Chapter Twenty-Three
Rick was halfway through his drink when the TV above the bar switched from sports to a talk show.
A laugh track came on, the studio set bright enough to make the whole screen look fake, and two men sat on a couch while the host grinned at the camera.
One of the larger screens angled toward the back booths had changed over without anyone in the room reacting.
Rick didn’t look up at first. He wasn’t there to watch TV. He was there because the place was dark and loud, and no one cared who he was if he kept his head down. Then he heard the name the host said, and Rick’s hand stilled around the glass as he looked up at the screen.
On the screen, the host leaned toward a younger singer who leaned back with an easy smile. “Rick Marcus?” the host said. “Come on. He’s over. He had his moment.”
The singer laughed in what seemed like a dismissive way. “Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “Over.”
The host made a face as if he’d been waiting for it. “Thought so.”
Rick kept his face blank while the bar carried on around him.
He didn’t look around to see if anyone had clocked him.
He kept his eyes on the screen until the clip ended and the host moved on to the next topic like it hadn’t mattered.
Like Rick hadn’t mattered. Rick finished his drink, but he didn’t taste it.
When he put the empty glass down, his hand was surprisingly steady.
He pulled his phone out and searched for the clip. It was already up, chopped into shorter versions with captions. Rick scrolled through the comments and watched them shift the way they always did. It started as jokes, people quoting the singer and adding laughing emojis, and then the tone changed.
He was a nightmare to work with.
Wasn’t there a story about him and that producer?
Aren’t there rumors about that singer who died?
Rick slowed and opened a thread, and then another. Names came up that he hadn’t heard in years, stories that had been buried and dragged back out because someone thought it was funny.
He didn’t need to read much to know where it went. People kept picking until something stuck, and if they couldn’t find facts, they filled in the gaps themselves. Rick tightened his jaw as he scrolled.
Allen didn’t understand that world. Allen thought you could ignore things, and they’d pass, thought quiet meant safe.
Rick stared at the screen and made a decision.
If people were willing to talk like that in public, they were willing to dig into anything connected to him, and Allen was close enough to get dragged into it.
Allen’s message from earlier that day sat in the thread. Rick opened it again, then responded, I’ll come later with takeout.
Rick locked his phone and slid it back into his pocket. He sat for another minute, letting the bar noise wash over him, then stood, picked up his jacket, and left without drawing attention.
Outside, the air felt cold and clean compared to the bar.
Rick got into his car and drove, skipping home and heading across town toward the venue district.
He found a quieter street where people moved in and out all night and no one remembered faces, parked where he could see the alley that fed into the main road, and waited.
He didn’t have to wait long. The younger singer came out with two friends, laughing too loudly, walking like nothing could touch them. They headed toward the parking lot entrance, and near the corner the singer split away from them, phone in hand, eyes down as he typed while he walked.
Rick started the engine and pulled out slowly. He took the bend toward the crossing and watched the singer step off the curb without looking properly. Rick didn’t hesitate. The impact jolted the wheel, and the singer went down hard on the road.
Rick kept driving. In the mirror he saw one friend running into the street, someone else stumbling back with their hands to their head, but he didn’t slow. He took the next turn, then the next, choosing streets with fewer lights and less traffic until he was a few blocks away.
Pulling into a side street, Rick got out and checked the front of the car. There was a smear and a small crack near the edge of the bumper, nothing obvious unless someone knew to look for it. He wiped it with his sleeve, got back in, and drove.
By the time he reached Allen’s building, Rick already had the story lined up in his head. A careless driver. Someone drunk. Someone looking at their phone. Cameras everywhere, and no one watching until after.
It would be called an incident. It would be tragic. People would post about it and then move on. What mattered was that the singer wouldn’t run his mouth again and wouldn’t use Rick’s past as some form of entertainment.
Rick parked and sat for a moment with his hands on the wheel. He thought about Allen’s face when Rick left, pale and stiff, holding himself upright like he was trying not to fall apart. Rick didn’t like the space between them, and he didn’t like silence he couldn’t control.
He opened their thread and stared at the empty space for a second, then put the phone down and leaned back in the seat. The problem was handled. Now he could go back and deal with Allen.