Chapter 39: Drummer Boys Rack Up Frequent Flyer Miles

Bodie,  about two weeks later

I crack every knuckle as we prepare to land at LAX.

I'm irritated. I'm out of methadone—for about three days now. But I'm sober and I'm focused. I'm ready to put on the necessary show.

The last thing I ever want to deal with is paparazzi, but I know Bells needs all the exposure she can get on the internet now that she's blacklisted in the legitimate press.

The only story the press is going to carry about Bells is the engineered break-up that is supposed to happen in a month's time, after the Grammy's. Until then, I have promised her we will be as visible as possible.

"What's the word?" I call across the aisle.

The man I brought back with me from the Philippines looks up from his phone.

He's a character with a jet black flock of seagulls haircut and more kohl guyliner than I've seen up close since Leed performed Rocky Horror Picture Show our freshman year. This guy's hair and makeup are balanced by his pink t-shirt emblazoned with the phrase "Allergic To Bullshit." The t-shirt is tucked beneath his chartreuse leather jacket.

"We're good to go. I've supplied Zack Fitch with the questions," he instructs Arabella. "Don't stop for him, don't preen, and for god's sakes, don't answer him. Just look startled at the leak. The goal is to create buzz, alright?"

Bells bites her lip and looks at me with worried eyes. "Are you sure about this, Bodie? What if I just...make things worse?"

I sit down on the couch, wrapping an arm around her. "I'm sure this is the only way, if you're sure you still want a public life."

"It's all I know," she says softly. "All I ever wanted. To be a performer."

I nod. I can't really say the same—I'm not a natural born frontman—but my best friend is, and he's not meant for anything else.

Arabella is the same. A different kind of talent—undeveloped, immature—but like Leed she's very magnetic. As evidenced for the fact that I fell for her persona before I got to know the troubled little girl underneath.

No, I can't blame Arabella for wanting to shine. To be honest, I want to see her shine, too. On her terms, for once.

But sometimes wanting something is not enough. Sometimes you have to make shit happen. Which is why I took Bells to the Phillipines and laid out the whole truth about her career problems to her. And showed her the solution: the guy sitting across from us.

"Then I'm sure Avery's label is the only way. If Hollywood is closed to you, we will make you an international star. Then they can't ignore you."

A tear slips down Arabella's pretty cheek. She kisses me chastely on the lips. "Thank you, Bodie. I promise you, I'll do everything you ask. I'll stay clean. I won't cause anymore trouble. I'll be...nice."

I give her a one armed squeeze as my only response.I'm not holding my breath that Arabella can deliver consistently on all those promises, but I just need her to try. A little each day. That's how people grow—messing up, getting back on track.

God knows I've done my share of messing up. It's only been recently I've started to grow, and I've got a decade on Bells. If anyone understands what it's like to fall down, it's me.

I direct my attention to the man sitting across from us. Avery Thompson. He's a British ex-pat that Bells and I met briefly in Thailand and the reason for the trip to the Philippines.

Well, at least he's the secondary reason for the trip, and an excellent cover for the primary reason, which has nothing to do with Arabella's career and everything to do with keeping Marley and Darius safe.

But that part of my trip is mostly out of my hands right now. I've done all I can do for the moment on that front. Things are set in motion and I just have to ride the wheels and wait to play my part again.

What happens with Avery Thompson and Arabella's career however, is all on me at the moment.

American pop music is big in the Philippines. So big, that Avery has been able to go from a burn-out British punk musician to the CEO of a small music label based out of the Philippines. He specializes in unknown British and American pop artists. High quality acts that the big Western labels pass on, he snags up and breaks in Asia. A few of them have actually snuck in the back door of Western popularity, too.

For Avery Thompson, Arabella is not a liability. She's a real talent and a dream come true. And the dude does not give a fuck about Hollywood blacklisting. He's pretty much as punk as he always was.

So Arabella is about to get a new label. And she already has a new manager. Me.

"Which one is Zach..." I struggle with the last name.

"Fitch," he says, turning his phone around to show us the blogger's picture.

"Okay. We play it exactly like Avery suggests, and I guarantee you, we'll hear from Moran about your release in a matter of days," I tell Bells.

She and I put on the show at the exit of the VIP terminal. We wade through the paparazzi that Avery tipped off about our arrival. We ignore Zach's questions.

"Arabella! Arabella! Is it true that you are suing Colossal to be released from your contract? Is it true that you want to go with a smaller label where you have more artistic control?"

The other paparazzi are momentarily stunned by Zach's questions, but one savvy guy does a double take and says, "Hey! Aren't you Avery Thompson? Arabella, Arabella, are you being courted by B-Side Records?"

Avery follows into the waiting limo with a wink at the press.

"Swing around to the main terminal entrance," I instruct the driver, as I shrug my jacket and don sunglasses and a hat. "I'm getting right back on a flight to Nashville."

"Are you sure you can't stay in LA? Your Grammy rehearsals start in three days," Bells says softly, wrapping her hand around my arm, like she thinks I'm going to bolt out of the limo.

"I can't, Bells. I have to get shit straight with Marley. I told you...how everything is, with her."

Marley hasn't returned a single text I've sent her, except to say that she's taken Darius to Nashville for spring break, and is staying with Adam and Mac.

I haven't told Bells everything about Marley and me, of course. I haven't told Bells that Darius is my son. But I have told her that I've known Marley for a long time, and that I wanted to be with her once, long before I was a famous drug-addict, and now I wanted a second chance at that. I've told Arabella that Marley and her son are my number one priority, but that my sobriety and helping her get her own life back on track were close seconds.

Bells stunned me by asking where Soundcrush ranked in my priorities now.

Honestly, I didn't have an answer for her.

I still don't, as I say goodbye to Bells and Avery—who promises to keep her sober until I get back to LA—and reboard a commercial flight. In the quiet of first class, while the remaining passengers are boarding, I contemplate my future.

I've got a pretty full slate right now. The Grammy's aren't that big of a deal, but I don't know how I'm going to juggle getting Bell's album produced and the secret Soundcrush/Skid Marcs summer tour.

Especially considering that both of these gigs are mere side-projects compared to my primary operation of handling Daemon.

As if the thoughts of the cloak and dagger shit I perpetrated in the South Pacific summon him, Varrick Von sits down in the seat beside me.

"Jesus Christ!" I exclaim, nearly jumping out of my skin. "What are you doing here?"

"I guess I missed you already," he replies sourly.

"I am pretty irrestible," I quip. "But it's only been four days, dude. What the hell is wrong?"

When we parted ways in Thailand, Varrick was his normal cool cat self. Right now his eyes are bloodshot and he looks...shook.

"Bodie, there's something I need to tell you. Two things, really," he says casually, like we are in the middle of conversation.

"You couldn't pick up your phone? They said we shouldn't be seen together," I hiss.

He looks around the empty first class cabin. "Who's seeing? You need to relax, man."

"They said—"

"I know what they said. I'm not worried about them. They are low level compared to what I'm accustomed to dealing with. I'll tell you if we need to be worried about being seen together."

I glare at him for a moment, then try to do one of those quick breathing exercises Marley taught me to de-escalate. "Okay, but I'm trusting you."

A snort erupts from him. "I'm actually surprised that's still the case."

"What?"

The dude is making no sense. We've been thick as thieves for a hot minute in the Philippines.

"You haven't spoken to Leed, obviously."

"Naw, he and Ashlynn are on vacation in Costa Rica."

"Not anymore. Ashlynn is crying in the arms of her ex-boyfriend in Atlanta. Leed is currently on a bender in Venice Beach."

"Awwww, fuck, did they break up?" I pull out my phone to check on my boy.

He stills my hand on the phone. "That's not necessary. Leed is being consoled by Trace and Kat. As far as he and Ash go, I'm hopeful reconciliation might be...possible."

"Dude. You're really getting invested as the head of our security, aren't you?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "You have no idea."

"Look, why are you here, again? I thought we settled everything in Thailand. I already told them I would cooperate—"

"Forget about them. This isn't about that. This is something else."

"Okay, what?"

Varrick doesn't say anything, but I become aware that I'm beating out a nervous rhythms as he watches my fingers.

"Goddamn, I could use a drink," he mutters. "But from the looks of it, I'm not the only one. Well, if you can do this sober, so can I." He grips my hand to stop the racket I'm making. He meets my gaze with his unreadable black eyes.

"Maybe I should have told you this in Thailand, but I didn't want to muddy the waters. Now, things have changed, and I need you to hear this from me." He gives me a pleading, almost pained, look. "I think I have feelings for your mother, but it couldn't come at a worse time for me." His voice is neutral, his expression tortured.

I look at his hand, gripped over mine. Slowly, I wrestle mine away, where it forms a fist held between us. "Are you trying to tell me that you've been sleeping with my mother, but you're walking it back?"

"I'm not walking it back, I'm just...conflicted.I don't...do relationships."

I grab him by his expensive dress shirt."Maybe you should have resolved your conflict before you started sleeping with her? I swear to fuck, Varrick if you've side-pieced my mother while you're fucking around the LA scene—"

He knocks my hand away. "It's not like that."

I clear my throat. "Okay. To be clear—you're not sleeping with her or you're not two-timing her with other women?"

He hold up his very deadly hands in a gesture of peace. "Look, what I'm trying to say is...I think your mother is an incredible woman and we've been talking...frequently. I've flown to Atlanta to take her out to dinner a few times. I can't seem to get her off my mind. What's more...the last couple of weeks...while you and I were in the Pacific...I missed her." He looks surprised at his own admission. "When I parted ways with you four days ago, I took a flight straight to Atlanta."

"And that's when you slept with her?"

He shoots daggers at me. "Show some damn respect. Your mother's personal life is none of your business, you know."

I blink. Varrick Von is giving me the dad voice. Not that I ever had a dad, but he sounds like Mike Ballard or the Reverend. Possibly the way I sound when Darius is being a little shit to his mother.

"This is too fucking weird," I mutter. "What are you trying to tell me Varrick? Are you asking permission to bang my mother? Cause you are absolutely right...I do not want to be in the know on that one, and there's no way in hell I'm giving you the go-ahead to mess around with my mother if you're not sure you want to be serious with her. She's been dicked around by men enough in her life. So you either stand up or move the fuck along when it comes to her, you hear me?"

"It's not that simple."

"It's pretty fucking simple. My moms don't come for free."

He smiles. "You are a good son, Bodie. And you'll make a good father, too. I can see why she's so proud of you."

"Dude." I growl. "I'm a celebrity. People blow sunshine up my ass all the time. I'm not distracted by flattery. Make your fucking point, here."

"Right. Here it is: the only girl I ever loved disappeared without a trace, when I was much younger than you. Her disappearance was never solved.I've spent twenty years held by that grief." He looks past me out the plane. "When you talk to Leed, he will probably tell you that he suspects I killed her. But he's wrong. Ashlynn is afraid to give him all the information she knows, but she isn't afraid to share it with me. I just spoke to Ashlynn today, and she told me...she has reason to think my brother killed the girl I love. I think she's right, and I can't walk away from Megan's disappearance until I know the truth. Not even for your mother."

I replay everything Varrick said in my head. Then I do it again, just to make sure, and I reach the same conclusion: "Yeah. No. You got some gaps to fill in there, Dawg."

Varrick lets his head fall against the seat back and speaks in a low monotone for nearly half an hour. He tells me about his childhood as the son of a German diplomat. He tells me about his disturbed mother. He tells me about his traumatized brother. His voice strains when he speaks of Megan, the girl he loved, and how she went missing while his back was turned. He speaks of his desperation and how he believed his military training and career had absolved him of the ability to feel guilt and grief. Or feel anything, he says, until my mother surprised him with her sassy attitude and her understanding smile.

The he begins what seems like an entirely different story. A story of a powerful man with secret fetishes. He explains about the girls who liked his power and the way he exercised it with them. And one girl, who thought she might, but didn't. He explains how their relationship tipped from consent to abuse, before his eyes. How he struggled to help the girl, who was more of a danger to herself at times than the man who was hurting her. Long before he finishes, I've come to understand that the girl he's speaking of is Ashlynn and the man his brother.

I'm feeling a lot of things. Horrified, piteous, vengeful. Also weary, because knowing this feels like taking on Varrick's pain as well as Ash's. I'm not sure there's just any more strength in my shoulders to carry burdens.

Then Varrick throws me a huge curve ball when he tells me that his brother Viggo is also Slade, the president of Colossal Records, and that Slade is planning to systematically deconstruct Leed's career. He says Slade will oust Leed from Soundcrush after our summer tour, unless we stop him.

Holy fuck. Of course we have to stop him.

Varrick and I? Secret ops and conspiracies are kind of our thing now.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask.

"You're not going to like it," he warns.

"I don't like what I did to buy Marley's safety from Daemon Turner on our little side trip to Thailand, but I did it, didn't I?"

"Well, we did it," he reminds me. "Which is why we are going to do this together, too."

"You mean...take care of Slade. On the low." My hand starts nervously drumming again.

Varrick looks my hand. Then he looks at my face. For a long time.

"No, that's not exactly what I meant. But the way you said that...there's something you haven't told me, isn't there? Something you didn't tell them. Our new...friends."

"Nothing you need to worry about."

He taps the top of my hand that I'm still beating a rhythm with. "If whatever it is drives you, it's definitely something I need to worry about. My credibility is on the line here, too, Bodie. I vouched for you."

Now it's my turn to the look out the window.

"It's obvious that Daemon has some leverage over you, for you to be willing to go to these extremes. I see now, it's not just Darius and Marley. What happened?"

I say nothing.

"Ah. I see," he says, hearing an answer I didn't give. "Were you the trigger man?" He's thoughtful, nonjudgmental.

I shake my head. "But I might as well have been."

He sighs. "You were a kid with a hard life in a rough gang, but believe me, there's a big difference in seeing someone killed in a gang dispute and taking a life yourself."

"I wasn't a kid and it wasn't a gang thing." My voice doesn't sound like my own. It sounds raw, like Leed's at the end of a tour.

He's quiet. Surprised, I guess. Eventually he says, "I'll go first. My first kill was a man named Jubran al-Harbi. Typical post-911 bad guy. He knelt for his own execution, happy to receive a matyr's death.

"My last kill was a twenty-three year old college drop-out from Kansas named Ryan Loudin. He was hacking intelligence mainframes for two years. By the time I extracted him from that situation—in order to extract what he knew about the organization he was involved in—he was already a prisoner of our enemies. Confined to a basement, chained to his workstation, fed once a day, compelled by his employers to work constantly. He thought I was rescuing him. He told me he would rather spend the rest of his life in an American jail than a prisoner of a foreign mafia, thinking every shitty day in that basement was going to be his last.

"After he told me everything he knew, I rummaged around the house where they were keeping him and found him a bag of chips and a coke. He asked me between bites when I thought we would be somewhere where he could take a shower, because he hadn't had one in about two weeks. I followed my orders and assassinated him there in that place because...I...I—" he clears his throat. "Because he had made a terrible decision to sell secrets just to prove he was smart enough, and he had cost a lot of soldiers on both sides their lives, and because even if I had been willing to defy orders, I was never getting both of us out of there alive. Not with him in tow. But he was just a kid that got in over his head, and I shot him in the back of the head, because I couldn't bring myself to make his final moment one of fear.

"There were thirty two names between Jubran al-Harbi and Ryan Loudin. People I was ordered to execute for my adopted country. All of them were responsible for more deaths than I have ever delivered, but a few them, like that stupid fucking kid from Kansas, were victims too. He was the one that got to me. I couldn't go on assignment, after him. My hands shook all the time. I retired, and I spent the next few years mostly drunk. No one, including my brother or Ashlynn Ballard, could really tell. Spies hold their liquor as well as their secrets."

"The truth is, if I could take it all back, I would change everything. After Megan's death, I should have gone to therapy, not into the military. But I can't change what I did in the service of my adopted country, or the things I did to protect my damaged brother when I thought my soul was much blacker than his."

"One day, something changed for me. Ashlynn changed things for me. She's a sweet girl and even in her darkest days, her kindness touched me in a way I hadn't felt in twenty years. I decided I could live the rest of my life feeling tortured over every damn action I take, or I could spend the rest of my life doing something a whole lot less complicated. Something I could feel good about. Protecting people like Megan. Like Ashlynn. Like Arabella. Like you punks from Soundcrush. Well, not you, so much, but your buddies. Innocents who can't see a dangerous man like me coming."

I chuckle at that. Varrick makes a soft laugh back. It feels maybe not right, given the conversation, but it also doesn't feel wrong.

"I have worked damn hard in the last couple of years to change. Every day, I say the names of the people whose lives I took, to remind myself that if I ever take another life from this earth, it will only be to protect someone I love. No man will ever order me to kill or hurt a stranger again. The names help me remember that."

There is no sound for a long time but the slight wind noise outside the plane.

"Bodie? What's the name you don't speak, but should?"

I wet my lips, and I feel the cool inhalation of my breath as I begin to speak.

"Cain Priestly. He was Arabella's stepfather. He emotionally abused her as a kid. Shamed her, scared the crap out of her. He was still doing it when she and I were together, even though her mom left him a long time ago. He was living off the grid, strung out in a trailer in Tennessee, bullying her into giving him money all the time and driving her addiction. At the time, I thought...he had abused her in other ways, too. Six months ago, I took a couple of boys from my old crew up to his place to intimidate him into leaving her alone. Shit went sideways. He fired first and missed. My boy did not. I buried him in the woods. The helluva of it is...no one has even noticed he's missing yet."

Varrick says nothing for a long time. "Who knows?"

"Daemon, his brother, the two bangers that were with me. Marley."

"This changes things. With our new friends. It will effect your credibility."

My breath is heavy and hot and weary when I let it out. "I know."

"So you understand..."

"That I have to tell them? What full disclosure will probably mean? Yeah. I just didn't want to lead with my credibility problem until I could deliver my end of the deal."

"You would have made a very good lawyer."

"I know," I repeat.

A long time passes as Varrick and I both contemplate how Cain Priestly figures into the game we are playing. When the pilot makes his descent announcement, I say, "You never told me what we are going to do about Slade."

"The first step is to find out the truth about Megan's disappearance. The police were never able to give us that. But having a suspect? My own brother? Knowing how he thinks, what his resources might have been at the time? It changes everything about Megan's investigation. I need to go to Costa Rica, immediately. The problem with that is Leed."

"Leed? I don't follow."

"Leed thinks I'm Ashlynn's dom, and he also thinks I murdered Megan. If he starts asking questions about me, my brother will hear about it. I need to keep Leed contained, make sure he doesn't cause Viggo to increase his timeline."

"So you want me run interference for you?"

"I want you to buy me time. I want you to say nothing to Leed or the others about what I've told you. I want you to keep Leed distracted by whatever means necessary—make sure he wallows in booze or women. Or focuses on work. You know him better than I do—whatever will keep him from stirring my brother's pot."

I don't like manipulating anyone, especially not Leed. However, I'm spinning so many secret plates right now, one more hardly seems of any consequence.

"That shouldn't be hard. If this situation has him on the outs with Ashlynn, he'll be torn up already."

"But you will tell me, if he's planning to do something that might tip the balance with Slade."

"Of course. If you will tell me what's going to happen to your brother if you find out he did murder your girl?"

He closes his eyes. "Honestly? I don't know. If there is enough evidence for criminal charges? That might be the best course of action to give Megan's mother justice."

"If not?"

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. If he can't send his brother to jail, I'm pretty sure Varrick will add another name to his list, and he will bear the burden of speaking it every day for the rest of his life.

"Varrick, you realize you are not a guy that most dudes would want dating their mom, right?"

"Yes."

"So...I'm going to need you to do something for me."

"I've done quite a lot for you already."

"One more thing," I growl. "You need to sit my mother down, and look her in the eye, and run your list of names for her. She needs to know what kind of man you really are."

Varrick's eyes open and he looks at me a pitying smile. "I already did, Bodie. She knows what kind of man I am. And I know what kind of woman she is—a most exceptional one."

Leave it to my mother to be a real ride-or-die. Not just with any old run of the mill OG. With a goddamn assassin.

He closes his eyes again as the pilot begins his descent and the earth drags us down. "There is one name I've been having trouble bringing up, however. Megan's. So now you understand why I say, I'm conflicted."

"My mother does not deserve to be second choice behind a ghost, Varrick." My words are somewhat loud, thrown over the sounds of touch-down.

The plane taxis to a standstill. The fasten seatbelt sign goes off. Varrick sits perfectly still. "I know that, Bodie. It's exactly the reason I have to find Megan and lay her to rest. I'm not free, and I'm never going to be, as long as Megan's missing. Can't you see that?"

I do, but worrying about Varrick breaking my mother's heart?

It's more than I can take.

I can take a lot of shit. And I have.

But this?

It's the final fucking straw.

I can't wait to get off this goddamn plane and find a dive bar in Nashville.

I really need a drink.

Just one. Maybe two.