Page 129 of The Wrong Side of the Law

“You want the truth?” Ferry takes a last chug on the can, then tosses it blindly over his shoulder to clatter wetly against the wall. “Your lawyer got it right. Album sales were down, ticket sales were a bit low… and nothing gets your name in the news better than a juicy arrest. Actually, no. That’s not quite right. There is one thing better, and in fact I oughtta blow you out of gratitude.”

“Uh, pass on that, but thanks,” Frank says, a hint of disgust seeping through in his tone. “What are you talking about, anyway?”

“Getting the news talking about one of my crew being arrested, that’s one thing. But you? Man, your lawyer got my name out there in abigway, when he accused me of framing you.”

“Aren’t you afraid of the DEA investigation?”

“Nah. There’s nothing they can prove. Marty and I, we got rid of anything that could get us in trouble. They’ve already stopped bothering us.” Ferry shrugs. “Besides, I can ride the tail end of this bump for a couple years at least.”

“But still, I just don’t get it. Why do it at all?” Frank’s plaintive question stops just short of being whiny. “You’re richer than the Pope, Robert. Your family, too. Why bother with any of this? You could just buy a nice private island and retire to the Caribbean. Something small, not too expensive. Puerto Rico, maybe.”

Ferry laughs, and it’s a genuine, happy sound.

“My family! There you go, kid. You hit the nail right on the head.” He shakes his head. “My family is a solid pack of assholes. They don’t much like me, and I don’t much like them either. You know that bribe money for the State Attorney? They weren’t trying to protect me… they were trying to get you put away quietly to make sure that my antics didn’t get connected to their precious family name.”

Frank doesn’t say anything. Back in the van, Brian and I are both sitting with our mouths open in shocked surprise, though. None of us ever expected to get anything like this on the record.

“You should see your face right now, kid.” Ferry hops down from the crate, walking over to a wheeled stand holding several guitars. “Whatever happened to that guitar, anyway?”

“Civil asset forfeiture,” Frank answers. “Confiscated by the police. They’ll auction it off, I’m sure.”

“That sucks. You really are good, and I’m sorry about everything I put you through.” Ferry picks up one of the guitars, strums a few chords—silently, with no amplifier connected—then places it back on the stand and picks up another. “Let me make it up to you. I really hope you do keep playing.”

“Thanks but no thanks, Robert,” Frank says, dryly. “I think I’m okay. I learned my lesson about gifts from you with that last guitar.”

“Suit yourself,” Ferry says. “But, truly, for whatever it’s worth, it really was fucked up. I do feel bad about setting you up like that. Not bad enough to lose any sleep over it, but still. I’m glad you didn’t wind up in prison because of drugs that Marty and I put in that case.”

“Boom!” Beside me in the van, Brian pounds a triumphant fist into the palm of his other hand. “There it is. That’s it. We’ve got what we came for.”

I’m excited too, but not ready to declare a triumph yet, and I plead silently for my brother to just make his goodbyes and leave.

“Yeah, I’m glad, too,” Frank says. “Look, I know you’ve got to get out there on stage. I don’t want to keep you, so I’d better get going. Thanks for, y’know, talking to me. I really needed to hear that from you. I needed to get some closure, I guess. Bring things full circle.”

“I get it, man. I do.” Ferry holds out another guitar. “You sure, man? This is one of my favorites. It used to belong to Jimi Hendrix, and Clapton and Dylan have both played it.”

“I’m good, thanks.” Frank turns for the door but pauses and looks back. “Speaking of gifts, though. That stuff you gave Cindy. You didn’t put any extra little surprises in there for her, did you?”

“No, man,” Ferry answers, smiling softly with a faraway look in his eyes. “First off, I don’t think I could get away with that little trick again, not yet. And second, she’s my granddaughter.”

“Oh.” Frank seems taken aback. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s okay. She doesn’t know either. Her grandmama, I knew her back… well, a long time ago.” Ferry sighs. “That little girl is just about the only family I wouldn’t spit on. She ain’t expendable.”

“Not like me,” Frank says, bitterly.

“Yeah.” Ferry nods, strumming another silent chord. “And I’m sorry.”

“Goodbye, Robert,” Frank says, and then he’s back out in the hallway, on his way to the safety of the van.

Once he’s clear, I let out a long, relieved breath that I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“Your baby brother did good, Emily.” Brian nods approvingly. “He was just cool and relaxed, and he played itjustright.”

“He’s always been a people person,” I say. “You think that was enough?”

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Brian says. “I mean, Whitehall’s already fucked—pardon my language—with the really blatantly obvious bribery from the Birchall-Jones people. There was nothing more needed, there. And I think Ferry was probably right about the DEA, too. He had plenty of advance warning thanks to CNN, so the Feds probably weren’t ever going to get enough of a thread sticking out to do any real pulling.”

“And now?”

“And now,” Brian repeats my words, “whoever you hand this video over to is going to have a field day. Who is it going to be, by the way?”

“I don’t know yet.”

It’s a lie, of course. There’s only one person to whom I could give this, but I’m not going to say his name out loud.

I’ll admit, privately, that I’m doing this to give myself an excuse to see Gabriel Cooper again, to grovel more in some kind of masochistic apology.

What I don’t know is whether or not I have the guts to actually do it.

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