Chapter 43 Tally
TALLY
On the way out of town, Rust briefs me on his wild action chase through the mall.
Including the tiny wig thief and the perfume lady. The arm-flailing tube man. And my personal favorite: turkey man. Though the fake YouTube channel distraction was good, too. I’m impressed he came up with anything social media and tech related by himself.
The rest of the drive passes in tense silence while I sip black coffee and eat a heart-shaped donut with pink sprinkles. It’s unbearably cute that Rust chose this one to bring me. But it would be much more romantic if the blackmailer wasn’t sitting between us.
This situation is definitely a contender for the number one most awkward situation of my life. It’s worse than the first date I went on with a sound engineer who kept calling me by his ex’s name and sobbed into his overcooked steak.
By the time we reach an old horse ranch a good hour from the suburbs, the whole truck smells like meatballs. It’s making me sick.
Rust spotted the abandoned property on our drive into Phoenix last night. He pointed out the sun-faded ‘For Sale’ sign and commented what a shame it is to let the house and stable go to waste.
It seems like a great place to raise a family away from the noise of the city and nosy neighbors—or to conduct a thorough interrogation of the scumbag blackmailing me. If the property has been unused for this long, it’s unlikely we’ll get disturbed.
We park Yolanda behind the big ranch house so she’s not visible from the road. Rust hauls his emergency toolbox and the blackmailer’s bag to the stables while I follow with our captive at gunpoint.
We slip into the building like thieves, startling a bird from its nest in the rafters.
The scent of decaying wood thickens the air and dust dances in spots of sunlight streaming through holes in the roof.
Rust barricades the door with halved barrels before getting to work on an old fuse box by the entrance.
He swears, fiddling with wires until he finally flips the breaker.
The overhead lights turn on, letting me get a better look at the ruins of somebody else’s livelihood.
Dull nameplates are nailed to the stall doors and mold-spotted, cracked saddles and bridles hang from hooks on the walls. Rusty horseshoes are scattered in the dirt, seeming not all that lucky.
Rust grabs a bucket from a heap of old farm tools in the corner and puts it upside down in the middle of the aisle between the stalls. “Sit,” he orders and the blackmailer does as he says.
Whistling, Rust selects a hammer from his toolbox.
“What do we need the tools for? Planning a spontaneous fixer-upper?” I ask mockingly.
“Believe me, you’re gonna want tools for this.” Rust points the hammer at the blackmailer. “Tell her your name, asshole. Or should I say your pseudonym?”
The man goes pale as a ghost, lips flapping. “M-my name is G-Gideon Wolfe, but professionally I go by…” He winces. “Night Wolfe.”
It feels like somebody pulled the rug from under my feet. I stumble and Rust grabs my arm, steadying me.
“You’re the paparazzo who’s been my biggest hater since day one?” I ask.
Wolfe swallows thickly. “Y-yes. But don’t take it personally. I do that to everyone!”
I let out a screeching laugh. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Hammer?” Rust offers helpfully and I don’t miss the sadistic glint in his eyes.
The shock inside me fades and rage washes over me. My hands lock into fists, shaking at my sides.
All those times I had to grit my teeth and smile through humiliation, slander and rumors. Every time I had to watch another singer’s career get ruined by Night Wolfe’s particularly disgusting brand of tabloid journalism.
Every time, every damn time I was helpless.
But now, I’m not.
“No, I need something sharper!” I grab a long screwdriver from Rust’s toolbox.
“Please don’t hurt me!” Wolfe squeals, but I descend on him like a hurricane.
I ram the screwdriver into his left thigh, relishing his screams. “This is for every time you said I can’t sing! My vocal range is well above average, you musically uneducated weasel!”
I stab his right thigh, ripping another wail from his throat.
“And this is for every rumor you made up about me, like when you claimed I was an alcoholic!” I pull out the tool only to sink it into his left thigh again, making him howl. “Alcoholism is a serious illness and you don’t get to use it as a joke!”
I twist the screwdriver in his flesh.
“And this is for every time you made fun of my weight and thought calling me fat was a clever jab!”
“Please, please… no more!” he cries.
“Fat isn’t an insult, jerkface! It’s just a goddamn body descriptor. Fat doesn’t mean ugly. Fat doesn’t mean bad or less than.”
He sobs. “Please, stop… please!”
“You never stopped, did you? I didn’t even get to beg cause you hid behind a fucking pseudonym. I didn’t get any mercy, so you won’t either! And this is for all the other people you’ve hurt!” I impale his right thigh to the hilt, wiggling the tool back and forth.
Tears stream down Wolfe’s face. “I’ll tell you everything!”
Rust puts a hand on my back and I pause, his warm touch grounding me. “You doin’ okay there, Trouble?”
Breathing heavily, I nod and yank out the screwdriver. I look at the blood spattered over my hands. My muscles scream from turning Wolfe’s legs into Swiss cheese and when I move my arm an inch, a dark stain appears in his crotch.
Did he wet his pants? Disgusting.
The longer I look at this pathetic man, the more my anger dulls and the deeper my disappointment runs. I can’t pretend that I don’t enjoy seeing him cower in anguish, but something is… missing.
The satisfaction I expected to feel is nowhere to be found. In its stead, I’m almost numb.
I expected the villain of so many chapters of my story to be a badass. In reality, he’s a twig-looking, middle-aged guy with male pattern baldness and sweat stains under his arms who just pissed himself from fear and pain.
He ain’t worthy of the title villain.
Rust hugs me from behind. His heat sinks into me as his body curves over mine and he presses his groin against my ass. I gasp at his hard cock.
“Did I ever tell you how hot you are when you stab a man?” he whispers.
A wry smile crosses my lips. “Thanks. But to be honest, it felt kind of meh.”
“Do you want to try the hammer?” Rust suggests again.
“No, I want him to spill his guts. Figuratively, for now.” I point at the mess of blood, urine, and tomato sauce huddled on the bucket. “You said you’d talk, so talk, Wolfe. Or I’ll take Rust up on that offer and we’ll see how much your kneecaps enjoy meeting Mister Hammer.”
Wolfe squeals like a stuck pig. “It was all Rex’s idea!”
My brow quirks and I step out of Rust’s embrace. “Wait. Do you mean Rex Dalton, the talent manager?”
Now that man, he’s worthy of being called a villain. But what does he have to do with this sniveling worm?
“We’ve been friends since college!” Wolfe explains quickly, stumbling over his words.
I jut my chin at him. “Keep me interested and you might keep functional kneecaps.”
“Rex and I were hilariously unpopular nerds. While everybody else got laid, we collected rejections and played tabletop games in our dorm room. To get back at the girls who didn’t want to go out with us, we started an anonymous gossip newspaper.
Everyone went crazy for it! We could make up any rumor and people would believe it.
Suddenly, we ruled the campus from the shadows. ”
I scoff. “That’s repulsive. And instead of growing out of this juvenile bullshit, you decided to make a career out of it?”
Wolfe shrugs sheepishly. “There’s good money in it and I don’t have to show my face. I know I’m not the model type. Now I’m still the invisible nerd to most people, but that’s my superpower. I’m good at blending in and snapping pictures when nobody expects it.”
“Is money all you care about?” I ask, trying to keep my screwdriver-wielding hand from running wild and stabbing him in the crotch.
Wolfe purses his lips. “Is that… bad? I’m the silent majority shareholder of the ‘Gossip Grove’ where I publish my articles. Then I sell my spare pictures for the kind of money most people only dream of.”
“Despicable,” Rust spits.
Wolfe smirks at me. “That pic of you stumbling out of the bar in Nashville for example? Got me 50k. And all I had to do was bribe the bouncer and foot the bill for the roofies I dropped in your drink when I walked past. You didn’t even notice me.”
My breath catches. I knew I wasn’t crazy when I thought somebody spiked my drink.
Rust growls. He jumps out from behind me, hammer raised. “You dirty bastard! I’ll make you fucking pay!”
I grab his arm, holding him back. “Wait!”
Rust’s eyes are wild as he looks at me. “This asshole deserves to have his head bashed in!”
“Fuck, I’d love to see him suffer. But first, I gotta hear what else he has to say. If it’s about Rex, it could be important. It could be my chance to finally take him down. Can you wait, Big Guy? Can you do that for me, please?”
Rust nods and lowers the hammer. He glares at Wolfe, drawing a finger across his throat and the little man looks like he’d piss himself again if there was anything left in his bladder.
I poke a finger at Wolfe’s face. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? I mean, what would your family say if they knew that you make your money by ruining people’s lives and profiting from their pain?”
Wolfe shrugs. “Got no family.”
“Wife?” I ask.
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Kids? Maybe a pet?”
Wolfe shakes his head. “No. Just me, my camera and my laptop.”
Rust spins the hammer, cackling madly. I can practically smell the bloodlust seeping out of his pores. “Great! Nobody’s gonna miss this scumbag when I turn his skull into pulp.”
Wolfe whimpers. “If you let me go, I’ll give you all the footage from your road trip and I’ll testify against Rex. He’ll be ruined! I know how he treats his talents. Don’t you want revenge, Tally?”
I give a sarcastic smile. “Nice try but snitching on him for your stupid campus tabloid ain’t gonna do the trick.”
“You don’t understand,” Wolfe pleads. “I still work with Rex! He told me which bar you were at in Nashville that night and told me to drug you for the shot. That was his idea!”
I’m stunned.
“We never stopped dealing in rumors and humiliation. We simply learned to weaponize it on a grander scale,” Wolfe continues quickly.
“You better start making sense fast!” Rust spits.
“Okay, okay!” Wolfe sputters. “Rex tips me off where to find my targets at their most vulnerable and he gets a percentage of my earnings in return. He also utilizes my work as a punishment for singers who step out of line, so he can pretend to protect them from the fallout. Make them think they need him. When Tally canceled the tour, he told me to follow you on this trip.”
Rust lets out a deep growl. “They’re both so fuckin’ dead… Can I kill him now? And then I’ll make sure Dalton gets his comeuppance next. Let me at him, Trouble!”
“Not yet. We need the full story.” I look at Wolfe. “How did Rex know where I was?”
“He had a tracker sewn into the cushioning of your guitar case years ago. He always knew where you were. If he said he didn’t, he was lying.”
I fold an arm over my belly, suddenly feeling sick. “Did he know about my secret excursions without my wig and contacts, too?”
“Yep. You’re Rex’s top earner, too precious to let out of his sight. He often paid me to watch you when he was out of town. But he wanted to keep that knowledge as a secret weapon against you so I never published those pics.”
Tears in my eyes, I kick up dust. “Fuck!”
I quietly thank my lucky stars for leaving my guitar in the motel. If I didn’t, we could’ve been tracked here, too.
Wolfe continues rambling. “Rex flew me out to Kentucky to get some dirt on you. His exact words were ‘Teach that stupid girl a lesson and make her remember that she needs me.’”
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes. “Ugh, I can’t believe Rex was stalking me!”
Wolfe hums like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “He does it to all his talents, but you’re his golden goose, his biggest success. Losing you is a risk he isn’t willing to take. He mostly wanted to scare you, but he did order me to get rid of your loverboy.”
Rust grimaces. “Ain’t the first time he tried.”
My lungs stop. I can’t draw a breath. The barn tilts as I look between them, finally fixing my teary gaze on my ex-husband.
“What do you mean by that, Rust?”