Chapter 12 #2
Roy went over a few more details with Milton, but as expected, G had covered most of it. He let the man go about his duties and started his self-guided tour.
Since Ollie and Jason had DJ, Roy began with the outside, specifically the four-car garage.
He knew Pete had a thing for cars, but his five extra vehicles were at a storage place in Asheville.
The one he’d left here last was a vintage black Corvette.
Steve had a blue Toyota GR Supra. Looking through the passenger window, Roy saw an extra pair of the red-rimmed sunglasses Lonnie liked to wear, with tiny black cat faces dotting the arms.
No surprise, Tal had a Harley Davidson motorcycle. Imagining how often he’d driven it shit-faced, Roy hoped God had given his frazzled guardian angel whatever a heavenly reward was for a being already from heaven.
Though Tal was the only band member who had his own place, a pricey apartment in a secure building in Asheville, he’d left the bike here when they departed for the tour.
Given how recognizable he was, DJ had long ago given up having his own vehicle.
When their career had started to take off, they’d upgraded from the old van to a fifteen passenger Ford with lots of amenities and plenty of room to carry four band members and their equipment.
But when their success went from that to tractor trailers and tour buses, they’d given the Ford to a roadhouse band in Asheville they liked.
Roy left the garage and walked the east and west garden paths.
The foliage bordering them was well tended, ground cover like ferns and clumps of wildflowers pulling in the natural feel of the forest around the property.
Underneath pergolas covered with blooming vines and shady trees with sprawling branches were benches, swings, even stacks of large rocks with flat tops.
Then he came upon a more unlikely piece of garden art.
The van hadn’t been abandoned to a junkyard when it was retired.
The panels had been painted with musical notes, swirling around instruments playing themselves.
Caricatures of the band were visible against the windows, like a Scooby Doo cartoon.
Steve was driving while giving the peace sign, and Pete hung out the window just behind him, grinning and holding up a bottle of beer.
Tal’s arms snaked out so he could bang on the painting of a drum kit below that window. A cigarette dangled from his lips.
DJ was in the back, the view through one window showing his propped-up, sneakered feet, the next window showing him lounging back in the seat, his guitar in his lap as he plucked at it.
Roy’s gaze fell on a bronze plaque near the van. Early days, never to be forgotten.
A few more steps down the path, around a bend that still provided a good view of the van, was a cedar barn door swing, wide enough to accommodate the man sitting Indian style on it in bare feet.
DJ was staring at the van. At Roy’s appearance, he didn’t look away from it, but he did offer Roy a slight nod.
Ollie and Jason were about thirty feet down the trail. Roy pantomimed that they could return to the house, and then sat down next to DJ, keeping his feet braced on the ground to hold the swing steady. DJ nudged a bottle of Jim Beam toward him, but Roy shook his head.
“Pete left that sitting on the bathroom counter before we took off for the tour. Guess the cleaning staff decided to recap and leave it there, all neat and orderly next to the mouthwash, spare toothbrush and hand soaps.” Though DJ’s eyes were sunken, he didn’t sound drunk, so Roy assumed he hadn’t uncapped the bottle.
“Tal has a spare drug kit in the nightstand of the room he crashed in most often.” DJ cocked his head when a woodpecker rat-tat-tat-tatted on a nearby tree.
“There’s a kid’s book with it. The Watch Cat.
I sat on his bed and read it. A Siamese cat goes looking for his lost little boy.
What happens to her while she’s looking for him is why Siamese cats have crooked tails, crossed eyes and that raspy meow. ”
“Why do you think he had it?” Roy asked.
“Probably left behind by one of the roadie’s kids and he picked it up one night, forgot he had it.
” DJ paused. “Or maybe not. When you’re in foster care, sometimes there’ll be an item you get pretty protective about.
Something that belongs to you that can’t be taken away. Sometimes it represents a good memory.”
“What was your item?”
DJ shook his head and remained silent, either because he didn’t have anything like that, or he didn’t want to talk about it. “Everyone treating you okay, giving you what you need?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I go off shift soon.”
“Crash in the stone guest cottage, if you want. It’s plenty private.
Tal used it for a little while, until I found out he was partying with the wrong kind of people.
After that, I told him he could stay in the house anytime, but not there.
That was when he took an apartment in town.
He’d still crash in his room here pretty often, though.
“I think Steve and Lonnie would’ve used the cottage for their first house as a married couple. I hope.” DJ dropped his feet to the ground and picked up the bottle. “See you, Roy. Thanks for getting me home.”
As Roy’s brow creased, DJ opened the bottle and tipped it, creating a line of amber liquid beside him as he walked away.
“DJ?”
He stopped. His chin tilted toward his shoulder, but he didn’t turn around. “One of my team will check in on you during their rounds. They’ll knock, but if they don’t get an answer, they’ll stick their head in to make sure you’re okay. So don’t lock your door.”
“Never did. Doesn’t have a lock. Half the time I’d wake up and Tal or Pete would be there. Neither of them liked to sleep alone. Too much bad shit can happen when you’re by yourself.”
DJ drifted onward, went around another curve in the path, and disappeared.
Roy let Ollie and Jason know he was headed back for the house and kept the kid in sight until they verified they had him in their view.
Then he finished his patrol. A ten foot stone wall surrounded all seventy-seven acres, embedded with movement sensors and strategically placed cameras.
Anything that weighed more than the expected wildlife would trigger the gatehouse and home alarms.
After the meeting with Derrick and all the staff, Roy had one more stop to make, the gatehouse. He wanted to see the cameras in action. Derrick came with him. Two of his people manned the gatehouse at all times, and while DJ was in residence, one of Roy’s would be there as well.
Roy noted a screen that showed a panoramic view of the forest beyond the west wall. It seemed redundant with several other cameras, and “WC” was the screen identifier. “What’s that mean?”
“Wildlife camera,” Derrick said. “The feed’s accessible to the house televisions. DJ likes to watch it, particularly at night, to see what wanders out of the woods. Bears, deer, raccoons and possums. Sometimes bobcats and coyotes.”
“There he is.” Jonah, one of the regular security personnel, pointed to the living room camera as DJ passed by. “He just got back in from the gardens.”
The note of relief caught Roy’s attention, but before he could address it, Derrick did.
“Remember what Roy said during the meeting,” he told his man. “If he’s out of the house and out of range of a camera, you radio Roy’s people and make sure someone has eyes on him or can verify his location.”
“Ollie and Jason have him now,” Roy added, “but obviously you didn’t know that.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry.” Jonah’s ears reddened.
“I know you’re used to giving him a little more privacy on his home turf.” Roy swept his attention over the somber faces. “But we don’t relax our guard for a minute. If DJ gets an attitude about anything, you stick with him anyway and let me know. I’ll address it with him.”
Warren pulled up to the gate. The gleaming blue F-15o he’d rented to drive back and forth from where he was staying looked like he should be hauling a fancy horse trailer.
Roy came out and briefed him. He could go off shift now, but he found himself lingering, glancing over the grounds, at the gatehouse, at the main house. The stone cottage felt too far away from it.
“Roy,” Warren said, keeping his voice low. “You look like you’re running on fumes, man. You got him home. You know you have to recharge. We’ll take it from here.”
“Okay. Did you need anything?”
“A sexy circus contortionist and a six pack of beer come to mind.”
Roy snorted. “Take me up to the house? I want to check on him before I hit the guest cottage.”
“Hop in.”
The house’s interior matched the outside. Fabrics and window treatments in warm earth colors, stone fireplaces and mortared flat cut rock for the foyer.
Roy found DJ in a small den. Under normal circumstances it was the kind of space DJ probably went to create while not being too far from the main hub of activity in the living room. When more people were in it.
Right now he was slumped in an occasional chair and watching the wildlife cam on the wide screen TV mounted over a fireplace. A bunch of birds were flitting around on the ground. The sun was going down. His guitar was in the corner, hidden in the shadows.
Roy put his hands on DJ’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “Warren’s here. I’ll be nearby, kid.”
A ripple of tension moved through his muscles, but DJ nodded. No other acknowledgement, though, and he didn’t ask Roy to stay. It was still too soon to push him, but leaving him wasn’t a good feeling.
The guest cottage had stone walls, gabled roof and a rounded top front door made of wood.
The cozy interior offered a small kitchen, king-sized bed and modest living room with a giant screen TV.
Out in back, the patio garden’s bistro set gave a guest a place to enjoy breakfast or an evening drink while listening to nature. There was also a hot tub.