AT 29 (99 page)

The next morning she used the last of the methadone. It gave her enough resolve to shower and dress. She hadn't eaten in two days, but hunger didn't enter her mind as she struggled with another heavy cough, one of the many that increasingly welled up from her drowning lungs. She gathered the article from her desk and went down to the street. Backbeat's offices were only ten blocks away, but today she hailed a cab. She simply did not have the strength to walk. The elevator doors opened on the eleventh floor and she felt suddenly glad that she only had a few short feet to walk to the reception desk. The glass door leading into Backbeat's luxurious offices was heavy. She pulled on it twice before managing to open it just enough to squeeze her body through. Then she collapsed in a faint, falling to the carpeted floor as the pages of her final Dispatch flew aimlessly in the air.

On the other side of the world, Sister Marie Bonaventuri heard Les' scream and made her way to the bottom of the stairs as quickly as her cane would allow. Ten minutes later, informed of Nicky Aldridge's untimely death, Leslie Marshall fled Saint Malachy's Orphanage in a state of soul crushing sorrow and guilt.

“Where did she go?” Jimmy faced Sister Marie in the sitting room on the first floor. He slept some on the plane from Bangkok, but ate little. He had showered, shaved and put on fresh clothes. His last scotch was three hours in the past.

“I don't know.” Sister Marie leaned across the desk, hands folded. “She became distraught when she learned of the child's death, inconsolable.”

“But she left her things. Do you think she'll come back?”

“That's my hope, but it has been twenty-four hours.”

Jimmy studied the nun as he pondered what to do. Sister Marie appeared frail and lost in thought. She described the tragedy with as little emotion as she could muster, but it was plain to see that she, too, was unnerved. He wanted to ask her about Les' relationship with the boy, but he held back for fear that the religious leader could not cope.

“Do you have any ideas? I mean where I can look for her?”

She shook her head and looked down at her hands. “She has always lived here with us. I know little of her personal life outside of Saint Malachy's. Until she met you, she rarely went out on the town. She devoted herself to Saint Malachy's and our boys. I know she enjoyed traveling along the Great Ocean Road, but that was early on.”

“What can I do?”

“Pray, Jim. Wait and pray for her safe return.”

The answer failed to satisfy. He dropped his head, trying to think. He had precious little time, only two days before he must go to Sydney. The stitches in his bandaged hand were still fresh. It would be more than a week before they could be removed. That meant he had couldn't play guitar during the last two concerts. Both Australian performances needed to be reworked.

Les' disappearance worried him more. He found himself absent, unable to be with the most important person in his life at the very moment when he was needed most. Les was the woman of his dreams, with whom he meant to spend the rest of his life. Now, she was alone at a crossroads. He should be with her to help her find her way. Sister Marie seemed to read his mind although her face continued to display painful resignation.

“She blames herself. Now, you blame yourself as well. She told me you love her.” Jimmy didn't answer. The nun continued. “When she returns, I will call you right away.”

He stood to leave. “What if she doesn't come back?”

“Then I hope you will find her.”

He spent the next two days walking the city. It was an aimless search among the avenues, restaurants and parks they'd traversed together hand in hand. He had no idea where else to look. He called Saint Malachy's several times each day. Les had not returned and did not communicate with Sister Marie.

Cindy convinced Miles that Australia required his presence. She argued that it was unfair to foist the preparations on Ellis, especially in his banged up state. McCabe refused to go without his wife. They boarded a plane one week after the Marvel Island disaster. As he settled into his seat, he mused about all that happened.

The Riland brothers were dispatched back to their home in California. Before departing, they spent an hour with Felix who read them the riot act in no uncertain terms. The two fifteen year-old girls were jailbait. Statutory rape was a serious offense. Being in the presence of drugs and the men who furnished them was also a serious offense. The
youths, already cowed by Miles nine months earlier, took the tongue-lashing to heart. Unsettled by the viciousness of the bikers, they were only too ready to get as far away as they could. All they desired was a break from the road, a chance to heal and play in the sun and surf. In time, they knew they would be summoned back to Millburn to start work on a new album. In the meantime they intended to lay low.

MacGregor was also gone. Safely hidden away on Prince Edward Island. Unlike the Riland brothers, he was regarded as an innocent bystander, caught up in something he neither sought nor shared complicity for. He suffered no scold from Felix, only an admonition from Miles to keep quiet and prepare for the next tour months off, but one that would feature him as a headliner.

Tammy got a pass from Felix, too. Ellis interceded on her behalf, describing her actions during the night of the brawl. She was banned from ever setting foot near a Blossom performance again. She disappeared quickly.

Mike Winfield remained secreted away in a private room in Memorial Hospital in a suburb of Miami. The gunshot nicked his thighbone. It would be months before the DJ would walk without aid. Methadone kept him from going off the deep end, but he was in for a long recovery and only if he entered rehab once again. Miles was determined to cash his partner out.

Felix came by the office in Millburn the day after both men learned that Alice Limoges was in the hospital. He was comfortable that the writer would not write about Marvel Island. He was less certain of her health. She didn't look good when he put her in the taxi at LaGuardia.

“I think it might be serious,” he told Miles. “Not our issue, I suppose, but she's tight with your crew. Someone ought to keep an eye on her situation.”

The visit had other purposes as well. The mansion was repaired quickly, just as the retired FBI team leader promised. The cost was lower than estimated, seventy-five grand, bringing the total outlay for the night's quiet clean up to $275,000 when the services of the eight former lawmen were added. A heavy price to be sure, but it had to be paid. Of equal relief, there were no rumblings from the house's corporate owners or the realtor who underwrote the short-term lease to Winfield. The repair cost was to come out of Winfield's share of the tour's proceeds. Miles would eat the rest. Felix thanked his boss for getting the cash to his colleagues quickly. He also wanted to know how he could get his hands on the flight itineraries of Benson and Chase.

“They're already in Sydney.” Miles countered.

“No, I want to know where they're going after the last show in Melbourne.”

“Why?”

“Best you stay out of it.”

“I suppose they'll come back with everybody else.”

“No. You need to make sure they travel separately.”

“Why, Felix? What's behind this?”

“No questions. Just see what you can find out and let me know.”

Miles wrote a note for himself. Then he broached the subject of Felix joining Blossom fulltime. The veteran lawman didn't respond right away. He stayed on the subject of what happened in Miami.

“There's talk. We did all we could to keep it quiet, but something was bound to get out.”

“I haven't seen anything in the papers.”

“No, just whispers, club talk, things that get passed around. My buddies are plugged into the authorities down there. The police got wind of it just after the work crew finished fixing the house. They sent a detective over to check it out. He didn't find anything. There will be more talk going around. As long as your people aren't around to answer questions, it should die down in a month or so.”

“Good. That's what we want.”

“I'll give your offer some thought.” Felix stood to leave. “If I agree to take the job, I want you understand something.”

“What's that?”

“I will never break the law for you or your company again.”

Miles took him at his word.

As for dumping things on Ellis, Miles wasn't as rattled as Cindy. Long before Miami, as far back as the Atlanta show, he had set the plans in motion for Australia. A new set was ordered, as big as the one ferried around on tractor-trailers in the states, but the electronics were better. He intended this new staging as a test for the Blossom Presents world tour that no longer seemed likely. The acoustics played to Whitehurst's strengths, the fiddle, his backup orchestra and most of all his otherworldly vocals. America knew the big man as a consummate showman, able to thrill any audience. The new set was built to enhance his talents. It was already in-place and ready to go. The world would see him even better. As far as Miles knew, Ellis needed only to shepherd the three groups, Rebellion, Buckman and Whitehurst, onto the stage at the appointed times. Maybe Jim couldn't play his guitar, but Ellis could handle that complication. He had confidence in the man.

Whitehurst concerned him. He was raking in money for Blossom. Now, he was hooked on drugs. Miles had zero experience with that. He didn't know what it might mean for his biggest star's future and, in turn, for his company's prospects. Could Nigel kick the habit? Felix said six months of addiction is better than six years, easier to get clean and stay that way, but he would have to seek treatment. After the Melbourne show, McCabe decided, I'll confront him then.

And, Cindy, unwilling to harbor a secret from her husband, let slip that Jim was drinking again. To Miles that was equally serious. He cared little for the clause in Buckman's contract. Jim's loyalty to Blossom deserved fairer treatment. He was second only to Whitehurst in the company's money stream. But, unlike Whitehurst, McCabe felt a personal obligation to his first star. She said Jim intended to get back on the wagon once he reunited with his girlfriend in Australia. He crossed his fingers. Let's hope he does.

Jimmy checked out of his hotel. Ellis called the night before, demanding that he get on a plane right away.

“You've got to rehearse with the band!”

“Les is missing.”

Ellis paused, hearing the worry in his client's voice. “She'll turn up. Maybe she's here in Sydney. Have you considered that?” No, Jimmy hadn't thought of that. Ellis could be right. He boarded the plane with renewed hope.

Ellis picked him up at the airport, paying close attention to his client and friend's physical and emotional state. Upon close inspection, he was relieved to find Jimmy sober
and, if not single-minded in his mental preparation for these last two concerts, willing to be guided. On the ride to the hotel he exuberantly detailed his ideas. Jimmy's rhythm guitar would be covered by the fill-in he secured from a local cover band. Yes, many Australian bands were covering
Back and Blue
. His injuries were no problem. All that was needed were a few hours of rehearsal. Kate and Rebellion would take the stage first.

“Jimmy boy, you gotta see the setup. McCabe had a new stage created just for these two shows. The lighting and acoustics are fantastic!”

Jimmy nodded and sometimes smiled, knowing it was expected. Ellis' cool-headed heroics of a week earlier remained fresh in his mind. It took courage to do what he did to forestall the bikers. Jimmy would not detract from his agent's enthusiasm by being distant. But his thoughts were far away, consumed with impatience to finish the last two shows so he could resume his search for Les.

“You come next followed by Whitehurst like we did in the states.”

“How's he doing?”

“Much better now that he's back on his own soil. Felix gave him something to replace the big H. He must have said something, too because Nigel's following orders. He's as upbeat as we've seen him in months, driving everybody nuts with rehearsal after rehearsal like it's his big coming out or something.”

“It is. His countrymen are seeing their rock star for the first time.”

“You're right, but he seems to be focused on something else. Keyed up about something or someone.”

Jimmy didn't understand so he let it go.

For different reasons Jimmy and Nigel swore off their addictions. With his worries about Les, Jimmy wasn't about to let scotch fog his brain. Nigel seemed to be driven by some unspoken goal. Each band went through its set morning and afternoon before the day of the show. The replacement rhythm guitarist held his own, drawing sighs of relief from the rest of Jimmy's group. It was hard for its leader though. In all the years since that freshman performance at Saint Virgil's College, Jimmy had never been without his guitar. Now, he had to adjust to doing vocals empty-handed. Gestures, stances, what to do during the jams, it all had to be choreographed. It didn't come easy.

The last rehearsal went outside on McCabe's new stage. Ellis insisted. He wanted no mistakes born from an unfamiliar setting, a far cry from Mike Winfield's hands-off management during the last stages of the stateside tour. The venue was Australia's best, in the Forecourt on the grass next to the nation's international symbol, the Sydney Opera House. Throughout each day and late into the night, thousands of tourists and not a few of Sydney's residents passed by the site and wandered along Circular Quay and Sydney Harbor, looking out to the equally iconic Harbor Bridge. The risk was great. Too many casual observers would see and hear the show before its real performance the next night. Ellis had an answer for that. The Forecourt stage was enclosed on three sides by massive canvas tenting that shielded the bands from view. The instruments were also unplugged, except for three short periods during the run throughs when the sound system was tested. The biggest benefit, and the one that assured Ellis that few of the nearby tourists would get an advance look, was the heavy rain.