Full Tilt (Rock Star Chronicles) (27 page)

“What’ll happen next?” Everett asked, feeling a tinge of fret as he contemplated possible repercussions from the Badinos.

“Like I said, we’ll start a full-fledged search for the body and the bag when it’s light.” Barnett stroked his thick salt-and-pepper mustache, which was the same color as his curly hair. “This rain’s supposed to stop sometime tonight. We’re gonna want to bring this Tony Badino in for questioning, search his place.”

Everett stared at Barnett’s face in the rearview. He knew this was coming, and the reality of it made his stomach ache.

Barnett said, “You don’t know the name of the other individual, the tall one?”

“No.”

“We’ll get it. Meantime, you just need to sit tight. We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”

Everett heard sirens.

“That’s our ambulance.”

Everett sighed as he shifted position to see the approaching vehicle and finally caught a glimpse of the crumpled Audi. “Will Tony Badino know I’m the one who filed the report? I mean, can we keep it anonymous?”

“Okay, your name’s on this report, has to be.” Barnett’s eyes met Everett’s. “You’re the only witness we have. You’re what’s makin’ us ramp up to do a manhunt. So, this is your baby.”

Great.

“Now, because it’s gonna be an open investigation, at least for a while, the public won’t be able to get their hands on this report.”

Everett closed his eyes and slumped back in the seat.

Thank
Y
ou, Lord.

“But I’ll tell ya, Mr. Lester.” Barnett tapped the spent tobacco into an ashtray. “If you’re right about the body and the bag of clothes, then you’re gonna be needed as a witness—
the key witness
—to bust these slimeballs. So, I guess my advice to you is, get ready for the ride.”

A hot mass of bile swirled at the base of Everett’s throat as two paramedics in rain gear headed toward the patrol car.

I guess I better get ready for the ride.

Everett awoke early on Christmas Eve, even after the late-night X-rays in the emergency room at Yonkers General Hospital. Karen and Jacob had met him there and waited out the results and prognosis: a hairline fracture to the sternum that only time would heal.

Certain movement sent riveting pain down the center of Everett’s chest. Wearing black flannel pajama pants and a torn gray sweatshirt, he stood at the bay window in the kitchen and scanned the dark backyard. At least there had been no more vandalism. He turned off the floodlights.

Rosey was ready to go out, but first he rose to his tiptoes, letting out a painful groan as he reached for the kitchen cabinet and brought down his heavy Glock in one hand and its magazine in the other. Everett and Karen had filled out two police reports within twenty-four hours, naming the Badinos in each, and Everett was concerned for his family’s safety.

He slid the magazine into the gun grip and locked it into place. Bracing the weapon in front of him at arm’s length, he pointed it at the microwave, the dishwasher, then outside.
If I have to, I’ll use this thing.
Thumbing the release button, he sent the magazine springing into his hand.

After placing the gun back in the cupboard, he loaded the coffeemaker. Letting Rosey out, he gingerly made his way to the end of the slushy driveway, where he bent down to retrieve the newspaper.

He read the headlines at the kitchen island while waiting for the Bunn to finish brewing, making sure there was no news of his adventure the night before. There wasn’t. The paper predicted clear skies and a high of forty-four degrees. Perfect weather for finding dead bodies.

He filled a white thermal mug with coffee, grabbed his Bible from the kitchen desk, then went into the den with Rosey and closed the door. Turning on the standing lamp and easing into the recliner, he sat for a few moments, sipping the coffee.

You’ve interrogated the wife of a mob captain—in his own home.

He ran a hand through his hair and pictured Eddie’s trampled body lying in the puddles at Mars Hill Racetrack, trying to deny the hollowness that ate at his insides.

You’ve narked on the meth-smoking, cold-blooded-killing son of a mob captain.

The heated meetings and sober threats of Dominic Badino and his henchmen overcame him.

This is bad.

For a moment, he was back on the cold, wet ledge outside Tony’s apartment, staring in at the blood and gore, at the red and black inverted cross emblazoned on the rebel’s bicep. Jacob had told him later at the hospital that the tattoo—with the hook at the end—was a “cross of confusion,” an insignia once used by the Romans to symbolize the questioning of Christianity and the deity of Christ.

He cupped the top of his forehead with a weary hand, pulling it away to see the perspiration. And he’d forgotten about the grotesque-feeling lump.

He was numb and distracted. He could taste the danger. The foreboding. Not only for him, but for Karen and her parents.

Just one drink would make all this so much more bearable.

With hands trembling slightly, he opened the leather Bible to the bookmark in Revelation, where he’d left off the morning before. But how did this pertain to him today?

A fat, gold envelope on the desk caught his wandering eye. He set the Bible on the ottoman and went to the package. It was addressed to him with a return label from Jeff Hall, former president of the DeathStroke fan club.

Taking it back to his chair, he tore the envelope open and pulled out a stack of letters and cards held together by a rubber band. On top was a yellow sticky note:

Everett, as per your request, here’s a quarterly sampling of the letters, e-mails, and blogs we’ve been seeing of late. Hope all is well. Jeff.

P.S. Best of luck on the LW tour!

Unfolding the first note that fell into his hands, he read:
“Ha ha! What a dumb, messed-up idiot you are, Lester. No matter what level of forgiveness you seek, you’ll be going to hell for murdering Endora Crystal, and for obliterating so many minds along the way. Nice job, jerk. I’ll save a seat for you in hell.”

Everett’s hand went limp with the note in it. He shook his head. The voice in the note was bitter and frustrated, much like his own used to be. This was the kind of person Everett wanted to reach.

Hoping for something more positive, he pulled out several sheets of paper stapled together. It contained blog messages found on a popular rock music website. He perused the string:
“What an idiotic reason to leave the band. He was impacting millions of lives before; now what’s he going to do…teach Sunday school? I’m thoroughly disappointed. I can’t believe he would leave for such a stupid reason.”

Everett sighed deeply and continued down the page:

“I wish him all the best and look forward to his music, as long as it’s not that Christian bubblegum stuff.”
That one got a chuckle.

“Hey, all I know is, I still got Marilyn Manson!”

“He’s doing what’s right for him. Can’t you see that’s all that matters? Anyone who can’t respect or understand that has got major problems.”
You tell ’em.

“Why does god have to mess up all the good things in life? R.I.P.”

“Calm down. Bands and singers come and go. What did you think, they were going to last forever?”

“He found the number one God.” :)

“What’s wrong with him? He didn’t have to leave the band. It’s not like DeathStroke was satanic or anything. Hopefully the band will continue cranking out great music without him.”

“Don’t hold your breath,
he was
DeathStroke.”

“In case you didn’t know, the band has a new lead singer, Maxx Syphon. He jams.”

“FYI…Maxx Syphon can’t carry Everett Lester’s guitar pick
.” He smiled at that note.

“Everett Lester is the most insecure wimp on the face of the planet. How can he trade what he had with DeathStroke for…what? Some myth you can’t even get your hands around? He’ll be sorry. Another year and you’ll see him begging to do jingles for cereal commercials.”

Closing his eyes, Everett sank back into the chair. So many people, believing so many lies. They need Truth. They need one of their own to show them how God’s love can change their miserable lives.

He knew he needed the strength and promise only the Bible could give, but his head felt like a minefield of worries and doubts. He still had songs to iron out for the tour… He had a family to protect from who knew what kind of evil… Karen was walking through a nightmare… And he felt about as mentally stable as a schizophrenic.

I’m afraid.

Not only about all the hell that was breaking loose.

I’m afraid of myself—of what I might do…

He could find an open bar somewhere or buy a bottle.

Everyone’s still asleep.

Drive around with it. No one would know.

Clenching his jaw, he sat on the edge of the chair and ran his hands through his hair. As he did, a razor-sharp pain split his chest. He groaned, “This is nothin’ but the enemy.”

The Bible sat open.

Leaning over it, he found the word fear in the topical index and its definition: “Anxiety caused by approaching danger.” He looked up one of the suggested verses. “When evildoers came upon me to devour my flesh…they stumbled and fell. Though a host encamp against me, my heart will not fear; though war arise against me…I shall be confident… For in the day of trouble He will conceal me in His tabernacle; in the secret place of His tent He will hide me; He will lift me up on a rock.”

Everett eased to his knees and leaned on the ottoman and Bible. “Forgive me for being scared, for wanting to escape through drink…for worrying about these wicked people and what they may do… Fill me with Your Spirit again, Lord.”

A passage surfaced in his head, like a submerged buoy popping up in the ocean. He found it and whispered: “‘The Jews were just now seeking to stone You, and are You going there again?’ Jesus answered, ‘Are there not twelve hours in the day? If anyone walks in the day, he does not stumble, because he sees the light of this world. But if anyone walks in the night, he stumbles, because the light is not in him.’”

Everett buried his head in the Bible. “Why should I be scared? I’m representing You! You’ve put this desire in my heart, to reach the unsaved. If You’re with me, I can go wherever I need to, wherever You send me, in the open, no fear! My life’s in Your hands. Whether I live or die is up to You. Your will be done.”

The phone startled him, yet the second he heard the ring he was determined to pick up before it woke anyone. He braced his chest with a flat palm as he stood and went for the phone.

“Is this Everett?” came the timid voice.

“It is. Who’s this?”

“It’s Mrs. Badino…Margaret.” She was out of breath.

Uh-oh.
“Margaret, what is it? Are you okay?”

“Yes.” A horn sounded in the background. “I’m sorry. I’m at a pay phone. I felt I needed to warn you.”

The words hit his gut, as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. “About what?”

“I mentioned to my husband that you were at the house last night looking for Tony, and he—”

Everett’s body went limp, though he kept standing.

“Mr. Lester, he was furious. I don’t understand why. I’ve never see him respond like that. I don’t know what your history with my husband is—”

“So, he was upset with me for coming into your home?”

“Yes, he was. And he didn’t know why you were looking for Tony. This bothered him immensely. I told him I thought the two of you were friends…”

His eyes closed, and he dropped his head. “Why are you using a pay phone?”

Silence.

“Hello?” Everett pressed the phone tight to his ear.

Her voice broke the silence, stronger and louder than before. “There’s one more thing you should know.” The line was quiet again for a moment. “My husband got a call in the middle of the night. He got dressed and left the house. You told me if I suspected anything—”

“To call me. What is it Margaret? What happened?”

“Several hours after Dominic left,” she sniffed, “at four or so this morning, a group of men came to the house. They went through Tony’s apartment and took a bunch of things with them.”

“What did they take?”

“I’m not sure. Everything was in plastic bags and boxes.”

“Who were they? Did you recognize them?”

Again, a prolonged hush. Everett forced himself to be patient.

“I’ve seen at least two of them before,” she whispered. “They’re associates of my husband.”

“What kind of associates?”

“Look, Mr. Lester, I’ve said enough. I don’t even know why I’m calling—”

“Because God wants me to know what you’re telling me.”

“I don’t know what it means…”

“I don’t either, but I know it’s important. Where’s Tony now, Margaret?”

“As far as I know he’s still asleep.”

“He didn’t leave with the men?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Do me a favor. Keep your eyes peeled for anything else. Keep my number.”

“Okay…I’m nervous.”

“Are you in danger?”

“Our phones are tapped. My husband does it. That’s why I couldn’t call from home.”

“I see.”

“Dominic loves me very much. But it’s Tony… I’m afraid to ask what you know about my son.”

Everett breathed deeply and treaded carefully. “I don’t know anything for sure, Margaret. All I know is, you’ve been very kind to me. Thank you for calling.”

“I’ve failed as a parent; I know that.”

“You can’t—”

“Tony’s in trouble, isn’t he, Mr. Lester? Has he hurt others? Something in my heart is just grabbing me and shaking my insides, saying, ‘Be careful. Beware. There’s poison in your midst.’”

And Everett knew she was right.

Poison.

27

BY EARLY AFTERNOON KAREN
noticed a slice of sunlight brighten the kitchen at Twin Streams. The grounds outside were saturated from the previous night’s rain, and the melting snow trickled and swirled along streams and paths of their own making. The day had passed torturously slowly, for it was a time of waiting.