“I’m not really sure,” he muttered. “Downtown somewhere. I have the address.”
“Wes, are you stoned?”
Nothing.
“Have you been getting high?” Everett repeated.
“I can’t explain anything now. The address is…you got a pen?”
Darn it, Wes! Why are you doing this? “Wait.” The cold shook Everett’s bones as he found a pen and the corner of a program to write on. “Go ahead.”
“Seven five two, East Exchange Street.”
“Seven five two East Exchange.” He scribbled it down.
“The numbers are above the front door.”
“Where is this, Wes? Tell me what’s going on—”
Click.
39
KAREN HAD ONLY BEEN able to nibble at the greasy potato skins cooling on the large yellow platter in front of her. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling restaurant window, night had fallen, and myriad lights dotted the metropolis that surrounded them and the glistening river below.
She couldn’t wait any longer. “Excuse me, guys.” She pushed her chair back. “I’m going to find a quiet place to call Ev. See if he’s found Wesley.”
Her mom and dad glanced at each other. “You need to eat something, honey,” Dad said.
With the entire calamity that had transpired since Karen met Everett, she battled the notion that her parents might think she’d made a mistake in marrying him.
You’re being ridiculous. She strode through the maze of chatting waiters, buzzing tables, and clattering dishes and headed past the hostess stand.
Just outside the restaurant, near a bank of elevators, she plopped down on an oversized leather bench overlooking the city and punched in Everett’s number. A slow-moving elderly couple wearing fancy clothes and sparkling jewelry left the restaurant and got on the elevator. No one else was around.
“Yeah.” Everett picked up.
“Hey, hon, it’s me. Did you find Wesley?”
“No.”
“Well, where are you? Why didn’t you—?”
“Listen,” he said. “I’m picking him up.”
“What?”
“He called and said he was someplace downtown. Needed a ride back. Said he was out of money.”
That’s so lame. She checked her watch. “How are you getting there?”
“I’m in a cab.”
“Where is he?” She shifted uncomfortably, feeling herself getting riled. “What did he say?”
“Not much. East Exchange Street is the address. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in plenty of time for the show.”
“I’m not worried about the show! What’s going on, Ev?”
“I asked him if he was high, but he didn’t answer. I couldn’t tell—”
“This isn’t right.” She pounded the seat. “Darn it, Ev! This whole thing with him is just weird.”
“Hon, I couldn’t leave him—”
“Why not?” She stood and glared out the window at the narrow streets below. “He’s a big boy. Tell him to walk back! That wouldn’t kill him.”
“Karen, it’s gonna be okay—”
“I want you to turn around and come back here, right now.” She crossed her arms and paced within a three-foot circle. “I don’t like the sound of this.”
“Babe.” He paused. “I need to help him.”
She smacked her hand against the cold window, dropped her arm, and stood there wanting to scream. But she knew Everett too well. There were a hundred reasons he needed to do this. And by the tone of his voice, nothing was going to change his mind.
Sitting in the backseat of a warm, worn-out taxi in a dilapidated section of downtown Pittsburgh, Everett closed his phone and put it back in his coat pocket. Across the street was the run-down orange brick building at 752 East Exchange Street. A stocky man with a bushy black beard, hairy arms, and thick glasses stood shivering in front of the out-of-date, two-story facility—savoring a cigarette. He wore green pants, a camouflage T-shirt, and red high-top tennis shoes.
A dirty, salt-covered Mazda parallel parked out front, and then its young, gum-chewing, do-rag-wearing driver dashed through the old-fashioned double-glass doors.
“You want to stay?” The Middle Eastern driver leaned his head back.
“Yes,” Everett finally spoke. “I may go inside. If I do, I want you to wait for me. You understand?”
The man nodded. “I wait for you.”
“Good.” Everett sat for a few more minutes, hoping Wesley would come out. A skinny black woman exited and tried to light a smoke. When the wind wouldn’t let her, Camouflage Man handed her his cigarette butt before he ducked back into the building.
“I’m going inside.” Everett got out of the orange and black cab and bent over to face the dark-skinned man with the beard stubble and protruding Adam’s apple. “Wait here. Okay?”
By the time Everett crossed the street, the black woman had her cigarette glowing orange. She threw the butt to the pavement and glared at Everett as he pulled open the heavy door. Once through the yellow, linoleum-floored vestibule, he yanked open another glass door, and the blare of machinery rattled him.
His way was blocked by a heavy young man seated behind a gray metal desk. Wearing a black Steelers stocking cap and hooded sweatshirt, the young man stared at Everett, not bothering to remove his headphones.
“I’m here to pick up someone,” Everett said loudly.
The man gazed at him, lifted his right headphone, and squinted.
Everett leaned closer and yelled, “I’m here to pick up Wesley.”
“Who?”
“Wesley!”
The man eyed a clipboard in front of him, nodded, then pointed behind him, with rings on every finger. “Straight back through the wood door, down the steps, all the way to the end of the hall.”
“Thanks.”
As Everett ambled amid the large machinery, men and women wearing hard hats and goggles steered forklifts stacked with flyers and brochures. Others climbed on loud, churning printing presses, adjusting controls and watching huge white sheets of paper feed into the mouths of sophisticated equipment.
Looks innocent enough.
His nose burned from the smell of chemicals. It must have been more than a hundred yards to the old, varnished wooden door the kid had pointed to. As Everett reached for the black metal knob, he took one last glimpse behind him. The eyes of half the workers in the place were glued to him. Do they recognize me or what? He opened the door.
The stairwell was dim and musty. He took several steps down and shut the door, closing off the noise behind him. But his ears were ringing. One dingy lightbulb, covered in cobwebs, lit the way. The place smelled like urine.
Could I have taken the wrong door? No. There were no others.
He stared down at the concrete block walls. “Lord, protect me,” he whispered, starting down the steps.
He got to the landing and faced a long hallway with doors along the left and right, all sealed up, dark, and quiet. Never used. Bulbs hung every ten feet overhead, but only two were lit. Everett took a deep breath and began the march.
The smell of rotten eggs engulfed him as he approached the end of the hall. There, a lone door was open. He peered in. It was an enormous rectangular room with low ceilings, flickering overhead lights, and a dark concrete floor.
He passed through the doorway. The portion of the room he stepped into was empty, except for several dozen propane tanks that sat precariously around the border. As he walked toward the massive jumble of equipment, ceiling-high windows, and people at the far end of the room, Everett’s throat became irritated, as if something was caught in it. He coughed hard but couldn’t dislodge anything. His eyes watered at the pungent odor. Removing a blue bandana from his pocket, he covered his nose and mouth and walked farther.
As the scene seventy yards away came into focus, a rush of heat swept over him.
This is trouble.
He stopped and turned around. His exit was still clear. He s
wiveled back to face the enormous operation at the other end of the cavernous room.
Seven men, wearing dark rubber aprons, miniature gas masks, and elbow-high elastic gloves, worked test tubes, hoses, vats, pressure gauges, stoves, and propane tanks like MIT grads conducting breakthrough scientific research.
Several glanced up at him but continued their intensive work.
On four long tables, Everett saw coffee filters—hundreds of them—some containing a white, pasty substance; others, a dark red sludge. Beyond the tables were six to eight wooden pallets, lined up side by side on the floor, each piled shoulder-high with dozens of shrink-wrapped squares—eight by eight inches each—containing what Everett assumed was methamphetamine.
A bright red light danced on the floor in front of him. It darted to his legs, shrinking to the size of a dime. Then to his stomach. Looking up, Everett was temporarily blinded by a blaze of red from the far end of the room. He covered his eyes with both hands, the bandana still in one.
“Quite an operation, ain’t it?” A young voice yelled from inside the lab. “You’re lookin’ at the biggest meth operation in the eastern United States…”
But all Everett could see were flashes of red coming from the laser beam attached to Badino’s gun and occasional glimpses of the backlit lab and its occupants at the far end of the room.
“These gentlemen are cookin’ ammonium nitrate. Soon it’ll be anhydrous ammonia. And with that, we make the best meth in the whole dang country.” He cackled. “Don’t suppose you’d like to try a sample…”
Why are you telling me that? Fact is, you wouldn’t if you thought I was gonna live very long.
“Where’s Wesley?” Everett yelled, hoisting his arms up in front of him to block the laser.
“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced—”
“I know who you are, Badino. I said, where’s Wesley?”
“He just so happens to be right here.” Finally, Tony lowered the gun.
Everett made out Wesley’s silhouette as he entered through a door near the meth lab. The workers stopped what they were doing and watched.
“Are you all right, Wes?” Everett took several more steps forward.
“You stay right there, Jesus Man!” Tony screamed. “You try anything and I’ll rip you to shreds with this forty-five. You know what forty-five hollow points will do, don’t you?”
“I’m here for Wesley—that’s all.” Everett could barely breathe, he was so overcome by the stench of the chemicals. He wiped his eyes again with the bandana, taking several steps forward. “Just let me take him, and we’ll be out of your way—”
“You shut your face!” Tony snarled. “We play by my rules.” He lowered the red dot to Everett’s stomach. “Here’s how it’s gonna work, rock star. I’m gonna ask you right here and now—in front of all these witnesses—if you believe in God,” Tony mocked, “if you believe Jesus Christ died for everybody, to forgive their sins and save ’em from hell. If you say you believe—and you insist on coddling your meaningless spiritual pipe dreams—then you’ll die right here and now.” Tony racked the slide of the gun, locking it back.
Everett shot a glance at the men standing frozen in and around the meth equipment.
“This is nothin’ they haven’t seen!” Tony blazed. “You say yes to God right now and at least one of these fat police bullets is gonna rip your chest open. And then you’re gonna see how wrong you were about sweet baby Jesus.”
The laser found Everett’s face again, and his eyes teared and stung. He cupped his hands at his face, trying to see his nephew. “Wes, listen to me—”
“No! You listen to me,” Wesley shouted. “Ever since David died, I’ve hated you and Aunt Karen. He worshiped you, and you couldn’t care less about him.”
Tony dropped the arm with the gun. “You tell it, Lester.”
“I hated Aunt Karen ’cause she changed you from David’s hero to a Jesus freak. I resented her for it.”
Tony took several steps toward Everett, laughing hideously. “See all the good you did? You be sure to enjoy these last few words of honor, rock star. They’re probably gonna be the last words you ever hear.”
“Wes, I’m sorry I let you down—”
“Not me! David!”
“It was both of you. And it’s my fault. Maybe you can try to understand, knowing what the drugs do. I was a mess. I didn’t think of anyone but me. And I didn’t remember anything. I’d give anything to go back in time.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Wesley swayed, waving his arms. “I was at Twin Steams the night your dog died—”
“Yeah, but I slit her fat throat!” Tony roared.
“I didn’t turf the place, either.” Wesley shook both hands in the air. “Badino jumped into the driver’s seat—”
Tony clobbered Wesley with the fist that held the gun.
Whack.
Everett heard Wesley’s head crack and watched his nephew crumple to the ground, hands to his head, rolling back and forth.
“Leave him alone!” Everett yelled.
“Before this party ends.” Tony caught his breath. “You should know, Lester, I delivered the brick—and the bloody sign.”
“You’re goin’ to hell, Badino. You know that? It may not be today—”
“Shut up!” Tony lifted the gun with both hands and locked its sights on Everett’s face. “They should have called it the Farewell Tour, because your ride is over. And your life with your lovely little bride is finished, too, just like mine ended when my Erica died believing in your pitiful concept of a God!”
Wesley muttered something while on all fours, trying to get back on his feet.
“Shut up!” Tony screamed. “You’re weak, Wesley! It’s time for this martyr to fish or cut bait.”
“Leave him alone.” Wesley made it to his feet. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. Here, take your money back!”
Wesley flung something at Tony. It was bills. They fluttered like confetti. Tony took a savage swing at Wesley, gun in hand. He missed, and the red light flashed across the room.
Everett was leaning toward Tony, a hairbreadth away from charging, but he was too far away.
“He’s innocent!” Wesley cried, falling to his knees.
“What’s that to me?” Tony booted him in the shoulder with a flying kick.
“Let him go,” Wesley wailed.
“No! Since you think he’s so innocent, let’s make this more interesting.” Tony spun around, letting out a chilling laugh.
He waved the piece at Everett, the red light zigzagging off the walls. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You say you believe and you’re dead meat, Lester. But here’s the kicker. If you deny Christ, you get to live. Free pass. Your whole family lives. You go on with your little dog and pony show, happily ever after.”
“Where is my brother?” Everett demanded.
“You don’t want to go there, Mr. DeathStroke.”
“Where?”
“You’ll never see him again! That good enough for you? Now I’m not finished.” He grabbed Wesley by the coat collar, dragging him five feet and glaring at Everett. “If you deny Christ to save yourself, there’s one hitch.” Tony mashed the barrel of the gun in the back of Wesley’s skull. “Your nephew here takes two behind the ear…and you watch the whole thing.”
Tony shoved Wesley to the floor and examined his watch. “You got one minute!”
Everett raised his arms, blocked the light, and tried to see his nephew for what he knew would be the last time. “Wes—”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Everett!”
“Wes, if he kills me now, I want us to be together—”
“Gimme a break!” Tony boiled, steadying the .45 in front of him.
“I love you, Wes! I’m sorry about David. I wanted to make it right…” He caught a glimpse of movement in the lab. Several workers were talking, beginning to argue.
“I set you up!” Wesley screamed.
“I know.” Everett nodded.
“It’s okay. I’m going to be fine. You tell Karen and Madison and everyone, I’m fine. Tell them, at the last minute God came near and that, even now, I can praise Him—’cause I’m goin’ home.”
“Time’s up!” Tony bellowed. “What’s it gonna be?”
Everett took an enormous breath and closed his eyes. “Jesus Christ is alive. He is my Lord and Savior—”
“Nooo!” Wesley screamed. “How can you do this?”
Everett’s arms were outstretched at his sides. “He’s in heaven, preparing a place for me…” Chills engulfed him, as did the sensation that he was floating. “He’s right here with me, walking through this fire with me! Comforting me. Giving me—”
Poof.
Everett flinched, thinking it was Tony’s gun. He opened his eyes in time to see a small mushroom cloud rolling toward the ceiling.
Is that normal?
Murmuring in the lab.
Poof! A bright yellow flash.
Then yelling.
Something’s wrong.
And a blue flame creeping…racing…
There’s confusion. Maybe I can—
Whiteout.
BOOM!
The gust of heat blew Everett backward twenty feet, the seat of his pants burning from the friction of the slide.
A firestorm of metal and glass pelted him like a hurricane. His soul quaked at the horrifying shrieks.
Gotta find Wesley. He tried to lift himself. No way. He collapsed amid the carnage.
“Heeeelp!”
He rolled his throbbing head toward the terror-pierced screams.
On fire.
People were on fire!
40
WHEREVER HE WAS, EVERETT felt like he could sleep forever. Eyes closed, he winced at the sharpness in his throat and the riveting pain that squeezed his neck and back like a vice. His elbows burned.
Cold water.
But not now…just sleep.
He drifted.
Wesley was screaming. Tony pulled the trigger. Everything exploded…
“Get out!” His eyes flicked open. His body was drenched, and he was panting. He felt a cool washcloth ease his forehead back down on the pillow and wipe the perspiration away.
Full Tilt (Rock Star Chronicles) Page 31
