“He told me—”
“Wait a minute!” Squeaky voice or not, Pete knew how to make himself heard. His words cut across mine like a knife. “What’s this really all about? Are you a cop?”
Like I may have mentioned before, guys aren’t always good about picking up on the obvious. I was much too well-dressed to be a cop (well, except for Quinn, who was much too well-dressed to be a cop, too, even though he was a cop). “I just sort of ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time as far as Vinnie was concerned,” I told the band right before I remembered that old saying about being in for a penny and in for a pound. I wasn’t sure what money had to do with how much something weighed, but I knew all about taking chances. And about how if I didn’t, I might not get the opportunity again.
“Actually,” I said, glancing around at the bandmates, “it’s not just Vinnie I’m here about. What I’d really like to figure out is what really happened to Damon and how it’s keeping him stuck here on earth.”
Amazingly, the mention of an almost forty-year-old death was exactly what was needed to bring Mind at Large together. I could practically see a wall go up. The band on one side. Me on the other. Oh yeah, they were wary all right, and realizing it, my Spider-senses tingled.
As if he knew it, Mike looked me up and down. I had a feeling that for the first time, he was really seeing me. “You one of Damon’s bastards?” he asked. “You don’t look like him.”
“And duh, I’m not anywhere near old enough!”
“Then why do you care?” The question came from Alistair. Since it was the first completely civil thing I’d ever heard him say, I paid attention.
I was tempted to come up with some story to make them happy, but I opted for the truth, instead. For one thing, if I expected them to take Vinnie’s warning to heart, the least I could do in return was be honest. For another, there was already too much hot air in the room. I didn’t want to add to it.
“I care,” I said, “because I happen to know that Damon isn’t resting in peace. And because I think his death and Vinnie’s murder might be connected.”
“Except Damon wasn’t murdered.” This, from Ben.
“Yeah, that’s the story, and who am I to dispute it?” I didn’t want Ben to think I was singling him out, so I looked from man to man. “But you all know Damon had too much to look forward to. He wouldn’t kill himself. He was heading out on his own.”
“That’s what Vinnie told you!” Mike’s expression just about screamed, Aha! “Ain’t nobody else knows that but us, so it has to be. Is that what you came here to do? Accuse us of something? Blackmail us?”
I threw my hands in the air. “What did I come here to do? Honestly, I don’t know. It sure isn’t because I want anything from you. Any of you. I’m just trying to make sense of it all. If Vinnie didn’t tell me—”
I was tired of trying to explain and getting nowhere fast. I dug in my purse and pulled out Dan’s digital tape recorder. Before I turned it on, I looked over my shoulder and into the control room. Techie Number One and Techie Number Two didn’t look so bored anymore. Bernie had a donut in one hand, but he wasn’t eating it. The roadies had gathered around just on the other side of the glass wall, their heads bent, anxious to hear more.
I remembered how Ben had communicated with the control room earlier. “Can you make it so they can’t hear us?” I asked him, and when he hit all the right buttons—I knew because the expectant look on the technicians’ faces dissolved—I turned on the recorder.
“Careful. Danger. The group…” Vinnie’s familiar voice scratched out the words. The guys bent closer to hear. “One. One more will die.”
I flicked off the recorder. “Anybody need to hear that again?”
Since nobody did, I slipped the recorder back in my purse.
Suddenly sober as a judge, Mike shifted from foot to foot. “What are you going to do?” he asked.
“What am I going to do?” I parroted the question and thought through my options. Sad but true, I had only one. “I’m going to investigate Vinnie’s murder. There’s got to be a connection, and it’s got to lead back to you guys. And maybe to Damon, too. So…” I glanced around the circle. In an effort to hear the recording better, the bandmates had all moved closer, and one by one, I looked them in the eye. “Let’s start by coming clean. Did one of you have something to do with Damon’s death?”
“That’s bull.” Alistair snapped out of the shock of hearing his dead bandmate’s voice. He scratched a hand through his straw-colored hair. “None of us had a reason.”
“You all had reasons.” I shouldn’t have had to point this out, but since nobody seemed willing to cop to it, I had no choice. “He was going to destroy your careers.”
“But he didn’t, did he?” Ben’s grin was anything but pleasant. “He might have thought that walking out would ruin Mind at Large, but the band only got better.”
“Like you’d know.” Pete snorted. “You weren’t part of us then. You never would have been. If Damon lived.” Pete’s eyes lit, and he pointed a finger. “Frame Forward was trash, man. You were going nowhere. Until you joined us. You had the most to gain.”
“Yeah, just like you”—Ben emphasized this with a stab of one finger every bit as accusatory as Pete’s—“had a reason to kill Vinnie. So we’d start recording your songs for a change.” Ben puffed out a breath of annoyance. “You all had as much at stake as I did. None of you were anything without Damon. Which means every single one of you must have been mad as hell when he said he was leaving. You were dead in the water, man. You would have stayed that way if I didn’t step in.”
“Bollocks!” A vein bulged in the side of Alistair’s neck. “You were the one who wanted to be our lead singer. You wanted it bad. Bad enough to kill Damon?”
“Bad enough to kill you to shut up your stupid mouth.” Ben kicked aside the nearest chair and went after Alistair.
And in one pristine moment of clarity, I realized that Vinnie’s message from Beyond was spot on. These guys were in danger.
What Vinnie had failed to mention was that they were going to kill each other.
Truth be told, I figured the sooner, the better.
I didn’t bother to say goodbye. I grabbed my purse and headed out the door. When it closed behind me, it shut out the sounds of the new argument breaking out.
But only for a moment. Before I got even as far as the control room, the door banged open and the guys stomped out.
“Had it with these assholes,” Ben called into the control room. “I’m outta here.”
“Can’t stand them anymore,” Alistair yelled. He pushed past Pete and nearly ran me down to get by me.
“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Mike called, and Pete added, “Maybe.”
And all I could think was that no matter what they were paying the guys back in the control room, it wasn’t enough.
I stepped out of Ajaz offices and back into the creepy warehouse, and though I wasn’t alone, I didn’t feel any more comfortable than I had when I walked in the place. Now instead of having to worry about mysterious noises and puddles of ooze, I had to wonder who was going to punch who before we made it as far as the door.
The way I remember it, we were almost there when the first shots rang out.
Chapter 14
The second I heard that first ear-cracking shot and the crazy, ping-ponging echo that bounced from wall to wall and caromed off the ceiling, my emotions took over.
And who could blame me? I had a history with this sort of thing. A hit man once tracked me down at the cemetery and tried to shoot me.
Experiences like that are hard to forget.
Just like then, I choked on my fear. My stomach flipped. My heart pumped high-test adrenaline. Every bone in my body turned to mush. Fortunately, I’d learned a thing or two from my experiences with the local mob. Duck and cover was one of them.
I went down like a rock, and grit scraped my cheek. Too late, I realized I’d dropped right into a puddle of I
-don’t-know-what. I didn’t have the luxury of switching my position. Another shot splatted into the floor not ten feet from where I was huddled with my arms over my head, and about a million tiny chips of cement rained down on top of me.
I heard Ben gasp and feared the worse—until he grumbled something about crushing a new pack of smokes. Pete whimpered, and though I hadn’t realized she was behind us as we left the studio, Crazy Belinda was nearby, too. Proof positive that she was as weird as they came because instead of fearing for her life like any normal person, she was chanting. Hard to say exactly what it was all about, but I swear I heard something about welcoming the angel of death. Go figure.
Alistair was on my right, swearing like a son of a gun. I heard nothing at all from Mike, and thinking about what it might mean, a sour taste filled my mouth. I didn’t dare look to see if my fears were justified. There was nothing I could do to help Mike or anyone else. All I could do was stay rolled in a ball with my head covered. Oh yeah, and cringe when the wet whatever seeped through my pant leg and soaked my skin.
Another shot slammed into a pile of wooden pallets stacked near the wall on my right. It was still reverberating when the door to the studio banged open.
“Somebody’s shooting!” I recognized the voice of one of the techies. He wasn’t dumb enough to come out into the open. He ducked back inside. “Quick, call 911!”
Maybe that’s what scared the shooter off. Suddenly the vast warehouse was as silent as a Garden View tomb. I hoped that was where the similarities ended.
The next second, full-scale bedlam broke out. I dared to look up just as Bernie came huffing and puffing through the studio door, a donut in one hand and a gun in the other. He tossed the donut on the ground and scanned the warehouse, and I guess he didn’t see anything because he looked up at the walkways that ringed each floor. Even I knew a bad guy could hide for days in the offices up there and never be found.
Hot on Bernie’s heels were the techies and the soundmen; Zack, the PR person; and even the receptionist with the purple hair. When it came to moral support, believe me, it was nice to see them all. It was not so nice when they all started jabbering at once. Their voices mixed with the sounds of gunfire still echoing in my ears, and like Jäger-meister and Red Bull, they packed a punch right between my eyes.
“Holy shit!”
“Everybody okay?”
“Anybody hurt?”
“I’m calling Gene. Right now. He needs to get over here ASAP.”
Their shouts bounced through my brain and made my head buzz. Maybe that’s why when I pushed myself up on my elbows, I heard an odd, chirping sound. Or maybe I didn’t. The acoustics in the old warehouse left a whole lot to be desired—and the wailing of a police siren outside didn’t help.
I sat up, shaking my head. The puddle was bigger than I thought. My butt was soaked. Rather than think about it, I thanked my lucky stars for being alive and took inventory. It looked like everyone else had come through unscathed, too.
Alistair, Ben, Pete, and Mike were all breathing hard and handling the pressure with their usual aplomb. Alistair was swearing up a storm. Pete was in tears. Mike screamed to one of the flunkies for his Southern Comfort, and Ben simply sat in the middle of the warehouse floor, fighting to get a cigarette out of the pack that had been crushed when he hit the floor. Belinda, of course, was still chanting.
I don’t know how long we all sat there trying to make sense of what had just happened. I only know that’s how Quinn found us all when he arrived.
Just my luck. Was he the only damned cop in Cleveland?
“Somebody want to tell me what happened here?”
Quinn should have known better. Everybody wanted to tell him, and they all wanted to do it at once.
I may have mentioned that Quinn isn’t the most patient guy in the world. He listened, for maybe like half a second, then he held up his hands, a sure signal that the circus had to stop. Now.
Their voices trailed off, and one by one, Quinn took a look at the Mind at Large band members. He knew Alistair from the incident at the Rock Hall, so when he got to the drummer, he stopped and pointed. “You,” he said. “What happened?”
“Are you stupid? Do you think we always sit around on our butts in the middle of a friggin’ warehouse? Somebody took a friggin’ shot at us, that’s what happened.”
“Not a shot. Shots. Lots of shots.” Mike felt obligated to set the record straight. One of the gofers showed up with a bottle, and after a few glugs, Mike’s voice was quieter and his hands didn’t shake nearly as much. He pointed up to the walkway that bordered each floor of the warehouse. “The shots came from somewhere up there.”
“Or not.” Ben got to his feet. He was breathing hard, and there was blood on his shirt near where his sleeve was torn and his arm was scraped. He had half a mashed cigarette in his hand, and he snapped his fingers, waited for a roadie to light it, and took a long drag. “I hunt, so I know a thing or two about guns,” he said, releasing the smoke with a sigh. “The shots…” He turned and pointed toward the door where an army of cops was getting ready to fan out to search the building. “They came from over there.”
“And I nearly got killed.” Pete sniffled and wiped his nose with this sleeve.
“Oh yeah. Like you’re the only ruddy one.” Alistair’s glasses hung crooked on his face, and he ripped them off, tossed them on the floor, and ground them under his heel. “Why don’t you stop feeling sorry for yourself, Petey, and—”
“And feel sorry for you?” Pete might have been small, but he was wiry, and let’s face it, emotions were running high. He jumped to his feet and rounded on Alistair. “Why don’t you just admit it, Al, you’re scared shitless. Just like the rest of us.”
“Just like you.” Alistair’s sneer was monumental. “Like all of you.”
Ready to rip Alistair’s head off, Mike shoved the bottle of Southern Comfort back to the guy who’d gotten it for him. “Why you rotten mother—”
Quinn didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. He stepped between Alistair and Mike to stop them, and with one laser-sharp look, advised Pete and Ben not to get involved.
Alistair grumbled, and just for good measure, crunched his glasses one more time.
Mike ripped the bottle out of the hands of the kid who was holding it. He took a long drink.
Pete snuffled and demanded a cold cloth for his forehead, and when one of the roadies went to get it, Ben stepped forward.
“Maybe you should ask her.” I’d like to think the animosity in Ben’s voice and the suspicion in his eyes were the result of residual shock. I mean, it’s not every day a person nearly gets his head blown off. It’s kind of hard to feel charitable, though, when the person tossing the accusations has his eyes right on you.
Startled, I sat up a little straighter.
“We were fine until she came around.” Ben pointed at me with his cigarette. “She’s the one who told us we were in danger. Don’t you think it’s a little funny that no sooner does she tell us that we’re all going to die than somebody starts taking potshots at us?”
Quinn swiveled to get a better look at me. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I don’t know. What do you think, Pepper? Do you think it’s funny? As funny as me finding you here with these guys?”
“I think it’s plenty coincidental. But this…” My fingers were sticky. I dared a look at my hand. It was covered with nameless grime and coated with goo. I wiped it against the leg of my pants and struggled to my feet. Quinn didn’t offer me a hand up. I started to dust off the seat of my pants, but when my hand met wet fabric, I thought better of it. “This is definitely not my definition of funny. Looks like I was right.” I glanced from bandmate to bandmate, firmly ignoring Crazy Belinda, who was on her knees, rocking back and forth. “Somebody’s out to get you guys.”
Quinn’s gaze was penetrating. “And you deduced this how, Sherlock?”
“She spoke to him. Does all the time.” The louder Crazy Belinda talked, the fas
ter she rocked. “He told her. He told her somebody’s going to die.”
I think when it came to Belinda, Quinn pretty much got the picture. He nodded in a way that told the nearest uniformed cop to get her out of there pronto and looked my way. “And the him in question is…?”
“Vinnie, of course.” One of the omnipresent gofers handed Alistair a bottle of water and a couple of pills. He popped them, washed them down, and shoved the water back at the man. Fortified, he slid a glance from Quinn to me. “This little bird here communicates with the dead.”
Sometimes when I’m bored, or when I’m feeling especially down-and-out and wishing Quinn and I could get together, I imagine breaking this news to him myself. On good days, I picture me dropping the bombshell and him nodding thoughtfully. Then he tells me to sit down, gets me a glass of wine, and confesses (his hands on mine and looking deep into my eyes) that though he’d never been able to pin it down, he’d always known I was different. It was why I fascinated him so. He says he wants me to tell him all about my Gift. But not until he’s done kissing me.
Tombs of Endearment Page 20
