“Liar.”
“I’m sorry things between us were poison, and I’ve felt a little more dead everyday because of Doug. I suffer, don’t you forget it. If you and I lived in the same space, reminding us of our failures, betrayals, all that, we’d kill each other. You wouldn’t win. Neither would I.”
The whole time I’d been talking, Alison had been planning. I saw it a half-second before she moved. Fast, fast, fast. She grabbed Hsieh’s gun, still tucked in David’s waistband. It was in there deep and got hung up on the way out.
Soon as it was free, the flash-bang shocked us—accidental, she didn’t have control. David had leapt back, the bullet grazing his stomach. Everything happened in a second, but I saw every little move and detail in slo-mo later, still do in my nightmares these days.
Ali started to turn the piece my way, and that look on her face told me she was trying to scare me, not kill me. God knows what a wild shot would’ve done, though.
We didn’t have to find out.
David was already lifting his piece, instinct taking over.
Aimed at the other gun in the room. Aimed at Ali.
Shot her in the side of the head.
32
The shot wasn’t dead center. It struck below her ear, the bullet exploding her jaw, her cheeks. From Ali to monster in less than a second, another of those images I wish I could drink away forever.
The shot sent her sideways, off the front of the couch onto the floor, a random ball of bleeding.
Doug cried like a wolf and started for her, falling, trying to hold himself with his cane. He crawled until he was a foot away, then stopped and sat on his haunches. He was a statue. A study in grief.
David reached down for the other gun, lifted it from under Ali’s leg. He stayed bent at the waist and said to Doug, barely getting above a harsh whisper, “I didn’t mean to. It was a mistake.”
Doug placed a hand on David’s shoulder and told him, “I know, it’s okay. It’s okay. I know.”
“She didn’t give me a choice.”
“I know.” A pat on the cheek. “No blame.”
I glanced at Hsieh, who had backed off against the door. He didn’t try to leave. He waited, perhaps thinking they would turn to him for help. This was his element. He’d seen plenty of death and knew how to handle those mired in a situation like this for the first time. I, on the other hand, thought no one would find an easy way to cope with this one.
David helped Doug to his feet, handed him the walking stick, and helped him face me. His face of survival had become a deathmask. If life with Ali was a cage, even Doug recognized that life without her would be nearly impossible to imagine after so long.
“I needed her,” Doug said.
“Jesus, I didn’t want this to happen,” I said.
“No blame, really. Like I told David.”
“I don’t think she would’ve shot me.”
“Doesn’t matter.” His face was so soft, the sadness obvious but covered by one of those enigmatic Renaissance smiles. Death was already a part of this man’s everyday waking hours, and maybe he had already soaked it deep inside his bones. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hold up much longer, shock the only thing focusing my attention on Doug and away from Alison’s body, her broken face thankfully turned away. David took off his jacket and laid it across her head and shoulders.
Doug said, “David, our guests.”
With that, the big guy nodded and stepped over to the door, standing sentry. My hopes for leaving intact flushed. I had thought Doug was on my side.
He said, “The whole time, she’s made you out to be Satan’s teacher, that level of bad. I had no idea.”
“Hey, I’m no saint either.”
“She took wonderful care of me, though. Overprotective, manipulative, harsh. Hell, maybe even a little like that woman in Misery. Still, I knew what was under all that. I think she desperately wanted to be happy but wasn’t willing to let down her guard long enough. To be happy, you’ve got to be vulnerable.”
I didn’t have an answer.
Hsieh came over and spoke to Doug, the cop confidence returning to his voice. “It was obvious self-defense. We won’t have any trouble cleaning this up, and you won’t have to be involved.”
“What?”
“We can report it as an accident. I can give you a head start.”
Doug shook his head. “No one is reporting anything. I’ll handle it from here.”
Hsieh pointed to the guard by the door and said, “What’s between you and him, though?”
A shrug. “We had time to talk while I’ve been in town. Alison didn’t want me to come. I insisted and won this time. I told her I’d have a better chance of influencing Christopher than she would. She hired David as both an actor and protector. A very empathetic man, a big soul.”
I thought of the beatings he had given me, but kept my mouth shut.
“After Todd died, I hoped Ali was going to call it off. She didn’t. I wondered if you weren’t the object the entire time instead of the band. More a personal thing than a business one. Listen, you know, David and I decided to take our stand in case the face-to-face thing didn’t work out. I had no idea…” His lips were parted, no words coming for a long moment. We waited. “What she did…I don’t…” That was all.
The smell of urine and feces and blood from Alison’s body hit me like a blade. I cleared my throat and said, “What now, Doug? What do you plan on doing?”
He eased back into the arm chair, turned his head to his sister on the floor, and took a few deep breaths. He said, “Nothing. I plan on going home, taking my pills, and waiting. No more spam. Maybe near the end, if the pain gets to me, I’ll finish the job on my own. Why not?”
“You don’t have to. Even with everything messed up, going to the industry with this, going public, you’ll get mucho support.”
Hsieh said, “Sure, selling the story alone can set you up for years. Leave out the stuff that happened today, it’ll be fine.”
Doug’s lips curled slightly, looking like the guy I had known before we decided to take our little garage band to the parties, the bars, the big time. Back when we’d drive through town, blast KISS and Judas Priest from the little factory cassette deck, flip off annoyed old people and toss cool nods at girls. Yeah, those were good times. The message of the music was all about being more than what was expected of you. Shoot for the stars and enjoy the trip. I got the sense from my friend’s expression that in spite of secrets, pain, a disease with no cure, and not having his best friend along to enjoy the world together, Doug still had a fucking good time.
He ignored the cop and waved me closer. I leaned towards him, careful with my hands held up like a surgeon. That got him laughing again. He cupped his hand behind my neck and said, “Do you like your life the way it is? In New Orleans?”
Did he want me to apologize, or acknowledge my selfishness, or show regret for leaving him and the group high and dry? I caught myself almost saying that, sure. Almost. The words caught in my throat. I swallowed them and said, “Yeah, I do. I love it here.”
“You’ve got friends? Someone to love?”
“I do. Well, I did.”
“Fixable?”
I thought of Beth and Justin. “Good chance.”
He took his hand away. “Then you keep living that life. Can you do that? Anyone in your way?”
I eased away, shocked as hell. “I haven’t thought about it. The press know, and the cops, and that other guy who worked for you, the mugger—”
Doug waved that off. “He’s already done, man. We caught him soon as he went all squealer on us. The press? They’ll get bored when the proof dries up. David’ll talk to a few folks, get some new info out there to point away from you. As far as the cops, other than this one, you think they give a shit?”
Hsieh held up a hand. “Wait a minute—”
“Is this cop a problem for you?”
I had pity for Hsieh. He had gone above and beyond for me. Stil
l, it came down to self-interest—his career versus my privacy. Hsieh was pale, eyes blinking, the words coming out of his mouth all, “You can’t, I’m a police officer,” and, “We can work this out. I’ll keep my mouth shut, I promise, word of a lawman here.”
Doug said, “David, if you don’t mind.”
He was mid-sentence when I said, “No, wait a minute.”
Too late. I heard the shot, the groan, the thump as Hsieh hit the floor.
“Anyone else?” Doug said.
My mouth was dry. They’d killed the last true fan we had. He didn’t deserve it. I pried open my teeth with my tongue and said, “Sylvia.”
Doug pouted his lips. “Well, you’ll have to take care of that on your own. Give her a call, use your charm. God knows it still works. I never got why she chose Todd over you.”
I said, “I did.”
Another smile, his cheeks lifting, tears finally running down. “Not a good day, is it?”
Hsieh dead. Ali dead. My friend in the final stages of AIDS. Stack that up with Todd, and what the hell was left?
“You ever think about Stefan?” I said.
“Sometimes. I think he got off pretty easy.”
The rugs were soaked with blood, more awful odors rising from the bodies. My chest hurt, my knees hurt, my hand throbbed. In a perverse way, though, I was glad for the pain. Maybe for the first time in my life, I didn’t want to kill it.
“You’re going to handle everything here?” I said.
Doug pointed at David. “We’ll cope. I’ve got some people in town we can call. No problem. You go fix your life, be grateful, and if you ever mention any of this to anyone, I’ll shoot you myself.”
Hard to move. I didn’t believe this was the end. Dealer busted. I won. A chance to play again. But it was hard to feel good about it when, instead of chips, the dealer pushed a pile of bodies towards you.
“I said you can go now,” Doug said.
I inched towards the door. David moved aside, opened it for me. Halfway over the threshold, I stopped and looked back at Doug. “Hey.”
His head lifted from Alison to me.
“It was good to see you again,” I said.
“Sure. Don’t call me. I’ll call you.”
I walked to the elevator, kept looking over my shoulder. David didn’t follow. I pushed the button and the doors slid open. Stepped in, hit G. The doors closed and the gears lowered me. When it hit bottom I didn’t exit to find the pitch dark garage bay I had left. Instead, the door had been opened, and the light made me squint.
The walk back to the truck was slow, painful. I eased my hands into my pockets to shield them from the occasional passer-by, but they still had my bloody shirt to stare at. The truck was there, just as I left it. I climbed in, cranked up, and drove away.
The pain hit so hard I thought it was a stroke. I pulled over and cried until I couldn’t think of anything else to tell God I was sorry for. When I looked up again, the sun was setting, and the lights of New Orleans were flickering to life. Beautiful.
My hometown.
33
I drove in silence to the funeral home, parked on the curb, and went in through the front door. Silent, same as when I had left hours earlier.
The pills in my pocket weren’t so much a need anymore. I popped a couple to ease the ache in my joints, but my body didn’t beg for more. Two was enough. I guessed that was one thing I could offer to Beth as a sign of my utter surrender to everything that kept her out of my life—no more addiction. I’d go clean, cold turkey, even abandon the alcohol if she wished it. Yes, I planned on driving to her house carrying all the ingredients for shrimp creole, ringing her doorbell and dropping to my knees, hoping great love would overcome great betrayal. After all, didn’t they go hand in hand? Judas kissing Jesus? Sammy the Bull turning on Gotti?
I took a tour of my home, touching the furniture, smelling the fabric of the chairs and couch, turning on all the lamps to see the rooms in a different way than ever before. Brighter, vivid, shocking in detail. My studio, I’d have to work on it. The music I made in here wouldn’t get much farther than the CD player in my truck, but I liked it that way. I sat at the Slingerlands and tapped out a beat for a jazz funeral, imagining the progression down Royal Street, a slow march towards the City of the Dead.
Alison, Hsieh, Todd. All dead because of me. Never meant to hurt anyone. If they’d just kept living their own lives, stayed out of mine, then all three would still be alive, still have little daily joys to keep them going between the boring parts. Problem was they wanted more. Me, I wanted less. That’s what killed all of them—my obsessive quest for less got in the way of their desire for more.
I rolled the snare as I imagined “Taps” in my head. When it was complete, I shot a twenty-one drum salute.
Mourning time over. Their ghosts would haunt me, and I’d have to learn to deal with that. I had living to do.
*
I drove to a payphone outside a small grocery in the Quarter, Sylvia’s cell number in hand, and made the call. A couple rings, then the very familiar, “Hello?”
“It’s me,” I said.
“Thank God. Jesus, Cal, I didn’t think you were going to call.”
She was excited to hear from me? No, wait. I was committed to Beth. Pretty sure. Eighty percent. It would have been silly not to hear her out.
“Sure, I called. Come on, it’s me. I think we need to talk about something.”
“There’s nothing to worry about. Like I told them, everything can be handled to our advantage here.”
I looked left, then right. “Who’s them?”
“The press, the IRS, everyone’s on board to negotiate.”
Shit shit shit.
I closed my eyes. “Sylvia…did you tell someone about me?”
She went quiet. I took that as a yes.
“I was calling to tell you, sweetie, that I had already dealt with the problem, and have decided to stay in New Orleans incognito. I was hoping we could discuss the reasons why. Since, you know, we’re good at keeping secrets.”
More silence.
“Sylvia, please?”
“You didn’t hear the news conference then?”
A memory: the smell of blood and death.
“What news conference?”
It came in a rush. “After I saw Todd and signed the papers to fly him back, I felt, you know, free. The press wanted to talk to me, and, oh Cal, I had no idea.”
While she spoke, I stared at layers upon layers of band flyers stapled to a nearby utility pole, rain having pulped most of them, but fresh ones had taken over. Like a tree, new bark adding to the girth slowly but surely. I imagined most of those bands wouldn’t survive three more months.
Sylvia continued, “I told them that you were alive, ready to emerge from hiding. They asked about the charges, about Todd, and I said we would cooperate fully for the best outcome. I just knew you were listening, and thought you were calling to, you know, make yourself known.”
“You spoke to the cops?”
“There’s not any evidence that you killed Todd. Even more to say you tried to help him. Hotel workers are reporting a woman leaving the floor that night, unknown. The son of a bitch was killed by a whore.”
“The IRS?”
“We can make arrangements. You still have plenty of money. I can restructure all of it for you. As for arson, criminal charges, jail time, again, all token if we make good on the payment. I have a signed agreement. I hope you don’t mind, but this is a very generous deal.”
I didn’t say a word. She had done her homework. A sweet deal indeed, more than I deserved, but it made me a public figure again. It tied me to Sylvia, screwed up everything I thought I had a man killed for.
She must’ve caught my anger. “I’m so sorry. What else could I do?”
“Keep your promise?”
“I didn’t promise. I saved your ass, that’s what I did. Where else could you go? It was hide and seek, and you’ve been found. I d
on’t know how it happened, but let’s stop playing, please.”
“Sylvia—”
“You know it’s the best you can hope for.”
That did it for me. Alison had pulled my strings enough the last few days. I didn’t plan on handing them over to a new puppeteer.
I told Sylvia, “Okay. All right. I’ll meet you at the hotel in two hours. Get together everyone you need, and we’ll do this right. Is that good?”
“Very good,” she said, almost a sigh. “You won’t regret it, and I promise we’ll get through this. Maybe you can even come back to New Orleans one day. I wish I had time to see more of the city.”
“You’d love it,” I said. “You’d never want to leave.”
“It’s hard to beat L.A. You’ll see.”
“Two hours,” I said. I hung up the phone. In two hours, Sylvia would gather the press, the authorities, her lawyers, her public relations people, all waiting for me. I wouldn’t show up. She’d look like a fool, certainly. I wish it didn’t have to be that way, but I needed the time to get out of town.
Before I jumped in the truck, I made one more call. Three rings, then an even more familiar “Hello?”
One heartbreaking word. I couldn’t speak.
“Anyone there?” Beth said.
I let out a breath.
“Merle? Is that you?” It wasn’t angry. In fact, it sounded like a prayer.
I said, “I want you to know, please, no doubts. I love you more than I know how to.”
I set the handset on the cradle, climbed into the truck, and drove. I left New Orleans heading North across Lake Pontchartrain, my last view of the city in the rearview, only lights against a dark sky. North into Mississippi. I wouldn’t be back.
34
Los Angeles, 1988
The Drummer Page 21
