Full Tilt (Rock Star Chronicles) (38 page)

It was one of those moments when they were really clicking, enjoying the beauty, humor, and charm God had given each of them—and the fact that He’d joined them together as one flesh.

Karen applied some pink lipstick that matched her velour sweater. “I don’t know why, but I keep thinking about that Bible Wesley had in his hospital room. You saw it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. It was Cassidy’s.” He was about ready to take off.

“I know. Did you see what was underlined in it?”

“I did, but I forget…”

“When Mary poured perfume on Jesus’ feet.”

“Oh, yeah, and the disciples got ticked.”

“Judas.” She turned to face him. “That’s when he betrayed Jesus.”

Everett tossed the black bag over his shoulder and finally stood still for a second. “What’s bothering you about it?”

“I just thought it was weird that, in the whole Bible, that story was the only thing underlined.”

“I wonder who underlined it.”

“Cassidy, I guess.”

Everett looked at the clock. “Whoa. I’ve got to catch your dad and Gray about security for tonight. You wanna just meet in the lobby at five?”

“Okay.”

He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her, long and sweet. “I’m stoked about tonight.” His smile lit up the room.

“I am too.” She held his gaze as long as she could before he marched confidently out of the room.

Walking to the bed, she flopped down and rested her head on the shirt Everett had just taken off. She closed her eyes, nestled up to the shirt, and breathed it in—never wanting that smell to go away, never wanting to be without him.

“You work for Mendazzo, don’t you?” Wesley stared curiously at Tony, holding the hot pipe in his fingers.

“I get my orders from my old man.”

“Your old man’s Mendazzo’s captain.”

“Maybe.”

“Then where’s my dad?”

Tony dropped back in his chair. “Don’t know nothin’ about that.”

I think you do, you crazy psycho.

“You did the hit in Canarsie, didn’t you?”

“Take another bump, Lester.”

Wesley ignored him. “Didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Why my uncle?”

“Dude came into our house.” Tony jumped to the edge of his seat. “Interrogated my mom. Narked on me. Then my old man! Every one of those things gets death in the Mendazzo family.”

Wesley hoisted his legs over the edge of the bed and handed Tony the pipe. “Yeah, but he’s been paying my old man’s debts. Why would you want to hurt him, unless my old man’s not comin’ back?”

“Look, the rock star dug his own grave, Lester. Has nothin’ to do with your old man. I told you, I don’t know nothin’ about that.”

Wesley didn’t know what to believe anymore. He hated himself for being so weak. He was just a miserable little meth head who was easily coaxed from one bad situation to the next. “I just don’t see why you think you have to hurt—”

“You are so blind!” Tony stood and fired the pipe across the room, a shower of orange embers exploding as it hit the mirror and chipped the glass. “Dude’s spreadin’ lies! Just like all those other fundamentalist big shots. Spouting their empty promises. Nothin’ but spiritual pipe dreams for the insecure. We gotta stop them.”

Tony marched over to the pipe and stomped out the burning embers. “Thing you don’t know is, I had a girl once named Erica. You hear me?
Erica.
I was gonna marry her, until some self-righteous Jesus freak like your uncle got ahold of her—”

“Wait a minute.” The words left Wesley’s mouth at the same time he figured it out. “Did your old man put you up to this—or is this
your
idea?”

Tony smacked Wesley’s cheek so fast, he felt the sting before he saw the flashing hand. “Don’t you question me.” The wide-eyed, wicked-faced, talk-spitting grease monkey was within inches now. “The big Jesus tour’s over. It’s crucifixion time. And you’re bringin’ the nails.”

What have I gotten myself into? This is nuts.

The dude belonged in a rubber room. Wesley didn’t dare speak.

“I’m makin’ the hit and need you to set him up, so it’s nice and clean.” Tony’s oil-stained finger was in his face. “Besides, you got no choice in the matter.”

Wesley could only stare at the huffing monster, putting a hand to his hot cheek and trying desperately to come back down to reality.

Maybe I should run. Right now. Just take off.

“Think about your little brother. What about him?” Tony seethed. “You just gonna let that go? You forgot that already? What about the journal and the Other Side? Your uncle needs to pay! If we don’t get him back, who will?”

Wesley’s mind sucked backward like a vacuum. Everything seared white and distant. A thousand images of David and his family morphed together into one high-speed flashback.

Then he heard the voice again.

Vengeance, Lester.

“What’d you say?” Wesley staggered toward the wall.

“I said, I’m willing to pay you,” Tony’s voice came from behind.

Wesley turned to see the goon holding up a wad of bills. “I’ll give you three thousand bucks to line him up for me. All you gotta do is call him, tell him to come meet you. That’s it. Your part’s done.”

Tony stuffed the money in Wesley’s hand. He looked down at it.
Blood money.

Who really cared what kind of money it was? Nothing mattered anymore.
My life’s garbage anyway.

“I’m bein’ very generous with you, Wes, because we’re partners. Besides, if you don’t do it, I can’t promise what may happen to that sexy sister of yours…”

Standing bewildered, Wesley squeezed the lump of bills in his fist. He took several steps and ran a hand along the wall.

Everything was way out of control.

He’d fallen again. Guilty.

I’ll never make it without meth.

All the voices were speaking at once. Tony’s. Everett’s. Cassidy’s. His dad’s. And the one called Vengeance.

But loudest of them all was the voice that told him he must not let anything happen to his sister. She was innocent. And he couldn’t be responsible for something like that…not again.

And then he heard one last voice.

But this time it was his own.

And it was saying, “What do you want me to do?”

On the thirty-fourth floor, atop the Pittsburgh Mutual Bank building, the Upper Deck restaurant was bustling with people. Jacob had arranged for a long table by the window overlooking the Allegheny River and, just beyond it, PNC Park. Everett counted twelve people at the dinner table; Wesley would have made thirteen. His absence ate at Everett’s stomach but couldn’t delude the afterglow he enjoyed from his time spent with Karen that afternoon.

“Well, it looks like everyone’s here except Wesley,” Everett announced as a wiry waiter with jet-black hair and an all-business blond waitress refilled drinks and delivered salads and soups.

“I can’t find him.” Madison arrived late, anxiously punching at her cell phone.

“When did you talk to him last?” Jacob asked.

“A little before four. He’s not in his room; at least he’s not answering. I can’t think where he would’ve gone.”

“Maybe he wasn’t hungry and went over early,” Sarah said.

“That has to be it.” Madison nodded. “He must not be getting a signal in there.”

“I’ve gotten a signal in there all day.” Everett leaned over and whispered to Karen. “I’m going to run over to his room. Okay?”

Karen’s shoulders slumped. “What about dinner?”

“You know I can’t eat much before a concert.”

She reached beneath the table for his hand. “Okay, just hurry up and get back here. You want me to order you anything?”

“The salad’s good for now.” Everett excused himself, grabbed his bag, and made for the elevators.

Once in the lobby, he threw his coat on, hustled through the circular doors, and trotted across the busy crosswalk leading back to the hotel. Buildings from the city skyline cast long, sharp shadows over the concrete landscape, and the winter sun was disappearing in the west.

His phone vibrated in the back pocket of his jeans. “Yeah.” He waved to some gawking fans.

“Uncle Everett…”

He stopped just outside the entrance to the Marriott. “Wesley?”

“I…need your help.”

This can’t be good.
Everett looked up at the tall buildings. “Where are you?”

“I need you to pick me up. I’m out of dough, or I’d take a cab.”

Everett looked at his watch. “Where are you?”

“I’m not really sure,” he muttered. “Downtown somewhere. I have the address.”

“Wes, are you stoned?”

Nothing.

“Have you been getting high?” Everett repeated.

“I can’t explain anything now. The address is…you got a pen?”

Darn it, Wes! Why are you doing this?
“Wait.” The cold shook Everett’s bones as he found a pen and the corner of a program to write on. “Go ahead.”

“Seven five two, East Exchange Street.”

“Seven five two East Exchange.” He scribbled it down.

“The numbers are above the front door.”

“Where is this, Wes? Tell me what’s going on—”

Click.

39

KAREN HAD ONLY BEEN
able to nibble at the greasy potato skins cooling on the large yellow platter in front of her. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling restaurant window, night had fallen, and myriad lights dotted the metropolis that surrounded them and the glistening river below.

She couldn’t wait any longer. “Excuse me, guys.” She pushed her chair back. “I’m going to find a quiet place to call Ev. See if he’s found Wesley.”

Her mom and dad glanced at each other. “You need to eat something, honey,” Dad said.

With the entire calamity that had transpired since Karen met Everett, she battled the notion that her parents might think she’d made a mistake in marrying him.

You’re being ridiculous.
She strode through the maze of chatting waiters, buzzing tables, and clattering dishes and headed past the hostess stand.

Just outside the restaurant, near a bank of elevators, she plopped down on an oversized leather bench overlooking the city and punched in Everett’s number. A slow-moving elderly couple wearing fancy clothes and sparkling jewelry left the restaurant and got on the elevator. No one else was around.

“Yeah.” Everett picked up.

“Hey, hon, it’s me. Did you find Wesley?”

“No.”

“Well, where are you? Why didn’t you—?”

“Listen,” he said. “I’m picking him up.”

“What?”

“He called and said he was someplace downtown. Needed a ride back. Said he was out of money.”

That’s so lame.
She checked her watch.
“
How are you getting there?”

“I’m in a cab.”

“Where is he?” She shifted uncomfortably, feeling herself getting riled. “What did he say?”

“Not much. East Exchange Street is the address. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in plenty of time for the show.”

“I’m not worried about the show! What’s going on, Ev?”

“I asked him if he was high, but he didn’t answer. I couldn’t tell—”

“This isn’t right.” She pounded the seat. “Darn it, Ev! This whole thing with him is just weird.”

“Hon, I couldn’t leave him—”

“Why not?” She stood and glared out the window at the narrow streets below. “He’s a big boy. Tell him to walk back! That wouldn’t kill him.”

“Karen, it’s gonna be okay—”

“I want you to turn around and come back here, right now.” She crossed her arms and paced within a three-foot circle. “I don’t like the sound of this.”

“Babe.” He paused. “I need to help him.”

She smacked her hand against the cold window, dropped her arm, and stood there wanting to scream. But she knew Everett too well. There were a hundred reasons he needed to do this. And by the tone of his voice, nothing was going to change his mind.

Sitting in the backseat of a warm, worn-out taxi in a dilapidated section of downtown Pittsburgh, Everett closed his phone and put it back in his coat pocket. Across the street was the run-down orange brick building at 752 East Exchange Street. A stocky man with a bushy black beard, hairy arms, and thick glasses stood shivering in front of the out-of-date, two-story facility—savoring a cigarette. He wore green pants, a camouflage T-shirt, and red high-top tennis shoes.

A dirty, salt-covered Mazda parallel parked out front, and then its young, gum-chewing, do-rag-wearing driver dashed through the old-fashioned double-glass doors.

“You want to stay?” The Middle Eastern driver leaned his head back.

“Yes,” Everett finally spoke. “I may go inside. If I do, I want you to wait for me. You understand?”

The man nodded. “I wait for you.”

“Good.” Everett sat for a few more minutes, hoping Wesley would come out. A skinny black woman exited and tried to light a smoke. When the wind wouldn’t let her, Camouflage Man handed her his cigarette butt before he ducked back into the building.

“I’m going inside.” Everett got out of the orange and black cab and bent over to face the dark-skinned man with the beard stubble and protruding Adam’s apple. “Wait here. Okay?”

By the time Everett crossed the street, the black woman had her cigarette glowing orange. She threw the butt to the pavement and glared at Everett as he pulled open the heavy door. Once through the yellow, linoleum-floored vestibule, he yanked open another glass door, and the blare of machinery rattled him.

His way was blocked by a heavy young man seated behind a gray metal desk. Wearing a black Steelers stocking cap and hooded sweatshirt, the young man stared at Everett, not bothering to remove his headphones.

“I’m here to pick up someone,” Everett said loudly.

The man gazed at him, lifted his right headphone, and squinted.

Everett leaned closer and yelled, “I’m here to pick up Wesley.”

“Who?”

“Wesley!”

The man eyed a clipboard in front of him, nodded, then pointed behind him, with rings on every finger. “Straight back through the wood door, down the steps, all the way to the end of the hall.”