The Way Out

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Lucien DuPont answered his cell phone on the third ring. He knew it would be Mick before he even bothered to check the call display.

“Hi. I know. I’m coming,” Lucien said. He looked around the office he was stuck in at the bank. The teller, a tall man named Andrew, had been nice enough to him—since he was a fan of the band in his college days, he’d casually mentioned—but he’d grown cold once Lucien insisted that he needed access to Mick’s accounts.

“We will have to discuss that with Mr. Anderson,” he said firmly. “As you are not a joint account holder.”

“Not even for an account ending in…” Lucien had given him the numbers to the shared account they’d had in college. There wasn’t much in that account—they’d forgotten about it the moment they were no longer sharing rent—but it was still something that linked him to Mick and his finances intimately, since his first plan of relying on his celebrity hadn’t exactly worked.

Andrew had located the account but found no money inside. When Lucien had pressed for a loan, that had been when he excused himself. Fifteen minutes had passed since then, and Lucien was pissed. Beyond pissed. He had a plane to catch. He had an album to re-record without the lead singer, Mick, who had basically torpedoed his entire life.

Lucien still couldn’t think about the scene. Everyone had been practicing for their upcoming show in North Dakota when a heavy knock sounded on the door. Police announced their presence, asking for Mick. They’d been so stunned that no one answered; Red even yelled for them to stop goofing around. So the police broke in, arrested Mick (who had been hiding in the bathroom), and that was that. Red, Clint, and Lucien all looked at one another, then to the space where their lead singer had once been.

“f**k,” Clint said first.

Red echoed the sentiment, then added a twist. “f**k. f*****g hell, motherfucker.”

Lucien was pretty sure he’d cursed, too, but his voice may have abandoned him entirely.

They’d gone on stage that night, after their manager Darla had insisted this was nothing to worry about, but they’d been bad. Downright awful. Clint did not have the charisma of a lead singer, but he sang backing vocals and was the most obvious person to take over. He mumbled into the mic for the first half; forgot some of the words for the second. He eventually learned that if he didn’t know what to say next, he should give the mic to the audience to sing. That saved them, as well as their cover story of Mick’s sudden illness.

But now a week and a half had passed. They’d played six shows without him, snaking their way back to LA. Mick’s arrest had made the news, but the exact indictment had not yet been released to the public. That would take some time, but it would come. Everything else surrounding the event was cryptic and unsettling. Something that, deep down, Lucien should have known was coming.

* * * *

Just like the phone call now. Mick’s slightly nasally tone was that much worse when he was upset. “Are you kidding me? How long does it take for a millionaire to find money?”

“Your money is in your name,” Lucien said. “And your wife isn’t answering my calls. She—”

“She’s been arrested, too, you idiot.”

Lucien bolted upright. The bank’s meeting rooms were all glass, and he was sure he looked like a startled rabbit. He tried to calm his temper. He ran a hand through his hair. “What do you mean?”

“She was brought in on charges. Associated with mine. Long story. I just need the cash for bail, if they set any, and—”

“Wait.” Lucien was caught off guard again. “I thought you said this cash was for bail? What do you mean they haven’t’ set it? I thought that was the only thing holding you back?”

“It is,” Mick insisted. “When they set it, I’m a free man.”

Lucien’s body flamed with anxiety. Did Mick understand how bail worked? They set it right away. They didn’t d**k around like this unless there was going to be no bail. Which only meant that his crimes were that much worse than he realized.

“I…I can’t get you money,” Lucien said. He noticed Andrew talking to another bank worker. His face was thin, expressionless. “We have nothing in our joint account, and I don’t think a loan will cut it.”

“I can’t believe this. Why can’t we use your cash?”

“Because mine is mine,” Lucien said, suddenly defensive. “What if you run with bail?”

Mick snickered. “I wouldn’t do that, Lucy boy.”

“Stop,” Lucien said. “This is serious. I feel like you’re lying to me. What’s going on?”

There was a long silence on the other line. Lucien’s heart rate quadrupled. What he once thought was a computer crime, maybe even an underage girl fan that Mick had been an i***t about, now spiralled into something so much larger and so much bigger than he anticipated. “Mick,” Lucien said slowly when he couldn’t take the silence. “You don’t need bail money. You need a lawyer.”

“I have one. They gave me one.”

“You need a better lawyer than that. And not the one that works for the record company. I-I-I know some names. I can see if they’ll take on your case, and when you have better access to your cash flow you can—”

“I like the idea of you getting me a lawyer,” Mick said. “But I think you owe me this one.”

“What?”

“I think you owe me,” Mick said. “A friend to a friend.”

Lucien swallowed hard. He closed his eyes. He thought of that first night on tour—not ever—but as a band signed with a real major label. Not one that produced records in their basement. Not a tour that would spiral them into debt. A record company with real coffers, with the resources to get them a real road show, perform real concerts, and make a real album that they all could be proud of.

That night would have been the best of Lucien’s life. Should have been. Except that his two worlds, the private life he’d struggled to stay private, and Mick’s horrific secret proclivities, had spiralled together. They’d mixed up their bags on the bus. He opened Mick’s laptop, found something he wanted to un-see forever, and Mick, of course, had found his own secrets.

“I have done nothing wrong,” Lucien said. “Things are different now.”

“Things are not different now, and you know that. You are still hiding.”

“I am not.”

“Fine. Then don’t get me a lawyer. See what happens next.”

Lucien breathed harshly through his nose. He saw Andrew coming back into the bank office. He as only a few feet away, but it was clear how this would go. No money from Mick, no shared accounts, nothing. But he did have enough, not in stocks, to provide a lawyer’s down p*****t. “Then I’m gone,” Lucien said. “I get you a lawyer and then that’s it. I’m not returning your calls.”

“I wouldn’t want to talk to you that much longer, anyway.”

Mick disconnected without another word. Lucien didn’t have time to lament the loss of his friendship. He understood he’d really lost it over a decade ago, with a terrible exchange of laptop bags. It was really startling that their friendship had lasted as long as it did. Everything else beyond that night had only been a very long after party. One that was finally ending—with a wicked, wicked hangover.

Another minute passed before Andrew sat down with a dismayed expression. “Unfortunately, since we do not have access to Michael Anderson, we are unable to process things as they are. However—”

“It’s okay,” Lucien said. “I have another idea instead.”