“The point is, Lester, you shouldn’t be able to just spout your dead-end lies and promises of paradise to the whole world and go on your merry way, leaving a trail of corpses. You gotta answer to somebody!”
“To you?”
“That’s right!”
“Why you?”
“Because I’m an authority on the subject.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“’Cause I lost somebody because of religious zealots like you. Three years ago. Her name was Erica Santose.”
“That’s what this is about? You losing your girlfriend to Christianity?”
“Shut up, jerk! She’s dead!” Tony breathed heavy. “I was gonna marry her. She got baptized at a stinkin’ revival. They promised her new life—all the things you promise. She got blindsided by a drunk driver on the way home that very night. Some new life your God gave her, huh?”
A thousand images of Liza Moon, an old girlfriend, spun in Everett’s head. Before Karen, she’d been the one—until she overdosed. Her death—the loss—resurrected itself in the pit of his stomach, and he felt for the kid.
“Okay, look, I’m sorry about your friend—”
“Sorry ain’t good enough, Lester. You need to pay, for Erica, for David…”
Badino’s voice was intense, and his gall troubled Everett’s spirit. “God will judge me, Tony, just as He’ll judge you.”
“No! Don’t do that. You hear me? Don’t you dare try to feed me your hypocritical self-deception.”
“Jesus loves you—”
“Don’t give me that! You’ve been brainwashed. You’re pitiful.”
“But there’s peace in my heart,” Everett said. “Even now, while I face your wrath, I have a high tower. I take all my troubles to Him.”
“No! I told you not to do that. You’re lying. I won’t listen. Nothin’ you’re talkin’ about satisfies.”
“Yes it does, Tony. Jesus satisfies. His Spirit lives in me. I’m His child—”
“That’s a crutch for losers like you who don’t know how to cope with reality.”
“But He forgives my sins,” Everett pleaded. “He makes me whole.”
“You rely on invisible myths and spiritual pipe dreams, but I’m the captain of my soul.”
Everett dropped his head and shook it. “No—you’re not. You’re mistaken. Tonight, you could lose your life. And then you’ll face the real Captain of your soul…”
He took a deep breath and pressed the phone hard against his ear. He still heard movement, breathing. Waiting through the silence, he sensed the attention of those in the room but did not turn around. His ears were ringing, and the ground spun slightly from the intensity of the conversation.
“Lemme tell you somethin’,” the nasty voice rumbled like a beast. “You know what satisfies? Indulgence. Vengeance. Sin. Sin rules, Lester. Sin reigns. And sin is gonna ruin you. You know why?”
Don’t listen. You don’t have to play his game. “I’m going to hang up now—”
“’Cause you’re a creature of habit, just like me! You think your house is swept clean, but the unclean spirit that left you ain’t gonna find no rest. He’s comin’ back. Haven’t you read your Bible? Matthew twelve. He’s comin’ back with seven spirits more wicked than himself. And they’re gonna rock your world, man. You’ll see.”
Everett had read the words Tony quoted but had no idea what they meant. There was a slight commotion behind him. He turned to see the doctor helping Wesley back into his bed. Sheila and Madison were by his side. So was Karen, but she was searching Everett curiously as she did.
“Bad dogs like you always return to their vomit, Lester. You just wait. All it takes is one time. One slip…”
“Look, Badino, you’re confused and you’re angry. I don’t want any trouble with you—”
“But what if we want trouble with you, huh? What if we decide to make hell for you and your sweet little wife?”
“Who’s we?”
The phone went silent.
Everett waited.
“Me and my legions, of course.” Tony’s voice suddenly sounded like a jovial romper-room teacher leading kindergartners.
“Legions?”
“That’s right. What if we decide David’s and Erica’s deaths will not be swept under the rug? What if we hate what you’re doing so much that we—”
“I’ll get the police involved.”
“You’re going to fight a spiritual battle with flesh and blood? Good luck. Besides, they won’t have anything on us.”
“What about your father? What will they have on him?”
There was a loud rattle, a click, then silence. With the phone still glued to his ear and his hands trembling, Everett looked around. The others were tending to Wesley, but Karen approached as he placed the phone back in its cradle.
“Who was it?” she whispered, running her hand down his back.
“Tony Badino.” He squeezed her hand but didn’t want her to feel his shaking, so he let go.
“What was it about?”
The doctor—a pretty woman of fifty or so with fair skin, stylish white hair, and blue eyes—was examining the wound on Wesley’s wrist.
“Satanic.” Everett leaned down to Karen’s ear. “I’ll tell you, I’m ready for us to get out of New York, get on the road.”
“You look terrible.” Karen touched his face. “You’re pale.”
“I feel clammy, like I just gave a gallon of blood.”
Sitting on the bed and rebandaging the wound, the doctor faced Sheila and Madison. “This is going to be fine in no time.” She patted Wesley’s upper arm and pivoted to face Everett and Karen, who stood near the foot of the bed. Reaching out her hand, she shook with Everett. “I’m Rebecca Denton, Wesley’s doctor.”
“Hi, I’m Everett.” He tried to smile. “This is Karen, my wife.”
“I’ve met Karen.” She grinned and stood. “And I recognize you.” The doctor put the lid on her pen and dropped it in the pocket of her white physician’s coat. “It’s amazing how little damage the bullet did. He’s lucky. In fact, it may be the thing Wesley needed to get him in for a much-needed doctor’s visit.”
“I told Dr. Denton she could speak freely,” Sheila said, almost frantically. “We’re all family. Wesley’s okay with it.”
Wesley rolled his eyes and looked out the window.
“We’ve talked a little about this, but I’m going to be frank with you.” Dr. Denton examined each person. “Wesley’s methamphetamine habit is doing some serious damage to his body. It’s been going on for quite a while.”
Wesley mumbled something about Sherlock Holmes, but it didn’t faze the doctor. “I’m concerned by what I see and hear going on in his body and by what he’s told me. He realizes the meth is tormenting him, that it’s taking its toll.”
“I’ve ignored it.” Sheila snatched another tissue. “We lost a son a year ago. It’s set me back.”
“Wesley told me about that.”
A rap sounded at the door, and Eddie hustled in wearing a navy suit out of the pages of GQ, with a dark overcoat slung over one arm. No bandages were on his face anymore, just small scabs. “Where’s my man?” He glanced at the others and headed for the bed. “Look at this guy.” He rubbed hard at the brown stubble on Wesley’s head. “Unstoppable. Even bullets don’t slow him down.”
Wesley’s lip turned up, and he yanked his arm away when Eddie fumbled for the bandage on his wrist. Ignoring his son’s coldness, Eddie said his hellos and introduced himself to Dr. Denton, who didn’t appear impressed.
“Shall I continue?” The doctor looked at Sheila then Everett.
“Yes.” Sheila sat on the bed and addressed Eddie. “We’re talking about methamphetamines. I’ve been pretending this wasn’t happening. I think you have, too. Dr. Denton says it needs to be dealt with.”
Eddie grimaced and opened his mouth, but Dr. Denton jumped in.
“This drug is on the rampage in New York, and it’s a killer
, both of lives and souls. First, it’s addictive as all get-out. Second, heavy users are losing their minds. They’re racked with chronic depression and hallucinations. The drug ramps up the neurological system so high it can literally make your heart explode. We’ve seen brain damage, lung disorders, fatal kidney disease. I don’t think there’s a more dangerous drug out there right now.”
Eddie scratched his head and stuck his hand on his hip. “Wait a minute. When did—?”
But his son’s voice claimed the floor. “Not to mention the fact that it makes you do things…”
“You don’t have to do this, Wes! Your mother’s cooked this up—”
“Dad, would you be quiet! We’re finally getting somewhere here. Or is dealing with this gonna be too much of an inconvenience for you?”
“Don’t talk to me like that, Madi.”
“People. There are no comparable options here, not even close.” Dr. Denton picked up her clipboard from the counter. “Wesley needs help—now. In two days or less, he’s going to hit a cycle of withdrawal symptoms of nightmare proportion. He needs proper care.”
“Now, come on.” Eddie raised a hand toward his son. “Is it that bad, Wes?”
Sheila shot to her feet, and Madison got in Eddie’s face. “I can’t believe you! Are you on drugs, Dad?”
With an open-mouthed smile, Eddie feigned innocence. “All I’m saying is, let’s ask Wes how bad this really is.”
Wesley’s nostrils flared as he jerked his head away from his father. His eyes pierced like lasers, and his jaws ground together, muscles flexing. When he closed his eyes, a lone tear trailed down his cheek.
Sheila fell back to the bed, sobbing, and wrapped her arms around him. Madison squealed something and buried her head in Karen’s arms. Everett could only meet Eddie’s confused eyes with an unflinching glare.
“Look.” Dr. Denton exhaled heavily. “I know a program in Stamford. It’s been extremely successful at getting meth users clean and back on their feet. It’s called Horizons at Harbor View. Wesley could be admitted today. It’s a two- to four-week program. He could be out in January, start the New Year off right.”
If it weren’t for Dr. Denton, war would have broken out in that room. She kept things moving nicely. “How ’bout it? I can call and make sure there’s an opening.” She reached for the cell phone in her coat pocket.
Eddie held up his hands. “I’m just asking, are there any other options?”
“None even close to this one.” Dr. Denton didn’t make eye contact with him. “This deals with the disease of addiction. It helps patients identify usage triggers and develop new social skills. It gives them a thorough relapse prevention plan, teaching coping skills. Wesley could try Crystal Meth Anonymous meetings, but I really don’t think he’s a good candidate for that.”
“How do you know?” Eddie squirmed.
“She talked to me!” Wesley exploded. “She sat on this bed and asked me questions. Okay? She listened for an hour. She listened to me!”
“He’s going to Stamford,” Sheila blasted to her feet, “and that’s final.”
Eddie marched to the window, pulled out his cell phone, and started jamming buttons. “Fine, make the call.”
21
THE MIDAFTERNOON SKY HAD darkened, and the snow fell heavy and thick in the fifty minutes since Karen left Twin Streams to pick up her parents, flying in from Kansas City International. With only a few days left before Christmas, parking at LaGuardia was dreadful.
Wiping her feet on the soaked mat and checking the arrival monitors once inside, Karen found that American flight 2822 would be pulling up to gate D in the Central Terminal Building about forty minutes late.
Not too bad.
Having met Everett at LaGuardia on a handful of occasions, Karen was somewhat familiar with the layout. She strolled past the busy postal kiosk and the gents at the shoe-shine stand by the souvenir store and ducked into a restroom.
When she came out, Karen stopped for a moment to get her bearings. Since she couldn’t go to the terminals, she set out to find something to drink in the central hub of the airport. She got in line at Starbucks behind about eight people. While reviewing her grocery and to-do lists, the phone in her purse played “Silver Bells.” “Hello?”
“Hey, honey. Where are you?”
“Hi, Ev. I’m at Starbucks in the airport.”
“Good. Can you believe all this snow?”
“It’s getting slick out there,” she said. “This place is a zoo.”
“Listen, babe…one of the detectives called a minute ago.”
Her whole body came to attention. She covered her free ear. “And?”
“Well, they couldn’t get any clues from the footprints, because so many tracks were already out there.”
“What else?”
There was a pause, too long of a pause for it to be anything good.
“The letters were painted in blood, babe…from some kind of animal.”
Another blow. Deflated, she staggered out of line to the closest table and dropped into a chair.
“Believe it or not,” Everett said, “the detective told me they see this fairly often—”
“Oh, right.” A real comfort.
“Usually kids playing pranks.”
“Did you tell them about Wesley?” she asked.
“No, I wanted to talk to you first. Look, I’m ready to go straight to Wesley and Eddie. That’s what I think we should do.”
There were so many variables, so many people and feelings involved. She couldn’t seem to muster any words.
“I’ve got to talk to Eddie anyway, babe. Something else happened…”
Her head dropped. There couldn’t be more. “What?”
“I just went to get the paper and take Rosey out, and I found an envelope from him in my coat pocket. It had twenty grand in it.”
She stared at the masses of people moving past and tried to mentally juggle all the tribulations pressing in on them.
“He must have put it in there at the hospital,” Everett said. “And a note on the envelope said the other twenty-four thousand is on its way.”
“Eddie’s gonna die,” she finally managed. “And that mob he’s involved with is going to come looking for us.”
“I tried to call him. Got his voice mail. I was straight with him. Told him we saw Dominic Badino at the hospital and that we know he’s betting again. I let him know he’s putting us in danger.”
Knowing how unreliable and selfish Eddie was, that didn’t help one iota. “It’s time to get the police involved, Ev.”
“Karen—”
“What?” She couldn’t believe she’d just yelled in Starbucks; her face heated and her voice dropped. “We need to get on record with the threats Badino’s made.”
“Honey, there were no specifics, and it’s his word against mine. Besides, you can’t call the cops on the son of a mob captain.”
“Maybe you can’t, but I can!”
An awkward hush followed. Enough had been said for now. Maybe too much.
“Look, I need to process all this,” she said.
“I’m sorry to drop this on you right when your folks are due in.”
“I’m getting used to it.” It was a mean thought, never meant to become words. The silence that followed was like watching a bomb drop in a documentary. She knew the fallout was imminent, and it came in the form of a quick and quiet good-bye from Everett.
She’d wounded him. Is that what you wanted? She felt crippled herself, almost sick inside. She closed her eyes and asked God to forgive her. And then she lifted her head and tried to keep going.
With a tall mocha in hand, Karen made her way to the center of the airport hub. She chose a chair that faced the huge flight schedule board that would keep her abreast of any further changes in her parents’ flight, now due to arrive at 2:36 p.m.
The rich coffee warmed Karen. She shed her denim coat and watched the people go by. Many, it appeared, carried burdens as he
avy as their winter jackets and suitcases—solemn-faced, not saying hello or even making eye contact. They were fixed on their destinations, on their own little worlds. Others seemed completely tuned out to humanity, thanks to their laptops, cell phones, and iPods. What a wonderful thing technology had done for mankind.
Seeing a pretty brunette with a bandage on her forehead in the bookstore across the way sent Karen back to the night Eddie had shown up at Twin Streams with his wounds.
Oh, Lord, help my love for people not to grow cold. I can feel it happening. I’m frustrated with Eddie and Sheila, their immaturity. I’m tempted to hate Tony Badino, Wesley—whoever killed Millie. So many are owned by Satan, blinded by him. Let me have Your compassion. Live in me. Let me love them like You do.
Her eyes caught the gaze of a young man in a long black trench coat. He, too, was in the bookstore about twenty-five feet from her, holding open an issue of Hot Rod but staring directly at her. His brazen gaze scorched her face. She buried her attention in her purse and began digging around in it, as if she were searching for something.
You’re just paranoid.
She made up her mind to take another glimpse. His eyes still locked on hers like a warhead on its target. He had small, taut features and a tough yet boyish face. She took inventory of his attire—faded jeans torn at the knee, brown work boots, gray ski cap, and several layers of shirts beneath the long coat.
Digging once again in her bag, she pulled out her cell phone, opened it, and pretended to push buttons. Putting the phone to her ear, she glanced up again.
He was gone. Nowhere in sight.
With slightly trembling hands, she sipped the cooling mocha and searched the flight board again. Still 2:36.
“Dat?” A tiny girl with shiny brown hair appeared, holding up an index finger and pointing to Karen’s cup. “Dat?”
“That’s coffee.” Karen turned the cup toward the girl, who wore a light pink winter coat with white fur around the hood.
“Coffee?”
Karen met the proud green eyes of the girl’s smiling young mother perched on the edge of her seat, her arms half-outstretched. “She’s just starting to walk,” said the redheaded father, standing behind the mother’s chair, wearing an equally proud grin.
Full Tilt (Rock Star Chronicles) Page 17
