Richard L. Witt about 2104words
Prologue
The gunpowder smell still hung in the air. It was pungent, almost sweet, but alarmingly overwhelming as the moment closed in around me. My hand was still clenched around the gun, a seemingly well-balanced Glock 17, it wasn’t even mine. The feel of the cold steel in my hand, my index finger still wrapped tightly around the trigger all seemed surreal. In that instant, things had happened so quickly I had yet to let go. Slowly I lowered my hand, the whiffs of powder smoke danced through the air as my arm brushed it aside creating a window in the night air.
I peered ahead. I didn’t have to look far. The night was dark and moonless. The air seemed terribly still for such a pleasant fall evening. On the ground not six feet away, a motionless body lay silhouetted against the concrete by the dim light of car headlights parked next the large garage.
My mind raced as I tried to piece together the details of the last few moments. It was if everything had been in slow-motion. I had come outside to get my guitar case from the trunk of my car. Reaching in my pocket for the keys he was next to me before I knew what was happening. A deep raspy voiced had merely said, “Don’t move, don’t make a sound”. I could feel the tip of the gun as it pressed into the small of my back.
At that very moment a light had come on inside the garage. I realized now it was the light triggered by the motion outside, but it was enough to make the would-be assailant turn quickly to the right. When he did, something strange happened. I turned just as quickly; reached for his left hand, grabbed the barrel of the gun, slammed his body against the side of the car and threw an elbow in the direction of his head. With the most luck I’d ever had in a day every movement had been perfect. My elbow caught him just alongside his left temple. The blow staggered him around the trunk of the car as he tried to regain his composure. I quickly turned the gun over in my hand and stood for a moment unsure of just what to do next. Before I could begin another thought he lunged from the rear of the car towards me. Even now, I could hear the shot ring out, but for the life of me I could not picture in my mind how my hand raised up and more surprising I couldn’t remember pulling the trigger.
The shot stopped him in his tracks. It was at that moment he turned his face to me and slowly moved his hand to the center of his chest. He seemed puzzled as he looked down at the red blood that dripped from his fingers, it was made much, much worse when he turned his eyes to mine and I realized who it was.
Chapter One
Beverly Hills Police might get some bad press for the way they deal with celebrities and their foibles and follies, on this night they brought their A-game to the scene of the crime.
Phil Carston wasn’t just a movie producer. He was the son of one of the most powerful media moguls of his time. His father, Edgar Carston had weathered the depression, and made his money betting on that crazy new invention called the television. His companies controlled an industry that in the 1980′s was undergoing an amazing transformation. His son Phil and his daughter Ericka were just coming into their own as corporate mogul wannn-bee’s/
Now Phil Carston’s body lay covered by a sheet as I tried to explain to a rather unpleasant detective named Diminico what had just happened. I could tell my story wasn’t convincing anyone and when Mr. Edgar Carston arrived I began to wonder if anything would ever be the same.
Before anyone could say a word a large burly security guard walked briskly from the side of the house out to both the detective and Mr. Carston. There was short exchange and all three men disappeared into the side door of the garage.
I was trying to imagine what was going on when I happened to glance at the corner of the garage roof. There, mounted on a very silent moving turret was a video camera. I could almost feel my heart leap from my chest. They could review the tape, see what happened and I’d be free to go. How easy could that be? As I was pondering just what had happened Phil’s sister Ericka drove up to the barricade the police had erected near the house.
Watching Ericka Carston do anything was, was…art. She was statuesque, graceful, beautiful and moved with an incredibly amount of self-confidence. Now, she swung her legs from the brand new or nearly brand new MB C550 and even in jeans and a t-shirt had heads turning as if they were watching a runway presentation. She moved quickly and quietly to where the body of her dead brother lay. Without hesitation she reached down and pulled back the cover, and just as quickly pulled it back over his face. She stood still, motionless, I thought perhaps she was praying or saying goodbye, instead as she turned towards me I noticed she was taking notes.
I was impossible for me to hide the look of surprise that crashed across my face. I’d hoped it was surprise since it felt more like shock to me. She looked at me for the longest time, with such an odd, blank look on her face.
I’d know Ericka for almost three years. I guess you could say we were friends, although that might have been a stretch. We were more like business acquaintances who knew each other pretty well. It would be useless to admit that I hadn’t been bowled over by her the first time we had met. Her father had brought her to a studio session. She had stood in the corner of the control room, almost perfectly still. I had never seen her when her hair, makeup and wardrobe were not perfect… That day was no exception, but she let it be known early on that she was a woman on a mission; she was grooming herself to take her father’s company into the 21rst century, and didn’t have time for anything that didn’t involve business.
Now, I thought I could see what…a tear? Just as quickly as I noticed, she turned abruptly on her heels and headed to the house. It was only a few minutes before Detective Diminico and Mr. Carston came back out of the house. The detective brought me over to the gazebo that stood next to the driveway and motioned for me to sit. Mr. Carston came and sat across from us. I always thought I was pretty good at reading people. Not this time! It was obvious he had been crying; now he looked almost lost. We sat for a few awkward moments before he spoke.
“Alex, what were you planning on doing after you left music?” The question caught me off-guard and I responded almost as quickly without thinking too much either way. “I’ve just barely gotten started Sir, I’m pretty certain I’m nowhere near ready to leave the business”. My pulse quickened as I realized this conversation wasn’t about his dead son, but about my music career.
“Alex, I’ve reviewed the tapes from the house, they aren’t very good. You might be able to get off with some kind of justifiable homicide charge all things considered”. Now my mind was reeling. The tapes weren’t very good. How good did they have to be to show someone shoving gun in your back and you defending yourself. “Excuse me sir, I don’t know what the hell is going on, or why your son thought he needed to come after me, but I can assure you I am not going to jail for defending myself!”
Egdar Carston stared at me as if looking at something he was thinking about buying. It was in fact a very creepy situation and didn’t make me feel very good about what might happen next.
“Alex, if you leave this city tonight, never return and promise to get out of the music business”, he paused; I think it was for effect, but it worked just the same. “I will give you one million dollars cash tonight and set-up trust account for you that will pay you $100,000 every year until you die. This deal is non-negotiable and you have exactly one minute to say yes or no”.
You’ve got to be kidding was the thought screaming through my mind. Take the deal, don’t take the deal. This man probably had more people in his pocket than anyone in the state. How important were my principles? Perhaps more importantly, was that what I had to do to stay out of jail?
I could feel the sweat on my brow, my hands were clammy, and my mouth was dry. What a miserable night this had turned out to be, and it had started out so well. I could see Mr. Carston looking at his watch, waiting for my answer. Leave music? The only reason I had even come to this God forsaken town was for music. I realized now I should have stayed in Nashville. It was too late for that. The seconds of my life were ticking past and I had to choose a new path. It would be new whichever way I answered. “Yes”, I blurted as if almost not even thinking about it. My head was hurting from trying to plan the next fifty-years of my life outside of music, with new friends, maybe a family.
“Good, this is how it will work”. Edgar Carston made it sound like he was buying a new car or putting a down payment on a piece of property. “You will leave town tonight, take nothing with you. You need to vacation, maybe Europe, South America; somewhere for six or eight months. When you return you cannot come here or even back to Nashville. Find someplace you can start fresh, open a coffee shop or something and be as invisible as you can. Your hometown is probably a bad idea too. I have someone who will contact you with all the details for money, etc.” Another pause, this time there was a different look on his face, “Alex, I’m sorry this happened. There are things I can’t explain to you, things that don’t concern you. You’ve made the right choice. Over time you won’t miss this crazy business and these crazy people. You’ll have a normal life and enjoy yourself.” As he stood I thought for a moment he was going to offer his hand, instead he handed me an envelope with money and a set of keys. “Take Ericka’s car and drive to the airport. You will have tickets and all you papers ready for you when you get there.” With that he turned on his heels, almost as quickly as his daughter and disappeared into the darkness beside the house.
Detective Dominco simply walked away. It was like I had instantly become invisible. I walked down the driveway to the Mercedes and opened the door. As I slid behind the wheel I could see Ericka’s shadow near the corner of the house. For a second she moved and I could see her face, she looked so very sad. I started the car and headed to the airport. Just as Mr. Carston said, I had a ticket to Buenos Aires, all my papers, another envelope of cash and some directions about where to stay and what to do for three months in South America.
I settled into my seat in first class; that was nice. I had champagne before my butt had warmed the cushion. As the plane backed away from the gate I thought about how strange the past two years had been. I was on my third glass before we even got off the ground. The stewardess had brought me a pillow and a blanket. I was settling in quite comfortably for the long flight. I hadn’t noticed the pair of eyes watching every move I made from the seat two rows back.