in Topeka.
“I wish they’d leave you out of this—and your dad.” Everett left the article in Karen’s hands and stood.
She continued looking at the story, which featured an old photograph of Everett and bandmate John Scoogs yelling into the same microphone, the huge DeathStroke logo glowing in the background. Adjacent was a recent picture of Everett seated on the steps of the porch at Twin Streams, playing his
acoustic guitar. The shot was used as cover art for the recently released Living Water album.
“I mean it.” He peered down at her, hands on his waist. “You’ve been through enough. Why does the press have to keep mentioning you?”
“We’ve had this discussion, Ev. We knew this would happen.”
He shook his head. “It just bugs me.”
She was drained. “Mom and dad are going to be there, and Gray, and security.”
“I know. I’m just not gonna let you be harassed again—no matter how minor it may seem.”
“I’m gonna be fine.” Nothing could hurt her now, not as much as she’d been wounded that afternoon.
“You promise you’ll come home if there’s any problem, any threat—to me or you or anyone else?”
“I promise.”
He reached out and she took his hands. He pulled her up from the couch and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head on top of hers.
“I’m responsible for you now, Karen Lester.”
“I need you,” she whispered. “You’re my best friend.”
“So, tell me when all these babies are gonna start showing up.”
As his words took hold, her breathing quickened.
This was it.
In a flash, she tried out two, maybe three opening lines in her head but wasn’t satisfied with any of them.
The land line rang.
“Hold on.” He left her to grab the phone. “Hello, Karen’s nursery.” He shot her a grin, but she couldn’t hold his gaze. Her eyes found the window—until he began speaking again.
“Eddie?” His smile disappeared, and he covered his free ear. “I can barely hear you.”
Karen stopped rehearsing her lines and stared at her husband, wary of what was about to come.
“I’m sorry, bro…you’re breaking up. Where are you?”
Everett crossed to the window and peered into the darkness. Karen noticed his concern in the reflection.
Full Tilt (Rock Star Chronicles) Page 3
