by T L Dasha
“How much time?”
“Half an hour from pickup.”
I shook my head. “I’d have to take back roads with how much beach traffic there is. There’s no way I’d get it there fast enough.” I didn’t want to turn him down, but what he was asking was near impossible. I’d have to average at least 60mph, and those roads are way too tight for that. At least… at least they are in the daylight.
“You’ll be doing it late at night. You’ll be fine.” He paused long enough to meet my gaze. “The time frame is important. The package is sensitive, and the receiver will be departing promptly at 1:00AM.”
“What’s in the package?” I hadn’t ever looked before. I hadn’t even asked. But it seemed like now was as reasonable a time as any to demand details. Why would the timeline matter this much. Was I delivering ice cream or some shit?
He cocked an eyebrow. “If you needed to know that, I’d have told you. Can you do it or not?”
“I…”
“Maybe this is too much for you.” He let out a sigh of pure disappointment. “Though if Brad doesn’t have a packed field for his performance at the Bass Jumpers Tour, I won’t be able to get you any help in the future. You’ll be working off the rest of your debt to me in the filing room in the basement for the next fifty years.”
“I’ll do it.” I spoke without thinking. I already regretted it. “At midnight, I’m sure I can make that run.”
“Perfect. As you know, the Bass Jumpers Tour is Friday. I’ll text you the pick up point.”
The jarring jingle of a ringing phone cut through his words. Baek glanced at the caller ID then glanced at me. “I need to take this. I think we’re done with this discussion anyways.”
Hardly. But there was no use arguing anymore. I nodded as he picked up the receiver, then I turned on my heel.
“One moment.” I heard Baek’s voice behind me, and I gave him my attention one last time. He was covering the phone with his hand. “Don’t disappoint me, McClintock.”
I didn’t say another word. He returned to his call as I left the room. My feet carried me in a daze down to my car. I was supposed to meet Brad soon, but my mind was still replaying my dad’s crash on repeat. My hand shook as I lifted the keys to the ignition. I missed the slot on every attempt. What was I getting myself into?
###
“Jay Jay! I have exciting news!” Brad sat across from me at the coffee shop, ten minutes late for our meeting. He was always the fashionably late type. Most days it didn’t bother me. Today it was ten more minutes to stew in my frustration and anger and paranoia.
“I heard.” I passed him his usual and took a sip of my coffee to hide the cross expression on my face.
“Oh. I guess it makes sense that you would have…”
“How the fuck did it seem like a good idea to talk to Christian Fucking Baek without discussing it with me first?” My allotted ‘cool’ had run out for the day, apparently. Brad was going to be getting my real thoughts and feelings.
“Y-you’re mad.”
“No fucking shit.”
“I thought this was a good opportunity...”
I slammed my cup on the table harder than I intended, causing the hot black liquid to jump out of its cup and stain the sleeve of my suit. I couldn’t force myself to care.
Calm down, Jay. Your anger has nothing to do with him. I took a deep breath and looked Brad in the eye. He looked alarmed. Confused. Not at all like someone who had just fucked my entire plan. How could I blame him? He was just offered a spot on stage at one of the most hyped music festivals in Los Angeles. I’m sitting here, stewing in my past, while Brad just sees the greatest opportunity he’s ever had. I’m the unreasonable one here. Not him. “Goddamn it, why is it so impossible to stay mad at you? What did he tell you your opportunity was, exactly?”
The corners of his mouth perked up, like a puppy that had just been told he was still a good boy, right after getting in trouble. He ran a hand through his hair, stopping behind his head and rubbing his neck sheepishly. “I’m kind of worried about what exactly he told you now.”
“I’m guessing we have two different stories.” I shouldn’t be taking Baek’s word for anything. The last thing I wanted to do was create a rift between us because of my own assumptions.
“Yeah.” Brad shifted his gaze to his iced matcha latte and stirred it with his straw. “He told me he managed to get me a spot on the Bass Jumpers Tour.” He bit his lower lip for an extended second. Submissive. Odd. “If we can draw a big enough crowd, he said we could have anything we need going forward.”
I see. How could he say no to that. Knowing what he knows, if he had told me he turned down an opportunity like that, he probably figured I would be far more livid. “And what if we can’t?”
“Those consequences are on me.” He remained fixated on his drink as he wrapped his lips around the straw and sucked in the soft green latte. That can’t be good. I’m starting to wonder which one of us sold our soul further down the river.
“How exactly does he expect you to outshine Parrot Marionette and Lemon Park?”
“He said he’d discuss some ideas with you…” Brad’s eyes finally met mine again. A glint of rebelliousness flashed through his dark irises. “Honestly, Jay Jay, I didn’t even think twice about it. Because you’re in charge. And you’re the best there is. You couldn’t let me down if you tried.” He shrugged and returned to his drink.
My face instantly flushed, and I took another sip in an effort to hide that, too. Here I was, ready to be furious at him, and here he was, placing trust, above and beyond, in me.
I breathed in and out a few counts with my mug still at my lips, letting my breath bounce off the hot coffee and return steam around my nose. I closed my eyes as I set my drink back on the table. There’s no reason I can’t deliver a package. Thirty minutes from the hills to the coast would have been child’s play to dad. And I was always a faster driver.
Brad slurped the last of his drink, catching every drop he could with his straw, then he set it aside. “So what did he suggest to you?”
Should I tell him? It’s so ludicrous it seems silly to even voice it. I paused long enough that I knew it was going to start coming off as suspicious if I didn’t say something. “We just need to come up with a good promotion strategy. Find some way to get your name in the public eye.”
Brad slurped the last of his drink, using his straw to capture every last drop of liquid. “Like… a scandal or something?” His gaze moved upward, looking to the cogs in his head. “Like… us? Do you think If we went public with-”
“No.” There was no need to let him finish that sentence. Certainly not in public. “We’ll just… don’t worry about it. I’m still brain storming. We have a couple more days to think of something.”
“Alright.” Brad stood up and stretched his arms over his head. “Well… sorry for going behind your back. I thought it was going to be for the best.”
“Apology accepted.” I nodded. “Your heart was in the right place.”
He smiled that easy smile. “It won’t happen again, Jay Jay.”
“Good.” I finished the last gulp. “We’ll make this work. It’s going to be alright.”
I watched him walk out, holding my composure til the end. I released a deep sigh and slumped my forehead to the table.
I had talked a good game, but I didn’t have any idea of what I was going to do.
Chapter 11
Brad Garza
My motorcycle fired to life with the deep rumble of an L-Twin and the distinctive clattering of a Ducati dry clutch. The new bike was an indulgent purchase, admittedly, but with how much time I had to spend riding to LA as of late, my eight-horsepower scooter wasn’t cutting it anymore. Plus, the bright red Italian stallion was doing wonders for my sex appeal. I’m pretty sure it sold at least enough albums to cover the price. It looked perfectly at home in front of that posh, big city coffee shop.
I traded my sunglasses for my full face rac
e helmet, thankful it gave me an extra bit of anonymity. People had finally started recognizing me every now and again. I guess this was the big time. Or at least the medium time. I would still be lucky to be able to draw the crowd I need for The Bass Jumpers Tour this weekend at my current level of fame. Jay Jay was so pissed. And he should have been.
I basically offered the boss his career for mine. I needed to make sure this was successful, but I only had about a day and a half left to drum up excitement. How hard could it be?
###
“GOD, this is fucking hard.” I exhaled as I slumped against the walls of the Chinese theatre. I miss the simpler days where I was able to reserve that phrase exclusively for Jay Jay’s dick. It turns out, not nearly as many people listen to the radio these days as I thought. Half the crowd had no idea who I was, and the other half, which seemed to be composed largely of teenage girls, was too busy or too broke to go to the show anyway. This is what I get for singing the musical equivalent of a trashy romance novel.
Maybe I really did need some kind of a scandal. Maybe I could rob a liquor store or have sex in public or something. I wonder if Jay would go for that? Heh.
I guess I can just show up on Saturday and see what happens. Maybe I’ll be able to woo the leftover crowd from Murder of Crowbars. There’s no guarantee that this is going to be an utter disaster. I bet everyone at these big tours has massive crowds by default.
“FUCK.” My phone started ringing and I glanced at the caller ID. Jay Jay. As always. Probably wants to talk promo strategies or some other annoyingly logical and helpful line of conversation. I should answer.
The phone kept ringing as I stared at the screen. Five rings. Six. Voicemail. I’ll call him back in a second. I need to get my head right first…
I flipped open my phone and scrolled through my contacts. There’s the one. It only took two rings before she picked up.
“Annabelle! It’s been a little while.”
“What do you want, Brad?” Her voice is so sexy when she’s angry.
“Why would you assume I want something? Can’t I call just to chat?”
“You? No. It’s been over a year. You’re lucky I even answered. I guess I haven’t gotten tired of being used by you.”
I suppose I deserve that. “Oh Anna baby, you know I never wanted it to end that way.”
“Save it. If you weren’t borderline famous these days I would have hung up a long time ago. Now what the hell do you actually want?”
Eesh, who’s using who, now? “How’s your catering business going?”
“Can’t afford food on that rock star salary yet? You’re not getting more free lunches.”
“No no no! I was just wondering if you’ve got any good… uh… networking luncheons coming up that might benefit from a free musical performance from THE up and coming Brad Garza. Maybe? Possibly?
… Please say yes.”
The line fell silent for long enough that I pulled the phone away from my ear to verify I hadn’t dropped the call. Nope, timer is still counting.
“Are you still there Annabellnana?”
“First of all.” Ah, there she is. Still angry, but at least she’s talking. “What the fuck. Don’t ever call me that again.”
“Done and done.”
“Second of all… I actually do have an event that might fit the bill if you can make it short notice. It’s tomorrow. It’s a wedding in Camarillo, and the bride is, annoyingly enough, a big fan of yours.”
“Is it a… big wedding?”
“Bitch, have you ever met a Camarillo horse chick who had a small wedding?”
“I’m in. Consider this an apology for literally everything.”
“Oh, Bradly Sweety.” Annabelle’s voice jumped up a few octaves, like the sweet, playful woman I remembered. “You still fucking owe me.”
And then she wasn’t. Annabelle hung up, and I switched over to texting Jay.
My phone started ringing, and I sent him straight to voicemail. A text rang through a few seconds later.
###
Jay McClintock
Brad is going to give me a goddamn hernia. He wasn’t answering my calls, he hadn’t texted me back in hours. We now had less than 24 hours before his set, and we’ve done nothing to promote. I’m going to have to just throw him off a fucking cliff at this rate.
I glanced at my phone again. All I wanted to see was a missed call from Brad, but all I had was a text from Baek. I took a slow deep breath. What other choice do I have?
I got on the highway and took out my frustration on the gas pedal. The late night traffic was sparse enough to unleash all 600 horsepower of my Mercedes AMG. Thirty minutes would be child’s play. The Valley blurred by my window. Calabasas. Agoura Hills.
I barreled down the steep grade into Camarillo and slowed my roll as I transferred to city streets. The address led me into a gated community. The homes were uniform. Neat and carefully groomed. The same paint, the same curtains, the same garages and flowers. I glanced at my text messages, ignoring the still missing contact from Brad. 324 North Wing Drive. South Wing, East Wing- Ah, there it is.
The street lights were dim, barely illuminating the house numbers. I parked out front and approached the door. I’d done so many deliveries for Baek that it felt like a well-oiled routine. I’d show up, someone would give me a nondescript box, and I’d drop it off at some dark, sketchy looking shop front. Easy. Painless. As long as I never questioned what was going on- which quite frankly, I didn’t want to know- it was well worth the assumed risk. I’m sure people have made far worse deals in this industry in order to get their chance at stardom. And I didn’t want Brad to have to make any deals like that.
Though as he continued to screen my calls, I was starting to wonder why I protected him so much. Maybe if he had to suffer a bit every now and again, he would actually think about what I’m going through for him.
I rolled my eyes to myself. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. He doesn’t even know what I’m going through for him, anyway.
I pressed the door bell, and it chimed in a short, three-note symphony. The door opened, and a forty-something-year-old man opened the door. He was wearing relaxed jeans, a tan sweater vest pulled over a pink polo shirt, and a fuzzy pair of slippers. He gave off Mr. Rogers vibes, with his gentle smile and his dad-bod build.
“You must be Christian’s protégé! Come in, come in!” Protégé? He shook my hand and waved me inside his townhouse. I followed obediently. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”
“N-no, I’m good.” This was strange. I took a seat at his kitchen table. A small scotty dog ran up to me, wearing a red argyle sweater and wagging its tail. I gave the little guy a brief, albeit confused smile before turning my attention back to the man who was now pouring himself a mug of coffee. I cleared my throat. “Mr. Baek told me you had a… time sensitive package for me?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He looked my way again. He was entirely too chipper for a midnight on a Thursday. “Right this way.”
The man led me downstairs, past a pool table and a bar counter, with old, cheeky advertisements for beer framed on the walls, and a neon sign that read “Man Cave” in bright pink letters. He settled in at a white door, and pulled out a key ring.
He turned to me, and whispered softly, “If you could keep it down, my wife and son have just gone to sleep.”
I nodded as a sil
ent promise. He pushed a key into the lock, and turned the knob.
The room that followed was pitch black. All I could hear was a light rustling. The movement of clothing maybe? The door shut behind us before this Mr. Rogers type character reached over for the light switch. The room shot to life, entirely too brightly, and my vision filled with the image of a man sitting in a wooden chair in the middle of the room, tied and bound and gagged and blindfolded. The hostage shifted in his restraints, while the man walked around back, and placed a hand on each of his shoulders.
“What’s your name, boy?” He gave me a smile while the hostage amped up his struggling under his grasp.
“J-Jay.” I forced an answer through my nerves. He tilted his head in a way that clearly communicated he wanted more, and I found my lips helplessly obeying. “McClintock. Jay McClintock.”
“Ah, McClintock. That makes more sense.” He looked down at his struggling captive. “Mr. McClintock here is going to give you a little ride to the beach. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
The captive in the chair shook his head, triggering a hearty laugh.
“There must be some mistake. I’m here for a package.” My words were more to convince myself that this wasn’t happening, than they were genuinely believing there was any sort of mistake.
“Right.” He looked up, thoughtfully considering my words. “If you prefer, I could put him in a series of boxes. But I thought this would be a little easier.”
Sweet jesus. I shook my head wildly. “No no, this is fine.”
“Great. That’s what I thought. Shall we, then?”
He untied his captive from the chair, though he was so heavily wrapped in duct tape, he still couldn’t move, then he hoisted him up over his shoulder. The man in his arms kicked and squirmed and struggled as I followed them from the room and back to my car.
This… This definitely isn’t happening. I kept my head down as I repeated the mantra in my mind, and I focused on the floor directly in front of me. But still, I followed along without argument.
“Can you open the trunk for me, McClintock?” The man shot me another expression of eerie happiness and calm.
