Shades of Blue

by Bill Moody

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “No. Well yes, I mean, I don’t know. Yeah maybe I do.”

  I nod. “Tell me about it.”

  She rubs the bandage on her leg. “I was so lucky. A lot of it’s hazy, which is probably a good thing, but when he pointed that thing at me, I remember thinking, you’re cool, you have the vest on, but looking down those double barrels, they looked like big wide pipes.” She shakes her head. “I was stupid, moved in too fast. The guy panicked when he saw me.” She looks away for a moment. “That’s how you get killed.”

  “I heard Rollins or one of the guys, yell ‘Gun!’ and then I heard the blast and fired. It was like somebody kicked me in the leg, knocked it out from under me.” She closes her eyes, remembering. “Ted says I hit him in the stomach with my shot. Then I was looking up at a paramedic in the ambulance.” Her eyes meet mine. “I was scared, Evan. I really was.”

  I don’t say anything for a long moment. “Was that the first time? Have you been shot at before?”

  “Never. Never even fired my gun before this except on the range and I hope it’s the last.” She manages a smile. “Anyway, how was your day?”

  “Fine. Did a little practicing, thinking, you know.”

  “About?”

  “Cal, finding this woman Jean Lane, the recording session.”

  “It’s important to you isn’t it? The recording session. I’m not going to pretend to know how significant the recording session or Roy Haynes is.”

  “Well imagine I’m a rock keyboard player and I got invited to record with Eric Clapton or—what’s that noisy band you like—U2?”

  “Okay okay, I get it.”

  I laugh. “It is important, but so is Cal and so is finding Jean Lane.” I look at her. “Want to have a conversation about that?”

  Andie sighs. “I guess we need to.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Okay, let me go to the bathroom first.”

  I start to help her but she waves me off. “I can make it.”

  She comes back in a few minutes and sits down again. I refill her coffee and lean against the railing facing her. “Okay, where do we start?” she says.

  “I have to know about that file, Andie.”

  “Evan, honest to God, I have no idea what happened to it, and I did ask Ted. He has no explanation but I’ve been thinking about it. There wasn’t much in it. It was just routine, a background check, wants, warrants, little history, but nothing that would help you find this Jean Lane woman or how she was connected to Cal.”

  “You don’t think it’s too much of a coincidence that it’s that particular file that’s missing? I mean this is the FBI. They’re not sloppy filers. Isn’t everything logged in or something.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you otherwise.”

  “What about Rollins? He doesn’t like me and the feeling is mutual.”

  She waves her hand in the air. “I pulled that box before he even knew about it.”

  I sigh, knowing I’m not going to get anymore. “Okay, but can you help me out on this or not?”

  “I can try.”

  “Fair enough.” I run upstairs and bring back a manila envelope and drop it on her lap. “The photo I told you about, the note Cal left, it’s all in there. Take a look and think about it. Maybe you can come up with something.”

  Andie nods. “Okay.”

  “I’m going to take a shower then we’ll get some dinner. How about Mexican? There’s a pretty good place in Guerneville.”

  Andie licks her lips. “Oh, tacos, enchiladas, you read my mind.”

  I head for the shower wishing I could.

  ***

  “So what do you think?” Andie is wolfing down her second enchilada and spooning beans and rice on a tortilla.

  She nods and swallows. “I like Guerneville already. This is so good.” She leans back and takes a long pull on a Corona.

  It’s good to see her eat. Probably her first real meal since the shooting. “Better watch it mixing beer with those pills.”

  We’re at a family owned restaurant I’d heard about and the food is good. It’s the kind you line up and order, then they bring it to your table. “Now that I’ve plied you with food and drink, what about my questions?”

  Andie leans back and looks out the window, then back at me. “Look, I know this is important to you, I understand that, but I just don’t know how much help I can be. I looked at the photo again and I agree with Coop. It’s most likely Cal’s baby in the carriage, and given the note he left, I’d say he was feeling considerable remorse and regret. He knew his time was up and wanted somehow to make amends, or at least try in his own way. He made you the instrument, but something was left out, something he couldn’t bring himself to tell even you, either in person or in the note.”

  I take out the lighter I’d found among Cal’s things. “I found this too,” I say, handing it to Andie.

  She turns it over in her hands and looks at the inscription. “Kind of makes it all real doesn’t it?” She hands it back to me.

  I nod. “Can you remember anything from that missing file at all?”

  Andie shakes her head. “What I do remember is there was nothing in there that pertained to this Jean Lane woman. Like I said, it was a routine background check. We didn’t go very deep.” She looks away again then back at me. “We just wanted to know who you were hanging out with. ‘Known associates’ is the Bureau term.” She sees me frown. “Come on, Evan, that’s the way the Bureau works. We were bringing you in to help with profiling on a case no civilian had any business being involved with.”

  I sigh and know she’s right but it still bothers me. “So what about searching those data bases? Maybe you’ll get a hit.”

  “I can try to swing it, but these records are scrutinized carefully. There are a lot of restrictions now. I can’t just log on and go searching without some justification, some connection to a case. Every time an agent logs in, it’s there for the record and I’d have some explaining to do.”

  “So that’s a dead end too?”

  She shakes her head again. “Look, I’ll do what I can, maybe see if I can clear it with Wendell Cook. He liked you. But even if I can get authorization, there are no guarantees. There is so little to go on and Jean Lane could be anywhere, remarried, dead, who knows.”

  She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry, baby, that’s the best I can do.”

  “I know, I just wish I had that file on Cal. Maybe something in there would trigger a thought, an idea.” I put my hands up. “Okay, I’ll stop for now. You want to go?”

  Andie smiles. “Yes, I want to go home and lounge on that comfortable couch with you and fall asleep watching a movie. How does that sound?”

  “Like a plan.”

  Back at the house, Andie struggles up the stairs, leaning on me heavily. While she changes into a thick robe, I find there are two messages on my machine. One from Dana, the other from Roy Haynes’ agent Larry Klein, to call as soon as I can. It’s already after midnight in New York, so that one will have to wait till morning, and I’m not about to call Dana with Andie hovering around.

  We settle on the couch and find an old movie on Turner Classics. Ten minutes and Andie is already yawning, her head against my chest, my arm around her. “You want to go to bed?”

  “No, I just want to stay right here for now.”

  A half hour later, she’s sound asleep. As carefully as I can, I slip my arm out from under her and get up. She stirs briefly but stretches out and I cover her with a blanket. Taking the phone with me I go out on the deck and light a cigarette and call Dana.

  “Hi, Dana. Hope I’m not calling too late.”

  “No, not at all. How is Andie doing?”

  “Fine. She’s conked out already. Mexican food, beer, and a couple more Percodan.”

  “Lethal combination. The reason I called is that guy Al Beckwood called. It’s a
good thing you had your calls referred to the new number.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Not much, just that he wanted to know who I was and send his condolences about Cal.”

  “Did he leave a number?”

  “Yes. It’s a different one than before. Got a pen?”

  “Hold on a sec.”

  I go in the house, glance at Andie, and grab a pen and pad of paper.

  “Okay, go.” I copy down the number but don’t recognize the area code. “Any other calls?”

  “Yes, some agent for Roy Haynes. He wants you to call as soon as possible.”

  “Yeah, he called here but we were out.” I hope Haynes hasn’t changed his mind or something. “And nothing more from Brent Sergent.”

  “Nope.”

  “Good. Let me know right away if he contacts you again.”

  “I will, don’t worry.”

  “Thanks, Dana.”

  “Do you have to go?”

  “Yeah, I really should. Got to check on Andie.”

  “Well good night then.”

  I catch the note of wistfulness in her voice. “We’ll talk again soon. Night.”

  ***

  Andie is still asleep when I get up at seven. I make some coffee, take the phone out on the deck, and call Larry Klein. I get his secretary but she puts me right through.

  “Evan, Larry. Thanks for getting back to me so soon. We need a favor.”

  By we, I assume he means Roy Haynes and himself. I try to form a mental picture of Klein, legs up on his desk, phone head set, stack of messages to get through. “Well, if I can, sure.”

  “Outstanding. We’ve got a conflict on dates. As I’m sure you can imagine, this is a nightmare, scheduling a half dozen busy piano players. Anyway Herbie Hancock has had to cancel the date we booked him for, last minute thing he can’t get out of, and Roy has a conflict with the alternative date Herbie suggested, and we have studio time booked while Roy is in New York, so—”

  “You want me to drop out.”

  “Drop out? Oh no way, man. The gig is solid, a commitment. We want you to take Herbie’s date. We were originally going to schedule you for later. Just want to move it up. Any way you can swing that?”

  I look back into the house and see Andie limping toward me, a cup of coffee in her hand “Sure, I guess so. When’s the date?”

  I hear some movement, as if he’s swung his feet back down to the floor. “This is the killer. It’s next week. I know it’s a drag to hit you with this so last minute, but, hey, you know, shit happens. Can you help us out?”

  What choice do I have? If I say no I could get cut out later with somebody else’s cancellation and I do want this gig. When, if ever, will I have a chance to record with Roy Haynes? I glance at Andie. She is leaning on the railing of the deck but I know she’s listening. “Okay, next week is fine.”

  “Outstanding. That’s just great. Roy will be very pleased, and I am forever in your debt. I’ll send you the tickets and book a room. You and a guest for the weekend. My treat. It’s next Friday, two o’clock at Avatar Studios.” He double checks my address.

  “By the way, who’s the bass player?”

  “Hang on, let me check.” I hear him shuffling through some papers. “Eddie Gomez or Ron Carter. Not sure yet. Gotta scoot. Call me if you need anything, and thanks so much. You’re a prince.”

  He hangs up before I can say goodbye.

  Andie watches me sipping coffee. “Next week is fine for what?”

  “The Roy Haynes recording session. The date has been moved up. I have to go to New York.” I watch Andie’s face for some reaction but there’s none. “Look, I can call him back and—”

  “No, no,” Andie says. “I’ll be fine. I can get around and by next week I’ll be much more mobile. I know this is important.”

  “Want to go with me? They’re booking a room for the weekend and it’s on them.”

  Andie sips her coffee, looks away for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. You’ll be busy and I won’t be much good hobbling around New York City, getting in and out of cabs.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” She smiles. “I’ll be fine. Really, Evan, it’s okay.”

  I still feel a little guilty, but I take Andie at her word. “Okay.” I look around. “You hungry? I’m going to walk over to that little market and get a few things, maybe take a walk, stretch a bit.”

  “Sure,” Andie says. “I feel almost ready to join you.” She runs a hand over her leg. “I would like to get this bandage changed though. How far would we have to go to find a hospital?”

  “Guerneville. There’s a clinic there. I’m sure they could do it. I can call.”

  “I’ll do it. I can give them my insurance number. Do you have any cellophane wrap or plastic bags?”

  I shrug. “Plastic bags for sure. What for?”

  “I’m going to wrap something around my leg and take a shower.”

  Under the sink, I find several plastic grocery store bags and hold up a couple. “These do?”

  “Perfect. Go to the store and take a walk. I’m going to try and get my old self back.”

  “Okay, see you later.” I grab my cell phone and trot down the stairs and out to the street. At the bridge, I start to turn toward the store, but then decide to walk across the bridge and check out the movie theater. I’d never been there but it might be a good diversion. Maybe I can talk Andie into a movie.

  I stop in the middle of the bridge and lean over the concrete railing, looking at the Russian River flowing below. It seems higher than usual and I’d been told about flooding but it’s still way under the bridge. With the redwoods and hills as a backdrop, the scene is like a postcard. Farther up the river I can see houses lining the shores and wonder what they do in high flood water.

  Continuing across the bridge, I check out the movie marquee. There’s a fairly recent thriller playing with a starting time of seven. I stand for a minute, debating on whether to walk the mile or so to the post office but decide against it, and retrace my steps back across the bridge and turn right to the small family run grocery store.

  I get a bagful of things—bacon, eggs, milk, some lunch meat and cheese, and a few bottles of beer. I start back to the house when my cell phone rings. Setting the bag down in front of the Elephant Bar, I open it.

  “Evan, it’s Roy Haynes.”

  “Oh hey, how are you?”

  “Much better. I checked in with Larry and just wanted to thank you for helping us out on Herbie’s cancellation.”

  “No problem.”

  “Well it would have been, so I appreciate it. Got some tunes down?”

  I tell him my three ballad choices.

  He pauses a moment. “Let’s go with ‘Porkpie Hat.’ It’s not recorded enough.”

  “Cool. How about Invitation for the up tune?”

  Haynes laughs. “That would work fine. We’re all set then. I’m looking forward to this. See you Friday, and thanks again.”

  “My pleasure. Bye, Roy.”

  The bag feels lighter in my hand as I walk back to the house. I feel the surge of excitement flow through me and it increases as I see Andie. Her hair is still damp and she’s wrapped in my big terry cloth robe. She comes over and reaches up on her toes to kiss me.

  “God I never thought a shower and washing my hair could feel so good,” she says. She eyes the grocery bag. “Goodies?”

  “Bacon, eggs, toast sound okay?”

  “Mmmmmm, yes, I’m starving.”

  “Coming up,” I head for the kitchen.

  “I called the clinic. I can get in at one o’clock.”

  After breakfast, Andie finds something to read while I run through “Invitation,” trying out some variations on the changes, then call her upstairs. “What do you think of this?”

  I play through “Goodbye Porkpie Hat,” as Andie listens. Even on the electric keyboard it sounds good to m
e.

  “Beautiful,” she says. “Just gorgeous. I’ve never heard that before have I?”

  “Not unless you know Charlie Mingus.” I tell her about the tune, how it was written for Prez.

  She nods. “Makes you think about Cal, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it does.” I turn off the piano. “Let’s get you to the doc.”

  The clinic is right off Main Street in Guerneville. We get out of the car and Andie eyes the steep stairs. “Not very good planning,” she says, but I point to the ramp entrance so it’s not nearly as bad.

  Inside, the nurse-receptionist has Andie fill in a form and checks her insurance card. The nurse’s eyebrows go up a bit when she sees the attached FBI identification. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

  There’s only one other person there, a young woman who looks over six months pregnant. She and Andie exchange smiles as we sit down to wait. When Andie is called in, I flip through some very out of date magazines, then finally go outside and have a cigarette. As I start back in Andie comes through the door.

  “I’m all set,” she says. “The doctor told me the wound is healing just fine and I should do a little walking so it doesn’t stiffen up.” She links her arm in mine as we start down the ramp. “He also told me as long as you don’t lean on me too hard, we can do it tonight.”

  I look at her. “You asked him that?”

  ***

  Despite her brightened spirits, and mine, Andie takes another long nap while I do some more practicing on “Invitation,” and “Porkpie” feeling as good as I have in a long time. When I finish, I pick up the rubber ball I used for so long when I was rehabbing my hand and wondering if I’d ever play again. I squeeze it hard and smile.

  When Andie wakes up, we have a sandwich and she seems well rested and eager to try the movie theater. “Good test for my leg,” she says. “I can make it across the bridge.”

  She only has to stop once as we walk over and find a large crowd in the lobby waiting to go inside. Everybody seems to know everybody. Andie takes it all in. “Nothing like a small town is there.”

  She eyes the snack bar and catches sight of a handwritten sign about homemade sausages. “Goodies,” she says. “I want one of those, some popcorn, and a coke.”