Shattered Glass Read online

  “I didn’t tell you because Liam needed to heal. Some real heavy shit happened after you flitted away to the southwest. Don’t ask me what, because it’s privileged information.”

  “Privileged information? Fuck, I raised him, he was my lover, you are my best friend. What privileged information?”

  “Lawyer-client privilege. I won’t compromise my ethics, even for you.”

  “Can you at least tell me if he’s okay?”

  Sam sounded angry. “Why do you care? Where were you when Rick and I picked up the pieces of the mess you left behind? You never even let him explain.”

  “Did he ever explain to you?”

  “He didn’t have to. I told you in the beginning not to lose that hot temper of yours and do something irrevocable, yet you didn’t listen. He never told me the full story, and I did him the courtesy of not asking. He’s moved on.”

  Milo’s voice dropped. “I miss him. I think about him every day. The evidence was damning, but I should have at least listened to his side.”

  “Damn right you should have.”

  “Can you help me see him?”

  Sam sighed. “No. I won’t help you hurt him again. I don’t want him falling into the same trap when he worked so damned hard to get out. If you’d trusted him, this whole damn thing wouldn’t have happened.” Sam sighed again. “And don’t think I am unaware of the part I played in this mess. I stood aside and let you break him into pieces. I refuse to stay on the sidelines and watch the same debacle twice. He’s not ready to face you. I don’t know if he will ever be.”

  “Are you telling me you are going to deliberately keep us apart?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying I won’t help you break his heart again. I’m begging you to give the kid some breathing room. He needs to know he can make it on his own before you come charging in and take over again. He’s not a baby or a boy any longer; he’s a grown man of twenty-four who has seen way too much sorrow. Give him time.”

  “I’ll listen to you now because I didn’t listen then, but I won’t wait forever. I have a feeling he needs me as much as I need him. We are two halves of the same soul. Eventually we will have to come together.”

  Sam laughed harshly. “Since when did you become so spiritual?”

  “I guess it’s something about the air here. You look around you and think of a greater presence. Can I at least call you to find out how he’s doing?”

  After a long pause, Sam finally said, “Yeah, I guess I can give you that much.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You know, this is one time I hate being right.”

  * * * *

  Two years earlier, after six months of guilt over what he did to Liam, Milo removed himself from the house where everything reminded him of his lost love. He packed a bag, got into his Lexus, and just drove. In New Mexico, tooling down Interstate 25 with no real destination in mind, he blew a tire.

  He called AAA and sat down on the hood to wait. Across a stretch of land, about a mile or two off the highway, stood what looked like an old Moorish castle. It possessed a stark beauty in the desert landscape.

  When the tow truck driver arrived, Milo asked him about the building. The site contained a hotel and casino run by a local Native American Pueblo. The driver looked at the wheel and told Milo he damaged the rim, and a replacement would have to be ordered from the local Lexus dealership if he wanted the new one to match the others.

  Milo nodded. “Fine, do it. Can you drive me over to that hotel?”

  He opened the door of his battered truck and said, “Sure thing.”

  The hotel and casino turned out to be first class. Milo reserved a suite for an indeterminate stay, booked a rental car, and began to look around. He haunted the Pueblo shops while admiring the handcrafted jewelry and pottery. Milo immersed himself in the history and ecology of the area. The desert air felt clean with no humidity, and there wasn’t an ocean anywhere to remind him of what he lost. He decided to stay.

  The mechanic turned out to be the brother of Conchita Ramirez, the housekeeper assigned to his suite. In a week’s time, Milo hired her away from the casino and they started to house hunt. He found a perfect property with over twenty acres and several out buildings in the Sandia Foothills, just outside of the reservation. It needed renovation, but time Milo possessed in abundance.

  In fact, time was all he had.

  Two years later, after coming to the Sandia Mountains, emotionally shredded and bleeding, the sun, the desert and its people healed him. He began to wonder more and more if he screwed up and got it all wrong as Sam maintained.

  Conchita knew his life history twenty-four hours after he moved into the house. As asked, she’d brought him his second bottle of tequila that day. Clucking her tongue, she sat him down at what she considered her kitchen table. Matching him shot for shot, she didn’t stop until the whole ugly story spewed from his mouth like vomit.

  “For such a smart man, you acted as dumb and stubborn as a jackass. This boy of yours, did he ever lie to you before?”

  “No, he didn’t. If anything he always told the truth, even when the truth became painful.”

  “So,” she said, looking him straight in the eye from across the table. “Why would he suddenly start?”

  “I thought it was the drugs.”

  “Did he exhibit any signs of drug abuse? There are always signs, mi amigo, uncharacteristic behavior, missing money or jewelry. You say you took care of the money. Did he ask for large sums and then have nothing to show for it?”

  “No.”

  “Did you know anyone with a vendetta against the boy, anyone you could see he disliked or feared?”

  “Yes, I think…” He groaned. “No more. My head is pounding.”

  Even though she drank as much if not more than he did, Conchita rose from her chair, steady as a rock, and hand-washed the glassware without a single mishap while Milo could barely stagger up the stairs. That was two years ago and Conchita had not let up since.

  He purchased Liam’s new CD and played it constantly, while Conchita made braying noises and pantomimed floppy ears and a tail, muttering jackass under her breath. Milo could hear Liam’s journey through his music. It felt as if someone sucker-punched him in the gut. Had he been that cruel, that mean? In his more honest moments, he admitted he had.

  Milo never asked Conchita why she mocked him. He knew. Whether Liam cheated or Milo wronged him beyond all imagining, he hadn’t taken the time to listen.

  Through the years and the stages of Liam’s growth, Milo felt the burden of guilt. He remade himself to conform. Milo became an accomplished liar. He hadn’t trusted Liam because he didn’t trust himself.

  Finally, in desperation, he called Sam. Liam had been in trouble, and he’d sulked in a corner. He’d hurt the one person in life he’d sworn to cherish. Now all he could do was wait until Sam declared Liam ready to face him again. And as Conchita so often told him, life did not come with guarantees.

  * * * *

  Rick met Bart at the same sleazy bar once a month. Rick tried to skip out on him twice in the past year, but a picture of Liam, raped and beaten, appeared in his mailbox the next day, so he went back. Rick told himself he did what he did to protect Liam. The kid was still fragile, on both antidepressants and sleeping medication. Rick convinced himself that he couldn’t take the chance. This sort of publicity would kill the kid, and he refused to be responsible for that on top of all the other misery he’d already caused him.

  “I heard Liam is going on tour,” Bart said as soon as he took the stool next to Rick’s.

  “Yeah. He has a new album.”

  “Is it any good?”

  “Actually, it’s great. Sam says it’s a shoe-in for a Grammy.”

  “Did you bring the schedule?”

  “I did, but if you so much as lay a finger on Liam, I don’t give a shit what happens to me, I’ll go to the cops.”

  “I won’t lay a finger on him,” Bart replied. �
�Won’t have to.”

  “Here, the schedule, the latest news for the rags, and now I’m going home. I don’t like the stink of this place or the company.” Rick got off the barstool.

  “Whether you like or dislike the stink or the company, you’ll be back to protect little Liam. I wonder what he and your smartass brother would think if they knew who really caused the breakup of the band?”

  Rick looked Bart in the eye and replied in a steady voice, “I know I’m guilty. I know what drove me. The question is what drives you? One of these days, I’m going to find out, and then we will see who controls who.” Rick turned on his heel to leave.

  “In your dreams, little man. You can’t even stay off the needle, much less remain straight enough to dig into my business,” Bart shouted after him.

  Rick walked out of the bar. He knew it to be true. He owed his dealer thousands, and he didn’t know where to turn. The only one he hadn’t asked for money was Milo. Maybe Milo would help him in exchange for a little information about Liam. But Sam said that for Liam’s sake they needed to be kept apart.

  Maybe I can feed Milo information and keep them apart at the same time.

  * * * *

  Liam was scared. In the beginning came the letters. They arrived at regular intervals, telling Liam all about Bart and Milo’s relationship. He refused to ask Sam or Rick if it were true because even if it wasn’t, it was no longer his business. God, I wish I could convince my heart of that.

  Danny traveled with him as his road manager. Liam often wondered what Milo would make of that.

  I know what he would make of it. He would take it as further proof that I am and always was a cheat and a liar.

  He knew he couldn’t continue to run his life on his beliefs of what Milo would think. In the years since the fight, Milo hadn’t tried to contact him. No letters, no calls, no messages passed through Sam or Rick. Nothing. Liam considered that proof of what Milo thought. Milo would never trust him or anyone else.

  Maybe Bart can live with that. I know I can’t.

  Since he began the tour, the letters escalated into more gifts—dead flowers, a plastic container of dog shit. All of the gaily wrapped gifts were left as tributes backstage for his arrival. When Danny found out, he banned all tributes from Liam’s dressing room and begged Liam to contact the police. Liam refused, unwilling to even discuss the incidents.

  The gifts didn’t arrive at the next two stops on the route, but at the third, a box of dead scorpions showed up in the hotel room. After that, Liam quietly disposed of the packages, telling no one of their existence.

  The evening of the scorpions, Liam called Sam.

  “How’s the tour going, kid?”

  “Fine,” he lied. “Who has my tour schedule?”

  “Tour schedules are published in all the trades. How do you expect anyone to buy tickets if they don’t know you’re going to be in concert?”

  “Do you publish a list of my hotels?”

  “No, of course not. That’s kept here at the office.”

  “Would you mind very much if I made my own arrangement next time?”

  “Too many fans showing up?”

  “Yeah, too many fans.”

  Thank God the tour will be over in three weeks, Liam thought as he popped a sleeping pill. I really need to see Patricia.

  * * * *

  Rick called Milo three weeks after his last confrontation with Bart. Someone beat the shit out of him once already for being late with his payments, and he desperately needed cash.

  He heard the phone ringing on the other end. Milo’s housekeeper answered.

  “Stamis residence. To whom am I speaking?”

  “This is Rick. Would you tell Milo I need to talk to him?”

  He heard her shouting at the other end. “Milo, Rick is on the telephone. He’ll be right with you.”

  Milo picked up the phone. “Rick, I’m surprised to hear from you. What’s going on?”

  Rick took a deep breath. “I’ll be up front. I’m in trouble and need some money, fast.”

  “Who do you owe, and how much?”

  “I owe the Jersey mob, man. It will take at least ten grand to get them off my back,” Rick said brokenly.

  “Drugs?” Milo asked with a hiss.

  “Yeah.”

  Milo fell silent on the other end. Rick feared he’d hung up.

  “If I give it to you, will you tell Sam and go back to rehab?”

  “Yeah, this time I will.” There was a short silence, then Rick said, “I don’t know if you’re interested, but I spoke to Liam.”

  Milo cautiously asked, “How is he?”

  “He’s on the road, but should be home in two weeks. Danny Hobbs is stage managing the tour.”

  Milo’s voice went flat. “Oh. Hobbs is still around?”

  “Yeah, but he only came back when the tour started. Didn’t see much of him before that. Sam and I mostly took care of Liam when he got sick.”

  Milo’s voice changed again, this time caution masking obvious worry. “I didn’t know he was ill.”

  “Oh yeah, big time. He’s still on antidepressants and sleeping meds, although his doctor is trying to wean him off. He can’t go on stage without them.”

  “Thanks for the update. I’ll wire you twenty, but you have to tell Sam.”

  “Sure thing. And thanks.”

  Rick hung up the phone, satisfied with himself. He got the money and warned Milo away from Liam at the same time. He’d call his bank and tell them to expect the transfer. He would be able to pay his dealer on account tomorrow, and maybe get something to get him through tonight.

  * * * *

  As soon as Milo got Rick off the phone and made the wire transfer, he called Sam.

  “Stein—”

  “Never mind the bullshit. Rick’s in trouble. I just wired him twenty grand. He owes the mob. You need to get him into rehab, fast. I think he owes more than he’s telling.”

  “Son of a bitch. Why didn’t he call me?”

  “Maybe because he’s ashamed.”

  “If I ever find the bastard who got him hooked, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”

  “Sam, Rick told me that Liam’s on meds.”

  Sam let out an exasperated sigh. “I can’t tell you the details, you know that. He’s under strict medical supervision. Believe me when I say he needs them. He’s fragile, I told you that.”

  “Rick also told me Hobbs manages his tour.”

  “Jesus Christ, Milo. Look, Hobbs is managing his tour because Hobbs is the only one I trust to take care of him. If Hobbs wasn’t there, Liam would forget to eat and just generally let himself go.”

  “Are they sleeping together?”

  “Damn it, you are a fucking jackass. I’ve been up against prosecutors who didn’t ask the questions you do. If you are still looking for evidence to prove to yourself you’re right, then you have no business asking about Liam. You left him behind years ago. What entitles you to know his personal business?”

  “I still love him.”

  “Talk to me when you can prove it,” Sam yelled before he hung up on him.

  * * * *

  Conchita stood at the entrance to the office. Obviously, she was eavesdropping. “Mr. Milo,” Conchita said, “if you want your man back, the first thing you need to do is dump the phony machismo. You should show what you feel, not hide it behind your ‘man of mystery’ persona.” She used air quotes around the phrase. “If you used that as your stage persona, off stage, you need to be real, son. This business of keeping everything you think and feel to yourself is what got you in trouble with your man the first time.”

  She stepped into the office. ”So now, you are suspicious again. What did you leave him with? Jackass. I’ve listened to you whine for years. You left that boy with nothing and no one. If he has a friend watching his back on the road, you should be glad he has someone. Obviously, he doesn’t have you.” She wagged her finger at him. “You threw him out with the garbage. You need to
do some hard thinking about what you want and what’s best for that boy you claim to care so much about.” Conchita stomped down the stairs.

  Milo laid his head down on his desk and began to sob.

  * * * *

  Six weeks after the end of Liam’s tour, Sam received two strange requests on an already off-kilter day. He’d hauled Rick off to Betty Ford after paying an additional seventy grand to the mob, in addition to what Milo sent.

  Liam called with the first request. He insisted Sam stop by and see him so he could change his will as soon as possible. The second came from Milo. He’d written a book of poetry and asked Sam to shop it around to publishers for him. On the first page, Milo’s dedication read, To Liam, my Sun.

  Sam gave it to Margot to handle. He was too disgusted to read it.

  Sam felt like he carried the earth on his shoulders, and unlike Rand’s Atlas, he couldn’t shrug. If he’d been taking care of business, his brother and his friends wouldn’t have made such a mess of their lives. He’d been too ambitious and blind to anyone’s concerns but his own.

  Christ, my own brother went to Milo for help before he came to me. What kind of man does that make me?

  He kept abreast with Liam’s sessions with Patricia. She obtained Liam’s permission to discuss some of the issues with Sam, especially those related to his music. Like Sam, she was hog-tied by confidentiality, and could only discuss things for which Liam gave his permission. Liam’s request to change his will seemed out of character. Liam usually let Sam handle all his financial matters. He hadn’t worried about any of this since he left Milo, although Sam brought it up several times. Now, all of a sudden it became urgent. He called Patricia, and she assured Sam that Liam was not suicidal.

  So what got him thinking of his death and its implications?

  Sam felt troubled as he pulled into Liam’s drive that night. It was the first time since the night Rick pulled Liam out of the bathtub that Sam went to the house. Liam did most of his business over the phone or e-mail, and only came in to the office to sign paperwork that needed to be witnessed.