by A. Sparrow
A light appeared down the road, a rare event on this road. What were the odds that it was not Aaron?
Her spirits sank. Now she had to stick around. She pulled the notebook from her jacket and slipped it under the front seat of the van.
Aaron’s Saab pulled into the driveway. A young woman rode with him. His daughter? The engine clicked off. The ping of cooling metal punctuated the sudden silence. Footlights flicked on, all the way down the driveway. A floodlight over the porch made Aaron squint as he climbed out, beaming. “Aerie! I didn’t recognize the van.” He squinted at the logo. “Carpet cleaners, huh?”
“It’s … Ron’s. He … borrowed it from some uncle.”
“Is he here? Where is he?”
“Um … no. There’s been … something happened … in Ithaca.”
The young woman stepped out of the car, arced her back and stretched, hands clasped above her yet. Lithe and muscular, she was built like a ballerina.
“Aerie, this is Noelle.”
“Hi,” said the girl, as if the word had a question mark. She held out her long, limp fingers for Aerie to clasp. She looked in great shape for someone who had just been through a car wreck.
“You’re the one who was hurt?”
“Um, Noelle’s my friend,” said Aaron, looking embarrassed. “You’re thinking of Marta—my daughter—the one who was injured.”
“Oops,” said Aerie, sucking air through her teeth.
“No worries,” said Noelle. “I’m … flattered.”
“So Ron’s not with you, but this is his van?” Aaron crinkled his brow. “So how’s he getting here? Or more importantly, when?”
“He’s … not.”
“Huh? You told everyone we’re doing a Production, right? Quadruple pay?”
Aerie nodded.
Aaron sorted through his keys as he strode towards the door. He tried the handle. It turned. “Weird. It’s unlocked.” He crinkled his brow. “Have you been inside?”
“Um ….”
“Someone must have told you tell you about the spare key.” He flung the door open, reached in and flipped on the hall light. “Listen, I know it’s dark and creepy out here all alone, but in the future, I’d prefer that you not go into when I’m not home. I mean, unless I specifically ask you. Understand?”
“Sure.”
Aaron brushed past her. Noelle trotted right behind him, straight down the hall to the bathroom, her heels clicking on the hardwood. Aerie glanced back at the van. She wanted badly to leave.
“Come on in,” said Aaron. “Set up your bass.”
“Aaron. The jam … the Production … it’s not gonna happen. Not tonight.”
Aaron came back to the door. “Why not?” His eyelids fluttered.
“Ron and Mal … they were taken in by the police.”
Aaron sighed. “What now?” He tossed his keys onto an end table. “Oh, don’t tell me he stole that van.”
“Oh no. It was borrowed. But … it’s about the birdie.”
“The birdie? What about the birdie?” Aaron’s eyes peeled open wide. He swiveled on his heels and pounded down the hall and into the music room. He screamed as if he had been disemboweled.
Noelle scrambled out of the bathroom, hands dripping. “Aaron, are you alright?”
He stormed back out into the hall, his eyes wild and dangerous. “Where is it? Where’d they take it?”
“It’s gone, Aaron.”
“Gone? What do you mean, gone? It can’t be gone.” He stalked up to Aerie, knocking over an umbrella stand, his cheeks and temples tinged with purple, oozing menace. “What do you mean it’s gone?”
“Call Ron,” said Aerie. “He’ll explain. I-I’d … better go.” She backed away down the driveway.
“Hold on. You’re not going anywhere.” He stepped towards her.
Aerie scuttled to the door of the van.
“Oh no you don’t! Not until you tell me what happened to my sonant.”
Aerie scrambled into the driver’s seat. Aaron rushed over and grabbed the edge of the door before she could slam it, ripping from her grip.
“Get out of the car!”
“Aaron, how about we talk when you’re a bit calmer. I’ll call you. Explain everything.”
He grabbed her wrist and yanked her out of the van. She landed hard on the driveway and rolled face-first into a spiky bush.
Noelle shrieked. “Aaron! Don’t hurt her. Be nice!”
Aaron held out his hand to help Aerie up. He was out of breath, his face flushed. Aerie accepted his hand and he hauled her up roughly, tweaking her shoulder.
“Sorry,” he said, barely audible. His fists tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed. “Okay. Tell me. What happened?”
“You have to understand. It wasn’t my idea. They brought the birdie to a … a gig … downtown. It … got loose.”
Aaron’s mouth hung open. His cheeks quivered. “You. Let. It. Out?”
“The jar … shattered. It—”
“Bullshit,” said Aaron. “A bell jar wouldn’t shatter on its own. It had to have … help.”
“Well … no one touched it. I mean, it just shattered. We were playing … and it started going off … singing, I guess you’d call it, and then this electric guitar joined in, and then ….”
“Electric guitar? Who?” Aaron took a deep breath. He slumped like a ruptured hot air balloon, slowly deflating. “Where is it? Where did it go?”
“I’m not sure. It just crossed the road and went off into the dark.”
“Downtown? You let the thing loose in downtown Ithaca? What the fuck?”
Aerie shrugged. “It wasn’t my idea … to do this.”
“But you let it happen anyway. Didn’t you?” Aaron struggled to find words. His nostrils flared. His face reddened. “Jesus!” Noelle touched his arm gently, her eyes wide and worried.
“You take your shit and get the fuck out of here. The contracts are voided. I don’t ever want to see you … any of you … come here ever again. Pass the word. Understand? Never.”
Chapter 27: Searching
Blue lights strobed against a chaos of wind-bent goldenrod. Aerie had pulled the van up onto the un-mown shoulder and was searching frantically for the registration. She yanked a fistful of glossy brochures from the glove box. She popped open the center console, pulled down the visors, ran her hands under the seat and into the side compartments of each door. Nothing.
A lanky, backlit figure filled her side mirror. She rolled down the window. The wind scattered the loose brochures.
“Know why I stopped you?” said the trooper.
For helping unleash an unholy terror on the town of Ithaca, she was tempted to ask.
“No.”
“You were going 87 in a 45.”
She sucked air through her teeth and winced. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Registration?”
“I couldn’t find it. This isn’t my car. I was running an errand for my friend.”
He shined a Mag light in her eyes. It stung like a slap in the face.
“You had any alcohol tonight young lady?”
“I don’t drink, sir. Ever.”
“Turn the engine off. Put on your parking brake,” said the officer. “Let me have your license. I’ll be right back.”
Aerie sat mesmerized by the flashing, staring at the lights of Ithaca glittering in the valley below. Minutes passed. The trooper came back. She noticed an extra urgency to his gait.
His voice had turned gruff. “Out of the car. Hands on the roof.”
She tried to comply. “I can’t reach that high.”
“Put ‘em up as high as you can,” he said, losing patience.
He patted her down as another patrol car came storming up the road, lights flashing. It did an abrupt U-turn and slanted in front of the van, blocking it.
“Hands behind your back,” he said.
“For speeding?”
“Not quite. This truck has been reported stolen.”<
br />
“No way! This is Ron’s uncle’s. He said he borrowed it.”
“You have a right to remain silent. You have the right to an appointed attorney if you are unable to afford counsel. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”
“You’re arresting me? Wait! Call Ron first. I can give you his number. He can explain everything.”
“I’m taking you in. You can explain it all to the nice detective.”
***
Aerie spent the night on a vinyl-covered foam pad. They gave her an opportunity to call a lawyer, or call her mom, but chose to do neither. She felt like shriveling into a speck and slipping through the cracks in the floor. She didn’t want to deal any of this.
She had hoped to bump into Ron and Mal at the station, but they bypassed downtown and the police station she knew, taking her to some Sheriff’s office up on the hill. They took Ron’s contact info but were in no rush to call him. That her alibi was based on the word of someone taken in for questioning by the Ithaca Police did not particularly impress them.
She slept little. The moaning from the next cell over didn’t help and neither did the constant chatter of the men manning the duty. She lay and stared at a fist-size sky light in the ceiling. It framed a single star. She watched it slant across the window and fade with the coming of dawn.
She had to work that day. Morning prep. She wondered if the cops would let have her call now so she could call in sick to Reggie. She tried calling them over. They ignored her.
At eight, they brought her breakfast—a stale bagel and cream cheese sealed in cellophane and a plastic cup of orange juice. As she sat on her bench and nibbled on the bagel, someone came in and spoke with those at the front desk.
Around nine or so a public defender was due to drop by and she was going to go in for a round of questioning with a detective. It was early, but could that be him?
One of the guards came to her cell, all cheery. “Good news, darlin’. The owner’s not pressing charges.”
“I can go?” A surge of joy flooded through her. Ron must have come through.
“Yup. You still get two citations and a court appearance, for speeding, driving an unregistered vehicle, but you can go home.”
He turned and went back towards the office.
“Aren’t you gonna let me out?”
“Hang on, darlin’. We still got some paperwork to do.”
It was another hour till she was out of her cell, grungy and wrinkly and in bad need of a shower. The guard led her in her socks to a glassed-in counter outside the cell block. A woman shoved a form in front of her.
“Sign here.”
She did and in return was handed a clear plastic bag containing her jacket, purse, cell phone and shoes.
“That’s it? What about my other stuff?”
“Oh?”
“That van,” said Aerie. “It had my bass in it. My upright bass.”
“That vehicle’s not here, hon. The Staties probably had it towed and impounded at their yard. You’ll have to check with them.”
“Are they within walking distance, I hope?”
The woman scrunched her nose. “Not quite. Their barracks is in Freeville; halfway to Dryden. Here, I’ll give you a number for a cab company.” She scribbled on a pad and tore off a sheet. “Call them. They know us well.”
Aerie took it and stuffed it in her purse. She stepped outside. It was frosty. Her breath conjured puffs of mist, her jacket too light to ward off the chill.
She had been distracted and disoriented when they brought her in the night before, but she could see where they had taken her. She was nowhere near downtown. This was the county jail, up on the hill by the airport.
She was already an hour late for work. It would take at least another hour to get a cab and fetch her bass. She called Moosewood and asked for Reggie.
“Aerie? I was worried about you. I heard about your band and that bomb and everything.”
“Bomb? Listen Reg, I’m still coming in, but I’m gonna need another hour or so to get there, is that okay?”
“Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine. I just got pulled over for speeding and driving a car they thought was stolen and … well, it’s a long story.”
“Oh my,” said Reggie.
“But if I can get a cab to drop me home. I just need a quick shower and I can come straight in. I can stay late to make up for it.” She would worry about fetching her bass later.
“Where are you now?”
“Um. The County Jail. They just released me.”
“Oh my.”
“It’s okay,” said Aerie. “They’ve dropped the charges. Well, the really bad ones, anyhow.”
“Listen, Aerie. Why don’t you just stay home today, get yourself together. I’ll call you later.”
“You sure? I don’t mind … I’m ready—”
“Just … take of yourself. We’ll talk later.”
***
The squeal of door hinges welcomed her home. Aerie peeled off her jacket and collapsed onto the sofa, too weary to shower, too wired to sleep, too numb to think.
If she had her bass with her she would have played a little bit. Like a balm, making music soothed her, calmed her, no matter what the situation. It acted as a conduit to release whatever bad vapors had built up in her soul.
But now she had only an empty stand to look at. She couldn’t even fondle her ‘bag o’bones’—the remnants of the Prescott she had left with Aaron. Forget the nap her body was begging for, she needed to go looking for that Juzek.
She called the State Police in Freeville. They acknowledged that the van had been towed to a lot near the barracks and that before the charges had been dropped, some of the extraneous property within had been processed and secured separately as evidence. She could recover her belongings in person with two forms of ID. She got up off the sofa and went upstairs to get cleaned up.
After a long and luxurious shower, she felt a strong urge to commiserate with her fellow band members. It didn’t matter who. Too many weird things had happened. She needed to talk it out.
She had Ron and Sari’s cell numbers, at least. She tried Sari first. Her phone rang five times and transferred to voice mail. Trying Ron, she got a message that his number was no longer in service, which made no sense. He was taking calls on that number less than a day before.
She threw together a quick sandwich—paper thin prosciutto and heirloom tomato on crusty bread. It made a fine antidote to her bland breakfast. She ate it on the run, approaching her car with trepidation, hoping it was drivable.
It started right up, much to her surprise and pleasure. No engine light. Nothing untoward.
She zoomed up out of the valley, past Cornell, its peripheral parking lots and orchards, The State Police barracks was easy to find. She pulled into their fenced lot and strode with purpose and a tingle of anticipation over being re-united with her Juzek. Swinging through the glass door, she approached the desk with her purest, most nonchalant smile.
“Hi there. Some belongings of mine were in a van that got impounded last night. I came to pick them up.”
“Name?” said a woman with a bristle of short-cropped honey-colored hair.
“Walker. Aerie Walker.” She slapped her passport and a driver’s license onto the counter.
Her fingers did a quick, little tap dance on her keyboard. “Just a moment.” She went into a back room. She was gone for a good ten minutes before returning with a quart-sized plastic bag bearing Aaron’s composition notebook.
“Here you go. Just sign here.”
“Wait a minute. What about my bass?” A tingle of alarm prickled Aerie’s skin.
“I’m sorry?”
“There was a bass, as well, a large, acoustic upright bass in the back of that van.”
“I’m sorry ma’am. This was the only personal item in the vehicle. The rest was just carpet cleaning equipment.”
“No way. That big, black thing in back? That was my bass.
”
The woman pursed her lips. “Let me take your information. I can ask around.”
“Take me back there. I’ll show you. There’re papers in it with my name, I’m sure. I think there’s even a checkbook zipped into one of the side pockets.”
“I’m sorry ma’am, but the van’s not here. The owner picked it up earlier this morning.”
“What?” Aerie’s stomach dropped. “You just let him drive off with my $6,000 bass?”
“I think someone would have noticed if there was a bass in the back.”
“It was there! I loaded it into the van, myself.”
The woman’s eyelids fluttered. “The officer who handled this is off-duty. I can look into this and give you a call. Alright? It’s the best I can do.”
***
Something like a fever possessed Aerie as she drove downtown, quivering her stomach, making her breaths shallow and quick. That bass had better not be stolen.
When her Prescott had been destroyed, she had search for months at luthier and pawn shops from Ohio to Maine for one that felt the way the Prescott under her hand, and had a sound that could both cut through horns and fill a room. She had failed, the Prescott was one of a kind, but the growl of the Juzek had charmed her nonetheless.
The engine light came back on to haunt her. The car still ran just fine, so she ignored it. She circled around the Commons, and pulled into a patch of cracked and weedy parking lot off Green Street. She rushed around the back of the abandoned print shop.
The green hulk of a shiny, new dumpster lurked around the corner, and in it was the remains of Ron’s little shanty. The space behind the building had been stripped to bare concrete.
Aerie hovered, stunned, scuffing her feet on the pebbles. She tried dialing Ron again, but got nowhere. She turned and walked slowly back to the car.
She called the hospital next, to see if Eleni might have been admitted. The receptionist wouldn’t tell her much, other than that no one named Eleni Tark was currently listed among their patients. Come to think of it, her wounds, while extensive, had been fairly superficial. She had probably been treated and released.
Aerie sat in the car watching the traffic zoom by in pulses released by the light cycles. She tried one more thing—dialing 411 to get a number for Mason’s Carpet Cleaning. It turned out they were based in Cortland, one county over to the east. She felt a tingle as the number connected, only to listen to a recording, announcing their bankruptcy and thanking their loyal customers. It was just as Ron had said.
