AT 29 (91 page)

Mike Winfield stood in the corner of the box, eyeing McCabe as he debated how to approach the man who held the key to his money. Australia was out. The risk was too great. Besides, he already made arrangements with Chase for a stash that would keep him until the roadie returned later in December. Chase wanted money before he'd make the extra cocaine available. Tonight at the party, that's when he wanted ten grand. All Mike needed was a check from McCabe to tie him over.

Cindy was seated next to her husband, Ellis on the other side. Winfield wondered if she had told them about the parties. She was there in Atlanta. Thankfully, she was gone before Chase's pals trashed the house. Still, she wasn't a fool. She talked with Whitehurst and Alice at the party, both of them high and barely able to stand. It was plain for everyone to see. Damn, McCabe will make a big stink.

Jimmy needed a drink. MacGregor was half way through his set and Rebellion was up next. This final U.S. concert was supposed to be special. He was elated that it heralded the end, but he was having trouble concentrating on what he must do. Sonny came up from behind.

“You don't look so good,” he said, tapping Jimmy on the shoulder. For an instant Jimmy became alarmed. Did it show?

“Just watching MacGregor. He's good.”

Sonny looked at the Canadian for a moment, then turned to face Jimmy. “I've seen you this way before. Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine.” Jimmy turned to walk away. Sonny caught his arm.

“Don't hurry off. We haven't talked for a while.”

Jimmy thought better of his action and relaxed. “How's it going with Marsha?”

Sonny smiled. “I'm thinking about getting married.”

“No kidding.” Jimmy was taken aback. “Have you popped the question?”

“Not yet, but I think she knows.”

“Are you sure?”

“Who can be sure about anything? She makes me happy.”

“When?”

“After the New Year. Might as well ask you now.”

“Ask me what?”

“I need a best man.”

“I'm honored. Anywhere, anytime.”

Sonny nodded. “And you? Will you see Les in Melbourne?”

Jimmy waited before answering. The decision was made. He hadn't thought about telling anyone. Still, if he were to confide in someone, it would be his long-time band mate. No question that he would want Sonny by his side when she approached the altar. He elected to stay mum. “Can't wait.”

“Then it's the real deal for you, too?”

He stayed vague. “She means a lot to me.”

Sonny turned back to look at MacGregor, then abruptly brought the conversation back to his opening statement. “So answer me truthfully. Are you still on the wagon?”

It did show. Jimmy was tongue tied, unable to face his friend with the answer. How would Sonny handle it? He tried to sound nonchalant. “What makes you ask?”

“Be straight with me. I'm not judging. Everything's going to be over in a couple of weeks. I'm just asking that's all.”

“Think you see something you've seen before?”

“That's what I said.”

Panic took hold. If Sonny knew then others also knew. Probably Cindy. Maybe she told Ellis, or worse, McCabe. There would be recriminations. McCabe would cite the contract. Ellis would be angry. Cindy would make him feel guilty. He wasn't interested in facing any of them. Besides, he knew he could kick the habit again. He'd done it once. This time it would be permanent. He'd have an even better reason than before, for Les.

“Like you said, it doesn't matter. We'll be done in a couple of weeks.”

“I'll take that as a yes.”

Winfield saw his chance. Cindy stood and walked over to join a conversation with some of the promoters gathered in the opposite corner. Ellis excused himself and followed. McCabe stayed seated, his eyes glued to the stage. Winfield made his way to the row of seats.

“I need your ear for a minute.”

McCabe turned. “Sure, Mike. What's on your mind?”

“I've decided not to make the trip to Australia.” Winfield expected this to meet with protest. After all, he'd handled the U.S. tour very well. Of course, McCabe was counting on him to shepherd his stars to equal success down under.

“No problem.” McCabe turned his attention back to MacGregor.

Winfield was thrown off. “I know this is going to cause problems for you, but I really prefer to stay back in the States.”

“It's only two performances. Ellis can fill-in for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don't give it a second thought. I know it's been a long haul.”

“Well, yes it has, but everything went well, don't you think?”

“Better than we expected.”

“Which brings me to another subject.” Winfield bit his lip. “We need to settle up.”

“In January, after all the numbers come in. We have a lot to talk about.”

“Just the money part. We can work on the world tour after we divyy up.”

McCabe turned a sharp eye on his partner. “You need money, Mike?”

“Just a few bucks to stay afloat until we catch up on things.”

“Parties costing a lot?”

The sarcastic curve caught Winfield in a search for excuses. “No, no. I need a few thousand to cover me until we get back to New York.”

“What's a few thousand?”

“Float me twenty-five. Take it out of the tally when we settle up.”

McCabe was stone faced as he reached into his sport jacket for his checkbook. He was prepared. Writing the check didn't bother him. He simply intended to signal that he knew more than Winfield thought he knew. That way the DJ would be back on his heels when the showdown between them took place in another month.

Felix Massengill skipped the concert at the Orange Bowl. He spent the late afternoon driving around the city, taking in the sights and marking the route to the dock where launches waited to take people out to the islands. Marvel Island was the closest, a ten minute ride into the bay. At seven p.m. he was parked, watching for the bikers. He didn't have to wait long. At eight, twelve Harley Fatboys, distinguished only by color, rumbled slowly into the marina parking lot. Despite the twilight, he was able to study each rider, using the skills he'd developed over the years. It was a habit. This one was brawny and bald, that one had a large tattoo on his forearm, and another had a slight hitch in his step. Who was the leader? It always helped to know who called the shots.

The group idled for a moment, looking toward the dock for the launch. Up front, a wiry man of perhaps forty shouted something to the others above the engines. Then he turned his bike to the side and walked it to a row of spaces. He parked first, then the others followed, placing their machines side by side in a symmetrical row and kicking down the stands. The group huddled briefly, some lighting cigarettes and joints as they talked.

One of the biker's walked over to the dock, disappearing down the steps in the direction of the launches. A moment later, he re-emerged at the top of the steps and shouted at the others, waving for them to join him. The leader of the group turned back to his bike and retrieved a satchel. Five minutes later, the largest of the six launches, carrying all twelve men, moved out into the bay in the direction of Marvel Island a quarter mile off shore.

Felix waited until the launch was so distant that he was sure none of the bikers could see him. Then he left his car and walked to the bikes. He took a small pen and notepad from his shirt pocket and took down the license plate numbers. He circled the number of the leader's bike. Maybe drugs were in the satchel. Just a force of habit, but you never know. When he was finished, he returned to his car and headed back to his hotel. He called his son in New York and reported everything he'd seen including the list of plate numbers.

Alice stayed close to Nigel backstage. Mercifully, they were both clean, at least for the moment. Whitehurst was a stickler for quality play. They'd done some heroin late into the previous night, but when they awoke together in his suite that afternoon, he insisted that they both avoid the stuff until after the show. Despite the abstinence, she was shaky and cold. Peggy was on the mark about something being wrong. It began two weeks earlier and became steadily worse. A cold, she thought at first, but now she wasn't sure. She had trouble breathing, not so bad that she couldn't get by, but a concern nevertheless. She was glad the tour was ending. Glad, too, that she'd decided to skip the last two shows in Australia. Her readers cared little for the happenings a million miles away. An article about this last U.S. concert in Miami, that's all her editors expected.
Then she was done for a while. Lots of sleep, that's what she needed and that's what she would get as soon as she returned to New York.

The time with Nigel was pleasant. He was different from the others, smart like her. The conversations were as good as the drugs and sex. He listened when she read parts of her articles. His comments were always insightful. They compared notes, what she saw and heard versus what he was trying to do. When the big Australian was gone Alice knew she would miss him. Not the sex, not the partying, not some emotional bond that true lovers shared. She'd miss the intellectual exchange. She'd miss their friendship because that's what it was between them, with benefits, but nothing more.

She also thought about Winfield. It was Mike who brought Chase into the mix, the connection with an endless supply who invited his biker pals to wreak havoc. Without Winfield's protection he would have been gone a long time ago. Miles McCabe would have gotten wind of what was going on and sent him packing. As for what the bikers did to her, she was still shaken and terrified by the gang rape, frightened to be anywhere without Nigel by her side. They wouldn't try anything when the big Australian was around. She never should have stayed at the Atlanta party after he went back to the hotel. It was an invitation to hell. Four a.m., she remembered that much. Everyone else was gone, only Winfield, Benson, Chase and three of Chase's biker buddies. Everyone was coked up.

“Be my guest.” She remembered the words uttered by Chase to his three friends as they forced her into the bedroom. Benson laughed as he took another snort. “She does everybody.” Winfield didn't make a move. The rest was a blur of pain and humiliation.

Kate led Rebellion onstage to the roar of the cheering fans. It reminded McCabe of a Michigan football crowd. The stage lights accented her figure with brilliant hues captured on the huge video screens. Winfield was gone. He stayed for another fifteen minutes after taking the check from McCabe, but it was obvious he was itching to leave. When Cindy returned to her seat the DJ mumbled something about going backstage and hurried off. Ellis took the seat on Miles right.

“I saw you write him a check. You know he's doing coke. That's where it's going, right up his nose.”

“He won't be going to Australia. I want you to go in his place.”

Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief when Kate finished her last song. His thirst was hard to ignore. Now, he could ascend the stage and forget scotch for an hour. The night air had succumbed to a cool breeze from the ocean. Dew was forming in the shadows. He worried about the instruments. He cautioned his band to do a thorough sound check.

Cindy looked at her watch. After the concert she'd catch-up with Les at the hotel. Then she'd take her to Jimmy. She was aware of the party on Marvel Island. He usually skipped these things. Tonight was different though, the end of the U.S. tour. He might decide to attend. Maybe she would ask Ellis to call her and let her know. If Jimmy went she and Les would go, too. Not what she preferred.

The last live rendition of
Back and Blue
in the U.S. went smoothly. In fact, it was better than smooth. The Miami audience seemed to know that this was a farewell of sorts from the huge star who rose from the ashes only a year earlier. Each song was greeted with a mixture of applause and encouraging shouts. The verses that had been played thousands of times on radio stations all over America were fixed in the minds of everyone. Thus, the throng was compelled to sing along, adding a euphoric chorus to
Jimmy's excellent vocals. It was a happy experience for the band. None more elated than Jimmy, who let his mind wander to thoughts of Les. Sonny and Ted alternated guitar riffs with harmonica play that extended the scheduled hour by twenty minutes. When the last callback was finished Jimmy exited the stage to a standing ovation.

He walked into the tunnel beneath the stadium just as the Whitehurst contingent took the stage to a thunderous ovation. He lingered briefly, waiting for the opening chords of the first song. It cracked loud just as a bevy of fireworks exploded into the night sky. The Australian's segment was an event.

Winfield was already exiting the launch at the Marvel Island dock, when Whitehurst opened. He'd noticed the Harley's parked in a neat row back onshore. Their presence bothered him because it meant he would spend another night pleading for the wild bikers to stay peaceful. That these same toughs were his connection only made matters worse. It was a delicate balance. He could not be so forceful that they would cut him off. Yet he could not afford another trashing like the one in Atlanta. That house was large and beautiful, but this one was a majestic mansion, corporate owned with all the finest furnishings.

He fingered the check in his pocket. Ten thousand, that's what Chase said it would take to keep him supplied through the end of the year. That left the DJ a mere fifteen to survive until the final settlement with McCabe. WAGZ-FM was bringing in cash, but it was already earmarked to payoff the debts he was forced to takeover when he stole the station away from its previous owners. Of course, there was the obligatory lawsuit that always seems to occur when somebody thinks he's been shortchanged. This time those somebody's, WAGZ's original founders, were right. Winfield owed his lawyer a bundle. Then there was his wife. He was two months in arrears with her, too. Cash out with McCabe. Dump the station. That's what Winfield would do. Then back on the road with Blossom Presents. No Chase and no Benson this time. He'd find another source for his cocaine. The Vultures were nothing but trouble.