It was Matt who spoke first. His eyes were full of anger. He pointed an accusatory finger at Jake. "This is your fault," he spat. "You fuckin' killed him, Jake! How the fuck does it feel to have real blood on your hands this time?"
Chapter 20a
Los Angeles, California
April 2, 1990
The 747 touched down at LAX at 12:33 PM after a five-hour, non-stop flight from Atlanta, Georgia. Jake, Nerdly, Charlie, and Coop — first-class passengers all of them — were among the first to deplane. They managed to make it through the crowded airport terminal and out to the limousine awaiting them before any of the public realized who they were (thank God for small favors, Jake thought, as this was an extremely rare occurrence at an airport). Matt was not with them. After denouncing Jake as a murderer and the other three of his bandmates as accomplices, he had found a phone and booked a private flight back to Los Angeles, leaving just before midnight.
"Sorry to hear about Darren, guys," said Larry Mayer, the driver of the limo.
"Yeah," Jake said, answering for them all. "So were we."
"Where to?" Larry asked them.
"Pauline's house," Jake said. "She's expecting us."
"You got it," Larry said. He put the car in gear and pulled out into the traffic lane, heading for the freeway. The twenty minute trip to Pauline's was made mostly in silence. Jake was the only one to break it, when he mixed up a rum and coke from the limo's bar and asked if anyone else wanted one (no one else did).
Pauline's housekeeper opened the door when they knocked and led them through the house to Pauline's office. She sat behind the desk, dressed in a pair of sweat pants and an old T-shirt. She had no shoes on her feet, no makeup on her face, and her hair was tangled and disorganized, as if it hadn't made acquaintance with a brush yet this day. She looked somewhat haggard. Dark circles were under her eyes and her hands were tremoring noticeably, they way they did when she was living on coffee.
"Hey, guys," she greeted listlessly, not bothering to get up. "How was your flight in?"
"Bumpy as hell," Coop said.
She nodded. "Seems to be going with the theme of the day then, isn't it?"
"How are you doing, sis?" Jake asked. "Pardon my saying so, but you look like shit."
She shrugged. "I'm all right. I've been too busy dealing with all the flack being thrown at me for the news that Darren is dead to actually sink in. I plan to collapse with exhaustion later."
"Did Matt make it here?" Nerdly asked.
She sighed. "Yeah, he made it here all right. He's part of what I'm dealing with."
"What do you mean?" Jake asked.
"We'll get to that," Pauline said. "For now, why don't you all grab a seat? I'll tell you what I know and what's going on so far. Does anyone want a drink or some food?"
"I'll have a beer," Jake said.
"Yeah, me too," Coop said.
"Do you have any carrot juice?" Nerdly asked.
"How about grapefruit juice?" Charlie put in.
"Two beers and a grapefruit juice I can do," Pauline said. "Bill, I'm afraid I'm fresh out of carrot juice at the moment."
Nerdly shrugged. "I guess I'll go with the beer then," he said.
Pauline ordered their drinks with the intercom on her desk. They were promptly brought in — three Coronas with limes and a glass of ice cold grapefruit juice. They all took sips and looked expectantly at their manager.
"Okay then," she said. "Let me start with the facts first. As you all know, Darren has been living in a small, rented condo in Hollywood ever since he was removed from the band. He's been living on royalty checks from the first three Intemperance albums and his cut of the live album. He's also been getting monthly checks from Matt in the amount of five thousand dollars and picking up a little extra by doing some studio work a few times a week at the National Records Building."
Jake felt a shudder pass through him at the mention of Matt's monthly checks. Back when Darren had been fired, Matt had asked each of the remaining band members to chip in a few thousand dollars a month for Darren so he could remain living in the lifestyle to which he'd become accustomed. Jake had refused on the grounds that he thought Darren would only spend the money on drugs. Coop, Charlie, and Nerdly had all followed suit on this decision on the same grounds. Matt had of course accused them of being cheap, greedy bastards — just another one of the wedges that had been driven into their relationship with each other.
What do you think about that decision now, Matt? Jake thought. Now that the money you were giving him was undoubtedly what financed his latest (and last) heroin habit?
"Matt was visiting Darren pretty regularly right up until you guys went out on the road," Pauline said. "It seemed like he was pretty much on the straight and narrow during that period. Matt told me it didn't even seem like Darren was drinking much. I believe him. From what my contacts in the LAPD told me, it looked like Darren started back on the heroin a week or two after you guys took off on tour and the visits from Matt came to an end."
"Jesus," Jake said, shaking his head sadly.
"They found him on his couch in front of the television," Pauline continued. "He'd been there for a few days. It was the... uh... the smell that led to his discovery. The neighbors called in a foul odor and the LAPD went in with a passkey from the manager. The house was a mess. Beer cans, TV dinner trays, old laundry, and general garbage everywhere. The television was still on and the needle was still in Darren's arm. There was a candle, a spoon, and an empty balloon that had once had black tar heroin in it."
"Are they thinking suicide?" Nerdly asked.
Pauline shrugged. "Your guess is as good as theirs. Better probably. Myself, I think it was probably half suicide, half accident. He probably shot up a really killer load, not really caring whether or not it was going to kill him." She shook her head. "It's such a waste."
"Yeah," Jake said, feeling a tear wanting to form in his left eye. He choked it back.
"They're doing an autopsy on him today," Pauline said. "They're pretty sure it won't show anything, other than a bunch of track marks in his arms and legs. The toxicology test is going to be what gives the official cause of death. That won't be available for about six weeks."
"This is most upsetting," Nerdly said, wiping his eyes a little. "Darren and I had our differences, but I never wanted anything like this to happen to him."
"I know," Pauline said. "I'm sure none of us wanted this. None of us are terribly surprised by it, but none of us wanted it."
"No," Jake agreed.
"Fuck no," Coop said.
"I feel responsible for this," Charlie said softly. "If I would've just resigned when Matt asked me to..."
"Don't even go there, Charlie," Jake said. "This isn't your fault. You didn't stick the needle in Darren's arm. You didn't start him down this road. The reason you're even playing in the band in the first place is because of Darren's heroin problems."
"I know," he said, "it's just that... well..." He shook his head. "Are they sure it was heroin that killed him? I mean, when you're living in a place like he was living and eating the kind of stuff that he was eating... I mean... maybe they should check him for a tapeworm."
Pauline blinked a little but maintained her composure. "I'm sure the tapeworm check is a standard part of the autopsy, Charlie," she said.
"Oh... yeah, I guess you're right," he said.
"What about Crow and that fuckhead Greg?" Jake asked, changing the subject. "Did you ream their asses about this whole interrupting the tour thing? That motherfucker Greg actually wanted us to play the next three dates until Darren's funeral, fly back that day to attend, and then fly back the next morning in time to make the next show. Crow called us and backed that asshole up!"
"I know," Pauline said.