Let the Music Play - 31. Problems and Solutions

Rushing into his employer’s small office, Dimitri waited impatiently for The Scar to look up, and silently slid the laptop computer onto his desk. The Scar glanced down, his eyes opening wide as he gasped, “Those interfering bastards! They told me they were leaving, and I never saw them enter... Wait a minute, look here,” he pointed at a dark mass in the lower-right-hand corner of the first photo, “That’s the top of the road boss’s head; there is no way they could have been in the container between when I saw them, and when I moved the body out...” The Scar scrolled down the page and then slammed his fist down on the table, “Those deceitful swine, they must have been in there before they spoke with me.” The Scar rocked back in his leather desk chair, closing his eyes as he thought back. Snapping upright and staring at Dimitri in shock, he said, “What were they playing at, if they’d already looked around in there? And who took the fucking pictures? They could have easily found the body... but if they did, why have they done nothing? None of this makes sense; why were they in that container, and why were they nosing around?”

Motioning at the offending computer, Dimitri said, “If there is any suspicion regarding the container’s contents, and it is searched by customs upon arrival–”

The Scar interrupted to agree. “Yes, we have a situation here. If they attempt to open a bombcase, the device will detonate. However, we can adapt that and use it to suit our plans. That would be our demonstration of capability, and we would still retain a nuclear device here. That would be far from optimum, but it is a workable fallback plan. At worst, we can sell it to the highest bidder, surely for billions.”

Scanning the short article accompanying the tabloid’s photos, The Scar observed, “It seems that the photos were taken by paparazzi stalking our intrepid trio. The article claims that they were looking for something, though that appears to be merely speculation.” The Scar studied the cover photo closely. “If I didn’t know it was there, I couldn’t tell that there is a body in the frame. Only the top of the head is visible, and it merely appears as a dark mass behind the rigging. However, that leaves us with the salient question; what were those three boys looking for, and why did they mislead me about having been in the container? Did they find the body? If so, why have they not acted? They would have had ample time to notify the police. Instead, they taunted me by leading me back to the container.”

“A blackmail attempt?” Dimitri speculated, grasping at straws because nothing seemed to fit.

Shaking his head to dismiss the notion, The Scar concentrated on the central issue. “Assume the worst; that the bombs may be compromised upon arrival. I do not wish to be in the vicinity if that occurs. We must make other arrangements for the unloading. I think we give Mario that task. However, if Instinct is suspicious, we should dispose of them sooner rather than later. Were they to die now, their gear is already en-route and would still arrive. All we would lose is our method for planting the devices.”

“If the band dies now, could it trigger an investigation that would include a search of their gear? Given those photos in the press...”

The Scar shuddered at the thought. “Yes, Dimitri, excellent point. We shall do so only if there is no other option. Otherwise, we should wait. Much better, if feasible, to wait until the second device has been placed, as we originally planned. What we need to do is ascertain what they were doing, and what they know. I suppose I will need to pay them a visit up at the resort, though I detest the idea.”

* * *

After her phone call with Barbra and a quick look via her laptop, Helen walked to the resort’s front desk and made a request of an employee. She was assured that she’d have what she wanted, and that it would be delivered to her table at breakfast within the hour, which would fit Helen’s plan perfectly.

A half hour later, eager to begin their vacation, Instinct and The Shadows were joined by Günter and Helen at the resort’s restaurant. Helen took care to seat herself with Eric on one side, and Brandon and Chase on the other. While waiting for their food, the party enjoyed the sultry breezes wafting across the Pacific and into the open dining room.

As the food arrived, Helen spied the girl from the front desk approaching, bearing a manila folder. Before the girl had a chance to say a word, Helen took the folder and thanked her, sending her on her way. Leaning back for a little privacy, Helen rifled through the folder’s contents; a printout of the online tabloid article Barbra had seen, complete with photos.

Turning to Eric, who was busy digging into his omelet, she smiled and asked pleasantly, “Is there anything you neglected to tell me about our last night in Brisbane?” Eric barely avoided choking. Coughing, he reached for a water glass, any water glass. Brandon, who had heard the question, was startled enough to drop his fork with a clatter. Helen pointedly ignored the reactions and waited.

Looking at Helen’s smiling face, and taking note of her dangerously quiet tone, Eric glanced at the manila folder she had clutched in her hands. Remembering the paparazzi, he muttered, “Uh oh.”

“Spill it,” Helen demanded with an edge to her voice.

Eric reached for the folder, but Helen batted his hand away, and her expression warned him that he’d best not trifle with her. “We were checking on our gear at the stadium,” he offered quietly.

“Why?” Helen asked, as she began tapping her foot.

“Because we were bored, and we wanted to make sure they were doing it right. Brandon used to be a roadie, so he knows how that stuff is supposed to be done,” Eric replied, desperately hoping for a way out.

Brandon became the unwilling focus of Helen’s inquiry, as she spun to face him and said, “I’d have thought you’d have had more sense than to go out at night without security. What exactly were you thinking?”

Cringing a little, and not wanting to be the one to spill the whole story, but also not wishing to lie, Brandon said, “We just wanted to see what was going on. Most of the crew are locals on temporary hire so this is their last gig with us and it’s really easy to pilfer stuff when it’s being loaded for shipment.”

Still unhappy with the situation, but reasoning that Brandon knew a great deal about such matters, Helen abandoned that tack and flipped open the folder, spreading the photos out on the linen tablecloth. “You managed to get photographed while you were nosing around. This looks like you were all up to no good.” Pawing through the photos, Helen decided to address the question of why one member of Instinct was missing. Looking across the table at Jon she asked, “Where were you when these were taken?”

Delighted to be in the clear for once, Jon replied, “I didn’t go.”

Nodding slowly, wondering what she was missing, Helen said, “For once, you were the sensible one.” Turning back to glare at Eric, and then turning again to scowl at Brandon and Chase, she said, “This was foolish and risky. Had you stumbled on what you suspected, you could have been hurt. There was absolutely no reason for you to hide this expedition from Günter and myself. Günter should have been with you.”

“Would you have let us go had you known?” Chase asked calmly. Helen began to snap a reply, but her words froze on her lips as she realized that Chase, damn it all, had a point.

Chase read her hesitation and pressed on; voicing something he’d been feeling for quite some time. “We’re all adults, Helen. I agree we should have had Günter along. We couldn’t, because you would have said no to us going. We shouldn’t have to get permission to go check on our own gear.”

Strumming her fingers on the table, Helen was not happy with the way the conversation was heading. Worse, she could tell from Chase’s expression that he was in earnest, and she knew he was unlikely to back down when he thought he was right. Worse, a little voice, deep inside, was telling her that he was right; she was sometimes too over-protective. With a reluctant sigh, she said, “I just don’t want you boys getting hurt. All right, I’ll ease up, but in cases like this you must think of your safety.” Brandon, Chase, and Eric all nodded their agreement.

An uneasy silence descended over breakfast. The Shadows, who had heard the exchange, wondered what it was all about, but they decided that now was not a good time to ask. Helen felt that she hadn’t been told the whole story, but decided to leave the issue alone, for the time being.

With breakfast over, everyone returned to the cottages, looking forward to a lazy day. Jon followed Brandon and Chase back to their cottage, with a round of video gaming on his mind. Eric, though, returning to his own cottage, had plans. Putting them into motion, he changed into his white Speedos, picked up the phone, dialing The Shadows’ cottage, and asked for Wilde. Once Wilde was on the line, Eric said, “I need to talk to you about something, come on over,” and hung up before Wilde could say a word.

* * *

Brandon answered the knock on his door, surprised to see a pensive-looking Günter. Inviting him in, Brandon returned to his seat beside Chase and Jon on the couch, while Günter settled into an armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table. The normal pleasantries were exchanged, but it was obvious that Günter had something to say. With what he hoped would be a reassuring smile, Brandon asked, “Am I right in guessing that something is on your mind?”

Smiling in return, Günter paused a moment and then replied, “It’s what was said about your excursion to the stadium the other night. My job is to protect you, and also to handle security issues. I feel that if you had concerns enough to go to the stadium, I should have been involved.”

Lowering his head slightly, Brandon knew that Günter was right, and after exchanging a glance with Chase, Brandon decided to level with him as best he could, short of betraying any confidences. “We didn’t want Helen to know.”

Nodding, Günter replied, “I guessed that, and that’s why I’m here. I’d have preferred to talk to all of you at once, but I saw you three head over here and thought I’d sound you out. The fact of the matter is that I work for Instinct, so if you need me for something, you can count on my discretion. I’d prefer not to be in that kind of a situation with Helen, but your safety is my primary responsibility. I’m also curious regarding the concerns over the roadies; were there any problems on prior legs of the tour?”

Brandon and Jon shared a look, not sure how to respond. Chase, however, felt it was time to let Günter know a little of what was going on. However, his words died in his throat as he realized that would mean explaining about Eric’s knack for reading people, as that was all they really had. Chase could well imagine how that would sound, so he equivocated. “It was just something we thought about recently. We really don’t know Jerry that well, and he is Lump’s father, so we decided to look in on him. Helen likes the guy and feels sorry for him so we didn’t want to involve her. You’re right though, if there had been anything going on there, we could have needed you.”

Gunter smiled; he’d suspected there was more than they had told Helen. “Just let me know if you have concerns in the future. Equipment security is not, strictly speaking, my purview, but I’ll help if I can,” Günter said as he got up to leave, making a mental note to keep a closer eye on Jerry.

* * *

After fishing out some sunscreen and snatching up two large towels, Eric waited impatiently – the only manner in which Eric was capable of waiting for anything – until Wilde knocked on the door.

Wilde, who was wearing shorts and a black t-shirt, arched an eyebrow as he saw how little Eric was wearing, and asked, “What’s up?”

Smiling, Eric grabbed Wilde by the arm, spun him around, and tugged him towards the beach. “We’re going to the beach, dude. I’ll explain when we get there, just trust me, okay?”

Puzzled, Wilde followed along even after Eric let go of his arm. With Eric leading the way, the two guys hiked towards the beach. Upon reaching the sand, Eric turned left, breaking into a jog on the damp sand, with Wilde close behind. After running a few hundred yards, far enough to be well away from the other resort guests on the beach, Eric turned inland for a few paces, and spread out the towels on the hot sand.

Under the hot sun, and taking a moment to glance at the spectacular view of the sparkling ocean, Eric took a seat on one towel and directed Wilde to the other. “Okay, we’re at the beach,” Wilde said, growing confused, “what’s up?”

Grinning, Eric held up the bottle of sunscreen and said, “Remember our conversation back in Vegas? I know how you feel about those scars on your back, and like I said then, I think they’d be hard to see if you had a tan. Lose the shirt, dude.”

Wilde rolled his eyes. “Hey man, being pale is part of the Goth image. I wear a long sleeve shirt put some really heavy-duty sunscreen on my neck and face whenever I’m out in the sun to stay this way.”

“Bullshit,” Eric replied, “Steve and Zeke are kinda Goth and they aren’t pale. Come on dude, you’d look good with a tan, and it would solve your issue with those scars. I know it bugs you, you told me so. There’s no one close enough to see, so take your shirt off. One thing you’ll learn about me is I don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

With a resigned, exasperated sigh, Wilde pulled off his shirt, and Eric handed him the sunscreen. After taking a glance around the beach to confirm that no one was nearby, Wilde relaxed a little and began applying the sunscreen. Watching him struggle with his back, which he’d left until last, Eric leaned over and said, “Let me help.”

Feeling uncomfortable, Wilde stretched out on his stomach as Eric applied the sunscreen. When Eric reached the area of the faint scars, he applied the cream with care, and felt Wilde tremble at his touch. “Are you okay?” Eric asked quietly.

Nodding, Wilde replied with a chuckle, “Yeah, it just feels... strange. I hope you know you’re going to ruin my whole Goth image?”

“Count on it,” Eric replied, as he finished applying the sunscreen and lay down on his towel. “I’m doing a makeover on you.”

Wilde raised his head a few inches to look at Eric and asked with suspicion, “Do you do a lot of makeovers?”

“Nope, you’ll be my first.”

“Oh God, I’m doomed,” Wilde replied with a laugh. He took a surreptitious glance at Eric, admiring his stunning body, and felt happy that such a hot guy, as well as such a famous one, would take an interest in him.

* * *

Back at the cottages, Steve began to wonder what was taking Wilde so long. Losing interest in the TV, he began to pace. Zeke had gone to the pool, so Steve was alone with his thoughts, thoughts that soon turned to worry. He knew that Wilde had gone to see Eric, but as he checked his watch for the tenth time, he saw that it had been nearly an hour. Deciding that he couldn’t wait any longer, Steve stalked over to Jon and Eric’s cottage and rapped on the door.

“Hi Steve,” Jon said as he opened the door and invited Steve in.

Glancing around the room and finding no trace of his friend, Steve said, “Have you seen Wilde? I thought he was here.”

“He left with Eric. I think they went to the beach together,” Jon replied, noticing that Steve seemed a little uptight, even for him.

Without giving Jon a chance to reply, Steve said, “I’ll go see if I can find ‘em,” and dashed off, his mind racing. Unbidden, something Eric had said in Perth came back to him; ‘Hell, he’s probably safer around them than around me and I’ve never done a guy.’

Never having done a guy was by no means saying that he never would, at least in Steve’s opinion. He trusted Wilde, but Eric? He didn’t know Eric very well, but he did know that Eric loved sex, easy and often. Trotting onto the beach, he wondered; could Eric be making a play for Wilde?

Turning right as he reached the surf line, Steve began to jog, looking for Eric and Wilde, but heading the wrong way.

Fifteen minutes later, after a long jog in the wrong direction which did nothing to improve his disposition, Steve doubled back towards the resort.

Upon reaching the point where he’d arrived on the beach, Steve hesitated, torn between checking around the pools and searching the beach. Deciding to finish with the beach, he jogged onwards.

“Steve, over here,” Eric yelled, causing Steve, who had just spotted them, to angle his run in their direction. He sank to his knees beside Wilde, winded, and concentrated on catching his breath.

Wilde had a good idea why Steve was out running on the beach, and sought to defuse any issues by being honest, “Eric dragged me out here and informed me that I’m getting both a tan and a makeover.

Eric knew just the thing to say to get Steve on his side. “If he gets a tan, his scars will be pretty much invisible and that will help him feel a hell of a lot better about himself.”

Steve had to admit, to himself at least, that Eric had a point about Wilde’s scars. Wanting to do what was right for Wilde, but still suspicious of Eric and not wishing to let it show, Steve nodded his agreement and said, “Sounds like a plan. So, a full makeover, huh? You do hair, too?”

Laying back and laughing, Eric answered, “Nope. He’s had just about enough sun to get started, and then I’m hauling his ass to the resort’s salon. I’ll leave his wardrobe up to you...” Eric eyed Steve’s golf shoes, plaid shorts and polo shirt before adding, “Well, that’s probably a bad idea; I’ll get my manager to take care of that; she’s the best.”

“I like my clothes,” Wilde complained.

Steve had been none too pleased with the comment regarding his taste in clothes. Steve snapped his head around to tell Eric, “Since when are you a fashion expert? I think my taste in clothes is fine.”

Eric snickered as he replied, “Yeah, you’re a shoe-in for the cover of Senior Golf Digest.” Turning his head slightly to look at Wilde, Eric chuckled. ”As for you, yeah, you’ve got black, black, and for special occasions, black. You can still be Goth, but dude, you need some variety. Trust me, you’ll like it, and your fans will like it too.”

Steve eyed Eric’s tan physique and skimpy swimsuit. Steve still had some lingering doubts regarding Eric’s intentions, but he realized that he was likely wrong, and was probably just being paranoid again. Maybe. With an amiable grunt, he helped Wilde to his feet and waited while he tugged on his shirt, and then the three guys made their way to the resort’s salon.

At Eric’s insistence, the hairdresser lightened Wilde’s hair a couple of shades, from the ink-black home dye job to a more natural shade between black and brown. She also gave Wilde a trim, neatening up his shoulder-length hair.

After lunch, Eric dragged Wilde over to see Helen, and Steve tagged along. In the living room of her cottage, Helen cast a suspicious eye on Eric, wondering what he was up to this time. Eric assuaged her suspicions by explaining Wilde’s need for some wardrobe advice. Helen had seen enough of both Wilde and Steve to know that Eric was hardly exaggerating, so, giving a grinning Eric one last suspicious glance, she began giving Wilde, and to some extent Steve, some fashion advice that Wilde agreed to try.

The afternoon found the members of Instinct and The Shadows on the beach, taking advantage of the jet skis – including Wilde who had required considerable prodding from Eric – and generally unwinding after the pressures of their tour.

Brandon and Chase broke away from the group for a while, taking a walk down the beach. Brandon looked at his boyfriend by his side, and at the tiger’s eye necklace hanging against Chase’s sun-bronzed skin. Lost in the moment, Brandon turned to him to say, “Everything has just been so perfect. I keep worrying that I’ll wake up and it will all have been nothing but a dream. I don’t want anything to change.”

Smiling, turning to face Brandon, Chase looked into his eyes in silence for a long moment, taking in his gorgeous and caring boyfriend, the warm sand under a hot clear sky, reveling in the moment. “Everything is perfect for me, too, Brand. Sometimes I feel that things are just going too good, but I don’t worry about it. We’ll be back home in a few days, then off on the final leg of our tour. After that, we take a break in Telluride for a couple of weeks, then we get to work on our next album and the cycle starts all over again. It’s a strange life in some ways, but things couldn’t be going better, in all ways. Think you can deal with that?” Chase asked with a lopsided smile.

Thinking they were alone, Brandon took Chase’s hand, just for a moment, wishing that they could be more open in public. “Yeah, I can deal with that just fine,” he said. Both of them had been lucky in the past, but this time, their luck failed them. In the trees, just inland from the sand, one of the resort’s guests snapped a photo of two guys she recognized as celebrities. Only later, upon her return home, would she notice their intertwined hands, partially obscured by Chase’s body. An enlargement of the photo would leave no doubt at all.

* * *

The following afternoon, driving north, The Scar pulled into a service station to refuel both his Land Rover and himself. Ambling inside after pumping gas, he selected a sausage roll. Popping his selection into a microwave, The Scar browsed the news rack while he waited for his meal to heat. Glancing at the tabloid section, a familiar-looking thumbnail photo on the cover, referencing a featured story, caught his eye. After glancing at the article, he added the tabloid weekly to his purchase and took his selection to the register. He paid cash, and resumed his drive north.

He was far from being a happy man.

The threat to his shipping arrangements weighed heavily on his mind. He’d chosen his method for good reasons; air-freight shipments were far more likely to be inspected, whereas seaborne cargo containers, especially from ‘safe’ countries such as Australia, had less than a five percent chance of being inspected. Drug-sniffing dogs might be used, but he knew he had nothing to fear from them. That thought, though, triggered another which chilled him to his core; what if Instinct was into drugs? His son most certainly was, and the rock star lifestyle was such that...

The thought of his son Joe spurred little emotion in The Scar, merely a trace of anger. The boy had proven himself worthless and weak, and that, as far as The Scar was concerned, was that. The child took after his mother, of that he was certain. He recalled she had developed a tendency to become hysterical when confronted with stress. He shook his head slightly, recalling the day that she’d managed to discover some aspects of his arms business. Her emotional tirade had been her last living act. The boy, though, had cried for weeks upon learning of his mother’s death, and The Scar had little tolerance for emotionalism in any form. The boy had been five years old; surely, The Scar thought, he should have behaved more stoically. The boy had been raised mainly by a nanny after that, and their father-son relationship, such as it was, – had gone downhill from there. The boy had turned to drugs in his early teens, proving himself weak, as if any further proof was needed... The Scar’s mind skipped ahead, prodded by that thought, as his concerns became sharply defined; ‘what if those damn boys were stashing drugs in my shipment?’

Envisioning his precious shipment detonating as the speakers were cut open, he trembled with rage. But if so, he wondered, then why did they lead him back to the container?

His mind spun in a dozen different directions, concocting scenario after scenario, and then dismissing them as the facts simply did not add up. Always a logical, methodical man, The Scar did not appreciate mysteries in his life. Resolving to solve his current dilemma no matter the means, he flipped open his phone to let Helen know that he would be taking her up on her offer to join them at the resort, and would be arriving within the hour.

With that task done, he had only one more stop to make, but he was certain that there would be a liquor store somewhere en route.

* * *

At the resort, Helen considered her options. There were no cottages available, so where, she wondered, could she put Jerry? She quickly ruled out a few possibilities; Brandon and Chase had only one bedroom, and he didn’t really know The Shadows, two of whom were already sharing a room. That left having him room with Günter, or moving Jon and Eric into one room and putting Jerry in their other bedroom. Reaching her decision, she decided she’d better go tell Eric and Jon that they would be having a houseguest. She found the shirtless pair in their cottage, decked out in flame-print board shorts, having just returned from the beach.

Helen gave them the news, and hurried off before they could object. Eric, sitting in the living room of the cottage, turned to Jon and said with a scowl, “Great. I’ve got to share a room with you thanks to Jerry.”

Laughing at Eric’s downcast expression, Jon replied, “Look at it this way, bro. You enjoy pissing him off, right? Well, you’re going to have plenty of chances to do it.”

His mood somewhat improved, Eric got up and began moving his things into Jon’s room, thinking happy thoughts of how he’d twist Jerry’s tail.

An hour later, The Scar, with his ‘Jerry’ persona firmly in place, arrived at the resort. He stopped by Helen’s cottage first, exchanging friendly greetings, and then getting down to business as he showed her the magazine he’d purchased, and asked, feigning only mild curiosity, what had been going on.

With an embarrassed shrug, Helen told him what the guys had told her. “They were worried about the crew. Most of them were local hires for the Australian leg of the tour, so the guys were worried that they might try and steal some of the gear.”

Feigning a little indignity, Jerry replied, “I have been in the shipping business for years, I keep a very close eye out for things like that. I give you my personal guarantee; your equipment is perfectly safe with me.”

Nodding, and slightly curious as to why Jerry had become defensive, Helen replied, “I know that, but I think the boys mainly just wanted to get out and about for a while. Being cooped up as they so often are isn’t easy, especially at their age.”

“Ah yes, I can well imagine. I was merely curious; they are, of course, welcome at any time. I do so enjoy their company.”

Helen smiled at that. “I’m glad to hear that Jerry, because we’re a little tight on accommodations here, so I moved Eric and Jon into one bedroom of their cottage and you’ll have the other.

Genuinely happy at that bit of news, for it would be convenient in regards to his plans, ‘Jerry’ smiled. “Yes, that will be delightful, my dear,” he said, and then bid Helen a good afternoon.

Eric opened the door of his cottage in response to the knock. “Hi Jerry, come on in,” he said with a grin and a twinkle in his eyes, stooping to give a theatrical wave and usher Jerry in through the door. Eric was amused to see that the man was at least dressed somewhat more appropriately for the setting; the business suit was gone, replaced by slacks and a polo shirt.

Strolling in with a small valise in one hand and the folded tabloid paper tucked under his arm, Jerry followed Eric’s gesture to his room, dropped his valise and the tabloid on the bed, and returned to the living room, taking a seat opposite Eric and Jon.

Jon shared at least some of Eric’s concerns regarding Jerry. Mainly, he trusted Eric’s instincts, but he had to admit, some things about Jerry just bothered him. It wasn’t anything he could put a finger on, just a feeling. “Hi Jerry, glad you could join us. So, how are things with you, and how is Vlad?” Jon asked.

Letting his head droop forward to convey sadness, Jerry replied, “Vlad is as well as can be expected, for the moment. However, his long-term prospects are not good. I suppose we can hope for a miracle. Well, enough about me, how are you two fine specimens enjoying your vacation?”

Smiling as he had a particularly pleasant thought, Eric handled the reply. “This place is great, we’re having a blast. We’re chartering a boat and going surfing tomorrow, then having a beach cookout. You’ve got to join us,” Eric said, thinking how easily he could ‘accidentally’ knock Jerry into the water.

‘Jerry’ had his own opinions and plans, and he too, though for very different reasons, found the boating excursion and alluring concept. “I’d love too, my boy. I’d be simply delighted.”

Eric left, off to find Wilde and drag him into the sun for an hour, and Jon joined Brandon, Chase, and Zeke for some Jet-skiing. Alone in the cottage, The Scar began to unpack his valise, setting aside the bottle of tequila he’d purchased. He then sat down to spend some time sharpening his knife, an activity that he always found relaxing. With a slight smile, he reflected that sharks would be quite voracious once there was blood in the water. A feeding frenzy, a tragic accident; compounded by heroic yet fatal attempts at rescue. No one would know that they were dead or wounded when they entered the water. Yes, he thought, that would be one way of disposing of Instinct, should it prove needful to do so.

Two hours later, Eric bounded into the cottage to find Jerry roosted on the couch, watching a war movie. Smiling, Jerry asked, “Do you boys have any sodas here?”

Thinking it a little strange that Jerry hadn’t simply phoned for room service or walked to the bar, or checked the fridge himself, Eric got up and retrieved a can of 7-up from the small refrigerator in the cottage. Grabbing two glasses, he rejoined Jerry.

“Why thank you, my dear boy. This is just the thing to wet my whistle. Well, almost,” Jerry gave Eric a sly smile and then ambling to his room, returning a moment later with the tequila in one hand, and the tabloid magazine tucked behind his back. Pouring himself a mild dose into his drink, he smiled, offering Eric the bottle with a wink and the admonition, “This’ll be just our little secret, right?”

Licking his lips, Eric eyed the tequila. He knew it was a very bad idea to drink tequila around Jerry, but then he hadn’t slipped up and told Jerry anything last time, had he? That tequila looked so good, and Eric could almost feel it warming his gut. With a shrug and a smile, Eric decided that a little couldn’t hurt, and so what if he pissed off Jerry. He didn’t like the guy anyway, and with that decision made, Eric poured a double shot of tequila into his glass and took a long drink. As the tequila began to have its familiar effect, Eric reminded himself to be careful of what he said.

By the second round of drinks, Eric had lost all interest in Jerry’s war movie, and his mind turned to more mischievous paths. He was still certain that Jerry wasn’t gay, but decided there was nothing to lose by retesting that particular theory. Getting up and stretching, making sure his bare chest was angled in Jerry’s direction, Eric watched out of the corner of his eye to see if Jerry snuck a peek. He smiled a little when Jerry didn’t, and with that suspicion confirmed to his satisfaction, Eric began to wonder if he could lure Jerry to the pool and push him in.

Taking a third drink, Eric smiled and said, “Want to go check out the pool? The bar there has some really good stuff, and there’s something I want to show you.” That something was the pool, up close and personal, but Eric had no intention of telling Jerry that.

Jerry, however, had his own agenda. Deciding that Eric was sufficiently loosened up, Jerry slid the magazine, opened to reveal the picture inside the shipping crate, onto the coffee table, angling it slightly towards Eric. Jerry sat back with a faint smile to await Eric’s reaction.

Glancing at the paper, Eric, with the tequila now roaring through his veins, scowled. “Those damn paparazzi. They follow us every-fucking-where.”

“What were you doing in the cargo container?” Jerry asked with an innocent smile.

Eric shrugged, struggling to remember what he’d told Helen. “Just checking on our stuff. Brandon was worried; he used to be a roadie so he figured the local roadies might steal stuff on their last day.”