Blue GraceMidsummer – 11 years ago
Icouldn’t believe I was fucking back here.
Thankfully, this time, I had left Delilah at home.
Two little pills and she was passed out on the couch before the door even closed behind me.
The mosquitoes alone made me want to get back in the car, but at least I didn’t have to listen to my wife’s tripped out conversations like last time.
This trip would be worth it if I could get a piece of that Barrett fortune.
Even a small chunk would be enough to replace the money I’d taken and keep the goddamned taxman off my back.
The fucking nerve. Auditing the charity.
I didn’t exactly mean to take the money, but when I accidentally wound up in some crazy backroom, elite stakes, poker game, I’d had no choice but to dip into the charity’s bank account.
Our cheap-ass record label wouldn’t cough up an advance until I gave them proof I’d actually recorded something.
There were cars parked everywhere, and parents with their kids huddled in packs around the field where I’d been directed to park.
Good thing I brought the hummer. Its white and chrome custom paint job stood out amongst the regular beige and black sedans.
There were wooden signs everywhere, pointing out directions for the various areas and buildings.
I bypassed the ones saying ‘Beach’ or ‘Staff Village’, following the arrows pointing to the Centre Circle.
That had to be what passed for a hub in this place, and the most likely place for me to find Franklin Barrett.
When I got there, there were even more parents and kids, but no sign of the man I was searching for.
I did however, recognise the blonde hair that matched my own.
Brennon and his little friends were hiding out near the corner of one of the bigger buildings.
Four sets of eyes, darting in all directions.
Kids always think they are so fucking sneaky, or at least my kid did.
The four of them were probably getting into some shit they weren’t supposed to.
Not that I gave a fuck. Beyond confirming that the Barrett girl was still tagging along beside him, I didn’t bother feigning an interest in my son.
Their friendship was about to serve its only purpose.
Ideally, he wouldn’t even notice I was here.
If I was forced to talk to the boy, there was every chance I’d end up smacking him and then my PR team would be up my ass about it, because knowing my luck, one of these other dipshit parents would take a photo.
Not that I blamed them. Other than Franklin Barrett, I was probably the only celebrity parent here today, or whose kid even went here at all.
Not keen to hang around, I took one last look for Franklin.
There was no sign of him, just a few tall trees, growing in a wide, spread-out circle, with benches and pathways that sprang off them like the spokes on an old wagon wheel.
Reading yet another sign, pointing me down yet another damn path, the Camp Office was the next stop on my magical mystery tour.
Thankfully, it was my last. Following the road, I rounded a small copse of trees, and there he was.
Standing on the office deck, in what was basically a full suit, was the man I’d been searching for. There was even a smile on his face.
A small “Thank fuck,” slipped out from under my breath while I mentally ran through my well-practiced script that I used on Delilah’s socialite friends and their husbands.
Music might have made me rich, but it didn’t make me Franklin Barrett-rich, so when he clapped me on the shoulder and said,“So tell me more about the Delilah Project,” I swear I heard the clouds part, angels sing, and all my fucking tax problems turn to dust on the wind.
He listened attentively as I gave him the laundry list of reasons to sign up as a regular donor.
He nodded, and smiled wider and wider, as I explained how all donations over a certain amount were tax deductible and that not only would he be doing something good with his money, but he’d get to keep a larger cut of Barrett Holdings profits come next year’s tax time.
We had nearly reached the camp gates, where Franklin’s town car was parked. Our conversation stalled at his vehicle, and when I finished my pitch, I waited expectantly for a handshake or a confirmation.
What I got was a laugh. A sinister laugh that made my hair stand on end and a chill sweep over my bones. When it finally stopped, he looked down his nose at me, still chuckling, “Oh, Blue, that really was an excellent attempt.”
My head spun as I ran through everything I’d said, and where I’d gone wrong.
“The thing is, I don’t need a tax write-off or another cause to list in my email signoffs. I need a bank account, a clean, unremarkable bank account where large deposits won’t seem out of place.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, do keep up, man,” he snapped, “Or have the drugs addled your brain that badly?”
He knocked on driver’s side window, and a man, dressed in a full black suit and looking like every movie villain from the last decade, got out.
He stood directly behind Franklin, who continued, “You see, I know all about your tax troubles. It pays to have people on the inside, particularly in my business.”
“In commercial holdings?” I replied, knowing I sounded like an idiot.
He laughed again, and I wanted to punch the man.
I’ve been in my fair share of bar fights, so I’m no stranger to throwing a punch, but the big fella at his back stopped me in my tracks, when he unbuttoned his suit jacket and exposed the twin pistols holstered across his belt. I gulped and shut the fuck up.
“Let’s just say that commercial holdings are only one part of my business, and far from the most lucrative part. Now people…children, in particular, that’s where the real money is.”
“Wha-wha-what….do you mean?” I stuttered trying to get the words out.
“Look around you, you oaf.”
He swept his hand out, begging me to look around at all the children running wild around us, their shouts and laughter carrying farther than normal out here amongst the quiet of the woods.
He continued snidely, “I know you’re no stranger to the darker side of life, so consider what some might be willing to pay for access to all that delicious…innocence.”
He lingered on the words, as if he was savouring his own horrific suggestion.
I shivered again. I’m not winning father of the year, that’s for damn sure.
My kid’s just some burden I have to deal with thanks to Delilah’s incompetence, but what Franklin was implying was a whole other level of fucked up.
Trafficking. And not just people. Kids. My eyes bugged out of my skull, and I couldn’t seem to stop shaking my head, trying to get rid of the thought.
Franklin, on the other hand, seemed to watch with delight as the realisation took root.
“What if I say no? What if we get caught?”
Every scenario spun out in my head.
“We won’t get caught. And you won’t say no.” He said, so certain.
“How do you know?”
He smiled. It was a smile I was starting to fear. Then he leaned in and whispered at the shell of my ear.
A secret he couldn’t possibly know. A truth so sickening that even now, my stomach churned remembering what we’d done.
That horrible mistake, the god-awful events of that night so many years ago.
No one was ever supposed to know. And there was only one way Franklin Barrett would ever know that.
I could go to jail for tax fraud and recover.
Hell, rockstars did prison-stints all the time and came back swinging.
But that. That would be the end of Blue and The Graces.
Not to mention, I’d have the Rain and her Pistols gunning for me for the rest of my god-damned life.
As he withdrew, I was once again face to face with someone I now recognized as a horror villain. The fact that he could utter those words with a smile on his face meant he truly was a monster. One I wasn’t ready to go to battle with.
He recognized his victory. I didn’t need to see my reflection to know it was written all over my face. He patted me on my shoulder once more. This time, I recoiled. Yet another thing that just made him laugh.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said, as both he and his guard rounded to the far side of the vehicle. Franklin waited as his bodyguard and driver opened the door for him, “I think we’ll set up an ongoing donation. Sound good?”
I silently screamed. I dipped my fingers in the company purse one time, and now, I’d be helping to orchestrate crimes that were ten, fuck, twenty, times worse than stealing from my own charity.
Still, the ghosts of my own actions lingered around my shoulders, leaving me no choice but to chain myself to Franklin Barrett.
“Smile!” He commanded, “It will be so good for the charity.”
He waved and slipped into the car. His guard watched me through black eyes, as he slammed the door behind his boss before climbing behind the wheel.
Only once the smooth black sedan was gone, did I finally move.
Move. I practically sprinted for my own car.
There was a gram of coke in the glove box I saved for special occasions.
Today was definitely that. I’d get outside the camp gates, pull over and fucking lick every last bit of that dust off my own dashboard if it meant I could drive without thinking about the situation I was now in.
I swung the Hummer door open, ready to jump inside, when a high-pitched voice rung in my ears.
“Dad!” The kid ran towards me, calling for me with a stupid smile on his face, “Dad! I didn’t know you were here!
” That’s right, I couldn’t help but think, and you never should have either.
I couldn’t face my son. Couldn’t stomach what would happen now.
I’d stepped out from under one storm cloud right into a full fucking tornado.
All I could do was get back in car, slam the door, and get the fuck out of here.