Endgame (4 page)

Pete stared at Noni. He felt unsettled by this turn of events. Noni Embrem had been a brilliant young civil rights lawyer when Harvey hired him to defend the band against manslaughter charges laid when a fan died of a drug overdose after one of their parties. At the time, everything seemed to be against them. Everyone predicted the band would go down, but Noni Embrem's decisive arguing prevailed. The crime had been pinned on the drug dealer who supplied the party favours that night. The group was exonerated.

“So you're joining us on the island?” Pete asked.

Noni smiled. “Harvey hired me to protect the band's interests, Pete. And that's exactly what I intend to do.”

Max shook his head. “Fucking Harvey. Does he really think we're going to trust him again?”

“No — he doesn't. In fact, technically this has nothing to do with Harvey. He'll get his cut for bringing you back to the record companies, but I'll be the one to advise you on what terms you should accept from them.”

Max grunted. Sami Lee wrapped her arm around his waist. Pete waited and watched. The Voice had nothing to say.

“So where are the others?” Noni asked, looking around. “I can't wait to see them again.”

“Gone on ahead in the first trip,” Edwards said. “I took them all over half an hour ago. I just got back when you arrived.”

He looked up at the sky. Dark clouds were moving in on the open blue.

“We'd better get started. There's a major storm expected to hit the coast later in the day.”

“So Spike's really here,” Max said, staring out across the water where he could see the outline of an island jutting up in the distance. “Then let the games begin. And may the worst man win.”

T
he
ride to the island seemed to take forever. The waves grew in size, steadily rocking the boat the farther out into open water they got. Halfway across, Noni Embrem surreptitiously threw up over the side. He turned and apologized to the others for his seasickness. Sami Lee glanced over, a cigarette stuck in the corner of her mouth, then looked away again. Edwards watched Noni with concern, but said nothing. He had his hands full steering the boat. Clearly, the storm was not far off. Rough water might not be the worst of it unless he was vigilant. Pete began to feel queasy, too. His fingers kept up a steady thrumming on the gunnels. The Voice warned him it would help keep them afloat till they reached solid ground again. Of course his rational mind didn't really believe this, but he was unable to resist. The fear was too strong.

The distant blur that was Shark Island grew in size and intensified as they approached. It seemed to rise out of the ocean to meet them. The island wasn't large — a little longer and wider than a football field — but up close it was foreboding. There appeared to be nothing welcoming about it. Anyone approaching would be put off by the sheer verticality of the dark cliffs that rose some twenty or thirty feet at the waterline. The trees, mainly hemlock and red cedar, grew densest around the edges, forming a barricade. The entire island seemed designed for isolation, as though it resented scrutiny. It wasn't until they rounded the point that they saw a cove facing away from the mainland, the only place where a boat could safely dock and allow passengers to disembark.

The autumn sky had turned grey overhead. The wind, barely noticeable earlier, blew harder as they approached. It carried a chill warning that winter was not far off. Sami Lee turned to look back. The mainland was just a smudge on the horizon, as though someone had been scribbling an outline with a dull pencil before erasing it.

The boat slid onto the sandy bottom of the cove. Edwards leapt out and quickly tied it to the dock beside a wooden boathouse. He turned and offered his hand to Sami Lee. As she reached for it, the boat shifted and she momentarily lost her balance.

She spat her cigarette in the water and glared at him. “Watch it! Are you trying to kill me?”

He shot her a look, but held his tongue. “Sorry. Just a bit rocky at the moment.”

Pete made it off the boat without incident. Noni leapt nimbly ashore, his face a picture of relief. Max stepped out of his own accord, balancing his bulky mass as he stretched a foot to dry land. Once on solid ground, they all stopped and looked around. An impressive piece of modern architecture rose three stories ahead of them, dwarfing the trees around it. The severe planes and angles of its cubist design seemed imposing and strange on the deserted piece of rock.

“That's something,” Noni said, staring at the house. “Someone has a great sense of style.”

“And money,” Max grunted.

“Piece of shit,” said Sami Lee.

Edwards unloaded their bags and started up the path. The others followed in single file — Noni and Pete walking in front, Max and Sami Lee behind — picking their way along the path. The house lay dead ahead. As they approached, Pete had the distinct impression it was waiting for them, though he couldn't say why. Maybe it was just from knowing Spike was already inside waiting to come face to face with his former partner, and archrival, Max Hardcore. He was dreading the moment as much as he anticipated it. But there was something else. Something not quite tangible. It hung in the air around them, watching their approach. It almost seemed to be judging them.

The door opened as they climbed the stairs to the front porch. Spike stood there, looking pretty much the same as he had fifteen years earlier. Still skinny as a rake, Pete noted. His hair was a ratty mop with hints of green, not unlike the Joker in Batman, the angry scowl on his face only slightly more entrenched.

Spike stared at them as though he might gun them all down if he had a weapon. A grin broke out on his face. “Maxie! You old fucker. You got fat!”

There was a moment's hesitation before Max Hardcore walked up to Spike, glared in his face, and, without warning, embraced his former partner.

“And you, you cocksucker. You still look like a heroin addict. Fuck you!” Max roared.

Laughter engulfed the pair as they did a jagged little waltz around the porch together before acknowledging the others who had been waiting to see whether the pair would kill or kiss. For a moment, no one knew what to say.

Edwards broke the silence. “I'll take your bags inside. Come in and get settled when you're ready.”

He turned and went in.

“I didn't know this motherfucker was invited or I'd never've come,” Max said, laughing. “I might have to kill him before he tries to kill me.”

“And I can't wait to kick your fucking carcass from one side of the island to the other,” Spike replied. “But there'll be plenty of time for that later. Come on inside, all of you, and let's have a drink!”

A ring of curious faces met them in the parlour. The harsh words and edgy tones of Max and Spike's greeting had made it difficult to know exactly what was said in earnest and what in jest. The five people seated there waited hesitantly to see what had just walked in the door.

Verna was first to recover. She approached the newcomers and held out her hand. “Hello, I'm Verna.”

Pete stood blinking in the doorway, unable to speak. Max eyed the blonde bombshell standing before them like Venus on the half-shell.

“Well, don't all speak at once, boys,” Verna said, hands on hips.

“This is Pete and that's Sami Lee,” Max said, pointing. “And I'm Max, of course.”

“Of course you are,” Verna said. “I know all about you. I'm a true fan.”

A cough sounded from the doorway. Heads turned to see Noni Embrem.

“And I'm Noni,” he said. “The brown guy.”

“He's a fucking asshole lawyer, but he's a good guy, regardless,” Max roared as he turned to take in the rest of the room.

“I'm Sandra.” A woman came forward wearing a grey skirt and an old sweater. Her face was lined and a stoop seemed to keep her from reaching her full height, but on second glance she looked more worn out than old.

“Good to meet you, Sandra,” said Max.

“I'll be doing domestic work. I'm also a qualified nurse, so I'll be taking on occasional duties as health attendant while you're on the island.”

Max gave her a cockeyed grin. “Does someone think I'm gonna have a heart attack?”

Sandra shook her head gravely. “Oh, no. It's just a courtesy, really. We're not expecting any medical emergencies.”

“Good.” Max nodded.
No sense of humour,
he thought.
By the looks of her, I'd say she's probably had it beaten out of her.

Over in a corner, a hand lifted a glass of beer in greeting. “David here. I'll be your friendly real-estate broker this weekend.”

“Are they selling the place out from under us already?” Max looked over at Spike. “Have we made it famous just by setting foot on the ground? Are there hordes of fans waiting to buy the island where Spike Anthrax and Max Hardcore met up after fifteen years?”

“Goddamn right!” Spike crowed.

Another woman stepped forward. Pink V-neck sweater, black dyed hair. Not much of a looker, either, but sexy in her own way.

“Hello, Max,” came the sultry voice.

She stood there as Max looked her over.

“Holy shit!” he spat out. “Is that really you, Sarah?”

“Yes, except my name is Janice now.”

Over in the corner, the man named David choked on his beer. He hadn't just imagined it when he thought she reminded him of someone else. In fact, she was that someone else. Sarah Wynberg, for fuck's sake. Here she was twenty years later. Obviously she'd changed, too. He could have shit himself. And after they'd just … it was too freaky.

“I recognized her right away,” he heard Spike say.

David looked over cautiously, smiling to cover his awkwardness. He couldn't help remembering how she'd pressed against him in the toilet of the train. It was the same Sarah Wynberg all right. Even after all those years, he should have known her. She obviously hadn't recognized him, either. Nor had any of the others. It wasn't surprising. He'd been a skinny runt back then. A little pipsqueak everyone called “Newt.” His time in jail had changed that. He might have been a runt going in, but he' d found a constructive way of passing the time: weight training. He was nothing like that pipsqueak kid when he got out. He was a completely new man now and as far as he was concerned he'd stay that way. Not a single one of this bunch was going to know different.

Max laughed and rubbed his hands together like a kid anti­cipating treats. “Well, it looks like this is gonna be some reunion after all.” He glanced around the room. There was one more face he didn't recognize. “I don't believe we've met,” he said to the silent white-haired figure seated in the armchair.

The man inclined his head. His blue eyes turned on Max from across the room, but they were eerily vacuous.

“Not in person,” the man said, “but we've met in print numerous times.”

“Eh? How's that?” Max demanded.

“This is Crispin LaFey, Max,” Spike interrupted, lest Max say anything derogatory to such an important writer.

“Crispin LaFey,” Max said slowly, as though tasting the syllables. Of course he knew the name. This was possibly the most important rock writer the country had produced, and one of its best-known critics. It was he who had discovered the band. “You wrote the first articles on us all those years ago. I remember.” Max stood and held out his hand.

Crispin didn't rise or offer a hand in return. He sat there with a vacant look on his face as Max waited with his arm extended.

“Uh, he's … he can't see,” Spike said to Max apologetically, lest Max take offence. “Guy's blind,” Spike whispered.

“Blind?” Max said. “Well, fuck me. I never knew. It's an honour to meet you, sir,” he said. “I humble myself before your presence.” And with that, he did a surprisingly graceful bow to the blind writer.

“It's I who am honoured to take part in this historic event,” said Crispin. “I've been looking forward to it for many years.”

“So have I,” Max said with a deep laugh. “So have I.” He looked around the room. “Where is everyone else? Where's Harvey? Where's our so-called new drummer?”

Spike shook his head. “Harvey's not here yet. The drummer's coming with him, apparently. Some big name. It's supposed to be a surprise.”

“I'm to pick up Mr. Keill later this afternoon,” Edwards said softly. “And, yes, I was told there'd be another gentleman with him then. For now, may I show you to your rooms?”

Edwards picked up Max's and Sami Lee's bags. Noni and Pete took hold of their own luggage.

“You've got the best frickin' view of the water,” Spike called out as they turned to go. “Third floor. I'm only on the second. I was going to insist on having that room myself, but then I remembered the lovely lady you'd be coming with” — he turned to Sami Lee, who smiled grimly — “and my better self got the better of me, so to speak. So it's all yours. Enjoy!”

Max and Sami Lee followed Edwards, with Pete and Noni trailing behind. Spike's eyes were glued to his old friend and former partner as he ascended the stairs.

That was almost too easy
, Spike told himself.
But I'd better not underestimate Max Hardcore. Not for a second
.