On Tour

by Christina A. Burke

  A group of college students came in, ordered a pitcher of cheap beer, and asked if I knew any rock. I did a couple of my softer rock songs. Some Eagles and some more recent songs, more pop than rock.

  "Oh, I know. I know!" cried one girl. "How about 'The Rum Song?'"

  Her boyfriend scoffed. "That's the one by that goofy pirate, right?"

  "Yeah, Carlos. He's yummy," she purred.

  I rolled my eyes.

  "Wasn't it the blonde girl who wrote the song? What was her name?" one of the other guys asked and then tapped at his smartphone.

  "Yeah! It was!" The girl waved to me. "Do you know the song?"

  "I'll give it a try." I launched into a laid back version of the song. I was starting to feel a niggling of apprehension. The four continued to tap away at their phones, pointing out things of interest to each other.

  When I'd finished, they clapped loudly.

  "That was great. What's your name?" asked the guy who had started all the Googling.

  "Ashley. I'm from Delaware. My boyfriend's here on business." I felt like a total fraud, but they didn't seem to notice.

  I sang a couple of James Taylor songs; the bartender seemed to love those. "You do look familiar to me," she said suddenly. "Have you played around here before?"

  I shook my head. I heard some whispering from the table of college students. Maybe it was time to make my exit. I took the strap from around my neck and lowered my guitar into its case.

  "You're not going yet, are you?" the girl gushed. "Our friends are on their way. We told them all about you!" She gave me a big wink.

  "I need to get going. My boyfriend will be back from his meeting soon."

  She surprised me by putting her arm around me and snapping a selfie with her phone.

  "Hey!"

  "This is going on Instagram. Nobody's going to believe it!"

  Uh-oh. A group of twenty or more college kids arrived. Some high-fived the ones at the table in front of me. Others snapped pictures of me.

  The bartender leaned over. "You drink martinis, don't you?"

  I glanced over at her. "How'd you know that?"

  "I Googled it, Diana." She held up her phone.

  I made my escape with the help of my waiter. I took a bathroom break after a couple of songs and he met me inside with my guitar.

  "Before you go, can I have your autograph?"

  I scribbled a quick note on a napkin.

  "What's it like working with a bunch of pirates?" he asked when I handed it to him.

  "Not as much fun as you'd think."

  I couldn't help looking over my shoulder as I tore off down the street. My phone rang. It was Carol.

  "Diana, aren't you on a boat with Mark right now?" She was using the same tone of voice that she used to interrogate temps.

  "Why do you ask?" I deflected.

  "Because Tabitha got a tweet of you playing outside at a bar in D.C. What's going on? Did you and Mark have a fight?"

  I sighed. "I can't get into the details right now. We were supposed to be laying low for a few days."

  "So why'd you go out performing in a bar?"

  Oh, man, did I screw this up. "I was bored. I didn't think anyone would recognize me out of my costume."

  "Guess you were wrong about that one. Does Mark know yet?"

  "No," I replied. "And I'd like to keep it that way."

  "Good luck with that."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Mark was pacing the hotel room when I got back. He had tried calling and texting me a couple of times, but I had decided not to answer. I tried to convince myself there was no way Mark knew about my little escapade. Tabitha was probably friends with the girl who tweeted. I didn't want to think about Mark's reaction if it went much further than that.

  Okay, so I was in a bit of denial.

  "Where were you?" Mark barked when I walked in the hotel room.

  "Oh, just out playing in the sunshine." Hey, that wasn't a lie.

  "We're supposed to be lying low. Remember the assassin trying to kill you?" He ran both of his hands through his hair.

  "Yep. Hard to forget that." I set my guitar down and headed for the bathroom. "Any new info?" I called.

  "A lot," he said as I came back into the room. So far so good. The whole Twitter thing was just a couple of Tabitha's friends sharing pictures. I'm sure they didn't have many followers. They were just a bunch of kids.

  "We traced the money to a bank account in New Jersey. The account is part of a trust for five individuals. We're tracking them down now. So far we haven't found any direct connections." I leaned down to give him a kiss, and he pulled me onto his lap.

  "Seems pretty odd to me that there are five mob families and five individuals on this account. Is there a link?" I asked.

  "Nothing direct, but I think you're right. This may be some type of cooperative account."

  "Like a farm co-op? They share assassin resources? Could that be possible?"

  Mark shrugged. "Apparently there've been similar types of partnerships. Importing drugs for one. I suppose they could coordinate hired killer resources."

  My head spun with all the possibilities. I snuggled against him. "Let's just say this is some type of hitman cooperative among the five families. How do you move up through the ranks? Is The Spider the leader?"

  "Not sure yet. I've got some people with contacts on the inside trying to figure out exactly how it's structured." Mark nibbled at my earlobe. "But my gut tells me we're getting close."

  "So if you trace the money back to him and get one of his hired hands to turn on him, that will be enough for an arrest?"

  "Probably. The FBI is involved since we're dealing with multiple charges across state lines. And there are a lot of open cases that could be solved if we track him down."

  "Sounds complicated." It felt like my life would never be back to normal.

  "Why don't we take a nap and then go out for a nice dinner?" Mark nuzzled my neck.

  "Oh, I thought you were so worried about being recognized." I know I was pushing my luck. Tempting fate. Whatever you call it, but I couldn't resist.

  "I think if we keep a low profile, we'll be fine. Have you heard from Andre today?" he asked.

  I shook my head.

  "I'm sure they're fine. He's supposed to check in with me every evening no matter what."

  "So, what's next in the investigation?" I kissed his cheek, and sniffed his neck. I know it's weird, but he smelled really good. Like fresh baked bread, laundry dried outside, and pine needles all rolled up in one delicious scent.

  "The DA in Miami is looking to charge the electrician with attempted murder. That might get him talking. Hope to have a full report in the morning." Mark's hand ran lazily up my thigh under the silky dress.

  Hitman? What hitman? My body was tuning out everything except his touch. Now this was what I called a distraction. His other hand untied the halter behind my neck, and the front fell away.

  "Nice dress," he murmured. He stood up, still holding me in his arms. No easy feat. I'm not exactly petite.

  Worry at the Twitter incident niggled in the back of my mind. But Mark's foot kicking the bedroom door closed behind us shut the door on that worry. There'd be plenty of time for worry later. No use getting him all riled up in a bad way when he was so riled up in a good way.

  * * *

  A few hours later, thoughts of The Spider were still pushed back into the far recesses of my mind. Naps had a way of giving you a whole new outlook on life. Besides, I was looking forward to the evening. Mark had made reservations at an upscale restaurant a few blocks from our hotel. I wore a black cocktail dress, and my hair was swept up a la Grace Kelly. I was feeling like my old self again.

  "Stunning," Mark said as we walked out of the elevator towards the entrance.

  He'd called down for a cab, but waiting in front of the hotel was a limo.

  "Wow! Pulling out all the stops." I gave him a little elbow.

  He stared at the limo in confus
ion. "I ordered a cab. It must be for someone else." He walked over to the doorman.

  My phone buzzed with a text from my sister.

  Ashley: U R on ET!!!

  Me: ??

  Ashley: Duh—Entertainment Tonight

  Me: Cool :)

  Ashley: R U drunk??

  Me: Not yet

  Ashley: U R on ET in DC playing in a bar

  I gasped and looked around for Mark. He was striding toward me still looking confused.

  "It's ours." He ran a hand through his hair. "They thought we'd be more comfortable in the limo. I don't get it."

  "Oh, that's nice," I said, hurrying towards the car.

  The valet opened the door for us. After helping me in, he leaned down, and said, "I'm a big fan, Ms. Hudson. I'd love an autograph if you have a moment."

  He said it low enough that I wasn't sure Mark had heard him. I leaned towards him, and whispered, "Can you catch me when we get back?"

  "Oh, sure, sure." He gave me a smile and closed the door.

  I settled back into the leather seat and smoothed my hair. I felt Mark's eyes boring into me. "Did he just ask you for an autograph?"

  I glanced over at him. "Oh, him? Don't be silly." In my current state of denial I reasoned that hitmen didn't watch ET. They watched Godfather movies and played poker at strip clubs, right?

  "I'm sure I heard him say something about an autograph."

  I waved my hand dismissively. I don't know why I didn't just come clean then. I guess I wanted a few more romantic moments before Mark went off the deep end.

  There was a big commotion going on in front of the restaurant as the limo pulled up to curb. Mark leaned forward. "What's with all the paparazzi? Is the President having dinner here tonight?"

  The driver chuckled and looked at me in the rearview mirror. Not a good sign. I knew I should be flattered, but I was starting to get freaked out by what was happening. And what if I was wrong about hitmen not watching ET?

  "I'll take you around to the back entrance," the driver said.

  Mark glanced over at me. I avoided eye contact by looking out the window.

  The restaurant was all dark wood, candles, and plush furnishings. We were led to a table near the fireplace which blazed with real wood logs.

  "Great table," Mark commented. "Didn't think we'd get anything this nice on such short notice."

  His phone buzzed. Looking at the number, he said, "It's my guy in Miami. They must have found Sal Bonanno. I need to take this."

  I nodded. He kissed my head and raced off to the lobby. The waiter came to take our drink order. He gushed over having the "beautiful and talented Ms. Hudson" at his table.

  I ordered a double martini for me and a Jack and Coke for Mark. I had a feeling he was going to need it.

  I turned on my phone. I had three missed calls. One from my sister, one from my mom, and it looked like one from The Meadows where The Grands lived. No messages. I called my sister back.

  "It's me," I told her.

  "I thought the plan was to keep a low profile." My sister's voice was a high-pitched screech.

  "I screwed up."

  "Uh-duh! It must've been a slow news day, because that video of you playing at the bar today has gone viral. It's all over Facebook. Mom just called me because she saw it."

  "Wow," I murmured. "How'd I sound?"

  I'm pretty sure I heard my sister's eyes rolling back in her head. "It was a little hard to hear, but you looked great."

  "I just don't understand why this is so important to everyone. It was just a table full of college kids watching me."

  "Yeah, I wondered the same thing. So, acting as your lovely assistant, I did a little checking into the original Tweet. One of those college kids has fifty-thousand Twitter followers. She's got her own fashion blog."

  I put my head in my hand. "I gotta go, Ashley."

  "Does Mark know?"

  I looked up to see Mark approaching, a stern look on his face. Eyebrows raised, chin determined, lips pressed into a thin line.

  "Yeah, I think so."

  "Good. He needs to get you out of there. If we're all seeing this, I'm sure The Spider is as well."

  The waiter beat Mark to the table with our drinks. I took a big gulp as Mark sat down across from me.

  "So did they find him?" I asked.

  Mark stared at me for what seemed like hours. "Yes, as a matter of fact, they did," he fluffed out the napkin in front of him.

  That seemed to be a good sign. I guess it meant we were staying. "Great!"

  "Yep, and he's not talking until he sees his lawyer. The Organized Crime Unit says the family sent him down a couple of years ago to look after their 'Florida interests.' He's a thug, who hangs with a motorcycle gang."

  "But my contact didn't call about all that. They won't know anything until the lawyer gets there. He'll give me a full report tomorrow morning." Mark paused and locked his dark eyes on mine. "No, he wanted to know if I'd seen this video."

  Mark handed me his phone. I cringed at the still of me sitting on the bar stool. "Seems like you had quite a day today."

  I stared down at my drink. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I just wanted to get out and play a little. I guess one of the kids in the audience is a big-time blogger. Otherwise this would've never gone viral."

  "Do you have a damn death wish? Seriously, Diana, I'm trying to protect you, but you're not making it easy. Any possibility this is just on Twitter?" he asked and then tossed back his drink and signaled to the waiter for another.

  I looked up at him with a sigh. "Not so lucky. The video was on ET tonight."

  Mark's face flushed, and he ran his hands through his hair. I was pretty sure his relationship with me would mean the end of that beautiful wavy brown hair. His lips twitched.

  Was he stifling a smile?

  He started to laugh so hard he had to reach for his napkin to dry his eyes. "You've been in Carlos' shadow this whole tour. With all the PR machines grinding away and no one giving you the time of day. We go undercover for one day." He held up his finger. I was happy it was the index and not its neighbor. "And you're on a national TV show that same night broadcasting your location to the world."

  "I guess social media really does work." I shrugged. Laughing was better than yelling.

  "Yeah, it works great. Might as well have a flashing sign over your head reading 'drop anvil here.'"

  "Meep-meep." That was my less than stellar imitation of the Roadrunner.

  Mark had stopped laughing.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  We sat in silence on the way back to the hotel. Mark had gone into full blown CIA mode. He'd actually switched dinner plates with me when our food arrived and wouldn't let me order another martini. We'd had a bottle of wine instead, only after he'd checked the seal on the cork. Then he called a cab to pick us up instead of using the limo. He was making me irritable and jumpy.

  He must've read my body language. "Hey, don't give me the cold shoulder. This is all your fault. If you hadn't been out strolling around with your guitar, we'd be enjoying a few peaceful days at a five-star hotel. Maybe now you'll start taking this seriously."

  I hit him with my purse, whispering back furiously, "I know it's my fault. And I'm terrified. Are you happy now?"

  "No," he replied, cupping his hand on my cheek. "I'm not. All I want is for you to be safe and for us to have a life together. But—"

  "Everything is getting in the way," I finished, then whispered, "Maybe I'm getting in the way."

  He stared at me for a few seconds and then nodded. "Maybe you are. Maybe you're getting in your own way. Sure it's not your fault you've got a cold-blooded killer after you, but you're certainly not making it easy to keep you safe."

  I glared at him. I didn't feel now was the time to point out my shortcomings. "I know it's my own decisions that have exposed me to even more risk. But I would like to remind you that if it hadn't been for being your girlfriend and Carlos' singing partner, I wouldn't have been
in this situation in the first place." I held up a hand to stop him from speaking. "All that being true, I know that getting out of this is up to me. And I don't just mean this hitman situation. The tour, my career, all the things that are happening right now—" My voice caught and tears welled up in my eyes.

  He grabbed my hand and pressed it to his lips. "I'll always be there for you. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Just something to think about."

  Tyrell's words ran through my head like a broken record. Catch yourself, girl. Ain't no one gonna do it for you.

  I gave Mark a soft kiss.

  "So what's the plan now?" I asked.

  "Go someplace that takes cash tonight and regroup in the morning."

  I made a face. "No fancy hotel?"

  "Not a chance. In fact you're not going back to the hotel at all." Mark asked the taxi driver to take us to the airport.

  I felt a little ridiculous getting out at the airport loading zone in a cocktail dress, but Mark had a plan. He grabbed my hand and we headed for the car rental desk.

  The rep at the desk didn't bat an eye at our attire. I assumed working a car rental desk in D.C. was a lot like working at a temp agency. You got used to all the weirdos.

  "It's been a busy day. I only have one car left until tomorrow morning. It's a subcompact," she looked pointedly up at us.

  "Not a lot of leg room, huh?" Mark asked.

  She shook her head. "But it's all I got."

  Mark signed the paperwork, and we went to wait for the shuttle to the lot.

  "Do you have any idea what a subcompact is?" I asked him.

  "No idea. Doesn't sound good, though."

  We got to the lot and picked up the keys. It took us a few minutes to locate our car. I use the word "car" loosely. It had wheels and a metal frame, and I guess somewhere inside there was an engine, but it was not a car by the standard definition.

  We both stared at it.

  "Maybe it's bigger inside than it looks." I was trying to be positive.

  "We went from a limo to this all in the space of a couple of hours. Unbelievable," Mark grumbled. "You drive." He handed me the keys.

  The plan was for me to drop him off in front of the hotel so he could get our things. Mark craned his neck to look behind us. There was a foot of space behind our seats and the hatch.