by D. J. Manly
Published by Mojocastle Press, LLC
Price, Utah
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
The Russos: Episode One
ISBN: 1-60180-029-0
Copyright © 2006 D. J. Manly
Cover Art Copyright @ 2006 April Martinez
All rights reserved.
Excluding legitimate review sites and review publications, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Copying, scanning, uploading, selling and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission from the publisher is illegal, punishable by law and will be prosecuted.
Available online at:
http://www.mojocastle.com/
Also By D.J. Manly:
Connor's Storm
Melting Ice
Dedication:
To my readers.
By noon, the news of what had happened was everywhere.
Tony Newton's friends heard it on their ghetto blaster radios, and the central news broadcasting corporation in the United States had interrupted regularly scheduled programming in order to provide minute-by-minute coverage. The Canadian news was a little more conservative; they chose to interrupt programming only whenever there was truly any new development in the situation.
When the lunch hour was finished, Tony's grade twelve math teacher knew she was facing a classroom full of agitated and excited adolescents who had spent the previous hour speculating on what exactly had happened to two of the members of their favorite rock group. She tried to refocus them but gave up eventually, instead instructing them to work quietly on their math problems in chapter three.
Evelyn Sanborn sat down at her desk and looked around the room at her students. She had heard about the incident on her lunch break. She always went home for lunch to watch her soap while she ate the sandwiches she had prepared in the morning.
But there was to be no love in the afternoon today.
The American news network was broadcasting over almost every channel, showing helicopter shots of Drake Russo's Los Angeles home. She had lived through the O.J. Simpson thing, and now some other craziness was happening in the States.
Initially, she really didn't want to know about it.
These celebrities were a whole different breed, and if they changed the type of cereal they ate, the media made a big deal out of it. But then as she was more or less forced to listen to what had happened, she was frozen to the spot. She couldn't believe it.
Drake Russo had shot his younger brother Johnny.
What made this such a sensational case was not only the high profile of the Russo Brothers Band, but the fact that Johnny was actually shot by his brother. The trademark of the Russo Brothers was that they were brothers, the epitome of familial harmony. Aside from being good musicians, the fact that they always appeared to be so happy together was a large part of their appeal. Sure, there was gossip about them, but it was always what you'd expect from rock stars; drugs, sex, lashing out at journalists, former lovers revealing secrets, things that rock stars were allowed to get away with simply because they were rock stars.
She understood the kids in her class who were crazy about the Russo Brothers would be disturbed by the news, and were anxious to sit in front of the television sets at home to hear more.
And there were no bigger fans of the Band in her classroom than Tony Newton and his buddy Sam Ashman, who had even started a fan club at the high school. Newton and Ashman had stood outside in the rain for ten hours last year to get tickets to their Toronto concert, only to be told they were all sold out.
She noticed how upset they looked when they came back into the classroom this afternoon and had considered bringing the subject up, letting the kids talk about it, but decided against it. It might make matters worse to give it too much importance. After all, they were rock stars. Crazy things happened to rock stars.
When the bell rang for the students to change classrooms, Evelyn Sanborn headed home early and switched on her set.
* * * * * *
When the final bell sounded, signaling the end of the day, Tony and Sam sprang out of their seats only to be told by Mr. Foreman, their English teacher, to sit back down. "I haven't dismissed you yet," he barked in a severe voice, wiping his hand across his greasy, balding head. "I want you to finish reading 'For Whom the Bell Tolls' over the weekend, please. The American news coverage on the Russo thing will break once in a while. You can read in between interviews."
There were groans.
Mr. Foreman mawkishly lifted both hands, indicating that they could leave. "Quietly...and in a civil manner, please," he emphasized, but his words were lost to most of the students, who were already halfway out the door.
Tony Newton was a handsome boy for his seventeen years, with his sherry-colored eyes and shoulder-length curly brown hair. He was very popular at Champlain High, not only because he was handsome, but because he had a sensitive soul. He was outgoing and smart, but he treated everyone with kindness and respect.
Tony Newton had been Sam Ashman's best friend since grade school. Even though Tony came from a more prestigious family then his, he never flaunted it.
Tony's parents, Sandra and Tom, were great people. Sandra owned a woman's bookstore, and Tom was a pediatrician with his own practice. They had always treated Sam like a second son, and for years he had called them Sandra and Tom. The Newtons were in their mid-thirties, younger than his own parents and far less uptight. Tom was handsome and wore an earring in his ear, and Sandra was a gorgeous blonde.
Sam loved spending time there. When Tony and he wanted to smoke a joint once when they were fourteen, the Newtons sat down and smoked with them. He laughed every time he thought of that. He couldn't imagine his own parents, Sally and Ed Ashman, who worked shifts at the local paper mill, smoking dope with him. He even went on vacation to Florida with the Newtons last summer and they paid for everything.
But it wasn't the Newtons or the Ashmans Sam and Tony were discussing as they hurried along the tree-lined sidewalks in small-town Dunville, Ontario.
Neither one had brought a radio to school, so they could only guess at the details. They knew this much: Johnny Russo was apparently in critical condition in some private hospital in Los Angeles, and Drake Russo was in jail.
"It makes no sense." Sam shook his short-cropped silvery blond head. With his large blue eyes, he looked quite Nordic, and older then seventeen. "Why would Drake shoot his brother?"
Tony sighed. "Shit happens. Maybe they were fighting over some music thing, but I don't believe Drake meant to hurt Johnny." Tony kicked some of the dying leaves that lay on the sidewalk as he walked past Tom Hagg's corner store. He raised a hand to him in the window, and Hagg stuck his tongue out at them. He had always been a character.
Tony and Sam had known him since they were kids.
They were both strangely silent as they made their way down Main Street to Maple Avenue, where Tony lived. Sam often came home with Tony after school, and they would eat treats Sandra Newton made and watch reruns of 'Happy Days'. On certain nights of the week, he would stay for supper, nights when the Ashmans were working shifts and weren't home.
Tony knew what they were both thinking, but neither one wanted to actually put voice to it.
When they were just small boys, they had done the blood brothers thing. They had just watched a special show on television that profiled the Russo Brothers Band. Drake, Johnny, Pepi and their drummer and long-time friend Mac Hayes were briefly interviewed on camera. It was exciting, beca
use it was rare that they appeared on television.
That evening, Tony stayed over. The show came on at ten, which was a little late on a school night, but Sandra allowed the boys to stay up, providing they agreed to go right to sleep after it ended.
At nine-twenty, they both snuggled down on the sofa under a blanket in their pajamas, anticipating the pleasure of seeing the members of their favorite rock group. Tony remembered how they both squealed when the show started and Drake Russo smiled at them behind the television screen. He was so handsome. Both Sam and Tony were crazy about him even then, the little-boy crush they had on him having little to do with sexuality one way or another.
When the brothers sang and played, he and Sam both got up and hopped around the room. When they were interviewed, they hung on every word. But it was something Johnny said when the interviewer asked them what the secret was to their immense popularity that stuck in Tony's thoughts.
Johnny Russo, sitting beside his older brother, looked at him with such love in his eyes. There was no mistaking the sentiment. "First of all," Johnny had said, "My brother is one of the most talented musicians around. He's a wonderful composer, and my other brother, Pepi," he turned to him, "is a wizard on the keyboards. But the secret to our success is not just the music, it's that we have such incredible love for one another. That love creates the chemistry onstage, and it's what makes the Russo Brothers what it is." Again, Johnny had looked at Drake. "We are the closest of brothers for all time."
Tony remembered feeling quite shaken by Johnny's expression of love for Drake. He had looked over at Sam, and decided that they would be brothers too. He had always wanted a brother. During the sharing of blood the next afternoon after school as Tony and Sam ground their thumbs together, Tony actually repeated Johnny's words verbatim. "We are the closest of brothers for all time," he said. "Just like Johnny and Drake, nothing will ever change that."
As boys, they used to pretend that they were the Russo brothers. Tony would be Johnny, and Sam would be Drake. They would put the music on and dance around, and imagine the crowd roaring with applause.
But it seemed that nothing would be the same for Johnny and Drake ever again, and the dreams of two little boys imagining their perfect musical heroes standing side by side as brothers had been shattered along with everything else. It was this that hurt the most.
As Tony walked into the three bedroom bungalow with its polished beams and natural wood floors, it appeared deserted, although Sandra Newton's car was in the driveway, the door was unlocked and the television was on full blast. Tony gave his friend a confused look, closed the door behind him and called to his mother.
Sandra Newton, who usually closed her bookstore at three in the afternoon except on Saturdays because she wanted to be home for her son after school, was not in the house.
"That's weird, Mom doesn't usually leave the television on and the door unlocked," he mumbled, calling out to her again as he walked into the stainless-steel kitchen and dropped his books on the counter.
"Maybe she was in a hurry and had to get something at the store," Sam called as he walked to the living room, with its cranberry rug and brown velvet easy chairs.
Tony shrugged as if it didn't matter and followed his friend into the living room. He threw himself onto the tan velvet sofa, focusing on what the reporter was saying. He was talking about the past history of the group, recalling how Johnny Russo had spent some time in rehab years ago for a coke addiction and the several occasions that Drake Russo had been accused of getting rough with reporters and waiters at hotels.
"Drake Russo has always had a violent temper," some correspondent for a popular music magazine was speaking now. "It's been only through the diplomatic tactics of the band's manager, Frank Carr, that Drake has managed to stay out of jail thus far."
"That's not fair!" Tony cried out. "They've already convicted him. They're making him out to be some crazed madman. Remember, Sam, that time a few years back when Drake hit that reporter who was hounding him all the time about Johnny's coke addiction? I would have hit the guy too. I mean, shit, there are circumstances, it must be a lot of pressure all the time...you know?"
Sam nodded. "Ya, of course, but news is news. They're going to dig up all the dirt now. And Tony, you do know that a lot of stuff goes on behind closed doors that..."
"Of course I know that, but Drake and Johnny care about each other, and they can't tell me any different," Tony replied stubbornly.
The guy on TV kept talking. "Drake and Johnny have had their difficulties in spite of their apparent closeness. They are both high profile musicians; both play guitar. They have egos, and I think there might have been some professional jealousy roused when Drake won that guitar award last spring.
"Many people don't know that Drake almost left the group several times, in '96 and also in '97. Drake and Johnny have had their fights. Just before a concert in New York City, Johnny gave Drake a black eye backstage, for example. The show was held back three hours. They almost didn't go on, and a makeup man for the band told our magazine that it took a whole container of pancake makeup to cover up Drake's eye.
Now whatever happened last night at Drake's twenty-two room mansion in L.A. is anyone's guess."
Tony sighed in frustration. "They don't get it. Drake might have almost left the band, Sam, but he didn't leave, did he?"
Sam shook his head, focused on what the two men on the television were saying.
"Do we have any details at all of what actually took place last night, Chris?" the reporter was asking now.
"We know very little, Don. The police, of course, are investigating, but are being closed-mouthed about it all. We do know this; the band was throwing a party for Mac Hayes' birthday. He turned thirty-five yesterday. Johnny showed up around ten, according to some of the staff hired to look after the food and drinks. He brought some studio musician people with him."
"Was he intoxicated, stoned, maybe?"
"No one knows. Sources close to Johnny claim that he has been on the wagon from coke for years, but who knows what he was smoking. Apparently Drake was upset with him, and they were snipping at each other all evening. At least this is what I was told by one of the waiters. The staff was sent home at midnight and the shooting occurred at two-ten in the morning, so we have no more information about that at this time. Apparently Pepi Russo as well as Mac Hayes was present during the shooting, but we have been unable to get any comments from them. They have barricaded themselves at the hospital where Johnny is being cared for. The chief of police---you heard his statement earlier---told the press that Drake Russo arrived at the police station number twelve at four in the morning. Apparently he had been walking for close to two hours. He told the sergeant at the desk that he had shot his brother and to arrest him, which of course they did immediately."
"Has the district attorneys' office charged Drake with anything yet, Chris?"
"They are expected to do that sometime late this afternoon or early tomorrow morning. I am told---and this is not certain---that Drake Russo has so far refused bail or legal counsel, so I assume the DA is waiting to see what develops there before going ahead."
"It will be interesting to see what the actual charge will be," the reporter mused. "Attempted murder, do you think?"
"I assume attempted murder, but that depends on the circumstances surrounding the shooting as well as whether Johnny Russo pulls through this or not. We are all anxiously awaiting a statement from the Santa Rosa Hospital. A team of doctors is supposed to be addressing the media sometime today."
Both Tony and Sam were quiet as the reporter said goodbye to the magazine guy. They were to hear the details of those events several times over the next few hours.
"God, he could really die," Tony murmured.
Sam sighed. "Ya, and Drake would go to prison for murder."
"I'm telling you, Sam, Drake didn't shoot Johnny deliberately. I know it." Tony protested, then fell silent. This could be the end of the Russo Brothers. He lo
ved that group. It greatly distressed him.
"Tony," Sam said after a few moments, just to change the subject, "I didn't know anyone in your house smoked."
"They don't." Tony replied, surprised. "Oh, my mom used to, but she quit years ago."
Sam picked up something beside him and held it out to his friend. "Ya, well, where did this come from, then?" he asked. In his hand was an expensive crystal cut ashtray, filled to the brim with lipstick-stained cigarette butts.
* * * * * *
Janet swore and ripped off her second pair of pantyhose. She had snagged them again. To hell with it, she'd wear pants. She pushed her honey-blonde hair out of her eyes and searched around her vanity for a cigarette. She needed to calm down.
She peered at herself in the mirror and wondered how in hell she was going to cover up her swollen, puffy eyes. God, what if she ended up being accosted by the media before she could get into the hospital?
She slammed her elbow down on top of the vanity table and placed a trembling hand over her face. She told herself she'd feel much better once Angelo got home. He could always calm her down. God, she had missed him so much.
She had been opposed to this crazy idea from the beginning of letting her son wander around Europe on his own like some kind of Bohemian for a year.
She had argued with his father about it for months, but he had talked her into letting him go.
"Jan, Angelo is going to go whether you approve or not, so why not just give him your blessing?"
Drake had told her. "He wants to see the world. He traveled a great deal with me and the guys when he was growing up, you know that. It whet his appetite to see what else is out there. He wants to see it on his own now, in his own way."
