Chapter 20 Salem
SALEM
Today, I am done playing by the rules. Well, what little rules I had, anyway.
Daylight. Public café. Windows on two sides. Line at the counter. Forks on plates. People with laptops who won’t look up unless someone screams.
My lawyer sits two booths over with a seltzer and a legal pad. He signed off on this. He also told me it won’t hold up in court. You can’t legally use a recording in court if all parties don’t know they’re being recorded and agree to it.
I don’t care. I want the words. If he’s tried only in the court of public opinion, so be it.
The wire is flat under my tee. Battery checked twice. Paired to my phone, which is in airplane mode with one app that talks to one watcher two booths away. The lawyer’s assistant. This way, we get two recordings, in case he gets clever and snatches my shit.
We’re not stupid. We’re also not saints.
I take the corner bench for the sight lines and order a coffee I won’t drink. I didn’t bring the bike. I Ubered here. Less traceable. I text Knox one line—seated—and put the phone screen down.
Houston wanted to come. I told him no. I love Houston, but he has a soft spot for everyone, even Troy. He might have figured out a way to smooth things over. But every time he’s done that, Troy bit him in the ass. Not again.
Lou offered to sit nearby. I told her absolutely not. I can do a quiet, daytime meet. Not everything has to break out into violence. I repeat that in my head until my hands stop wanting to drum or punch.
Troy walks in late enough to signal he’s still the headliner of his own movie. Hoodie up, cap low, sunglasses like a parody. Fake incognito that stands out. He clocks the room and smirks when he sees me.
I keep my face flat. I don’t stand.
He takes the chair opposite and sprawls like this is a greenroom couch. “Hey, brother,” he says, sweet as poison.
Never been more glad that we are only half brothers. “Hey.” I keep my voice low so he’ll lean in. Wires like leaning.
He looks over his shoulder, clocking exits. He never used to do that. Maybe the world finally taught him he isn’t bulletproof. Good. He drags his cap higher. His eyes are red at the edges. He hasn’t slept well in a long time.
He snaps at the server, gets a quad espresso, and leans back again. “How’s my ex? Still doing community service with the band?”
I let it pass. “How are you, Troy?”
He watches my mouth for a second. “You here to apologize for choking me? That photo’s doing numbers. An apology might go a long way to fixing that little problem for you.”
“No.”
He grins. “You here to beg me to stop making you look bad? Too late.”
I fold my hands on the table so the wire doesn’t print on my shirt when my shoulders move. “You broke into Sagebrush. You took drives and cash. You scratched the board.”
He laughs loud enough to turn a head at the next table, then lowers it to a normal level. “Allegedly,” he says, singsong.
“You walked in at three fourteen. Back door. Hood up. That little limp of yours is a dead giveaway.”
His face hardens. “I don’t have a limp anymore. That’s why I trained so hard with the dance coaches. I got rid of that years go. You’ve got nothing.”
“The limp comes back when you’re drinking too much, and the stench from here says that’s exactly what you’ve been doing.”
He drums his fingers. Same rhythm as when he used to wait for applause. “A shame your cameras couldn’t get any real evidence for that shitty studio.”
“Talk to me,” I say, low. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“Doing what? Living my life?” He leans forward and drops his voice, playing at intimacy.
“I’m going to blow your little project up.
You think you can take what I built and run it without me?
You think you can take my girl and not pay?
I’ll make the hotel pull the plug. I’ll sue.
I’ll own the name you think you get to put on glass. ”
I let him wind up. “You broke a window. That why your hand is bruised up?”
He flashes teeth. “Maybe I wanted to see you cry over spilt glass.”
“That’s not the saying—”
He shrugs. “So what if I took a couple little things. Might’ve bumped into a couple little things. Who cares?”
“Me.”
He taps the table, then grins and leans forward. “I’m going to release my tape with Lou.”
The hairs on the back of my neck go on end. “Tape?”
“Our sex tape.”
The air in my chest goes hot for one second. I don’t move.
This can’t be true. Lou would have told me. She would have used the word first. She didn’t.
“You don’t have one.”
He lifts a brow. “You sure?”
“If you did, releasing it would be a crime. Even you know that.”
“Do I?” he says, playing dumb. “You boys on your high horses. Meanwhile, your girl is rotating through bedrooms like a DJ on holiday.”
My jaw wants to flex. I keep it still. “She’s a person. Watch your mouth.”
He leans back to make a show for anybody who’s looking, like I just hit him with a line and he loved it. I want to beat that grin off his smug face. “So easy. Say ‘watch your mouth’ again. Make me really believe it.”
“No.”
He tilts the cup and doesn’t drink. “You got old. You used to throw punches. Now look at you.”
“I grew up. You should try it.”
He snorts. “Cute.” He checks the door. He checks the window. He checks the lawyer two booths over and doesn’t know that’s what he’s checking.
All he sees are people who might see him. He likes being seen. He always did. That’s why he’s making this a spectacle.
He leans in again. “You want to know why I did it? I walked out of there with drives because I could. I scratched your toy because you love it. I left the cigarette because I wanted you to know it was me.”
“Because you could,” I echo. “That’s why you’re fucking up your whole life? Why you ripped off your family? Why you treated Lou like shit?”
He points at my chest like we’re brothers at a barbecue.
“You used to be cool, Salem. You were the one always up to shit, always stirring the pot. Then you got old and now you’re no fun anymore.
That’s why I will never fit in with the family, you know.
You call it growing up. I call it dying a slow death. ”
His eyes are wild. It’s not just alcohol anymore. I can tell. I can practically feel his heart racing from here. The kid I knew is gone, and I don’t think he’s ever coming back.
But I hear Houston’s voice in the back of my mind, and I can’t stop myself from trying one last time. “Troy, we can get you help.”
“Pfft,” he scoffs. Then he laughs too loud again, like it’s the funniest idea ever. A couple looks up. The assistant two booths over crosses one leg over the other and scratches a note. Troy lowers his volume. “This is boring. Let’s fight.”
“I don’t fight tweaked-out junkies.”
“Come on,” he says. “Make me bleed so you can feel alive. You miss it.”
“I don’t.”
“Remember that bar in Thailand? The one where you box your friend and whoever wins gets a bucket of free booze?”
I shrug. “I kicked your ass. What about it?”
“Think they’d give us a free coffee if we fought here?”
“I’m not fighting you. I have too much to do to waste my time like this, Troy. I’m working.”
He rolls his eyes. “Working,” he says like it’s a slur. “You mean writing piano music and holding her hand.”
“I mean building a life.”
“Cute.” He leans closer, lower, like he’s about to whisper something worth hearing. “You should thank me. If I hadn’t broken in, Jake would have never sold it, and you never would have bought that shit hole. You got to finally buy Sagebrush because of me. You owe me.”
I keep my face the same. Inside, a click. He’s bragging. He’s always bragging. He wants me to see him. He wants me to be impressed.
I sit back. “Maybe I do owe you. What time did you go in?”
“Three something. Thought I’d find you asleep on a rug like old times. No such luck.”
“Window?” I say.
“Cheap glass,” he says, pleased with himself. “I did you a favor.”
“Cameras?” I say.
“Cute toys,” he says. “Little blinky lights. You think I’m scared of lights? I walked right past.”
“Did you,” I say.
“I even checked the closet,” he says, laughing. “Took your lunch money.”
I don’t look at the lawyer. “The drives. You have them.”
“I’m keeping them safe.”
“Where?”
He grins. “What, you want to come over? You want to tuck me in? Or choke me in front of my groupies?”
“You should return them. Today. If you’re smart, you will.”
“So you can tape me returning them for evidence that I took them?” He grins, like he thinks he’s clever. “Do it. I look good on camera.”
“You look like a child on camera.”
He flinches. Small. The truth is a hand on the back of his neck. He hates it.
He recomposes with something cruel because that’s the reflex. “Lou’s going to get bored with you. She liked me because I was chaos.”
“She liked the part of you that wasn’t a liar and a cheat.”
“Now she likes the part of you that pretends you’re not,” he says. “Don’t forget, Salem. I know who you really are. You’re a fuckup, just like me.”
I let that one sit on the table and die by itself. He breathes like he scored. He didn’t. He keeps talking because silence is where he drowns.
“You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to call the hotel and tell them you stole my songs.
I’m going to tell them Lou is a thief too.
I’m going to say she took my brand. I’m going to say you sold your souls to get a girl who was never yours.
I’m going to make sure radio doesn’t touch your little lullaby. ”
How does he even know we have a song ready? “‘Locket’ will be a hit.”
He pushes his chair back two inches to make me blink. I don’t. He leans in one last time because he can’t help it. “I walked in,” he says, lower now. “I walked out. I left you a message in scratches. I took something that hurts. I’m going to take more, and you can’t stop me.”
Whatever warmth or care I had for him evaporates completely. “Okay. Is that it?”
He blinks.
“You did the thing you can’t apologize for. You did the thing you can’t spin. You just made it easier for me to stop pretending you’re coming back.”
“I’m never coming back—”
“No shit. We kicked you out, and now, you’re never allowed back. Not in the band. Not in the family. You made that choice. Now, you’ll live with it.”
He opens his mouth for the next line. I stand. He stands because he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s smaller than I remember. He’s older than he acts. Somehow, he looks like the boy he was, and a man I don’t recognize.
“See you never.”
Troy’s brow lines. He doesn’t know what to do with indifference, so he stumbles out of the place.
I put a twenty under my cup for a coffee I didn’t drink and give the server a nod. I walk past my lawyer and tap the pad once with a fingertip so he knows we’re done. He nods. He doesn’t smile.
Outside, the sun is straight up. I put my hands on the back of my neck and breathe because my palms are shaking, and I don’t need anyone to see it. I round the corner, find a strip of shade, and lean on the wall until my ribs remember their job. Spread. Let me breathe.
The wire is warm now. I turn it off. I take the phone out, take the app off airplane mode, and push the file to the shared drive we set up for ugly things.
It goes to Knox first, then counsel. I add a one-line summary and the café address for file keeping.
I add time stamps I can remember without checking.
Knox replies in under a minute: Got it. Proud of you. Come back.
Counsel replies: Received. Don’t engage further. We handle next moves.
I run my hands over my face and walk to the end of the block. I pass three people who don’t know me and a kid in a jersey who maybe does but doesn’t say anything because Nevada daylight takes the teeth out of whatever I am to people who need me to be bigger.
I let my head drop for one count, and then I pick it up again because I’m not going to fall apart on a sidewalk. Instead, I call Lou.
She answers in two rings. “You okay?”
“I met him,” I say. My voice sounds like I used it too hard, even though I barely raised it. “Witnesses. Lawyer two booths over. Wire on. He talked.”
She’s quiet for a second. I can hear paper move. She’s working. “Did he say anything useful?”
“He bragged about the break-in. He gave details.”
“Of course he did. Bet it didn’t occur to him that you might be taping him.”
“I didn’t hit him,” I say, because that’s the part that matters in my bones.
“I knew you wouldn’t.”
“I wanted to,” I say.
“I knew you would.”
I huff a laugh at that, but it dies a quick death. “I wore a wire. Lawyer approved. He said it won’t hold up. We can still use it—accidentally leak it, that kind of thing.”
“I’m glad you didn’t let him drag you into the shit with him. That had to be hard for you, and you managed it anyway. I’m proud of you.”
The words land like something heavy I’ve been trying to lift by myself. I look at my hands because if I look up, I’m going to do something dumb like cry. “Say that again.”
“I’m proud of you, Salem. You did a hard thing in the right way.”
I can barely breathe for how much I needed to hear that. I sit on the sidewalk and let the heat soak into my legs, and let the breath go in and out until the shake leaves. I rasp out, “Thanks.”
“Now get back here so I can show you how proud I am.”
“On my way.” I hang up, not trusting my voice to say much else.