Circling Vultures.....

[rage_rekker]

Rekker had finally settled in to living with someone in the house constantly. Maybe settled in wasn't even the right word for it, adjusted might have been more appropriate since he still found himself caught off guard walking into a room and seeing Bjorn. On the other hand, he was out running errands and stopped by one of his favorite Mexican places, family owned and he'd been coming since, well nearly since he had come to L.A. More than 20 years ago. The kids he knew then were now the ones cooking the food. Everyone knew the grouchy guitarist came in and they had one of his custom guitars on the wall, carved with the Mexican Eagle and signed. It hung over the cash register, had for years.

Rekker was pacing inside and mindlessly looking at the pictures and art on the wall while he waited for his order to be made. The Swede still hadn't developed a taste for hot food and the owner here had a laugh when Rekker told him why half the food needed to be chili free. Crossing his arms he paused to stare at the wall where there was a glass covered cork board. The rockers who came in here all left things and he was interested to see if there was anything new, anyone new coming in. Half of his mind was on looking over the pictures while the rest of it was wandering, distracted and unfocused.

“Rekker.... Sterling?”

“Hmmm?” The answer came before he turned to look at who was coming up to talk to him. It wasn't even a particularly focused response but a vague acknowledgement.

“I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

Rekker pulled his attention back, expecting to see someone there asking for an autograph or something equally common. This was his hang out and known enough that some times fans of Hexed or aspiring guitarists hunted him down here. He didn't mind those things but what he saw when he turned away from the wall of photos wasn't something he wanted to see. The note pad held close said one thing, a reporter.

“What?” His agitation and anxiety instantly shot through the roof, fingers tapping restlessly where they sat nestled in the elbows of his crossed arms.

“I just wanted to ask if the rumors were true that Hexed was potentially going to tour.”

There were worse questions that he could be asked though he wondered who had been listening in on their dinner a couple nights before, nearly a family dinner with the four bandmembers and Missy's children. He sighed heavily and glanced at the cooking area behind the counter.

“We're considering it.” The most non-committal, but also honest, answer he could give. The others still needed time to think it over and the talk of Missy's children, their schooling and other considerations had come into play. Those were none of this guy's business though.

“Ah.” The guy wrote in his little pad and left Rekker staring as he wondered why the hell what he said would be so hard to remember. “One more question.”

Rekker rolled his eyes. It was always one more question, ad infinitum, but he wasn't about to abandon his food and walk out. All he could do is stand his ground and hope the guy left sooner rather than later.

“I've heard you've been seen with a young, blonde woman recently. A new girlfriend?”

Rekker had to turn his back on the guy with his little pad and cover his mouth to try and stifle the laughter that threatened his aloof standing so far. Collecting himself he turned back around and shook his head. “No. I don't have a girlfriend.”

It wasn't a lie and it was on this asshole and his contacts if they couldn't tell a man from a woman. The Brit's hands slipped from the folded position to palms planted on his hips while he shifted. The topic stirred up his anxiety but he sure the hell wasn't about to whip out his medication and take it in front of no damned reporter.

“Then....?”

The question was left hanging and Rekker ignored it to turn back to the pictures on the wall. He'd looked them over twice now, why not fake a third go?

“Who is the woman staying with you?”

Rekker felt his skin crawl as he had every time he realized someone had been spying on his private life. It was part of fame that he never got used to. His eyes only shifted at first then he turned his head enough to glare disapprovingly at the guy, then his little pad for good measure. He sighed with an undertone of a growl.

The guy was messing around with things and despite all effort Rekker's angry curiosity pulled the guitarist's attention back to the person who had, more or less, cornered him while he was trying to eat. The guy produced a polaroid and it instantly caused Rekker to feel a crushing amount of anger and anxiety. There was a picture of him down at the beach sitting on the hood of his very distinct silver Firebird, Bjorn standing between his legs as they kissed. He remembered that kiss a few days before, nearly felt it from looking at the picture. A brief amusement passed under all the anger as he realized his leg was blocking the brilliant pink panties that Bjorn had been wearing that day, wet from swimming. Rekker had been waiting for him after getting a bad leg cramp that ended his swimming for the day.

“I know you've got a woman. How old is she? 18, 19, younger?”

Rekker swallowed another laugh. Part of him wished desperately that the Swede was here, instead of with his own band, to watch the tornado of bitching send this guy running.

“I don't have a girl, you dumb fuck!” he repeated while watching the wheels burn in his harassers mind. The confused expression coming so exaggerated that the laugh finally escaped from the Brit.

“What?”

That got the laughter completely free as Rekker snatched the picture, plucking it arrogantly from the man giving it one of the most ridiculous expression Rekker had seen in a long time. He shoved it into his back pocket and grabbed his food that was finally bagged and ready to go.

“Do you mean it's some guy from the Cathouse or the Troubadour?”

There was no way he was going to entertain that questions. Bjorn might be trashy but he wasn't that trashy. Instead Rekker paused on his way out and got into the guy's personal space.

“Leave us the fuck alone.” The tone backed him up until he dropped the little note pad. “I find out you've taken any more pictures and I'm going to break every one of your damned fingers so you can't take any more. Understand?”

He didn't wait for an answer but he did bend down and take the little pad before walking out. Who knew who else this piece of sleaze had side swiped while they were only living, doing what needed to get done. He deserved to lose all his notes for the stress that he was causing others.

Rekker paused once he was sitting in the car, watching the restaurant door as the guy came out, glancing around. Things were going to get ugly, inevitably the hounding would come and the paparazzi. One more check in the column convincing him that going along with the tour, with or without the rest of Hexed, was the right choice. He needed to make calls and get plans in motion. He wasn't in the right headspace to deal with weeks of people haunting every step to get the pictures. As he pulled away from the curb he was starting to ruminate on a plan to avoid the vultures out here. As much as he wanted to, he knew the moment Bjorn started coming around that this was inevitable. Some sleazy bastard was going to start the harassment and it would escalate. He didn't want to be here for it.