“Who? Who is it?” He grasped the windowsill. “Calm down, Eddie.”
On autopilot, she went to the desk, got a small pad of yellow paper and a pen, and walked them to Everett. He shot her a look of concern and walked to the desk himself, setting the pad down and leaning over it.
“How–much–do–you–need?” He pronounced each word slowly, loudly. It didn’t take much to rattle Everett, but the tension in his body said something was going down. She approached him with her arms crossed, trying desperately to batten down the emotions that raged within.
After a pause and a quick shake of the head, he jotted down $24,000.
You’ve got to be kidding me. Eddie was prone to danger, and Karen was growing weary of Everett’s repeated efforts to prop him up—especially now.
“Who do you owe this to? Who’s after you?”
He pulled the phone away from his ear and increased the volume. Karen stepped toward him, her heart picking up its pace. She was concerned for Eddie’s safety. But he’d been in and out of so many needy situations, she just wanted to scream for a time-out. Freeze everything. Let her be with her husband for two minutes to tell him they will never in their entire lives be able to have babies!
“You’re still breaking up…tell me where you are.”
Everett’s dark eyes searched the den. Then he repeated his brothers’ words and scribbled them on the pad at the same time. “Bronx…Mars Hill Racetrack…Pelham Parkway. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
Please don’t leave me, Ev…
“Sit tight!” He hung up and handed the phone to Karen as he headed out of the room.
“What’s wrong?” She followed him, her mind reeling.
“Eddie’s in trouble… He’s been gambling.”
“He owes that much right now? At the track?”
Everett opened the hall closet, grabbed his wool coat, and hurried for the kitchen. “He’s at the track, but he was out of breath. Something’s wrong.”
She handed him the cell phone and his keys. “I‘ll go with you.” That was all she wanted, to be near him. Couldn’t he see it?
“No way, Karen. This is Lester business.”
“I’m a Lester, too!” She was fed up with their different worlds. “Let me come.”
“No! Please, just stay here.”
“Is Eddie hurt?”
“Not yet…but it sounds like someone’s after him. He owes money. I need the checkbook—money market account.”
She hurried toward the desk in the den, feeling as if she were racing through a minefield. When was Everett going to stop babysitting his big brother? Why is this happening now, Lord?
“Why doesn’t he call 911?” She returned with the checkbook and stood there as Everett bundled up.
“He may be into something illegal.”
“Oh, great. Everett, this sounds dangerous! You need to call the police.”
“He told me not to.”
“So that means you don’t?” She’d had it! This was so unlike her. How dare Eddie pull Ev into his dangerous world?
“I’ll call them when I get there, if I have to, honey. Trust me.”
“Everett Lester, you be careful!”
“I will.” He headed through the kitchen door to the garage. “I’ll call you when I know more.”
“It better be soon.” I can’t believe this is happening.
He jogged to the Audi TT Roadster, ducked in, turned it over, and revved it back out of the garage into what was left of the now crunchy snow. Karen crept down the steps into the cold garage, arms folded in front of her, her hands covered by the sleeves of her big red sweatshirt. The collies followed.
She wanted to motion for Everett to roll down the window so she could tell him they needed to talk. Instead, she gave a quick little wave and watched her new husband blow a kiss and race into the frigid New York night.
It wasn’t until the dogs trotted out of the garage to do their business and Karen crept out too that the danger of the situation gripped her. Something about being outside—perhaps the cold air or the vastness of the black sky—sobered her, and she wished she’d hugged Everett before he left. But it was too late now.
She followed the Audi’s shrinking taillights with her sore eyes.
“I’m sorry for being so selfish, Father.” She began to cry again. “Forgive me, please…”
The taillights disappeared.
“Please protect them, Lord. I’m sorry for judging Eddie. I’m just so…tired.”
The sound of Everett’s car faded over the hills, and Karen inwardly screamed to the heavens.
At least let me keep Ev, Lord, please! Let me keep my husband.
5
WESLEY AND TONY CELEBRATED their close-call escape from Wal-Mart back at Wesley’s basement apartment, which wasn’t really even a basement. It was more like a massive terrace-level apartment. For an hour, Tony had been entranced by Wesley’s Harley Davidson pinball machine, smoking cigarette after cigarette while cursing the ringing, blinking, roaring piece of equipment.
When he’d had enough, Tony breezed between the oversize couches and chairs, and plopped down on the floor. Wesley grabbed them each another Miller in the kitchen and joined him. The carpet reeked of spilled beer, but Wesley was proud of his pad, his fifty-inch plasma HDTV, his Bose home theater speaker system, and his independence.
Tony sat Indian-style with the Miller and a Marlboro in one hand, keeping the other busy either rubbing his dark skin or doing hand motions as he yakked a mile a minute. Wesley sipped his beer and noticed the black soot beneath Tony’s fingernails.
“How much do your parents know?” Wesley asked.
“’Bout what?”
“What do you think?”
Tony smirked and stared at the bottle in his lap. “They know everything. Put it this way.” His eye twitched. “My old man knows for sure; more than you can imagine. My mom, she probably knows but ignores it.”
Wesley understood, closing his eyes and nodding.
“What about you?”
“They know,” Wesley moaned, “but they don’t have the guts to do anything.”
“What do you want ’em to do? Narc on you?”
“No.”
“What’re you mad at, then? Huh?”
Wesley didn’t answer.
“Spit it out,” Tony urged.
“They’re supposed to be my parents!”
“Right.” Tony wagged his head in disgust. “Loving, understanding parents—”
“I just don’t trust anyone anymore—okay? I’ll never trust anyone again.”
Tony eyed him with a sinister grin. “Even me?”
Wesley paused, choosing to dodge the question. “They knew my brother was messed up, but they didn’t do anything.”
“How’d they know?”
“There were a ton of signs. David got nailed with a bag of pot at a football game. One night, he and his buddies got arrested on the roof of the school, drunk as skunks. He was awake days on end after tweeking. He had two speeding tickets—”
“What’d your folks do?”
“Ha! He had to miss one football game. Couldn’t go to a party one night. Ridiculous. They were afraid of him, just like they’re afraid of me.”
“But that’s good, right? That’s what we want, isn’t it?”
Tony was digging now, prying into Wesley’s mind, and asking questions people don’t ask when they’re not amped. That’s why meth was such an indescribable trip—at least, before you came plummeting back to reality.
Where had that come from? Wesley focused hard on the conversation, trying to forget about the worst part, the dark part, the part that made you want to crawl into a closet and become a shoe. The part that always came.
He floundered for an answer.
“You want them to fear you.” Tony swigged his beer. “That way, you get what you want. Am I right? Tell me I’m right.”
“I guess so. Part of me wants to know another way, though. That’s all. Part of me w
ishes David had known another way. Something better…”
Looking down at his beer, Tony shook his head and sneered. “Lester, you just broke your own rule.”
“What do you mean?
“You trusted me.”
Wesley picked at the label on the Miller. “Just like my brother trusted my uncle.”
“Everett Lester.” Tony sneered.
“Yeah.”
“And Everett Lester let him down, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, he did.” Wesley grunted, getting to his feet. “I’ll show you.”
He made for the kitchen, reached on his tiptoes into a cupboard, and brought down a digest-size black book. He walked back over and dropped to the floor.
“This was my brother’s.” He flipped through the pages. “I found it in his room after he died.” After a bit of searching, Wesley read: “‘December 2. The entire Lester family met in Cleveland for Christmas. Uncle Everett promised to be there. I was stoked. But he was a no-show. Again. He said he’d take me skiing to make up for it. Something to look forward to…’”
Wesley turned the pages as he’d done a hundred times. “Then this, ‘February 3. Total bummer. Uncle Everett backed out of the ski trip to Lake Placid. Dad, Wesley, and I went, but it wasn’t the same without E. L. I had told all my friends. Now I’m going to look like a liar and a fool. So what else is new?’”
Without a word, Wesley flipped to a later entry while Tony got near the bottom of his Miller. “‘My parents show their affection by giving me things—almost anything I want—but the feelings I get from them are superficial. They’re busy chasing their dreams. I can relate so much to Uncle Everett. To heck with relationships and rules and rigidity. He knows how to live for the moment! He’s daring. He jams his fist in the face of authority and says, “I’ll do it my way.” I want to be closer to him, but he doesn’t have time. He’s a world famous rock ’n’ roll superstar.’
“Now listen to this.” Wesley turned the page. “This is the next day: ‘I’ve been tweeking. My senses are so keen.
I got ten lives, ten lives.
Just watch me fly.
Ain’t never gonna die,
Never gonna die,
’Cause I got ten lives.
—DeathStroke, “Ten Lives”
“‘Uncle Everett says there’s no heaven or hell, that everyone who dies has an afterlife on the Other Side. Sometimes I feel like I want to go there—soon.’
“This is right at the end of DeathStroke,” Wesley said, finding his place and draining the Miller. “‘I am coming down from being geeked for something like ten days. My parents either didn’t know or pretend not to. Same old story. Wesley and I were supposed to see DeathStroke at the Meadowlands this past weekend and go backstage with Uncle Everett. So much for that. He was either too blown out of his mind to remember or doesn’t care. I guess he’s proven that. Nobody cares enough to step into my dark world and free me from myself.’”
Tony rose to his feet, took Wesley’s empty, and got them each another brew from the fridge. “Keep goin’.” He sat back down.
“This is just before the wreck.” Wesley smoothed the pages of the journal, stopping to drink savagely from the new bottle before beginning to read. “‘I’m a meth junkie. They call me “Skelly”—that’s short for skeleton. My body DEMANDS crank. I have scabs everywhere from picking at myself. I’m never hungry and seldom go to the bathroom. My face is breaking out. I’m losing hair. A miserable, depressing existence. I think I’m crazy. I know I need help, but I don’t know where to get it. The simple route would be making a jump for the Other Side. I’m afraid. I cry out for a different life than this.’”
Wesley closed the journal and squeezed it between his fingers, knowing this was the most substantial thing he had left of his little brother.
“New life.” He seethed. “That’s what he thought he was getting when he slammed his Camaro into that oncoming car.”
“How do you know that’s not what he got?” Tony raised an eyebrow above his twitching right eye.
“I just know.”
“I do too.” Tony’s eyes were like circles of fire. “There are no heavens, or ‘other sides,’ or spiritual fantasy worlds,” he growled. “We got one shot at this existence, then we die. Blackout…oblivion.”
Was this the voice of truth?
Wesley stared at Tony’s small, sour face, which was distorted—like a melting wax mask. “Our lives are about indulgence, Wesley—that’s it. That’s all that matters. I know! I’ve explored Christianity. I’ve done the homework. I know it’s a lie. I saw what it did…”
Tony’s eyes seemed twice their normal size. “Let me just tell you something. David was on the right track.” His voice became low and nasty, yet he seemed to gurgle with laughter at the same time. “He was drinking in every last ounce of gratification he could find in this existence. But in the end, he listened to the wrong voices. That’s all. He listened to Everett Lester and his lies about the Other Side. He listened to his own demons, trying to find more to this life than there really is. You and I aren’t gonna make the same mistake, are we?”
“No.” Wesley stared straight ahead. “No, we’re not.”
“We ain’t gonna live for anything but the here and now. Am I right?”
Wesley’s eyes shifted to meet Tony’s, and he nodded.
“But your Uncle Everett, dude, he’s peddling this Christian nonsense, big-time. Got a new CD. New tour. It’s gonna take its toll on a heck of a lot of people, just like your brother.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Well, what do you suggest we do about that, nephew Wesley?”
Their eyes locked.
Tony groaned as he stood. “Why don’t we go for a drive.” He motioned toward the door with his head. “Get some fresh air.”
“Good.” Wesley stared.
“I thought we’d take a spin over to Uncle Everett’s farm. Just cruise by, you know? See how the other half lives. Whaddya say?” Tony threw on his long black coat.
“Fine with me.” Wesley got to his feet. “The way I’m feelin’ right now, I may want to do more than just cruise by.”
“Ooooh.” Tony headed for the door. “Sounds like we got some vengeance in the air tonight.” He pushed the door open and pivoted to wait for Wesley. “Come on, bad boy, let’s do it.”
6
THERE WAS NO ANSWER on Eddie’s cell phone, so all Everett could do was continue to frantically cruise the wet crater-filled parking lot at Mars Hill Racetrack, searching for his brother’s silver Kia Amanti.
The place was a dump. Everett could see the bright lights from the horse track and, with windows cracked, heard the cheers from the crowd.
A dude in a wide-brimmed hat and full-length fur coat walked boisterously beside an Asian woman, who wore a short skirt, a leather jacket, and shiny knee-high boots. She was shivering and tripping through asphalt chunks and puddles as they argued their way across the parking lot.
The windows of a parked Buick were fogged with condensation, but the glow from the pipe being passed about illuminated the silhouettes of the people inside. For a moment, he was there in the car with them, ignoring the rancid tang of the pot in his mouth and the harshness of it hitting the base of his throat—and reliving the euphoria of the buzz.
Was there a bottle of scotch or gin being swigged and passed about in that car? Was there a torn cardboard case of beer on the floor, or maybe a fresh stash of coke? Everett couldn’t ignore how dangerously seductive the drugs and drink still were to him.
His old self had been crucified with Christ. The Holy Spirit lived in him now. Yet, there seemed to be an ugly, bitter, deadly force lurking in the shadows of his mind, haunting him, trying to trick him into thinking that his old self still lived and would make an encore appearance someday, on a day when Everett was at his weakest.
He rolled on through the puddles, vowing—as he had since he’d been born again—to live hour by hour, step by step. God had given the I
sraelites enough food for one day at a time, no more. Similarly, God’s grace would carry him day by day. He needn’t look beyond that.
On the very last row, in the darkest part of the lot, Everett’s breathing was interrupted by a wave of panic. Beneath a flickering streetlight, next to a sagging chain-link fence, he spotted something—or someone.
Jerking up on the parking brake, he hurried out of the Audi and dashed through the headlights’ beam to the mound that lay still between a beat-up conversion van and an old Mazda. It had to be garbage. Maybe a homeless person. Certainly not his brother, not out here like this.
Everett made out a shiny black wingtip, and all the air left him.
“Eddie?” He raced toward the shape on the ground. “Eddie Lester?”
No movement. A gray trench coat. It was a person, dressed nicely.
Everett’s knees wobbled. He told himself to stay calm and asked Jesus to help.
The rest of the puzzle became clear: an arm oddly twisted, a necktie half submerged in a puddle. Lord, no! And his brother’s head, lying awkwardly on the cold ground, blood clotted in his graying hair and smeared on the side of his face.
“Eddie!”
The cold rainwater soaked into his knees as Everett knelt over his brother, gently lifting his head in trembling hands
Eddie coughed, blinked, and gasped for air. His cheekbone was cut deep and still bleeding, just beneath the right eye. There were several bruises and another slice high on his forehead.
Has he been shot? Stabbed? Unable to work the buttons, Everett ripped open Eddie’s overcoat, searching for bullet holes or blood or—who knew what else? Nothing wrong underneath.
“Eddie, it’s Everett!” He yanked the lapels of the overcoat, wanted to make his brother’s eyes open. “Can you hear me?”
With shaking fingers, Everett wiped the blood from his brother’s nose and mouth.
Eddie’s eyes opened. He was dazed and limp.
Jesus, let him hang on!
Everett laid his head back down, fumbled for his phone, and dialed 911.
“No.” Eddie grunted, turning his head sideways to look at Everett out of half-closed eyes. “No cops.”
Full Tilt (Rock Star Chronicles) Page 4
