Beats of the Heart - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Miles sat at the kitchen island with his head in his hands. Danny was bursting with excitement and pacing back and forth.
"You're Requiem," he murmured. "Do you even realize what this means?"
Miles groaned. "I'm well aware of my identity."
"But you're famous. Like famous-famous."
"Not hardly. I have a fanbase, but it's nothing extravagant." Miles sighed and looked at Danny. "Please don't make this a bigger deal than what it is."
"Miles, this is a big deal. I have been your fan for years now. I have been dying to see you live, but you only perform at The Apple." Danny argued and sat next to him. "Half of my high school was in love with you. The other half wants to be like you."
"I just want to create music," Miles said heavily.
"Is that why you created Dirge Records instead of signing with another agency?"
Miles stifled a yawn. "Yes and no. It was mainly for creative freedom."
"What do you mean?"
Miles rubbed his tired eyes. "Big agencies are assholes and have misguided ideas of what music people should make. They demand that artists conform to their ideology.  They chase popularity over the beauty of free-falling music. I refuse to comply."
"Brian from Eclipse is definitely like that.  As I said, he's a creep." Danny smiled and laid his head down on the marble counter. "Shit. You have this whole secret identity thing going on. You're so fucking cool."
Miles chuckled and mirrored Danny's position. He closed his eyes to relish the coolness of the marble pressed against his face. "Not really. One of the main reasons I did the anonymous thing was to hide from Larry. I continued it because it was easier... until it wasn't."
"It's not anymore?"
"The label now has six artists under it. It's not big, but it's busy for one person to run it. I just want to go back to creating music." He released a long breath that bore the weight of his responsibilities. "Just don't tell Eve or Desmond that. They have offered to help, but they have their own busy lives."
"Can I help?"
Miles' eyes shot open. "What?"
Danny sat up. "I don't have experience, but I can be a gopher until I can take something off your plate. It's the least I can do for invading your space."
"You're not invading." Miles protested, but he seriously considered Danny's proposal. It would be nice to have someone help out. Danny could meet with his old professors when he was on campus. He could help with some of the emails and inquiries. Hell, Danny is organized and intelligent. He could even start taking over some of the tour schedules for his other artists.
"Please?" Danny pleaded while Miles was silent.
Miles sat up from the island and rubbed his eyes again. I wouldn't hurt to get help from someone he trusted. "I'm paying you to work for me."
Danny wanted to protest but closed his mouth when he saw Mile's stern look.
"It will not affect your studies. The moment your grades dip, I'm pulling you back." Miles explained.
"Deal!"
Miles stood up and placed his hand on Danny's shoulder. "Only Eve, Desmond, and now you know I'm Requiem. You can also tell others you work for Dirge if it comes up, but don't say anything about Requiem. Just say you don't know Requiem's identity; only Miles Mendez speaks to him."
"You got it! I won't breathe a word of it!"
Miles nodded. "I won't lie to you. I'm tough to work for. You will fuck up and make mistakes, but own up to it and learn from it. I expect nothing less than your best effort."
"I promise. When do I start?"
"Next week, officially. I'll get the employment papers filed. But now, I need some sleep."
Danny was alarmed. "Didn't you sleep before your set?"
Miles shook his head. "Too amped."
He patted Danny's head, stumbled down the stairs, and threw himself on the bed. He sighed heavily, a mix of exhaustion and relief. Having Danny would help until it was time to unload this business off to someone else.
He closed his eyes with renewed optimism and was swallowed into the darkness.
Miles and Danny had fallen into a routine, and time passed quickly. The summer had changed into fall, and Danny had been living with Miles for several months. The once silent home had become a hub of sound and laughter. He had never thought this sort of life was possible since his mother was hospitalized, but Danny had become a beacon of light for him. He had missed so much of his childhood, but now he swore to take advantage of the time he had with Danny and watch him grow into a man.
Danny focused on school for the most part, but he showed his worth working at Dirge Records. Danny had secretarial experience at their father's company and could adapt to Dirge's demands. He was also easy to get along with and quickly built relationships with the DJs. Soon, he was taking care of their basic needs when necessary.
At the same time, Miles was finding some reprieve from his usual bombardment of work. Soon, he found himself burrowing away in his basement creating. The many things he had put on the back burner were coming to life, and an album was taking shape. He hadn't been able to dream about this for the last couple of years, but with Danny's help, there was light at the end of the tunnel.
Danny had forced Miles out of his hermit lifestyle as well. He had forced him to interact with Eve and Desmond more, sometimes inviting them over for dinner.  Other times, Danny would have Courtney and Rob over for a study session. There was life inside his home.
As Halloween approached, Miles noticed decorations suddenly appearing inside his parlor. Pumpkins and fake cobwebs sat in the corners of his home, and themed candles were his table centerpieces.
He was examining one with a raised brow. He last decorated about a decade ago. "Tell me, how do these things keep appearing in my home?"
Danny, Courtney, and Rob laughed. They had their books sprawled over the table, and the notes were scattered about.
The three of them had these study sessions frequently. They would choose different locations for their meetings. Often, it would be Miles' home because of the space and proximity to the subway. However, they went to Courtney's cousin's home in the Upper East Side if they needed to be close to campus. Courtney's and Rob's place was much smaller, so they used their home sparingly, but the door was always open.
"Please tell me you proactively decorate for Christmas," Courtney asked with a grin.
Miles gave a slight shrug. "There was never a need to. I would spend the holidays at friends'."
He poked at the black skull candle placed in front of him. "I suppose things are different now. I can get a tree and do all that shit."
Courtney snickered. "That shit. Festive much?"
Miles laughed. "Maybe I'll just give you three some money and let you go crazy."
"Deal! You can't take it back!" Courtney's eyes lit up, and she bounced in her chair. "My cousin won't let me touch his place. He calls it tacky."
"Oh god, it's going to be tacky." Miles sunk his head into his hands. "Maybe we should rethink this."
"Nope! This is happening!" She unlocked her phone and went through online shops, picking different decorations.
"Court, it's not even Halloween. Do you really need to think about Christmas?" Danny called out from the kitchen.
"We only have 67 days until Christmas. Considering Miles has absolutely no decorations, we need to plan ahead." Courtney said as she continued to scroll on her phone.
"What are we planning on doing this Halloween? Normally we would go to Chad's party and get—" Rob stopped mid-sentence and gave Miles a panicked look.
Miles tapped the table and gave him a scrutinizing look. "Wasted?"
"No?" Rob shrunk his neck. His voice was meek, and he made his answer sound like a question.
Miles shot a glare toward Danny, who smiled meekly. Miles sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I shouldn't judge, considering the shit I pulled as a kid. But no underage drinking under my roof. Got it?"
"Yes, sir." They answered together.
However, Courtney had her phone on the table again and smiled coyly at Miles. "What kind of shit did you pull?"
Miles tensed and got out of his chair. "I should get to work."
However, Danny rushed up to him and blocked him. "Nope. You are not going to leave like that! Come on! I know nothing about your childhood.  Please?"
Miles gave him a helpless look before he sunk back down in his chair. "I used to hang out with this group of guys, and we would throw parties in abandoned warehouses and shit. They got a little out of hand."
"Seriously? When was this?" Danny asked, leaning on the table.
Miles shrugged. "For several years. Started when I was about 14, I guess."
Courtney and Rob launched into questions about the parties, but Danny wore a solemn look. He knew that Miles had some struggles as a kid.
"Why start so young?" Danny finally asked.
Miles sighed. "It was good cash while it lasted. The parties were hardcore money-makers. Real exclusive shit—you could only enter if you were invited. On top of that, everyone had to pay an entrance fee. We'd swipe tons of booze months in advance, and then I would DJ the entire night."
Rob fidgeted. "While it lasted? What happened to the parties?"
Miles' eyes were downcast. "People got greedy," he said vaguely.
Danny, Courtney, and Rob didn't need to know the dark things of his past.  The parties started innocently enough, but soon Miles' friends weren't satisfied with the profits from cheap beer. They decided to integrate something heavier. It started with Molly, and then more shit began to seep in. His friends became lax, letting anyone in who could pay, but it was a dangerous game when gangs owned the corners. Miles turned a blind eye to what they were doing, only trying to focus on music. However, he knew that they should have never caused waves.
Miles repressed a shudder, and his fingers brushed against the old scar on his side, one of the few sections he had not tattooed yet. He needed a reminder to make smarter decisions, so it remained.
Miles released a long exhale and forced a smile. "Make better decisions than me, kiddos. And if you ever find yourself in a situation where you need a way out, call me. You understand?"
Miles' voice cracked with emotion, but they didn't call it out. They realized there was much more to the story but didn't dare to pry. Instead, they nodded silently with careful gazes. Miles got up and retreated to his room downstairs. He collapsed on his bed, but his memories haunted him.
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Miles' high school friends were not savvy enough to deal in the streets. They kept slipping during the parties, and the gang who claimed the neighborhood had enough of their bullshit. They were surrounded as they were packing up after one of their parties. Miles didn't know that his friends had received a warning to stop, but they ignored it. It was a courtesy not granted to many, yet it was disregarded.
Miles could hardly recall the details of that night. He remembered standing on the makeshift stage and packing up his second-hand turntables. The party was a disaster and filled with tweakers and junkies. His music fell on deaf ears. He planned on abandoning the parties and figured he could pick up a few more jobs around the city.
However, as he bent over, he heard a series of loud bangs followed by screams.
In the streets, you know the sounds of gunshots. You memorize the drills to protect yourself. He needed to drop to the ground, hide, or run.
But that night, he froze.
He froze amidst the flashing lights of the gunshots. He froze as he saw his friends fall to the ground. He froze when the gun pointed toward him.
He only reacted when he felt a sharp pain on his side. He fell to the ground and gritted his teeth. The pain was nearly unbearable, and his eyes watered with pain.
He gasped for air, but his lungs shriveled when he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead.
He could hardly see through the pain.
"I know you. You're the DJ." The man above him said quietly. However, Miles couldn't say anything. His words felt like vomit burning in his throat.
"Yo, Jay! It's the DJ kid from Ice!" He yelled behind him. Miles shivered because Ice was one of the underground clubs he had worked at for years.
He heard other voices around him but couldn't make out their words. Another person approached him, and he assumed it was Jay.
"Kid, did you know about the shit your friends were doing?" He asked Miles.
"What?" He finally uttered.
"Did you know they were dealing?"
Miles shook his head. "Booze. I only knew about the booze."
"And your profits?"
"Just what they collected at the door. That's all. In my bag." He pointed to the backpack by the turntables.
He heard rustling and a low whistle. "Quite the earnings. I think I'll keep this."
Miles released a shuddering breath. He fully expected to die, especially when he felt a gun press against his head again.
Jay sighed lazily. "I like you, kid. But I don't buy the shit you're spitting. You knew they were dealing, but you didn't give a shit because you earned a buck or two. You looked the other way, and now that stupid choice left you with dead friends, a bullet in your gut, and a gun pointed at your head."
He lightly tapped his gun against Miles' head. "You may have made a stupid decision, but that doesn't mean you're a fool. Still, we can't risk you snitching about what happened to your friends."
Miles' knew the gangster was probing to make sure he understood that he couldn't breathe a word of this incident. He wasn't some hero or dark avenger. He was hardly a fighter, which was one of the reasons why he was practically pissing in his pants with a gun pointed at his head.
He also knew that he couldn't bring the cops in because they wouldn't give a fuck about a few drug dealers bleeding out. Most importantly, he couldn't risk any harm coming to his mother.
In the streets, it wasn't about the saying 'snitches get stitches.' No. Snitches fucking die. He had to prove to these people that he would keep his mouth shut.
"Snitch? I was never at my friends' party, so I didn't see or hear anything." Miles said between clenched teeth.
"And your gunshot wound?" Jay stepped on his side where the bullet was burrowed, making his wound burn. Miles gasped in pain.
"Mugged by the subway station. Fucker took my turntables and cash." He mustered out.
It was a good excuse to cover his ass. He just hoped that it was enough that the gangsters trusted him to keep him alive. He could sell this lie. He could claim he was never near the warehouses this night for the rest of his life. He just prayed he could survive long enough to be able to live that lie.
He heard several men laugh. "As I said, I like you, kid. You got some balls. Go to the club, Ice, to get patched up."
Miles stayed still for a while until he didn't hear any movement. He trembled as he scrambled for his backpack. His turntables were thrown to the ground and busted into pieces, but he was too numb to care. His eyes were focused on the bodies of his friends lying in a pool of their blood. He didn't need to check their pulse because he knew they were dead.
He couldn't cry or scream. He couldn't mourn. And most of all, he couldn't linger.
He limped out of the warehouse and barely reached the underground club. The owner seemed to be expecting him. They dragged him to a backroom, held him down on a table, made him choke down copious amounts of vodka, and dug out the bullet. They stitched him up and told him never to come back.
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The man with the gun, Jay, was right. He did know what was happening at his parties, but he chose to look the other way because he was earning a buck. However, his complacency almost killed him.
So many kids have died in the streets, but society doesn't give a damn about them. His friends would just be another statistic about gang violence.
So many of his other high school friends would meet the same fate, while others would be locked behind bars.
Then there were the few who escaped the streets. By the grace of a gangster, he was one of the lucky ones.
Miles breathed out a frustrated sigh. He knew he would not sleep peacefully. His nightmares would be plagued with echoing gunshots and the dying screams of his friends.