The Devil's Beat (The Devil's Mark) (12 page)

After what Max had witnessed that morning at the mansion, he had pretty much decided nothing could convince him to stay here and keep the mansion, but between knowing that he would be able to renovate that old money pit, and his conversation with Alice, he had decided to give it another go.

He kicked himself over trying to kiss Alice, but she had made him realize that no one in this town had ever given him reason to believe they knew who he was. He could tell that they were noting a new face in town, but he had assumed that no one made a fuss because they were just totally out of the loop. It was incredibly freeing.

Looking back at his thoughts, he realized just how badly he wanted a place where he could just be himself again. These people all had televisions and internet. In hindsight, it was obvious that they knew who he was. This was probably the only town in the US where he might be allowed to live a semblance of a normal life. That was worth fighting for, no matter how twisted his house was.

Max puttered around in the room and found himself thinking about Alice again. She was so warm and nice. She was so pretty... but, after seeing her three girls, he realized that it was best that he didn't get caught up with her. Kids made him uneasy, and he couldn't imagine being a father. He could barely be responsible for his own life and had enough trouble just keeping himself fed and clean. No, it was definitely for the best. Maybe they could be friends.

His thoughts whirled around that idea for a while, but hadn't advanced much when there was a pounding at the door.

Someone shouted through the door. “Open up! Police!”

Max froze and looked at the door with sudden dread. He tried to think why the cops would be after him. Had somebody seen Old Bone and called the police in hysterics, or perhaps, was it the narcotics squad after him for harboring a dealer? Crap. The pounding repeated.

Max was very scared of police chief Wayne, but he also realized that there was no place to run, nothing he could do, so he forced himself to walk to the door and open it. The man standing on the other side of the door was a few inches shorter than Max, maybe a little under six feet. He had a stocky barrel-shaped build, a good-natured smile, sandy brown hair and strong arms with heavy muscles that saw use every day as a carpenter. It was his old friend Mike, standing there with the biggest shit-eating grin imaginable.

Mike opened his arms wide and said gleefully, “Hey Maxy-boy!” All Max could think was, Oh, thank God!  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to release the tension. Mike saw this and laughed out, “I really had you going there, didn't I?” He stepped up to Max, and gave him a bear hug while Max tried to shift gears.

Max pulled back. “You jerk. You nearly gave me a heart-attack.”

“Got a guilty conscience, hey?” said Mike slyly.

Max huffed and stood aside to invite Mike in. Mike reached down and picked up a six-pack of Corona, which Max hadn't noticed, and came in. He pulled out the room's one chair and flopped down in it. He popped open two Coronas and handed one to Max.

He raised his bottle. “Here's to living in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, bud.”

Max gave a half smile and raised his bottle before taking a long swig himself. It tasted awesome going down. Until his recent binge, he hadn't had a drink in nearly two years. He had almost drunk himself to death during one terrible night of guilt and self-loathing. Since then, he had stayed away from alcohol, afraid he might succumb to the temptation to drink all his troubles away again.

Mike eyed Max. “You're looking better than you did last time I saw you on the news. Things getting better for you?”

Max sat on the bed, looked at his old friend, and said honestly, “I couldn't tell you if I wanted to Mike. I can't tell which way is up these days.”

Mike solemnly put his bottle down, pointed to the ceiling and said “Up.”

Max grimaced. “Thanks, it all makes sense to me now.”

“Hey, no problem, what are friends for?”

Max noticed, for the first time, that Mike looked a little rough around the edges himself. He said, “Looks like you had a hard flight.”

Mike shook his head. “No, I decided to drive straight through.”

Max looked at him in surprise. “What happened to flying out?”

“I realized that I was going to need some wheels and all my tools, so I took the truck. Besides, ever since 911, flying sucks.”

Max grinned at Mike. “Couldn't tell you. I had my own jet.”

Now, it was Mike's turn to grimace back at Max. “Yeah, rub it in, why don't ya.”

The two of them quickly fell into a familiar pattern of gossip and good-natured ribbing. It felt to Max like being home again. He relished every minute. After they had demolished the six-pack, Mike asked Max why he wasn't out at the mansion. Max, having been lubricated by the unaccustomed alcohol, had an evil thought that filled him with glee. He said, “Well, I was in town for some things and was just heading back out when you stopped by.”

Mike stood up. “Well, let's go. I'm dying to see this beasty of yours.”

The beer went right through Max so he went to relieve himself first. As he was standing there, doing his thing, he heard Mikey say, “Hey what's this? Holy crap Mike, is this real?”

Max, who was basking in the warm glow of his buzz asked, “Is what real?”

Mike banged open the door, right into Max's back. Max flinched and physics did the rest. “Hey! What the hell are you doing jerk! Look what you made me do!”

Mike didn't even glance at the mess. “Let the maids worry about that.” He stuffed the net worth statement into Max's face. “Is this real, or are you just having one over on me?”

Max frowned at Mike as he tucked himself back into his pants. “Yeah, that's what my accountant just sent me.”

“Max, why are you messing around with some broken down mansion? Just go out and buy yourself a freaking town or something.”

“Calm down Mike, it's not that much money. I'm sure I was worth a lot more before everything went to hell.”

Mike looked at Max with disbelief. “You don't think this is a lot of money?”

Max was a little exasperated when he said, “Six million is a decent amount of money, but it's not like I'm a Rockefeller or anything.”

“Six million?”

“Yes, that's what it says.”

Mike stuck the paper in Max's face. “Can't you read?” He pointed to a small line that read, “All numbers are in thousands of dollars.”

Max looked at Mike. “No....”

Now Max was exasperated as he said, “Think, Max. These numbers are in thousands! This says that your net worth is over six billion dollars!”

The news hit Max with an almost audible slap. He said in a small voice, “Six billion?”

Mike laughed with the absurdity of it all. “I can't believe you didn't know this already. How can you be so clueless that you don't know if you are worth six million or six billion?”

Max walked the short distance to his bed and sat down. Six billion? He could pull a million a month out for the next hundred years and barely dent it. He looked at Mike and pleaded, “Mike, what am I going to do with that kind of money?”

Mike gave him a wide, toothy grin, slapped his hands across Max's shoulder. “I'm sure we can come up with something, bud. I'm sure we can come up with something.”

***

An hour later, Max and Mike were on the bed, side by side, in identical poses, on their backs with their arms behind their heads.

Mike said, “You could start your own space program.”

Max looked startled, “What? Space program?”

Mike grinned. “Yeah, it's the newest thing. Every dot com billionaire is doing it.”

“What would I want with a space ship? I don't even like to fly.”

“Well, you could make a really big one and then send it out to mine the asteroids.”

“No, I'm not going to start a space program.”

Mike sighed. “So what are you invested in?”

“I have no idea.”

Mike got up, headed to the one table in the room and grabbed the sheet with Max's net worth on it. He studied it for a while. He said, “Hey Max, I can see a problem here.”

Max glanced at him, “What's that?”

“You've only got six hundred, sixty-six million, six hundred, sixty-six thousand and two cents in liquid assets. That's barely enough to last you till next week!”

“Ha, ha, funny guy.”

Mike laughed again, “Seriously Max, how can you not laugh at this? It's ridiculous.”

Max sighed, turned toward Mike with one elbow propping himself up. “Mike, that's all blood money.”

Mike was taken aback, “What do you mean, blood money”

“That money all came from other people’s work, not mine.”

Mike frowned down at the paper, “So maybe you didn't write all those songs, but that doesn't make it blood money. Isn't that what they found at the trials? Every one of those songs was paid for. Legally, they were yours.”

Max swung his feet off his bed and sat up facing Mike. He said bitterly, “Yeah, don't you think it was weird that those documents only ever turned up at the last minute? Wasn't it convenient that several of the song writers just withdrew their claims?”

“What do you mean, Max? It sounds like you’re buying into all the conspiracy theories that those nut-jobs kept throwing around.”

“I mean that I think every single one of those songs was stolen and that six billion dollars buys a lot of reality adjustment, and when reality didn't want to cooperate, it's even cheaper to pay someone to make the problem go away.”

Mike looked confused, “Why would you think that? I know you said that a lot of the songs came from your manager, but come on, given the kind of money you were making, why steal the songs instead of just paying for them?”

“Because you don't know my manager. I think he did it just for the fun of it. That, and to fuck with me.”

Mike said, “That just sounds ridiculous and paranoid, Max. Why would he do that when you were making so much money for him?”

Max was tempted to tell Mike who his manager really was, but he didn't want to deal with that fallout. “He's a sadistic SOB, and he doesn't care about the money.”

“Max, no one doesn't care about money.”

“He doesn't. Believe me, he works for other reasons.” When it looked like Mike was going to object again, Max cut him off. “Let's just drop that, please. I don't like to talk about him.”

In the silence that followed, Max reflected on Lucian's heady promises.

***

Lucian and Max were in a darkened bar, heads together, drinking expensive single malt scotch, talking over the loud music in the background. Max was drunk with alcohol and the continuous praise of Lucian who was obviously a man of wealth and power.

Max had hit a slump and couldn’t seem to find anyone willing to give him a chance. He was a hit at the local bars, but every time it seemed he might make a contact and break into the music biz, it fell through. The continuous streams of dashed hopes and rejections had gotten him down and he hadn’t written a new song in months. His dreams were dying.

Then Lucian appeared and those dreams were being resuscitated.

Lucian said, “I will make every one of your dreams of fame, wealth, and glory come true, but you will need to do everything I tell you. You will follow my advice without fail. You will give me everything that you are, and I will make you the biggest star since Elvis. Your name will ring down through the ages as the greatest bard of your time. You will sing songs that will make people dance, weep, and laugh. You will change lives and give people purpose. Women? They will throw themselves at your feet... Wealth? It will flow to you like a river, and you shall never want for anything. Give me your heart and soul and I will make you great. How important are your dreams, Max? Will you do anything to see them come true? Do you have the strength to put yourself into my hands, heart and soul, so I can make you great?”

“Hell, yes!” Max agreed enthusiastically.

Lucian sat back with a self-satisfied smirk, lifted is arm, and snapped his fingers. Three incredibly beautiful women who had been waiting out of sight approached their table. One had a briefcase and the other two undulated to Max's side with eyes for no one but him. Through the alcoholic haze, Max looked at the two sumptuous creatures who were suddenly in his arms and thought he must have died and gone to heaven. Lucian pulled out a large contract and said to Max, “Here you go Max, sign this and your trip to fame and wealth begins.”

Max struggled through the alcohol and the other distractions. “I don't know, Lucian, I'm pretty drunk right now. I think maybe I should wait till tomorrow so I can read what it says, maybe get my mom to read it too.”

Lucian leaned forward, his lips pursed in disapproval. “Max, don't tell me that you're a mama's boy, running home every time you get a booboo?”

Max's companions stopped caressing him and stood back. Max said hotly, “No, I'm no mama's boy, but I'm not an idiot either. I'll sign it after I’ve had time to read it so I know what I am getting into.”

Lucian looked intensely into Max's eyes. He said, “I'll tell you what is in it, Max. I promise to give you everything, and you give me everything in return. If I fail to deliver, the contract is null and void.”

Lucian's intensity would have frightened Max if he hadn't been drunk. Lucian let up, smiled. “Besides, Max, you will have plenty of time to read through it. I wouldn't want to have a partner who wasn't happy, so I tell you what, sign this tonight, and I will give you a week to change your mind. Look, I knew you weren't a fool. It's even dated next week.” He showed Max the contract so he could see that he wasn't lying. More seriously, Lucian said, “If you decide you don't like the contract, we can cancel it and go our separate ways. Me, I'll find some other star, and you, well, you will go back to that little podunk town you call home and work for McDonald’s or something.”

Max leaned over the contract and tried to ignore the women who were once again pressed into his sides and stroking him in a particularly distracting way. He thought, hell, if I can cancel this in a week, what's the harm? He grinned up at Lucian and held his hand out. “Give me a pen.”