Second Chance
Page 14
The crowd chuckled along with me. Every word helped my resolve.
“But the show must go on, right? I broke my leg, not my throat, after all.” I cast a warm smile toward the audience, then turned to the emcee and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Thanks for covering for me, Drake! But I’ll take it from here.”
“I have never been so happy to get kicked off a stage.” Drake responded in perfect time. Some more laughs. “Put your hands together for Brad Garza!”
The roar of the crowd reverberated through my entire body, from my head to my broken toes. Jay Jay wasn’t in the crowd. I mean, of course he wasn’t. He was still in that hospital bed, resting and recovering.
This was the first time he had ever missed one of my performances. But I wasn’t going to choke this time. Today, I’d make him proud.
The heat of the stage lights panned down to my shoulders, and my music started. A slow, seductive melody blasted loudly enough to fill the open air. Then I pressed my lips to the microphone.
###
Jay McClintock
~Hold me in that darkness. Hold me for the night. Hold me as the moon gives up its final light.~
The grin on my face was involuntary. Showing up, broken leg and all, immediately following a front page tabloid level car accident, turned him into a sensation big enough to steal the limelight from the headliners. The cameras were all on him. The crowd was overflowing. Entertainment news stations were blowing up with his face. Everyone wanted to know who he was.
I should be there.
No, he’s doing just fine. Even without me there. His voice sounded phenomenal, not even encumbered by his undoubtable pain. I was glowing with pride. It was worth it. All of it was worth it for this moment.
But I barely had time to take it all in when Mark returned from the deck. “Jay, grab your things and meet me in the car. I’m going to introduce you to someone.”
###
Brad Garza
Two stage hands practically carried me from the spotlight, as applause roared through the crowd. They pushed through paparazzi and wheeled me to the safety of the lounge trailer.
“Thanks so much, boys.” I lifted a weak hand to emphasize my appreciation. “If you don’t mind, keep everyone out for a couple hours. I’m going to get some rest.”
They nodded and left me to my devices. I sunk into the chair, and dug for the phone in my pocket. I hit dial.
“Jay Jay, I did it.” I laughed through my hoarse and tired throat.
“You did.” He sounded distant.
I frowned into the receiver. “You’re not still mad, are you?”
“Of course not. You really made me proud today, Brad.”
That was far too soft a statement to be Jay. He must still be drugged. I grinned widely, happy to get to take advantage of this refreshing bit of honesty. “Anytime, babe.”
He chuckled. I smiled.
“Hey… Can I call you back?” Jay’s voice was shaky. No, maybe just tired. That would make more sense.
“Sure. Right. I just wanted to check in. Hear your voice.” I managed one more laugh.
“I appreciate it. Good work. Get some rest. Talk later.” He hung up, and I was left, again, with exhausting silence. I closed my eyes and laid my head back on the couch.
###
Five hours disappeared. Which I only know because I fell asleep with my phone still loosely in my hand. I might have taken more if not for the light rapping on the door of my dark trailer.
“Sorry, I’m awake!” I called into the darkness. Someone must be here to check on me. “Come in.”
The door opened, and the light came on too quick and too bright for my eyes to even try to adjust. I lifted a hand to block the artificial sun from burning through my retinas.
“You must be Bradley Sergio Ainsworth-Garza.” Startlingly green eyes met mine, upturned by a broad smile. He was a perfect picture of rugged masculinity, with the skin of a sun-tempered Californian, and the dark hair of an Eastern European. But his accent was… Italian maybe? Not Spanish. Not Turkish either.
“Yep, that would be me.” I tried to sound cordial, but I was too drained, physically and mentally, to be “on” right now. “Are you… with the crew?”
“You could say that.” He approached, his hands in the pockets of a dark pair of jeans. “It’s Andrea.” He offered a hand. Definitely Italian. “Mr. Baek sent me over to check on you. You did great today. So great in fact, I’ll be stepping in as your new tour manager.”
Finally some recognition. “What about Jay? He’s not…”
“Reassigned? No. Think of me as an additional resource, not a replacement resource.” His eyes continued to smile, but something about his expression felt distinctly false. Like he was a soulless puppet performing ‘human emotions’ for the crowd. I’d met plenty of wooden actors like this in Hollywood. Empty and narcissistic, yet trying so hard to fool the world that they were neither of those things.
Perhaps that’s a common trait in this industry. Or just corporations in general. Mr. CEO felt similar.
“Well, in that case, happy to make your acquaintance.” I reached for a crutch that was leaning against the wall beside me.
“Oh, let me.” Andrea rushed to my side and gave me a hand to help me to my feet.
“Holy fuck! Pills. Get me pills. Or morphine. Or something. Fuck- anything!” I was nearly crying as all of the blood rushed to my broken ankle, without an ounce of adrenaline or lingering Vicodin left in my system to save me.
“I’m so sorry- sit! Sit!” Andrea ran to grab the wheel chair, and came back with some pain pills. I downed them and sank into the seat.
What a sorry state I’m in. I had barely even finished settling when darkness pulled at my mind again. Drowsiness, I guess? Why did I feel so sick?
I fought to open my eyes, but they had never felt more heavy than they did right now. My consciousness was being dragged away by the depths of my mind, and in an instant everything went black.
###
Jay McClintock
Mark parked the car in a nondescript parking lot by a warehouse in Long Beach. He hadn’t spoken to me much at all the whole drive over. My questions were met with silence until I accepted I shouldn’t be asking them at all. I couldn’t tell if he was taking me over here for some kind of explanation or if this was going to be some sort of punishment.
He got out of the car, then he popped the trunk and pulled out a briefcase while I struggled to drag myself out of the seat. Together, we entered a locked door on the back side of the building, using Mark’s unexpectedly extensive key ring.
Marked flipped on a light switch, and the whole of the warehouse came to life. A towering sailboat sat in an enclosed dry dock in the center of the room, while large, industrial shelves covered in boxes were stacked to the ceiling.
“No time for gawking. This way.” Mark scolded my wandering eyes. He led me to an office in the far corner, unlocking that room, and forcing the door open with his shoulder.
The room was much larger than it had appeared from the outside. At the desk, behind the computer, sat a man in an immaculate, tailored suit.
“You’re…” Charles Sommers. I stopped myself from speaking aloud, shooting my gaze over to Mark. The last time I saw Mr. Sommers, he was chasing my dad up into the mountains. As far as I’ve always known, it was under his order that we were caged in, and under his order that we were run off the road. There must be some explanation for this. I forced composure as I addressed Mark McClintock. “Wh-who is this?” I tried to sound confident, but I can’t say I succeeded.
Mark’s expression remained deadpan. He must have known. It would be naïve, now, to assume Mark was an innocent outsider to the investigation. He turned his attention to Mr. Sommers. “Chuck, we have a bit of an issue.”
Sommers’ eyes remained on me for an extended second, as though he was transcribing my adult appearance in his mind. Then he addressed Mark. “I’m listening.”
“Have you spoken to
Christian Baek recently?” Mark continued.
“He’s been on his own for a while now. Why?”
Mark approached the desk, and set his briefcase flat across it. He popped open the lock, and spun it around to reveal the contents to Mr. Sommers. I couldn’t see what was in it.
Sommers removed a stack of pages, and started scanning over the content. Without a word, he placed them back in the briefcase and picked up his phone.
“You’ve been working with Christian…. That was a statement, not a question…. Yes, that’s what I thought…. Only eighteen kilos? Cute…. Right, I’ll be by shortly. Cheers.” He hung up and turned to face us. “So was this is errand boy?” Sommers eyed me again. I swallowed.
“I didn’t know…” my eyes shot to the floor and I struggled to lift them back to his face. What the fuck is going on here? “I mean, I still don’t know. He just had me deliver some packages in exchange for industry contacts.”
Sommers smiled and cocked his head back. “Don’t be so nervous, Sebastian. The Karas family has already paid their debt to me.”
There were too many emotions running through my mind at this moment for a single one to manifest on my face. I stared at Mr. Sommers, cold and empty. Mark’s expression remained deadpan.
Our debt? What was our debt exactly? Was the cost his life? Was it supposed to be mine? Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be there at all. And what was my father in debt for? What deals did he make? He was just a banker. He wasn’t part of some kind of mafia… he couldn’t have been.
Maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Maybe he was tricked. Like I’ve been.
“I bet you have a lot of questions.” Charles Sommers’ voice forced me back into the moment. “You’re Jay McClintock now, right? Where did that name come from.”
“It… was my mom’s favourite bird.” I spoke under my breath, mechanically and not wanting to come off as obstinate. “Since she’s gone, I thought it would… keep her memory alive.”
“Yes, that was an unfortunate, casualty.” Sommers rubbed his chin. “But your father just talked too much to too many people. You can never be too safe.”
“So why didn’t you kill me, too?” The forefront question in my mind won out and escaped my lips.
“You can thank the Detective for that. He’s always been a bit of a softy.”
“What was my father’s debt?” My questions became slightly more bold the more reasonable Mr. Sommers seemed to be. I knew I couldn’t trust him, but on the off chance he’d tell me what I wanted to know, I had to take advantage of this moment.
“Money is addicting, isn’t it?” He folded his hands on the desk. “Racing is an expensive hobby after all.”
“That doesn’t make sense. No one would make a deal with the devil for a hobby.” I shook my head. Mark frowned.
“Didn’t you?” Sommers raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what you were doing with Christian?”
“No, it wasn’t for money.” Money was never an issue. That’s never why I cared about succeeding. I was offended just hearing the accusation.
“Well, I suppose the only other thing that might make someone do something that crazy would be love, no?” His eyes remained trained on mine, penetrating through the lenses of my glasses and digging straight into my soul.
Love? Did I do it for love?
No, I did it for Brad.
Not for…
Fuck.
I didn’t protest further. Any additional information could only hurt me. “Who did my dad do it all for? He had my mom. He had me. We never asked for anything.“
“Who, indeed.” He had clearly accepted that he had the upper hand in this conversation. Well, he always had. I didn’t like what he was implying. How much of my father’s life did I know nothing about? “We can discuss this further another time. For now, I have my own proposal for you.”
“Huh?” I didn’t expect that at all. I looked to Mark, who at no point was intervening or offering opinion. I couldn’t tell if he was intimidated by Mr. Sommers, or if he was simply following some unspoken order. I wanted to refuse immediately, but given the circumstances of my physical condition, and being here with Mark McClintock with no clear way out, it didn’t feel like I had a lot of options. Still, I had to stand up for myself at least a little bit. “I don’t need anything from you.“ I stated plainly.
“Are you sure? Well, maybe your client does.” He picked up the phone and redialled the last number. Then he pressed the speaker button. “Andrea, status update?”
“The hostage is secured, sir.” That lightly Italian, yet distinctly Californian, accent sang through the phone. “He didn’t put up much of a fight with the broken leg and all. Took him right out of his dressing room.” Wait, is he talking about Brad? “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”
“And Christian Baek?”
“He’s not answering my calls, sir. The car accident thing might have gotten a touch too much attention. I think he’s already figured out that transport request was more of a fishing expedition.”
“Noted. That’s about what I expected. Thank you, Andrea.” Charles Sommers hung up the phone and returned to me. “Let’s make a deal. Christian isn’t likely to run from you. I need you to lure him out of hiding, and I’ll handle the rest.”
“Who’s the hostage?” I knew the answer, but I somehow wanted to hear an honest admission.
But it was no use. He simply smiled. “You seem like an intelligent, forward thinking, and ambitious young man. How would you like to run ALIVE Records? Have every resource at your fingertips?”
“What are you going to do with the hostage?” I repeated.
“He’s the backup bait for Baek… And my collateral for you.” With that, he reached into the briefcase, and tossed me a photo. A single photo that said it all. Brad. Myself. My back against the wall, his lips on my neck, captured through a hidden backstage camera. There it was. My eyes widened. “You’ve trusted the wrong people and made some mistakes, Sebastian… Jay. What do you prefer to be called?”
“J-Jay.” Any chance of sounding calm had disappeared.
“Jay. But you’ve also showed great potential. I won’t ask you to work for me. But, if you do me a favour here or there, I can reward you handsomely. If you don’t, well, mistakes have consequences.”
It suddenly made sense that my father had fallen for this. I don’t know what he had on him, but even now, I knew I was out of options. I swallowed back my pride, and lifted my chin. “You just need me to lure him out?”
“That’s all.”
“And you’ll let me go…” I shook my head. “Let us go?”
“Easy, yes?”
“You have a deal.” I extended my hand, and he took it with a firm, eager grip.
“That’s what I thought.”
Chapter 14
Brad Garza
When I came to this time, opening or closing my eyes seemed to make no difference in the surrounding darkness. I looked down at my body, bound to my wheelchair, just to verify I hadn’t gone blind. It was cold, the air was moist, and everything reeked of seaweed and oil tankers.
I take it that Andrea guy is not, in fact, my new tour manager. I chuckled to myself. I was too weak to even try to break my restraints, so I accepted that was about all I could do.
Somewhere between 5 minutes and two hours passed before I heard the sound of metal sliding over metal. A light peeked in from an opening door. It was night time, but there appeared to be enough overhead lights outside to nearly replicate the day. Andrea stood in the door way with a large brute of a man.
I’m in a shipping container. Long Beach?
Wooden crates were all around me, marked with different band logos. Parrot Marionette, Lemon Park, Ride the Viking, even my own name graced a crate – all bands under the ALIVE label.
“You’re awake!” Andrea beamed in a way that was entirely too cheerful.
“Where is this?” My voice sounded foreign in my ears.
“At the final
stage.” He nodded to himself. “Oh- Don’t worry, we’re not going to kill you or anything.”
“Cool.” Great response, Brad. And clearly there’s nothing to worry about. They’re just going to drug me and tie me up, but they won’t kill me… “So what’s with all the CDs?”
“You’ll see.” That grin made my skin crawl.
I pursed my lips and heaved a sigh. I’m supposed to be celebrating my success right now. Not being held hostage. This is bullshit.
###
Jay McClintock
Charles Sommers set me up with a new car. Mark McClintock headed back home, leaving me to try to absorb everything that was happening on my own. It was so much to process, I opted to just shut it out completely to focus on the task at hand. I could dwell on how many betrayals and lies I’ve been subjected to later.
I dialled Baek, but got no answer. I sent him a text, and the response was more positive.
His punctuation said all he needed to say on its own. Though it wasn’t clear how much he had been involved in incident all those years ago now. I agreed to meet, sent a text to Sommers, and set my map to a shipping container yard just a couple miles away from Mr. Sommer’s warehouse. I parked the car out of sight, so he wouldn’t assume the worst before we even got a chance to meet up.
I followed the arrows and numbers to the container number Baek had also sent me. Everything looked the same, rusted and dirty from months and months on the slow boat to and from China. At long last, I located a large green container at the end of the fourth row. No containers were stacked on top of it, and the door appeared to be slightly ajar. No one was around.