Page 14 of Born Into Trouble (Occupy Yourself)
Eight
26 years old
Benny stared in shock at the man seated across the booth from him. Short and heavyset, the thickly accented Mexican had just made a proposal that was too good to be true. But Benny wanted it to be true. Needed it.
Juan had approached him after a gig in downtown Denver a month ago, looking like a fan as he chatted, holding out a poster to be signed. Then he offered Benny a twist of green that would go a long way to letting him sleep that night. Combine it with a cheap bottle and he could even stretch it a couple of nights.
Juan showed at the next show, and the next, the same offering freely extended each time. Next show? Different offering to the rock gods. Also gladly accepted, and Benny found even more peace in oblivion, loving the slow slide into darkness. Hating the climb back out the next day. And so it went, his new friend providing a bliss Benny found himself craving.Too good to be true, shoulda known. Of course, Juan had an agenda.
Part of a gang out of Mexico, Juan offered Benny more green, better green and blow, uncut blow and heroin—all he could ever want. All with the understanding he would pay back the value. Eventually. Juan said no hurry. Juan said they were all friends. Juan talked about a lot of things.
After the first taste of the really good stuff, Benny hadn’t been able to say no, which meant he wound up owing Juan’s friends. One thing led to another, led to another, and he owed even more. A lot of money. More money than Benny could ever pay back in his life, but they’d kept the pipeline open for a long, long time. Now that he was in deep with them, they had an idea how he could pay them back, even things up.If only.
Which brought him to now. Juan was part of a biker gang who had picked a fight with a drug gang, both out of Mexico. Juan’s gang of bikers didn’t want to buy from the drug cartel directly. According to what Benny could understand through Juan’s accent, there was bad blood going way back between the two groups. One wouldn’t deal with the other, and that was just how it was.
But, one—the bikers—could use an intermediary—like Benny—to make a purchase. They urgently needed to make a purchase. Their Tijuana supplier had failed to provide a needed shipment of product. According to Juan, they needed to offer a steady supply or the buyers would defect. They couldn’t have that, so they needed product. All Benny had to do—and this is where it got into the ‘too good’ category—was make the purchase, hand over a duffle filled with money, and accept a shipment of blow. Bring said blow back to the gang and they would forgive all his debts. All of them. Every dollar. Even if it was too good to be true, he still had to ride the chance to the ground, just in case.
“Benny.” Juan shook his head. “You know this gonna be the only way to clear your shit.” He tapped the tabletop once, loudly and Benny jumped. “And youwannaclear your shit. Trust me, you want that in a big way. So, Benny, you just gotta find a way.” He pushed out of the chair and stood. “Call me, but make it tonight, or your debts come due. And that, you do not want.”
Fuck. Chin lifted, face tipped up, Benny stared at the man who no longer looked like a fan at all. He nodded.
***
“I’m telling you, I can pull this off.” Benita stared at him, lips pressed together, holding back her disagreement. “I can, swear. My brother’s got connections, and he can help us make a profit like you wouldn’t believe.” Ben knew his movements were jerky, a stair step of discordant notes because he needed a drink. He was off the juice, trying to stay sober for the upcoming transaction, but sober was fucking hard these days.
“I make the deal. Get in and get out. No sweat. I’ve already borrowed the money, found an opportunity and took it. I just gotta turn this cash into product, then turnthatproduct into more cash, and we can buy that record label in San Fran we talked about. California, baby. Sun and beaches, all day long.” Not quite what the bikers were expecting, but he would talk to Juan after, explain everything. First, he had to make sure the drug guys had enough stuff to sell a bunch to him, too, and then he could do exactly what he’d told Benita. Andy’s connections would come in handy, and finally, fuckingfinally, his luck would change.
“Benny.” The single word held shadows from a decade of disillusionment and pain.Jesus, now I get this from Benita.He had turned twenty-six last month. Just one more day in a blurred string marred only by the expected call home for birthday wishes. That never went well, always leaving him feeling more like an asshole than usual. GeeMa was cordial, friendly, her tone tolerant and loving, and she never brought up his failures or talked about his betrayals. The discomfort was all on his side, because for him, the undercurrent of his treachery threatened to suck him down, never letting him up for air. He had lied to and stolen from his grandparents so many times, and in his mind cutting the ties to them so thoroughly he was certain there’d be no repairing them. Not ever.
Over the years, he watched and listened as his family repeatedly forgave his mother’s betrayal of family, labeling her situation extreme. She lost the only man she ever loved, after all. It was understandable she would go off the deep end. Act out to numb her pain. Benny, however, should have known better. Had been raised better. Forget the fact her loss was his, doubled because he’d lost her, too. Tripled with the loss of Andy. Filling in the holes left behind took more than a shovelful of good intentions. Anymore, it took more than a shovelful of booze, too.
He’d been enhancing his numbing concoction with the addition of a few side menu items. Green or blow, he wasn’t picky, able to angle either way based on his mood. He’d smoke a ‘lil smoke, toot a line of blow, pop a tiny cross, or swallow purple forgetfulness chased with vodka—anything to help oblivion take effect sooner, and let him escape the bullshit always swirling around.
Bullshit aside, Ben believed he’d found a sure-fire solution to the band’s current problems. And they had them. Money and opportunity were the biggest obstacles he saw. Money was tight, beyond tight. The last five grand he stole from GeeMa had gone to pay for studio time; overages from their already planned outlay caused by his own behavior, and he knew it. That was why he decided to go all in, hacking his way into her account for what would be the last time. He promised himself. Again. Paying for the final sessions had been his penance to Blake and Danny since it was his stuttering talents that had fucked them all. With the extra cash, they did the studio time and turned out some of the best work ever. Songs sure to get them walking the red carpet, finally.
Dmitri Glass had joined them right before the studio sessions, and he’d augmented the group in a way only Ben had believed in at first. Back when they first began playing bars outside Denver, Ben had heard Dmitri play and loved the guy’s talented sound, the phrasing he brought to a song. The fact he could also handle a guitar was a bonus they frequently leveraged, letting his fingers stand-in for Ben’s often of late.
Right now, an oblivious Blake and Danny were inside a diner, seated at a table with Dmitri while Ben and Benita stayed in the van. They tended to take things like eating in shifts, first because it made it nearly impossible for thieves to snag gear cases and run, and second because it was easier to get along when they didn’t spend too much time together. Or maybe it was easier to get along when they didn’t spend too much time with him.Whatever.
So he had the band, finally, that he’d dreamed of for so long, and wanted to see if they could take things beyond the next level. Bypassing that stop on the road to stardom, true stardom, where venues competed for your bookings, not the other way around. He had the band, and, thanks to Juan, had an opportunity. Benny had persuaded himself he just had to make his own luck, and get Occupy Yourself the chance to see where they could go.
This meant he had to convince Benita of two things.
One, he had a plan.
Two, he could pull it off.
He smiled at her, shining the rock star hard, knowing he got inside her head when she sighed, closing her eyes.
***
Shit.
That one word hurtled through Benny’s head. He was crouched beside group of a tall metal lockers set in the middle of a long wall. His back pressed tightly against the protective structure as he listened to more than one set of footsteps coming closer, leather soles slapping the cement floor in a percussive assault.
Three hours ago, the world had looked different.
Three hours ago, Benita had dropped him off on the side of the road, not too far from the wide driveway leading to this bunker complex.
