April 1998
The boss is angry at me because the investigation is going nowhere.
It’s not my fault that the fat blob has gotten so greedy that he’s even now bankrolling yet another group while the Backstreet Boys are suing him over *N Sync’s shows. The Boys fired their manager, who is now working for us.
I’m pretty sure Johnny Wright doesn’t know what kind of human garbage Pearlman is. He has to have his doubts about working with him, but Wright is not a bastard, so I doubt he’s in Pearlman’s other business.
But the agency can’t question Wright without making Pearlman realize we’re investigating him, and there is a limit to the questions I can ask without making everyone suspicious. The last thing I want is to draw suspicions towards me.
I’ve got more than enough to worry about.
The last time I spoke to my contact, he told me that they needed me to write a report on the group, and everyone’s personalities and attitudes, including ‘mine’. For the witness, they say, so he could get back to his life when it was all over.
I spent that night wide awake, thinking about what could I write to the kid, so he could get to know ‘his’ friends.
‘His’ life.
I can tell him what he will be coming back to, when it comes to it. I can tell him that Chris acts a bit insane, and sometimes can become a pain in the ass, but in truth is one of the strongest people I’ve ever had the chance to meet.
I can tell him that JC seems to be always in his own world, but sees and understands more than anyone suspects. Sometimes, I think he knows I am a pretender. But if he does, he has never mentioned it.
I can tell him that Justin wants desperately to be treated like an adult, and hates it when people tell him to enjoy his age. That he loves Britney Spears with all his heart, even when she doesn’t realize that.
I can tell him that Joey would do anything for his friends, even die for them if that was necessary. That behind his goofy grin and his carefree attitude, he’s actually a very responsible young man.
I can tell him that Lance is incredibly smart, which can be too dangerous for his own health but he isn’t deterred easily. Lance wants to know the truth, and he will do anything to find those truths.
I can tell him that -- and a lot more about the group, about all of us.
But I can’t tell him that my life is probably over, not even if he asks me why I am talking about ‘his’ identity as if it were not me.
The group’s faces are plastered all over Europe, Japan, and Australia. While ‘our’ look has changed so much that he won’t be confused with me anymore, now my face is very well known.
There are talks about doing a televised concert for the USA tour. If that happens, the only place where I could get to work undercover after this without going through extensive surgery is in the Antarctic.
Unless there is an MTV Antarctica.
I should have never accepted this job, and now I can’t get out.
It’s not even about that whale Pearlman. With the way my luck is going, the Backstreet Boys’ legal team will manage what the agency hasn’t and Pearlman will end up behind bars anyway.
But if I tell them I quit, if I ask the agency to remove me and put the witness back in...
I will miss them.
Even if I know I’m on borrowed time; even though I know I’ll have to give all this up some day, I want to stay as long as I can.
* * *
May 1998
“Joey, can we talk?” Lance knocked hesitantly on the door of Joey’s room.
“Sure, Lance, come on in.” Joey hadn’t been doing anything particularly important at the moment. They still had some time before the concert at MGM, so Joey had decided to relax and maybe try to sleep a little.
“Are you nervous?”
“A little,” Joey agreed. “After this, there’s no going back. We either make it or sink, right?”
“I don’t think we’ll sink, we’ve done well so far.” Lance looked down at his hands, with a tiny frown.
“What’s wrong, Lance?”
Lance didn’t answer immediately, worrying Joey. Lance had always been a bit distant with them all, but Joey always chalked it up to the fact that Lance hadn’t known them before *N Sync. But he was a nice guy, even if he was a little too curious for his own good. Joey and the others often joked about that. They said that when Lance was not working with them, he was probably pestering Michael, their floor manager, about the schedule for the whole month.
"I think that we’re doing far too good, Joey.” When Lance finally answered, he did it in a low whisper, as if he was afraid that someone might be listening. “I’m pretty sure we don’t know how much money we’re making for Transcon.”
"What? Why?” Joey frowned, but Lance shook his head.
“It’s just that something doesn’t add up, Joe; I don’t know.” Lance was focused on his hands, as if ashamed. “Look, maybe I am really paranoid and this is stupid but, what if the Backstreet Boys were right and Lou is just trying to milk them and us as much as he wants?”
Joey kept silent for a long time, before raising his head. “If I was sure, I would tell the others. And Lynn too, since she’s starting to work at Transcon. If I wasn’t sure, I don’t know.”
“I was thinking about telling Chris,” Lance admitted. “But I am afraid he’ll think I’m blaming him.”
“Why should he? It isn’t as if he knew what Lou did to the Boys, and you’re not implying he did. He’s in this the same as we are.”
Lance smiled weakly. It was no secret that Chris hadn’t been exactly happy with his addition to the group. Even after Chris had explained that it wasn’t something personal against Lance but anger at the fact that Jason had left them without a second thought, Lance still didn’t feel completely comfortable around the other man, not even after four years.
“I guess you’re right,” Lance sighed. “Look, as I told you, I’m not sure. Can you keep it to yourself for a while? I swear that if I find anything really suspicious, I’ll bring it up next time we five are alone.”
"Sure thing,” Joey promised, half hugging Lance. “And don’t worry so much, you’ll see it’s nothing.”
* * *
The witness is still safe, they tell me, and for that I am glad.
I’m not sure the group is safe, and the bosses won’t assign me backup for only a hunch.
It would bring up too many questions.
But I can keep my eyes open, and try to keep the others safe. I can be their bodyguard when the guys who are supposedly being paid to protect us wouldn’t notice something if it’s ordered from inside. Pearlman would know how to make anyone in the group disappear without alerting them.
There have been a couple of accidents that make me nervous. When we’ve been working to the point of collapse, it’s easy to miss a step on the stairs. When we’ve been eating too little, it’s easy to get sick.
I have the feeling that Pearlman has finally figured out that someone is asking too many questions.
And I really miss my gun.
Looking at the mirror, I can’t stop the smile that comes to my face. Four years and counting, I have practically buried myself inside this fake personality. No one who knew me then could recognize Agent Barr under the make up, dye, hair spray and fancy clothing.
I’ve come to grips with this. It might not be me, but as long as I have to play this part, I’ll not deny that I don’t see these guys as ‘probable victims’ but as my friends.
All of them.
It bothers me that I can’t tell them the truth. I can’t because if I did, I would be putting them in danger, because it would be going against everything we’ve done to keep the witness safe. But I wish I could because then I wouldn’t be lying to my friends anymore.
My contact knows that I have compromised feelings about this mission, although he doesn’t know how compromised they are. He doesn’t understand why I enjoy this, or why I look devastated when I think of it ending.
Sure, he says he envies me for the girls that throw themselves at me until I point out that many of those are underage and thus it would be a crime if I put a hand on any of them even if I was really as young as the guy I’m pretending to be; sure, he wonders out loud what will I do with all the money that’s going in the fake account that the bureau got for me when this started. But he doesn’t get why at nights, when the guys ask if I want to go out to a club, or just hang around and watch a movie, I enjoy staying.
But then, even though he’s been in this mission as long as I have, his contact with us is minimal.
He doesn’t understand that I have been living with them for four years, almost five.
That these guys are the closest thing I have to friends, because when this started, I left everything behind.
Six months into this, I had to break up a relationship that had lasted for three years.
A year into this, I couldn’t go to my brother’s wedding.
My family understands my job, but sometimes I wonder if they knew I was going to disappear so suddenly one day.
On the other hand, the guys have remembered every one of my ‘fake’ birthdays. They had given me gifts that I like- that *I* like, as well as the guy I pretend to be. The times when I’ve been really depressed, even when I can’t tell them why I get depressed, they have tried, each in their own way, to cheer me up.
I tattooed my ankle because it was a ‘group’ thing, even when JC couldn’t bring himself to go with us.
God help me, I am part of the group.
How am I going to be able to give this up?
* * *
July, 1998
“I’m free!!” Chris yelled as he came through the door. His smile was big, bright, and one had to be blind not to notice that finally, the braces were gone.
JC laughed and hugged him, while Lance, Joey and Justin watched from the other side of the room. They had been waiting for Chris to come back so they could go and give an interview before heading out to a concert.
They all agreed that the schedule was too tight some days. Justin had even commented that it would have been nice to give Chris a day or two to get used to not wearing braces again, but Lou had insisted it was not necessary. Just one more reason to hate Lou, was Justin’s opinion, which he shared with Lance later that same day.
Just as their security came in to inform them they were ready to go, Lance turned to say something to Joey. It was just by chance that he happened to see Joey watching Chris with a soft smile on his lips, a smile that only a fool wouldn’t recognize.
Since Chris was still laughing at something JC had said, Lance indulged in a silly smile of his own.
“They don’t know how good they look, do they?” he whispered to Joey, secure in the knowledge that Justin couldn’t hear.
"What do you mean?” Joey turned to see him, surprised.
“Joey, please, don’t insult my intelligence,” Lance shook his head. “Chris and JC.”
Joey frowned for a moment, before chuckling. “So I am not the only one who notices?”
Lance shook his head. Later, when they finished the interview and got to their shared room, they could talk a little more. For now, Lance was just happy to see that his suspicions were confirmed and that at least one member of the group wouldn’t be shocked to find out he was gay.
If he was lucky, maybe Joey could help him figure out how to come out to everyone else that mattered.
And he needed to talk with Joey. Of all of the group, Joey was his best friend, and the only one whom he completely trusted.
There were things that the group needed to know, and Joey could help him with that.
Before getting on the bus, Lance closed his eyes briefly.
He was feeling really tired.
* * *
April, 1999
This is it. I am not being paranoid.
In the past nine months, we’ve had 50 incidents during rehearsals.
We’ve all gotten injuries. Most of them minor, and none have leaked to the press, but I’m sure that my cover has been compromised. They know I’m here.
They don’t know who I am, though.
The incidents aren’t aimed at me. They’re aimed to harm anyone who is unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and has asked one or two many questions. Our crew is the most damaged, and the group has only suffered by chance. I’m pretty sure that Pearlman doesn’t want to harm one of his cash cows unless he’s completely sure they’re a danger to him.
The accidents aren’t fatal. They’re aimed to scare me.
Anyone who has asked questions, and I am not the only one. Due to the rumor mill surrounding the Backstreet Boys, even the temporary grip boys are asking questions.
It has become dangerous to try and contact my partner. And now it seems that the money trail goes outside Transcon.
Pearlman is guilty of murder. I have no doubt in my mind since the witness identified him without hesitating. But now my bosses are sure that he is not the head of the organization because the money trail disappears once it gets to Transcon. They think someone else is getting the money out of Pearlman, that Pearlman is just a rung in the big ladder. It’s not in the group’s accounts; it’s not in Transcon’s accounts. There are whole chunks of money missing. More worrisome, there are chunks of incoming money which no one can account for.
Five years and counting, and now they tell me that we’ve been looking at this the wrong way.
They even offered me an out. Last time I talked to my contact, he said that we could get the fat bastard for manslaughter, and then cut a deal with him so he would tell us where the money is going and where it is coming from.
I refused.
I don’t want Pearlman to get a deal. If he gets a deal, then we just wasted five years of my life and five years of the witness’s life. I’m going to do whatever it takes to get that fat bastard behind bars and make him stay there. And if I have to stay and find the head of the organization to do that, I will. I am not going to let the witness’s sacrifices, the band’s sacrifices, and my own sacrifices, count for nothing. I’ll follow this path wherever it takes me, and I’m going to see this through the end.
Hopefully by then, I’ll still have a place to go back to.
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