Page 2 of Deliverance

“Talk later, man. Gotta go.” I kill the call and slide my phone into the pocket of my leather jacket.

The car rounds the corner and enters the narrow alley filled with trucks. To my left, there’s a four-story parking structure and to my right, there’s a gray stretch of wall.

“Where the hell are we?” I ask the driver, gazing at the crew working one of the loading docks we pass.

“That’s the back entrance to the gallery.” He motions at the group ahead of us and pulls to the side.

“Right.” I slowly assess my surroundings. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared in case of an ambush, but there are no signs of paps or stalkerish super fans hiding in the shadows.

Relief fills my chest.

The driver rushes around to open the door and hot, dry air hits me with full force. Slightly disoriented from my twenty-two-hour flight, I step into the summer heat and take a deep breath.

Ah, home sweet home.

It’s great to be back in this concrete jungle of a city. As much as I hate skyscrapers, nothing beats the sense of belonging the place where we got our big break nearly two decades ago elicits in me.

Several heads turn to look in my direction and I recognize a few people. Smiles are tossed and hellos are said. A couple of braver folks flock over to steal a handshake. That’s business as usual when you’re rich and famous. Everyone wants a piece of you. Every man wants to be acknowledged and every woman tries to secretly grope your dick. But I’ve learned how to tune out the noise and only concentrate on the bare minimum, the minimum that helps me get through the night.

And…on three…

One. Two. Three. Smile and be humble.

When everyone has had enough and the crowd parts, Justice’s Manager, Dom, heads toward me from the inside. He claps my back in a casual, brotherly manner.

“How’s Bali?”

“Still standing.”

His small smile warps into a grin. “We didn’t think you were going to make it.”

“Come on, man. Who do you think I am? I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Dom’s gaze darts to the limo. “No plus-one tonight?”

“Flying solo.”

He gestures at the small door and I appreciate his eloquence. “Nothing wrong with solo, yeah?”

“Good for a soul from time to time.” I agree and follow him into the building.

We’re at the end of a long hallway, either side of which is lined with large picture frames. I can feel cool air flowing from above and lift my head. Exposed ventilation and beams linger behind the suspended light bulbs. I haven’t seen the entire place yet, but I can already tell it’s got character. The smell of money, expensive perfume, and the history these walls hold give it away.

Security guards greet us with nods as we stroll past the check-in desk.

“So how are you doing?” I ask Dom, staring at the row of prints to my right. Most of the artwork is too abstract for me to grasp its meaning. They’re just odd colors and sharp lines—the same thing you see in every contemporary gallery in this town. And I’ve been to plenty.

“You know, just hanging in there.” Dom doesn’t elaborate. He’s the kind of guy who’s too cool to be just your best friend’s manager; he’s your friend too, but make no mistake, he’ll rip your throat out if you even think of trying to harm his employer. He’s the rare breed of a person who knows to take all his secrets with him to the grave, not sell them to a publisher for a bestseller status promise and a six-figure advance.

Bottom line, I like the dude.

In this business, finding the right person to be your eyes and ears is hard. It’s not just about clicking. It’s about trust.

“Still single?” I pry.

“Comes with the territory.” Dom chuckles.

My gaze slides across the next frame we reach. The canvas is huge. Concentric slashes of gold and silver litter the black background. I slow my pace to get a better look at the artwork. It’s nothing special yet different, because it manages to hold my attention. And nothing has held my attention in a long time. There’s simplicity and elegance in this piece that you don’t see often. Just the right amount of color to offset the darkness, without making it something it’s not.

---