Let the Music Play - 17. Secrets and Lies

The feel of a rush of motion, then a sudden sensation of falling intruded on Brandon’s sated dreams. Smacking into the carpeted floor, he was jarred awake and let out a startled gasp. Trying to remember where he was, Brandon stumbled to his feet, rubbing his arm as he looked at his boyfriend. Chase stirred, awakened by the noise, and rose up on one elbow to look across the empty side of the bed, before seeing a disheveled and slightly confused Brandon standing by the bed. Chase smiled sleepily as he admired Brandon’s nude form, backlit in the diffused light filtering in through the drape-covered window, his smile growing even broader as he realized what must have transpired. ”Hey, Brand... gravity works.”

Brandon gave a tired nod in return as he climbed back into bed. Running his fingers gently through Chase’s hair, he said, “Happy birthday, and I’ll try and avoid that gravity thing from now on. I haven’t fallen out of bed like that since I was a kid.”

Rolling into Brandon, giving him a slow hug. “Maybe you had too much exercise last night?” Chase said with a chuckle.

“Hey, you didn’t want to be an eighteen-year-old virgin, so I had to. It was a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it, right?”

Chase didn’t hesitate. His fingers flew to their usual targets, reducing his boyfriend to a giggling mess, until Brandon cried out, “Okay, okay, I give... Damn, I wish you were ticklish too; you have one hell of an advantage there...”

Snuggling in closer, Chase nibbled on Brandon’s ear before replying. “Good... I can use it to take advantage of you...” he said, as his hand wandered to Brandon’s crotch.

Tingling from the touch, which he returned, Brandon pulled Chase towards him, only to pause as he eyed the clock. “Oh, damn, it’s nearly noon. What kind of stuff do we have to do today?”

Reluctantly pulling away, Chase sat up and stretched. “Helen has some publicity stuff planned I think, but other than that, nothing that I know of. I think she’ll go easy today, seeing as it’s my birthday.”

Brandon nodded. “Yeah, I hope so too, but I guess we’d better get up and find out.” Throwing on a few clothes, Brandon and Chase ordered breakfast, and Brandon made a quick phone call to Helen while they waited for their meal to appear. After hanging up, Brandon flashed his boyfriend a shy grin. “She said ‘congratulations’, and also ‘it’s about damn time’. She also said we’re pretty well free until we leave for Vegas in the morning. So, birthday boy, what do you want to do today?”

* * *

In the suite across the hall, Eric hung up the phone hard enough to make it bounce, causing Jon to look up at his younger brother.

Rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, Eric sat back in an armchair. “That was the lead singer of our opening act, informing me that he was on his way over for a talk. He said the meeting would be for just him, you, and me, because we, meaning you and me, need to do something about a problem,” he said in a flat tone of voice.

Furious, Jon bolted out of his seat and began to pace. “He told you he was coming over and we’d be having a meeting, or he asked?”

“Told. He was pretty damn blunt, and before I could get a word in edgewise he hung up on me. Something’s up, and he sounds pissed. I guess we’ll find out soon enough; he said he was coming right over.”

Jon, still pacing back and forth, his anger seeping into his voice, said in a quiet tone, “He’d better have a damn good reason for all this, especially for excluding Brandon and Chase. If they weren’t doing god knows what in Chase’s suite, I’d get them to come over anyway.”

Eric shrugged in agreement as he sprawled back on the sofa. Returning his Playstation to its place on his bare stomach, he resumed his game of Grand Theft Auto, while Jon alternated between pacing and staring out the window.

The renewed ringing of the phone fifteen minutes later came as no surprise. Jon lifted it, answering the expected inquiry from the hotel staff with a curt “Send him on up.”

Minutes later, the too-loud banging on the door served notice that their self-invited guest had arrived.

Opening the door, Jon angled his head to invite the lead singer of The Shadows into the suite, asking him as he passed, “Okay, Steve, what’s up?”

Ignoring the fact that Jon remained standing, Steve settled his tall frame on the couch. Pausing for a moment, deciding to be direct, Steve said, “We were watching your act from the side of the stage last night. Something... weird happened up there. We saw it because of the angle and because we were close, so maybe nobody else did, but you’ve got to do something about it. I’ll be blunt; when your lead singer came back and sang to your drummer, it was freaky; looked to me like he was looking at him like a guy would look at a girl he wanted, and your drummer was eating it up. We can put this whole thing to rest if you tell me there’s nothing between ‘em, and you guys commit to making sure he doesn’t do it again. We can’t have shit like this screwing up the tour.”

Eric glanced up from his game, looking first at his brother. Jon had sat down, and was softly drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, a sign Eric recognized immediately: Jon’s temper was approaching the boiling point. Eric bit back his own anger, deciding to let Jon have the first round with The Shadow’s lead singer. Eric focused on his game, intentionally projecting an air of studied indifference coupled with disdain.

“Steve,” Jon said flatly, choosing his words with care to avoid outing Brandon and Chase for the second time that week, “I don’t know what you think you saw, and I don’t particularly give a fuck. My drummer, as you call him, is my brother, which you fucking well know, and Brandon’s a damn good friend as well as being our lead singer.”

Steve locked a set of angry, mascara-lined eyes on Jon. “I think you know something. I’m telling you, I won’t put up with any weird shit jeopardizing our tour, got it? Now, what the fuck is going on between your brother and that singer?” Steve decided to see if he could turn Jon’s attitude to his advantage, so recalling what he’d read about Jon’s leadership disputes with Lump, and taking what he thought to be an opening, he added, “And another thing I’d like to know; who’s the leader of Instinct now, you, or that new singer?”

Jon recognized Steve’s last comment for what it was; an attempt to drive a wedge between Brandon and himself. Ignoring the attempt, Jon stood up slowly, projecting as much menace as he could. “I think you don’t get it. You and your guys are our opening act. Get a clue, asshole; you need us. We don’t need you. Now, get the fuck out of here. If I hear from you in the next hour and you can convince me that there will be no more of this bullshit, you might be opening for us in Vegas. Otherwise, you’re history.”

The lead singer of The Shadows took his time getting to his feet. Fingering the long stubble on his chin and narrowing his eyes, he said, “We’ll see about that.”

Eric watched as the leader of The Shadows stormed from the suite. As soon as the last echoes of the slamming door had faded into the plush furnishings of the room, he said in a sarcastic voice, “Gee, that went well.” Crossing his arms on his bare chest, anger rising to the surface, he added, “I think we need a new opening act, bro.”

Jon nodded, “Yeah. I think we do. I also think I better call Helen.”

Helen stomped into the room immediately after Jon’s call. Looking none too happy as Jon and Eric gave her the full story of what had transpired, growing less pleased with every passing word. As soon as they’d finished, she told them, “I’ll call their manager. Brandon should’ve known better than to pull a stunt like that on stage, but last night was a special night for him and Chase. I’ll give him a pass just this once, but I’ll make sure he knows not to do it again. As for The Shadows, I support your decision; they’re gone unless they have a real fast change of heart.”

Helen snapped open her cell phone, hitting the speed-dial for The Shadow’s manager. He’d barely managed to say hello before Helen began to yell, telling him in no uncertain terms that his lead singer had likely just blown the chance of a lifetime for his group...

After hanging up on the flustered man, Helen smirked. “I think he’s phoning them right now. My guess is Steve will come crawling back in about thirty minutes. If he does, what do you want to do? If you need a new opening act for Vegas, I’ve got to get to work on that right now.”

Jon exchanged a glance with Eric before saying, “If they’re sincere and promise there will be no more shit, I’m okay with it but we should ask Brandon and Chase too; they might not want ‘em around after this. I sure as hell didn’t like that attitude; having concerns is one thing, but he was playing head games too, sure as hell.”

Helen nodded. “Okay, but let me know as soon as possible... and don’t worry about this: they can’t do a damn thing. They’d look like morons if we throw them off the tour and they say Brandon sang to Chase, which everyone saw and that’s all they really have. So far as I know no one else picked up on anything... hell, they don’t have anything but suspicions, and we can make them look like total asses who nobody would want to work with if they try and make this an issue. I guarantee you that their manager knows it, too.”

* * *

The soft moaning of the wind filtered through the insulated walls of the Toowoomba lens factory as the engineer opened the first set of molds. After testing the tapered hexagon with a gauge, he glanced up at The Scar and Dimitri to say, “I think this batch has sufficient rigidity and tensile strength for our purposes. We now have both the fast and slow high explosives for our implosion assemblies. My design calls for thirty nine columns of high explosive with the hexagonal or pentagonal surfaces facing outwards from the core. Each one will have a detonator mounted on it in the exact center of the outer surface. Each of our thirty-nine columns will contain three pieces of explosive; two consisting of high velocity explosive and one of the low velocity. The outermost piece of high velocity explosive will have a conical cavity in its inner surface into which I will place a precisely shaped lens of slow explosive. As the shock wave proceeds inwards from the detonators, the differential in the burn speed of the two different explosives will shape the shock wave, changing it from a convex expanding wave into a concave converging one, precisely shaped to meet the ovoid boron-aluminum alloy pusher plate. The explosives I have used here are a mixture of RDX and TNT for the fast explosive, and a compound of TNT and barium nitrate for the slower explosive. The outer surface of our explosive layer will be spherical, with the shockwave shaped by timing and density differentials to perfectly match the ovoid shape of the pusher plate upon reaching it. A slight alteration in the timing of the detonations will cause an ovoid shockwave, which is what we need due to the cylindrical design of the plutonium core: we are trying to force a cylinder into the shape of an elongated sphere, so the timing and configuration of the shockwave must be perfect. We cannot do this without the Kryton switches, you understand?”

Irritated at being reminded by the engineer for the third time of the need for the switches, The Scar growled, “I am fully aware of that, as I told you the last two times you mentioned it. I will get them. What I need you to do is prepare the implosion test assembly to make certain that this design will work as you claim. How long until you can do so?”

The engineer shrugged, bristling at the rebuke, “Perhaps three days for a completed assembly with the instrumented beryllium blank in place of the pusher plate and pit, though I can check the explosives for burn speeds easily enough with some instrumentation at our other location as soon as I am there. However, the complete assembly cannot be tested in any meaningful way without the Kryton switches.”

Barely restraining his temper, The Scar replied through gritted teeth, “I may not have them by then. You need to find a way to test your design without them.”

Shaking his head, the engineer balked. “That is impossible. Without them, the timing will be insufficiently precise. I might be able to approximate the timing by altering the length of the wires to the detonators, relying on the speed of an electrical charge in a wire, but that would be insufficient as wave dynamics will affect the timing minutely, as would minor temperature differentials, miniscule imprecision in the wire’s thickness and composition, etc. Also, you must bear in mind that the speed of the current is proportional to the strength of the current; the stronger the charge, the faster it moves. Without Kryton switches, there is no way to achieve the needed precision. Were we using simple spherical implosion, we might be able to work around this and not use them, but due to the inferior quality of the plutonium you procured this is not possible and spherical implosion would likely result in predetonation and a sub-kiloton yield. I simply must have the Kryton switches, as you promised me I would.”

The Scar was singularly unaccustomed to being lectured or derided. Only by reminding himself repeatedly that the engineer was irreplaceable was he able to resist the urge to beat him to death with whatever blunt object was at hand. Turning to leave the clean room, he snapped over his shoulder, “You will have them. Get the test assembly ready.” The Scar was so angered by the engineer’s demeanor that he managed to forget, for the moment, that it was the engineer who had, in fact, arranged the purchase of the substandard plutonium about which the irritating man was now complaining.

Dimitri watched his employer leave before turning to tell the engineer in a quiet voice, “Vladimir, do not ever aggravate him again, or you will regret it.”

Feeling the hairs on his neck stand on end as he remembered the nature of the people he was dealing with, the engineer shuddered imperceptibly. “My apologies, Dimitri; I meant no offence. However, for the sake of our project, I must have the switches. It is my manner to be direct in these matters.”

With a cold glare, Dimitri reminded the engineer, “I know him well; he will not tolerate such treatment again. Now, what must we do to prepare the test assembly?”

Happy to be back in his element, the engineer proceeded to explain to Dimitri, in far more detail than required, the procedure for freezing some of the explosive segments with liquid nitrogen to prepare them for forming into precise shapes in the computerized lens-grinding equipment. He ended his monologue by reminding Dimitri, yet again, of the need for absolute precision, coupled with the need to avoid any contamination. The wind, along with the fine dust it carried, made great care a prerequisite, and the engineer made a mental note to remind The Scar to change his clothes before entering the clean room again, because The Scar had not, in the engineer’s expert opinion, been taking the dust contamination issue seriously enough.

* * *

In a nearby room, The Scar sat at a desk that was bare except for his laptop computer. Attaching an Ethernet cable – The Scar, ever mindful of security, would not use wireless – The Scar opened his e-mail account, made certain that his encryption program was active, and began to type. Gritting his teeth at the thought of the price, he sent an e-mail with the required phrases that would indicate the nature of his request to a man he’d dealt with before. Routing it via several sequential proxy servers, he sent his encrypted e-mail, cursing the fact that none of his other attempts to procure the Kryton switches had borne fruit. To his surprise, the reply arrived minutes later. Checking the ID phrases against a set hidden in plain sight in a list of quotations, he found that his contract had been accepted. Of that, he was not surprised; he’d offered two million due to his urgent need, and had no time to quibble over the price.

Replying via the same method he’d used before, he sent the name and address of the head of a specialty glasswares firm that supplied Kryton switches to the British Ministry of Defense. The man had proven incorruptible in the past, but The Scar was certain he would prove somewhat more malleable once he opened a package containing his daughter’s ear and a video of her frantic pleading, coupled with the threat to send her back piece by piece unless he did exactly as he was told. The Mafioso he’d contracted with was expensive, The Scar mused, but he had a way of getting things done, and done quickly, that made him worth every penny. The most regrettable part, from The Scar’s perspective, was that this method would leave him with even more loose ends to dispose of, for there must be no witnesses; no trail left behind.

Dimitri watched and listened, concealing his boredom, as the engineer tested every block of explosive for tensile strength and dimensions as he removed it from the molds. He knew that precision was vital, but Dimitri was fast growing sick of hearing the fact repeated ad nauseum. Just a few more hours, he reminded himself, and they would be back at the rural site, where the engineer could annoy others instead. Dimitri had mixed feelings about the engineer; on one hand, the man was annoying and socially inept beyond belief; the stereotypical engineer. On the other hand, he was, Dimitri admitted, one of the most brilliant men he’d ever encountered; a true professional of immense skill in his field, who harbored a child-like awe for wildlife.

* * *

Jon answered the ringing phone, listening for a few moments before saying, “Yeah, send him on up, please, we’re expecting him.” Placing the phone back in its gilded cradle, Jon shrugged. “That was fast. He’s on his way up.”

A knock, far softer than previously, soon sounded from the mahogany door. Helen stalked over to open it, ushering the contrite lead singer of The Shadows into the suite with an icy wave. Steve remained standing, his eyes slightly downcast. “I’ve just had a call from our manager. I’m sure you can guess what he told me, and that’s why I’m here. I’ll level with you; you’re right, we need this gig. It’s our ticket to the big leagues, and that’s why I reacted the way I did when I saw something that I think threatens it. It would hurt us all, but you guys are already on top, we still need to get there. I’m sorry for any offence, and for the way I acted, but I was just trying to do the right thing for my band.” Eric's jaw clenched for a brief moment as the word 'think' caught his attention. Neither Jon nor Helen noticed Steve’s use of the present tense in regard to his concerns of a threat.

Steve’s admission hit a nerve with Helen, who was accustomed to thinking of the band and being on the lookout for things that could adversely affect it. After exchanging a glance with Jon, and seeing his nod of approval, Helen rounded on The Shadow’s lead singer. “Very well, I can accept your motives. However, what any of these guys do in their private lives is their own business, not yours. If you truly want to act in your band’s best interests, you won’t make any further issue over things you think you see, because you may be very much mistaken, and you certainly will be off the tour.”

Taking a seat, Steve sighed. “There’s a little more to it than thinking I saw something. While you were doing your encores I cornered Zeke and asked what was up with your singer. I knew he’d known Brandon a little in the past, so I figured he might have some info. Zeke’s usually pretty forthcoming and he can’t lie worth shit, so he told me about Brandon’s past. Given that, combined with what I saw, I knew there was something between Brandon and Chase. The point is, if I can figure it out, so can others. Look, gay people aren’t exactly unknown in this industry; I get that, so this ain’t personal, just business. I only want what’s best for my group, so when I knew what was up, I had to do something, and I guess I went about it the wrong way. So, I’m not asking for a confirmation here, just saying be more careful, okay? That’s all we ask.”

Helen remained silent for a while, letting the singer stew, before replying. “You can consider yourselves on probation for a while, but you aren’t off the tour, yet. However, if there’s any further trouble, you will be, instantly. Got that?”

Steve nodded, and Helen stalked out of the room, less than pleased by the situation. Her gut told her that the issue wasn’t settled, but like so many things, she figured they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

Back in Jon’s suite, Steve stood to leave, hesitated, and then turned to say to Jon, “Look, we got off on the wrong foot, and I’m sorry for that. If you guys got to know us, I think you’d like us. So, I was hoping that sometime, when both our groups have some free time and nothing else to do, you and Eric could join us for some fun and get to know us a little.”

Eric fixed the singer in his gaze and asked in a flat tone; “So, are you guys inviting Jon and I, or Instinct, because there’s four of us in this group.”

Biting his tongue for a bare moment, Steve struggled to conceal his reluctance as he nodded. “I meant all of you. I just assumed that Brandon and Chase wouldn’t be into, you know, guy stuff.”

Jon replied in a cool tone of voice, “They’re just normal guys, Steve. If you want to work with us and get to know us, they’re part of the deal.”

With strained awkwardness, which Eric read as continued unease, the lead singer of The Shadows took his leave of the two brothers. As soon as the door had closed, Eric told his brother; “There’s still something bugging him. I don’t think he’s as okay as he now claims about Brandon and Chase. Maybe he just doesn’t want to blow the gig. What do ya think; should we dump their asses and be done with it?”

Jon sat silently for a few moments before answering. “That’s tempting, real tempting, bro. If they do anything out of line, anything at all, we’ll shitcan ‘em, but let’s see what happens...”

Returning to her suite, Helen set the issues she’d just had to face aside, focusing her mind on a far happier task. Picking up a phone, she confirmed the arrangements she’d made, and then decided to combine a little business with pleasure. Placing another call, she informed The Shadow’s relieved manager that his group was still on the tour, for now, and then added, “I think it would be helpful if the two groups got to know each other better, so I’m inviting your guys to a surprise party for Chase’s birthday. I’ve arranged for one of the pools here to be closed off for the private party, so just send your guys on over in about two hours; the hotel staff will know where to send them.”

That task done, she placed another call, this time to Chase’s suite. Brandon answered, and she announced, “I need to talk to you, alone. Come on over right now.”

Brandon shrugged at Chase as he shared the news of Helen’s odd request.

As soon as Brandon had entered her suite, Helen filled him in on the morning’s news regarding The Shadows before telling him in no uncertain terms, “They know about you and Chase because of what you did on stage. You can’t do anything like that again, Brandon.”

Chagrined, Brandon nodded in agreement, and Helen added, “Now, for some better news. I’ve set up a surprise party for Chase, and you’re in charge of getting him there. There’s a pool at the north end of this building that I’ve had the hotel staff close off for us so it will be private. Bring Chase there in an hour, but don’t you dare tell him why. I’ll also warn you that I wanted to see if The Shadows are on the level, so I invited them. Any trouble from them, any at all, I’ll need to know about it right away so we can find a new opening act. I didn’t like doing this with Chase’s birthday, but we need to know as soon as possible, so I felt it best. If you see any indication of hostility from them, let me know and they’ll be out of there and off the tour faster than they can blink.”

Helen took Brandon over to Jon’s suite, where she filled the two brothers in on the plan for Chase’s party. Brandon made sure that Jon would bring the gift-wrapped necklace that Brandon planned to give Chase, before returning to Chase’s suite, still at a loss as to how he’d get Chase to go to the pool without tipping him off.

“What did Helen want, Brand?” Chase asked as soon as Brandon entered the suite.

Brandon told him about the problem with The Shadows. Chase listened in silence, holding his tongue until Brandon had finished. “Don’t stress on it. I wouldn’t trade that song for anything, and if we get outed it’s not the end of the world. As soon as you mentioned your past with Zeke we pretty much knew The Shadows would find out about us sooner or later, and nothing’s changed; if they can’t deal with it, they’re gone.”

Pausing only long enough to give his boyfriend a hug, Brandon replied, “Yeah, I know, and thanks. Helen didn’t seem too happy about it though.”

Giving Brandon’s hair a playful muss, Chase said, “Helen’s rarely happy about much of anything. Don’t worry; we can always count on Jon and Eric to do something crazy and draw her fire. They’re overdue; they haven’t pissed her off in days...”

Laughing, Brandon nodded, as an idea on how to handle the task Helen had set forth took form in his mind...

While they were waiting for their ordered lunch to arrive at the suite, Brandon slipped into Chase’s closet, rummaging around only briefly and soon finding what he was after...

* * *
The three members of The Shadows, dressed in shorts and t-shirts, arrived at the pool to find that no one but Eric had yet arrived. Stretched out in the sun on a lounger in just a pair of white running shorts, Eric sat up to greet the three musicians, trying his best to keep things friendly and give the guys a chance. He picked up right way that they felt ill at ease, and were also in his opinion a little over-dressed for a pool party. At least they weren’t wearing makeup this time, he was thankful to note. Steve tried to break the ice by saying, “You remember Zeke, our lead guitarist, and Wilde, our drummer...”

Eric nodded a greeting at each of them, trying his best not to stare at the deathly white pallor of the Goth-looking drummer, who looked as if he hadn’t been out in daylight in years and stood in stark contrast to Eric’s own deep tan. Steve held a gift-wrapped box, so, nodding to a table containing a few other wrapped presents, Eric said, “Drop the loot over there. What did you get him?”

Steve looked at the present as he placed it on the table and shrugged, “It’s a book from the hotel gift shop. This was kinda short notice, so...”

Eric chuckled, “Helen won’t have any alcohol at this party due to so many of us being under twenty one, but I’ve made a few preparations; follow me...”

Padding around the edge of the pool, the sun-baked concrete hot against his bare feet, Eric led the three Shadows into a glassed-in pool house, making a beeline for a potted palm in the corner. With a wicked grin, he reached back behind the plant to retrieve his stashed bottle. Breaking the seal and prying open the top, he took a swig before handing the bottle of tequila to the nearest Shadow. “Just don’t let Helen see where it’s hidden, and help yourself. There’s whisky behind the pot in the other corner, too.”

After taking a welcome swig, Steve coughed from the burning liquid. Sharing a knowing look with his band mates, the lead singer of The Shadows decided that now was as good a time as any to set in motion what they had in mind. “Thanks, man. I was hoping all four of you would be here, but I’ll ask Jon, Brandon, and Chase later. We were talking on the way over and had an idea...” Steve said, and then proceeded to tell Eric what they had in mind for the day after the Vegas concert.

Eying the lead singer of his opening act, raising an eyebrow as he was taken aback by the idea, Eric asked, "Dude, isn't that like crazy scary?"

"No man, you gotta try it. Climbing is such a rush; there's just something about being on a cliff that makes you feel closer to God," declared the leader of The Shadows.