There was
only one clerk at the front desk that night, and when Nick approached, she was
sitting down, reading a magazine, completely oblivious to what was going on in
the lobby around her. Thankfully for
both of them, it was deserted, but the two men he’d seen dumping the body could
have walked in with guns, knives, or the sheet-wrapped dead body itself, and
she probably wouldn’t have noticed. This
was not comforting to Nick.
Crossing
his arms on the countertop, he leaned over and said, “Excuse me.”
He expected
the girl to jump, but she calmly put her magazine down and stood up, arranging
her face into a pleasant smile. “How may
I help you?”
“I lost my
room key. I was mugged,” said Nick. It wasn’t far from the truth, but he couldn’t
help but wish he had only been mugged.
The clerk’s
heavily-sculpted eyebrows furrowed together as her brow creased in
concern. “Oh no, that’s terrible!” she
sympathized. She had a strong
Philadelphia accent. “Well, don’t you
worry; I’ll get you another key. What’s
your room number?”
He told
her, and within minutes, she was sliding a new room key across the counter to
him. “There you go. You have a nice night, now.”
“Thanks.”
Nick rode
the elevator back upstairs, grateful that at least he hadn’t been ambushed on
any fans in the midst of this ordeal. He
used the new key to unlock the door to his room and let himself in, then
quickly shut the door behind him and fastened the deadbolt. Kevin would have a hell of a time getting in
later, but Nick didn’t picture himself sleeping anytime soon; he’d be up to let
Kevin in.
He sank
down on his bed, wishing he’d followed Kevin’s advice and never left it. Even though he’d caught his breath, his heart
was still beating fast. He wondered if
he’d ever be able to relax enough for it to slow down to normal again. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, rigid,
but eventually he removed his baseball cap and kicked off his shoes. Drawing his knees to his chest, he sat back
against the pillows and stared blankly at the TV. He hadn’t turned it off before he’d left; his
Sonic game was still paused on the screen, ready to be resumed. I
should’ve just kept playing it, he thought miserably. What am
I gonna do now?
That was
the big question, wasn’t it? What
now? What was he supposed to do in this
situation? He’d witnessed two thugs
dumping a body. The obvious answer was
to call the police. But what then? Could he identify them? He thought of how he’d describe them – two
men, both in their late twenties, dark complexions, likely Italian or Latino,
muscular and fit, tattooed… He tried to
remember specific tattoos on the arms of the man who had held him. He couldn’t.
Would that description even help?
It seemed so generic; it could fit countless men in Philadelphia. He had seen their faces, but it had been
dark. Would he even recognize them in a
line-up? And what good were faces
without names? The only name he had to
go off of was “Joey.”
And yet, he
did have a name. And he had seen their
faces. And they knew he’d seen their
faces. They’d seen his, too. They had his wallet, which meant not only did
they have his room key, his cash and his credit cards, but his driver’s
license, too. His identification. They knew more about him than he did
them. They knew his name, where he lived
(where Mandy lived, anyway; he hadn’t gotten around to changing his address
before he’d left for the tour), and where he was staying. If they made the connection between the
scared kid named Nickolas G. Carter and the famous pop star, Nick Carter of the
Backstreet Boys, then they would be able to figure out where he was headed
next. He could report them to the
police, but if his lousy eyewitness account wasn’t enough to implicate them,
they could follow him for the rest of the tour, if they wanted to.
If.
There were so
many “ifs.” What if they’d bought his
act and believed that he’d mistaken them for muggers, that he hadn’t seen a
thing? After all, they had let him go on
the bridge. They hadn’t followed him
back to the hotel, as far as he knew.
What if he just kept his silence?
The body would be found eventually, and that would be enough to start an
investigation. Surely, there would be
some other piece of evidence that would lead back to the two men. He wouldn’t have to be involved in it at all.
But he was
involved.
Sighing,
Nick got up from the bed and paced across the room, his mind racing as fast as
his heart. There was no finish line to
his thoughts; they just kept circling back around to his dilemma of what to do: involve the police and risk retaliation… or
keep his silence and hope they would keep their distance.
In the end,
he decided to sleep on it. Maybe he’d
wake up in the morning and find it had all been a nightmare. Or, at least, he would have a clear head and
be better equipped to deal with it then.
Reluctantly, he unbolted the door for Kevin and crawled into bed. He turned the TV off and left the bedside
lamp on, then curled into a ball beneath his covers and lay absolutely still,
his ears straining for suspicious sounds in the silence. His body was exhausted, but his mind was wide
awake, still replaying the scene he had witnessed, still firing questions he
couldn’t answer.
Every time
he heard footsteps or voices in the hall, he sat bolt upright, his pulse
pounding in his throat. Every time the
footsteps or voices faded away, he let out his breath in a sigh of relief and
lay down again, until the next time.
Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore.
He jumped out of bed and pulled his jeans back on over his boxers. Jamming his baseball cap on to hide his
disheveled blonde hair, he took his room key back downstairs to the front desk,
where the clerk was back to reading her magazine.
“Excuse
me,” he said again.
The girl
looked up. “More problems with your room
key?”
“No…
actually, I was hoping you could move me to a new room.”
She arched
one of her thin, black brows. “In the
middle of the night? I can see if we’ve
got one available, but can I ask what for?”
Nick
shifted his weight. “Well… I told you I
got mugged, right? The muggers still
have my other key, and… I guess I’m just worried they’ll… they’ll come back
and…” He trailed off awkwardly, hoping
she’d understand.
“Oh, I’m
sure you don’t have to worry about that, hon,” said the clerk, waving one
well-manicured hand. “Our key cards
don’t have the room numbers on ‘em, see?
For that just that reason – security and all. Even if they came here lookin’ for you, they
wouldn’t know what door it opened. And
why would they? They got what they
wanted when they took your wallet, right?”
Nick forced
a weak smile.
“By the
way, make sure you call and cancel all your credit cards; you don’t wanna be
dealin’ with fraudulent charges and all that,” the clerk added wisely.
“Right,”
agreed Nick, who had already decided to wait on that, too. If the two men were stupid enough to use his
credit cards, it would make them easier for the cops to trace. “So… about the room…?”
“You still
want a new one? Well, alright… I’ll see
what I can do…” She moved to her
computer and started clicking around. “I
get where you’re comin’ from,” she remarked, her eyes fixed on the screen. “Peace of mind and all that. Here we go.
There’s a room open on the floor below the one you were stayin’ on
before. That gonna work?”
“That’s
fine,” said Nick gratefully. He waited
while she made the switch on her computer and gave him his new key card.
“You need
help movin’ your luggage?” she asked.
“No. I got it.
Thanks again…” He paused to check
her name badge. “…Karissa.”
Karissa
smiled. “Fuhgeddaboudit,” she replied in her thickest accent, winking.
Nick took
the elevator back upstairs and, within ten minutes, had moved all of his and
Kevin’s stuff out of the old room and into the new one. It looked much the same as the one on the
floor above, but he reminded himself that there was no way the murderers would
be able to get into this one with his key.
Kevin
sounded annoyed when he called to tell him they’d switched rooms. “In the middle of the night? Why?” he demanded, sounding a lot like
Karissa, the desk clerk.
“I saw a
roach,” lied Nick, who had already invented his cover story. He was not about to trouble Kevin with the
truth tonight. “It got under the bed,
and I couldn’t find it. It freaked me
out. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Nick…”
growled Kevin, but he didn’t complain any further. Nick knew he was enough of a neat freak that
he couldn’t blame him for moving out of a roach-infested room. He wouldn’t have slept there, either.
“I already
moved your stuff. You can stop at the
front desk and get your key on your way in.
When do you think that’ll be, anyway?” added Nick, hoping the question
didn’t sound too childish. As much as
Kevin bugged him, he knew he would feel better with his “big brother” in the
room. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to
sleep until Kevin was there.
“I dunno,
Nick. We’ll get back when we get
back. I gotta go now. Goodnight – don’t let those bedbugs bite,” he
added, before he hung up.
It was
Kevin’s idea of a joke, but it wasn’t bedbugs – or roaches – Nick was worried
about, as he curled up under the covers again and tried to sleep.
***
It took a
long time, but eventually, sleep found Nick – and, more importantly, Joey and
his pal did not.
When he
woke the next morning, his memories of the previous night were too vivid to
have just been a nightmare, so that hope was dashed. On the other hand, he was still alive and
safe in his bed, so at least one prayer had been answered.
Despite
coming in late, Kevin was already up, drinking a cup of coffee and watching the
news. Just like an old man, thought Nick, sitting up.
“Mornin’,
Kaos,” Kevin greeted him. “Didn’t cause
too much of that last night, did you?”
“What?”
“Chaos,
dummy. You didn’t cause much chaos last
night?”
Nick’s
heart jumped the gun and started racing again, as he pictured himself
scrambling up the steps to the bridge and zigzagging through the streets,
trying to evade capture by two murderers.
“No,” he said. Kevin stared at
him for a moment, apparently awaiting some sort of punch line, but Nick was too
tense and too tired to make jokes. He
avoided Kevin’s gaze, looking instead at the TV. “Can you turn that up?”
Kevin
raised his bushy eyebrows, but adjusted the volume with the remote. “Since when do you care about the news?” he
asked.
Nick
shrugged. “Since now.”
“Okay…” Kevin took a sip of his coffee and returned
his attention to the news, which was running sports highlights.
“The Phillies lost to the Chicago Cubs at home last night,
2-8. Along with a Cubs win, star slugger
Sammy Sosa scored his sixty-second homerun of the season with two outs in the
top of the ninth, pulling him ahead of Mark McGwire, his rival in last year’s
homerun race…”
Nick,
normally a sports fanatic, tuned out the baseball report, wondering instead if
there had been any mention of a missing person or a body found in the
river. They won’t find it yet, he told himself. Not
with that concrete block weighing it down.
Not if they don’t know where to look…
On the TV,
the newscast had cut to a perky female news anchor, who smiled as she said, “And in entertainment news, teenage girls
from the Delaware Valley and beyond are already lining up outside the First
Union Center, where pop sensation The Backstreet Boys will perform their first
of two sold-out shows tonight…”
“Would you
look at that?” Kevin muttered with a smirk, shaking his head in disbelief as a
camera panned down a line of fans sitting among blankets, sleeping bags, and
tents, chanting, “Back-street Boys! Back-street Boys!” “I mean, did you ever think it would be like
this?”
Nick forced
a laugh. “No, man. No way.
That is crazy…”
“We’re sure
lucky, though, ya know?”
“Yeah,”
Nick echoed hollowly, managing to nod.
“Lucky…”
***
“You okay,
Nick?” Kevin asked later.
Just as
he’d promised, they were standing in front of the Liberty Bell, on their way to
visit the nearby Independence Hall.
Despite what he’d told Kevin the night before, Nick usually enjoyed
sightseeing like this. History was his
favorite subject, and it was interesting to see the places and objects from his
history books in person. They didn’t
always have time to be tourists in the cities they traveled to, but playing
consecutive nights in one place made it easier.
Even so,
Nick dreaded two more nights in Philadelphia.
He couldn’t focus. He was
constantly looking around and over his shoulders, all too aware that he was
standing out in the open and paranoid that the men from last night were
somewhere near, watching him, waiting for an opportunity to silence him before
he could speak.
Apparently,
Kevin had noticed.
“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine, why?” said Nick, perhaps too
casually.
Kevin’s
sharp, green eyes narrowed. “You seem
kinda… jittery. More than usual,
anyway.” He offered a teasing smile,
which Nick returned weakly.
“You know
me… ADD…”
“Yeah, but
you’re not bouncin’ off the walls. You
sure you feel okay?”
Drop it, Kevin, thought Nick. “Dude, you wanna feel my forehead? I told you, I’m fine!” Hoping his angry tone was enough to ward
Kevin off, Nick moved away to stand by AJ instead. AJ wouldn’t give him the third degree, even
if he did notice something was off.
Nick knew
he had been quiet and strangely subdued that day. He’d blamed his behavior on a bad night’s
sleep, which was not a lie – he had slept poorly. He wasn’t tired, though; on the contrary, he
was almost too alert, his paranoid mind racing, as it had last night.
He still
hadn’t decided what to do, and there had been no time to contact the police,
even if he had wanted to. The guys had
been anxious to get out on the town before they had to be at the arena that
afternoon for soundcheck. Nick knew they
would listen if he told them what had happened, but he didn’t want to involve
them unless he had to. It was better
that they didn’t know. It was mental
torture, what he was going through, and he hated the idea of inflicting it on
anyone else.
“Yo, you
comin’, Kaos?”
Nick’s head
snapped to. He had spaced out, lost in
his troubling thoughts again. The others
were heading slowly toward Independence Hall.
Only AJ had hung behind to make sure he was still with them.
“Yeah,” he
said quickly, hurrying to catch up. “I’m
coming.”
***
There was a
crowd waiting when they arrived at the First Union Center that afternoon.
Nick’s
heart began to race again, as he peered out through the tinted glass of the van
they’d piled into for the ride down to the venue. Throngs of people lined both sides of the
drive, pressing against the barricades that had been set up to preserve the
path into the arena. There were plenty
of security guards patrolling about, but they were greatly outnumbered by the
fans. Nick’s eyes panned the crowd carefully,
searching for dark men among the masses of screaming, shouting, crying,
bouncing girls. If the thugs from last
night wanted to hunt him down, this would be the perfect opportunity. Despite the security, they were out in the
open and could easily be swallowed by the crowd.
“Well, this
is gonna be fun,” said AJ, snickering.
He sounded sarcastic, but there was a gleeful smile on his face. Despite the fact that he’d once had his foot
run over by their van as a result of such fandemonium, he loved the thrill of
fighting his way through a crowd of ladies, all screaming his name.
Nick, who’d
had his clothing torn and his hair pulled out too many times, did not. And on that day, with his paranoia
skyrocketing, he especially dreaded it.
He wanted to smack Howie when he heard him ask, “Do we have time to sign
some autographs?”
“You
kidding, D?” he asked desperately, gesturing wildly out the window. “Look at that! You’re just asking to get maimed.”
“Not me,
buddy,” chuckled Howie. “You’re the
Chosen One.”
Nick
groaned.
“Five
minutes,” their bodyguard, Marcus, called back from the front of the van. “You can sign for five minutes, and then
we’ll tell them you’ve gotta head inside.”
“And then
they’ll all step back in their orderly, single-file line and politely let us
through,” added Brian, with a sarcastic grin to match AJ’s. “That seems fair.”
The others
laughed. Nick felt nauseous.
Growing
impatient, the fans started to chant again.
“Back-street Boys! Back-street Boys!” As soon as the van doors opened, the cheer
was lost in a swell of earsplitting screams.
Nick had to
force himself out of the van behind AJ and Brian, who were already waving to
the crowd. He pasted a smile on his
face, but his eyes continued to dart around, like an animal who sensed it was
about to become prey. His only comfort
was that almost all of the fans who had gathered appeared to be female. He noticed one man in their midst, but as he
was overweight, balding, and wearing a Backstreet Boys t-shirt, Nick didn’t
take him for much of a threat – not in that way, at least.
“Alright,
people, the Boys have a few minutes for pictures and autographs, as long as you
stay cool!” Marcus shouted above the frenzies shrieks. “No pushing, no grabbing, and stand back!”
AJ, Brian,
Howie, and Kevin walked over to the barricades, where the fans were reaching
and clawing for them like a horde of hungry zombies. Reluctantly, Nick followed. They spread out among the crowd, Sharpies in
hand, scribbling their names on CD jackets and posters, whatever was handed to
them, and passing them back without even looking. Fans screamed their names from all
directions, begging them to come closer.
Cameras flashed in their faces; hands grabbed at them, pulling them in
to pose for pictures. Nick figured he’d
have a blank, deer-in-headlights look in most of them, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to get it all over with and
retreat to the safety of the venue.
He was
turned sideways, leaning over the barricade with his head close to a pretty
girl who had slung her arm around his waist while her friend took a picture, when
it happened: he felt a hand grab him by
the hood of his jacket and tug him backwards.
Expecting the impenetrable arms to clamp around him next, Nick cried out
“NO!” and scrambled to get away.
“HEY!” he
heard Marcus yell, as he flung himself forward, jerking his arms free of the
jacket sleeves and stumbling out of his attacker’s grasp. “I said no grabbing!”
Nick
stopped, straightening up. He turned and
looked back, his heart sinking at what he saw.
The whole crowd was staring at him, their expressions confused, none
more so than the teenage girl who stood holding his limp jacket in one hand, a
look of dismay on her round, young face.
“I… I’m
sorry,” he heard her stammer, her eyes darting uncertainly from Marcus to
him. “I just… I wanted to know if maybe
I could get a picture?”
Nick wanted
to sink through the ground. Instead, he
forced himself to walk back up to the barricade. “Sorry,” he mumbled to the girl. “You just caught me by surprise is all. Here, you want a picture?” He stretched his arm across the barrier and
around her shoulders, leaning in while she held her camera at an arm’s length
to snap the photo.
“Thanks,”
she said shyly, when he released her.
“Um, here’s your jacket.”
“Keep it,”
Nick muttered, as he turned away. He
went straight to Marcus. “I’m done,” he
said shortly. “I’m headin’ in now.”
He could
feel the eyes on his back as he made a beeline for the backstage door.
***