All Blues

by Marie Wathen

  “It’s Blues, tell me what happened.”

  “Let me step around the corner, I can’t hear shit over the damn squad car’s blaring ass siren outside,” he grumbles before speaking again. “No one here is talking, and I didn’t see what went down exactly...” All sound distorts, including Minder’s voice after he tells me that after Juan Arturo had a short conversation with Jude, a guy who he, Murph and Jerrik had been playing pool with all night, put a bullet through my partner’s head.

  Turning away from Angel, with the phone pressing against my ear, I mumble into my hand, “Damn.” I killed him. A ravenous creature lurks within a tight casing inside, barely controlling the heartless bastard, but this blow is like a jolt against the weakening stockade, threatening to eradicate its stability. I’m about to fucking lose it.

  Coming out of my reflecting, I hear a sharp scratching sound preceding another boisterous voice that shouts Minder’s name. Two seconds later, Murph is threatening someone, and then he is on the phone.

  “Talk,” I demand.

  Murph explodes, his voice rising with outrage, equivalent to the fury surging within me, but making his accent harder to understand. “I don’t know what the hell to do here, Blues. It’s a bloody fucking mess. Aye, Wise is gone, shot in the head by some piece of shit. Juan extracted his revenge, that motherfucker. Natalie is losing her shit, like, she won’t let anyone help her. I’m handling the crowd, but we need a cleanup crew.” Lowering his voice, he says, “Max said you could handle that part, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I breathe.

  “Also, Angel showed up here earlier. I lost the lass right before the shooting, and now I can’t find her anywhere in this goddamn club.”

  Stepping toward the balcony and controlling my voice, I whisper, “She’s with me.”

  “Thank fuck, man, like. Jesus, Joseph and Mary, I’ve been going out of my mind thinking…” he continues to ramble, so I interrupt.

  “I need to know what the hell…”

  “Aye, I’m on it,” he assures. After a short pause, he clears his throat, and then with a sympathetic tone, he asks, “Is she okay?”

  “No, but we can’t expect anything else, huh?” I answer quickly, glancing back at her staring at me. She pins me with a substantial perceptiveness, extinguishing all connection that we’ve recently formed. “I’ll take care of her. Call me back when you speak with him,” I order before ending the call.

  Needing contact with her, I sit and take her injured hand into mine, stroking my thumb over hers. Without looking at her, I say, “It’s bad, doll.”

  Her other hand lifts, as if she wants to console me, but she drops it immediately and demands, “Tell me.” Because I feel like I’m losing it all, I hesitantly lift my gaze, meeting hers. With clenched teeth, she stares me right in the face with tears welling in her beautiful eyes that are now ice cold with disgust.

  “It’s Wise. He’s dead.” Gasping, she shakes her head, and I deplore, “I’m so sorry.” Worthless words don’t provide any comfort. My angel has been replaced with a bitter enemy.

  Pressing her hand over her heart trying to fight back the tears, she rises off of the sofa and whispers sourly, “I need air.”

  Rushing out to the balcony, she disappears into the darkness of the frosty winter night. What we have is slipping right through my fingers into the coldness with her. For now, there isn’t a damn thing that I can do to stop it. Even dropping to my knees and begging her to understand won’t help. She must give me a chance to deliver justice for this cruel butchery. Looking at the ice-covered glass separating us, it feels like my world will freeze because of the distance both figuratively and literally between us. The pain is too much for her to share her feelings with me. But, I can’t give up, not yet. She’s pissed at me, but until after we’ve ridden out the wave of this anguish and my best friend is resting in peace, I won’t leave her side. She held the key to every one of my dreams and a lifetime of happiness, but now I can’t see any of that. With one fatal blow, I’m dead again, and I’ve lost it all. “I feel helpless.”

  Wanting to fight for us, I follow her to the door, but instead of stepping out too, I redirect toward the bar and pour another glass of whiskey.

  “Jude, I should have told you what was happening.” Staring into the swirling dark liqueur, I suck in a shaky breath. “Told you the secrets that Max swore me to, and if I could go back to the start...God, I am so damn sorry that I didn’t fight harder and stop this bullshit.” The tears burn hot in my eyes. I just want to scream that I am sick of this life. Clutching the bourbon glass in one hand, I slam my other fist onto the granite bar top. Guilt consumes me, the licks of a ferocious pyre ripples through every fiber within my body. I will be haunted by his death forever.

  Moving my attention to the woman standing beyond the closed French door, I make a silent declaration. This wasn’t just another kill. This is a personal war. For the pain that the fuckers have caused Angel and Wise’s family, I intend to make the guilty pay by dispatching each of them on a one-way train to hell.

  First, I need to erase my mistakes. After two rings, my supervisor with the APD, Chief Stockton, growls bitterly through the phone, “Who in the sam-hell is calling me at this hour?”

  “It’s Sloane,” I reply with a matching growl while keeping my eyes pinned on the balcony doors, wanting to get through this call before Angel steps back inside. “Chief, set up everything to get me out of here. Jude is dead, and I’m done.”

  I hear the rustling of bed sheets, and then he clears his throat, rather loudly, “Now, slow down, Sloane. What’s this about Kingsley?”

  Bitterly, I rush, “You heard me. I don’t have time to get into it, but I am out. So, pull strings, call the goddamn governor, or wake up whatever fucking judge you need to sign warrants for Nelson’s arrest, and then issue a motherfucking press release. I’m coming in, and I really don’t give two shits about who opposes it. I AM DONE!”

  “Woah now, I’m the goddamn chief, and you need to simmer down before I make a rash decision to can your ass.” His threats to end my career don’t speak as loudly as my heart, bleeding from the wrenching pain of losing two of the most important people of my life in one single night. To himself, the Chief mumbles, “Talking to me like I’m some raw recruit slacky on his first fucking case. Thirty-one years on the force, and I can still kick some young dick ass for refusing to obey a direct order.”

  “Chief…”

  I try to break in, but she shouts, “You’re gonna shut that trap and speak when I tell you.” I grunt and with a short pause, he tries to regain control over the phone call by reminding me of his clout. “Now, I’m the boss. So start from the beginning, and on this go-around you better provide more than just he’s dead and you’re done.”

  “Not tonight,” I argue, “Tonight, you get the shit done to bring that fucking bastard in, or I swear to Christ that the next warrants you’ll serve will have my name on them and the charge will be for murder.”

  “For the love of piss, I’m losing my patience with you, boy.” He blows out a heavy breath and then orders, “Hold on. I need to take another phone call on my other line.”

  With the immediate silence, my thoughts fade into my world, standing only fifteen feet away. The solid axis, which is supposed to rotate us, is more like an untamable crashing ocean, towing her further and further out of my reach. I wait ten minutes, but Chief Stockton doesn’t return, so I disconnect and then step out onto the balcony. Angel is wrapped in on herself, her head bowed with tears streaking down her cheeks. Blazing eyes lift to meet me when I ask her back inside. Unhappy with my request, she stomps in and then settles on the sofa. Then with her safely inside again, I call my city contact to order a crew down to investigate the scene in addition to the homicide detectives that should be arriving soon.

  With splitting sanity, I wade through the bullshit of my chief’s excuses and reach the conclusion that the department isn’t as concerned with one agent’s life than they are about prov
iding a sealed tight case for the most powerful drug lord in the south. For hours, I deplete every contact that I have trying to force his hand. But no one gives a damn about hearing me out. The instant that I say my name, my needs are discounted and I am rushed off the phone.

  My last call is to Max, and when he answers, I shred him, “Nothing would satisfy me more than seeing your face in front of me instead of having to speak with you on the fucking phone.”

  “Mr. Sloane,” he greets with a harsh tone, “Talked yourself into a corner tonight, I understand.”

  “What the hell do you know about it?”

  “Must I remind you that I have contacts everywhere?”

  “Lot of fucking good they did Jude, you sorry…”

  He cuts me off, “Is Sam still with you?”

  “Yes,” I growl glancing from the door to the clock, and then shifting my eyes toward the sun rising behind the Atlanta skyline dense with hundreds of buildings. “She should be waking soon.” It crushed me earlier when I went to check on her and found that half of her tiny body was draping off the sofa, shivering from the chill in the air. After locating a warm blanket from my bedroom closet and covering her without managing to wake her, I just sat on the coffee table memorizing every detail of her face. Even in her sleep, I could see her hatred for me etched solidly on her features.

  “Listen to me, Mr. Sloane,” Max warns, pulling me out of my memories. “This is far from over. Have you spoken with Nelson tonight?”

  After knowing what happened to Jude and that Juan was spotted at the club prior to his execution, I know that Nelson’s hands are covered with my best friend’s blood. “This is going to lead right back to him.”

  “I’m afraid you’re probably right about that. Hold off on following through with what you threatened Chief Stockton with earlier.”

  “Absolutely not. I can’t wait.”

  “You must,” he snaps before sighing loudly. “Until we get this influx of shipments under control, and Dr. A’s business is shut down, my hands are tied. I’m up to my ass in bogus leads, coming in from all over the damn world. What do you expect from me? Just like you, I am not superhuman.”

  “I expect you to do your job.”

  “Yes, I know. Sam is also counting on us to not screw up again. You must ensure that she stays out of sight until things settle down. Mr. Sloane, believe me when I tell you that she is unpredictable, and I vow to you that if left unattended she will go off half-cocked, searching for the one who hurt the people that matter most. You cannot allow that to happen. The Ryske case is too important to let your hatred rule you this time.”

  “We may have lost our only chance.”

  “Pray that isn’t the case, or many more people who we love will die because of this war. Decks has grown fond of Angel, and he inexplicably trusts her more than any other. Working together, you must convince him to come in before we truly lose our only chance”

  “I’ll get him, and you get the Ryske detail straight”

  “Very well, talk soon.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be in touch.”

  After slamming my phone down on top of the desk, I feel an urgent need to see Angel. I spin my chair around and then walk into the hallway. She is standing in front of the bathroom door, her eyes holding me in place. I need so badly for her to wrap around me and assure me that I am mistaken, that what we had isn’t destroyed by what happened last night. I need to hear from her lips that we can survive this hell. Unfortunately, she doesn’t come. Instead, of just hating me, I see something worse in her eyes, rolling out in turbulent waves. Angel fears me.

  Utterly defeated, I step into my bedroom, and then after stripping, I stand under the pounding water in my oversized shower, silently praying that she’ll join me and soothe away the heartache with her loving hands, just like I did for her once. Angel doesn’t come, and after drying off from my shower, I dress casually in jeans and a golf shirt before walking out into the living room.

  The silence that greets me scares the shit out of me. “Angel,” I call to the empty apartment. Moving around the sofa, I notice that there are no traces of her. “Motherfucker.”

  Grabbing my cell, I rush out the door while calling Max, “She’s gone!”

  “How long?”

  “No more than twenty minutes.”

  “Jesus, in Atlanta, she could be just about anywhere in that amount of time. I’ll make a few calls.” He’s right. Where the hell would she go? Decks’? Holidays’?

  “I’m searching the area, and then I’ll head home.” Inside the elevator, my signal drops, cutting off my phone call with him. My fist drives into the metal covering inside the elevator. “No!” I shout and then hit the damn thing again. “Goddamn Angel, baby, please don’t fucking run from me.” Once inside my car, I try calling him back, but it goes straight to voicemail. Shit! “Max, call me back!” Dropping my phone, I slow my breathing and try to get my shit under control again. “When I find you, baby, I’m going to tie that sweet ass down to my bed and then dare you to leave me again.”

  Pulling out of the parking garage, I cruise along every street slowly, looking down every alley for two hours. The aching empty hurt grows with every passing second. After driving away from the city, I retrace my path and head back toward my house, just in case she decided to return to Decks. Barely able to battle against the building sadness of Angel running away after Jude’s death, I spot a police cruiser parked near a metro bus sign about two blocks away from my apartment and decide to call in an old debt. Passing it, I park in front of the marked unit and step out of my car, walking directly toward my former partner. This area of town is his regular beat and lucky for me, he is on duty today. His attention is riveted on me as I approach his window, leaning an arm to rest on the door frame above his head.

  “Shit, I don’t believe what I’m seeing,” he says, pulling his aviators away from his face so that he can narrow his accusing blue eyes on me.

  Nodding once, I say, “Hey Spike, I was wondering if you could help me?”

  He laughs sarcastically. “You’re asking me for a favor?” I roll my eyes at his attitude, and he laughs more. “Sure, Mr. Sloane, just what can I do for you, sir?” he asks mockingly. Spike Serrano was my partner for three years, and when I left, I didn’t tell him my plan. Along with most of my department, he hates me passionately.

  “I’m looking for a young woman who may have walked this way. Could you tell me if you noticed her?” Before I describe her, he cuts me off.

  “I could, but it would probably be in her best interest if I don’t. So, nah, I’ll pass.” He slips on his sunglasses again.

  “Son of a bitch, Spike, I am concerned for her safety. If you’ve seen her, I need to know so that I can find her and protect her.”

  “This is a joke, right? Am I being Punk’d?” He turns his head from side to side, looking for someone to jump out with a video camera and shout ‘Gotcha!’

  “You owe me, remember? I saved your rookie ass during that shootout a few years back. I’m calling in that debt, here and now. She is a beautiful brunette,” I start giving out her details. He holds up a hand.

  “You are serious,” he states, removing a small spiral notebook and ink pen from his front pocket. I nod, and he says, “All right, give me the details and I’ll have dispatch send out an all points bulletin.”

  “No,” I insist, “This must remain off the main channel. Just check with your guys on this shift through your direct-connect radios.” He agrees, and I give him a full description of Angel. Unfortunately, no one has seen her.

  After thanking him for his help, I drive to my house and drop by Decks to see if she ran to him. He isn’t home either. I haven’t heard back from Max, and now, even he isn’t taking my phone calls. I am going out of my mind with worry and really feel like killing someone because of all of this debilitating pain surging through me. Eventually, night falls, and I sit in my quiet house all alone, gutted from the weight of an excruciating pain that I have never fel
t before. I get a text from Murph telling me about the arrangements for Jude’s funeral on Monday, so I schedule my pilot and finally drag my half-dead body up to my bedroom. Lying in the bed, I toss and turn for hours while willing my phone to ring with any news on Angel’s whereabouts. No one calls, and I am suddenly lonelier than I have ever been in my whole life. I can’t breathe without her.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Standing on the enclosed back patio, overlooking the black lake below my house, I gulp down my third cup of coffee waiting on my driver. My cell phone, gripped tightly in my other hand, rings, and I answer it quickly without first looking at the name.

  “Mr. Sloane, I’ve located her,” Max tells me, and I slip my eyes closed.

  “Is she okay and where…”

  He cuts me off. “She is safe, but doesn’t want to be found right now.”

  Finally, I breathe again, but it isn’t good enough. I need those eyes. Even though he can’t see me, I nod my head while reaching behind me to grab the arm of the patio chair and then sit. My voice cracks, when I say, “I need to see her.”

  “I understand, but let her come to you. Everyone must get through the next couple of days naturally. I expect you’ll make a trip up north.”

  “Yes,” I snap, and then calmly explain, “No one from the cartel is flying into Baltimore. I should be in the clear. I must see Natalie.”

  “As you should,” he agrees and then says, “Contact me when you return. We have several items to discuss.”

  “Count on it,” I threaten right before he disconnects.

  Jude, I let my thoughts linger on my best friend.

  A knock on the door behind me pulls me out of where my mind was just about to go. Glancing over my shoulder, I spot Bales.