Crime & Counterpoint

by Daniel, M. S.

  But he caught up to her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I can’t go up,” she whispered. “If you’re with them, then they must know everything.”

  He frowned. “About what? Ramone’s?” She nearly made it out the doors, but he grabbed her back. “Dammit, listen to me. I didn’t say anything, okay? Carrie just wants to meet you. And if I go up there without you, Barb’ll kill me.”

  She looked into those confounding blue eyes which both compelled her and made her want to run. Finally, the comedy of the situation sunk in, and she found herself smiling sheepishly. “Well, at least you’ll have some first-rate physicians on hand to resuscitate you.”

  “I was being serious,” he said.

  “I know.” Realizing she couldn’t leave anyway unless she planned on tendering her resignation here too, she took his arm and led him away.

  Abigail was the first to spot Shelley as she appeared at the top of the balcony with her rather large, handsome shadow. Zach didn’t tower over the girl; the heels she wore brought her up to a reasonable height, right around his mouth. She was slightly above average as it was. Perfect. The sight of those two together caused her heart to squeeze. But she brushed aside the notion because Zach, look at him, he wasn’t the least bit taken with the child, beautiful though she was.

  “Shelley!” Jared exclaimed. “Bring her over here, Zach. Don’t let her get away now.”

  “I can walk on my own, Jared,” Shelley returned, serving up a cold smile. “Hey, Mrs. Weston.” She bent to give the elderly woman a hug, an action that Zach didn’t miss.

  “Hello, dear.” Abigail kissed her soft cheek. “I’ve already laid out the red carpet for you. So this won’t hurt quite so much. At least Erik isn’t here, eh?”

  Shelley chuckled but it was a nervous chuckle. Perspiration beaded on her back, dampening her hair as she greeted everyone and met the lovely and lovable Carrie Weston, Abigail’s eldest granddaughter from Cali. Aware of Shelley’s tension, Abigail pulled her into an adjacent chair, protecting her, as it were, from the wolves.

  But things went far better than expected. Zach, although growing restless, found Shelley’s interrogation a decent enough distraction. But he continued reaching for the wine bottle. It actually wasn’t terrible; it had a sweet pungence and smooth after-taste. At any rate, he needed something to make family-togetherness go down easier. As he drank himself into sedation, he paid attention to the way she answered their volley of questions with poise. Her responses were believable and convincing. But oh so evasive. Ashleigh had to cover her mouth and stifle a smirk on a few occasions.

  “So you see, Mrs. Greene,” Shelley concluded with finesse, “I just didn’t want to tell anyone until I was sure I could do it and that I liked it. After all, it’s been a while since I’ve performed in public like this.”

  Zach cleared his throat for which Shelley gave him sharp, warning look.

  “But Shelley, this is hardly public compared to what you used to do,” Bill said.

  Zach’s curiosity pricked, but he said nothing and poured himself another glass. Raising his brows to Barb, he offered to top her off with a gesture of the bottle. She smiled enigmatically and gave a subtle nod. He filled her up. All the way.

  “But I knew the late nights and having to take the train at this hour would only worry everyone. And the last thing I’d want to do is lie to you.” She cringed compellingly, shrinking like she needed their forgiveness.

  Zach nearly fell off his chair. She was amazing. He’d always known she was a good actress. At Ramone’s, whenever his self-proclaimed friends went over to talk to her and flirt shamelessly, she would give them such warm reception, but he could see right through her smiles and sparkling eyes. She’d be a thousand miles away while she made the man feel like she actually gave a damn. But this here? This was a whole other level.

  He glanced at his grandmother who gave Shelley support like she was her own child. However, he got the sense that Barb wasn’t buying the act. Bill certainly was though.

  “Of course, hon,” Bill said. “Don’t worry, I’ll smooth things over with your dad. He’ll understand.”

  She smiled gratefully. “Thank you so much, Dr. Greene.”

  Mentally, Zach shook his head. He couldn’t understand how she handled herself amongst these people. He had nearly strangled himself with his own tongue, but she was a model of grace and propriety – a bit crafty and cunning, but he knew firsthand that’s what it took to navigate this jungle.

  While Carrie monopolized the conversation with a long stream of wedding talk, Shelley glanced at the stage and saw the musicians reassembling. Deftly, she found an opening and excused herself, rising from the table. “I’m sorry, but we’re about to start the last set of the night.”

  The men rose with her, Zach the last to do so because frankly, he’d stopped doing such things.

  Forced to remain, Zach envied her escape, following her quick departure with jealous eyes. The rest at the table caught the direction of his gaze and misinterpreted. Carrie whispered something to Jared which made him smile and look at Zach thoughtfully. He whispered something back.

  When Zach finally turned his head to pick up his wine glass, he noticed everyone peering at him with secret smiles on their faces. Even Barb. He frowned.

  Fortunately, their food arrived just then via two starched waiters – likely FOB imports, Zach judged. They served up the grub, and everyone started to dig in as the house lights came down again.

  The band kicked up the dust from the eaves as they sizzled into motion with a provocative up-tempo samba. Loud, heady, voluptuous. The devil’s mistress. Zach at once breathed easier. He forked listlessly into the flavorful parmesan tilapia just as the piano rang out with some bold and brazen montunos that iced the ensemble. The music, as before, worked like therapy, calmed him, soothed the raging beast inside.

  Zach threw a casual glance at the stage, oblivious to the fact that several people both above and below were watching him.

  15

  If there was one good thing about playing on stage, it was the spotlights. They were like suns blotting out the rest of the world, helping her to feel like she was in her own universe. If she tried to look into the audience, all she saw was a dark sea of vague bodies. Precisely why she’d had no inkling that the Greene’s were there.

  Now that she did, however, the lens readjusted. And suddenly, she could only see them up high in the balcony watching her like carniverous hawks. Even worse? She would have to do something that she’d never done in front of them. Pinpricks of heat lit up and down her spine. This was a waking nightmare.

  Her hands moved automatically, depressing the satisfyingly-weighted keys, while these thoughts assailed her. Oh, but why did she care? Why did she have to care?

  Daddy. That was all. He was sure to find out now. And what would he say? Would he want to come here? Oh God, no. She couldn’t play in front of her father any better than she could in front of her godfather. Not anymore.

  At the end of the number, she hailed the director over, an associate professor at Manhattan School of Music, and said, “I don’t really want to do ‘The Way You Look Tonight’.”

  He looked at her suspiciously. “Whaddaya want then? ‘Beyond the Sea’? Or how about ‘Cheek to Cheek’?”

  “No, I meant –”

  But the flugelhorn began playing the airy intro for the next tune, a Jobim Boss nova, and the conductor gave her a very New York sort of ‘I’ll figure something out’ wave. And she had no choice but to stick her hands on the keys and play though she barely registered a note.

  “It’s been a long time since we’ve hung outside the ER,” Jared said. He’d invited Zach down to the bar for a real drink – “doctor’s orders” – and they’d been here ever since.

  “Guess so,” said Zach with little commitment, slightly fatigued of the hospital jokes. Seated at the curvilinear bar, he wrapped his hand around a squat bottle of Negra Modelo. He took a swig, inhaling t
he amorous tones, trying to drown out his conspiring thoughts.

  Jared lifted his rock glass and tossed the last of the ice from a recently demolished scotch and soda. The band, in their winding down phase, soothed the backdrop with a lush, sentimental melody that had couples swaying under the soft-glow chandelier. The music’s misty spell depressed the mood, but heightened the senses.

  “But you know,” Jared continued, crunching loudly on the frozen chunks, “if it weren’t for you internally hemorrhaging two summers ago, I wouldn’t be taking the plunge now.”

  Despite himself, Zach joined Jared in a rare smile.

  Their conversation lapsed, glimmering orchestration occupying the silence. Zach again noticed the Slavic man at the bar, but he wasn’t looking his way. He wondered if he had just imagined the earlier malevolence in those black eyes.

  Jared placed his fingertips on the rim and turned the empty glass absently. “James is my best man. Did I tell you that?”

  Zach shook his head. “No, but I figured.” He drew an absent line on the counter, following the smooth, satin-finish of the wood grains. “You guys were always close.”

  “No. You and me were close.” Jared glanced at the stage and in an altered inflection said, “Do you ever look back and wish you’d done things differently?”

  “Like what?”

  Jared looked at him. “You had a lot going for you.”

  “What? What did I have?” Zach returned bitterly.

  Just then, an evocative piano solo slipped in between them, and Jared noticed Zach look at Shelley with far more than indifference. “You know, she’s not at all what my Mom says.” He flicked his gaze to Zach for barely a second before dropping it back to the counter.

  But Zach thought he gleaned something hidden.

  Jared picked up the glass and hailed the bartender who brought around another scotch and soda, and Jared nodded his thanks. “Well, I better get this to my Dad. Take your time.” He eased off the barstool and patted Zach on the back. “Enjoy.”

  The tune ended and applause erupted. Mechanically, he joined in but gave up before the clapping died down.

  With Jared gone, Zach finished the rest of the beer and ordered a dry martini. As he drunk himself into a pleasant buzz, the band struck up a new number, a laid-back swing for hot, steamy summer nights. Played nicely to his relaxed muscles. Stirred his soul ever so slightly.

  The music captivated his attention as a female vocalist began crooning in a sultry key.

  “I’ve got you under my skin… I’ve got you deep in the heart of me…”

  His gaze focused on Shelley – the only girl on stage. She had a boom mic and played while she sang. She was so confident. In the moment. He had trouble negotiating the picture of the pianist at Ramone’s trying to cram herself into a dark corner with this… this bold, enticing beauty.

  “So deep that you’re nearly a part of me…”

  His martini arrived, and without taking his eyes off the girl, he took the glass by its thin stem. He sipped and listened, fixated on her for reasons he didn’t want to process.

  “I’ve got you under my skin…”

  Words he remembered. A melody which brought back the scent of motor oil and his grandfather’s Old Spice. It transported him twenty-four years to his grisly childhood when he’d escape his own home to his grandparent’s Victorian in Rockville Centre.

  “I’ve tried so not to give in… I’ve said to myself this affair will never go so well…”

  His grandfather would take him out to the garage where they’d work on a classic ‘71 Ferrari 246GT coupe to the cozy LP crackle of decades’ old big band records. Grandma would bring grandpa iced tea or coffee and him lemonade and fresh gingerbread cookies. He’d have to wash his hands first, of course. And sometimes that would hurt because he’d been bad and mother took the time to punish him.

  “Why do I try and resist when baby I know so well…”

  They’d sold the car when he was eight for a whopping ninety grand, which grandpa put away for Zach’s future. As it turned out, he didn’t need it because of his full-ride athletic scholarship, but it came in handy when medical bills started piling up.

  “I’ve got you under my skin…”

  The thoughts swiftly purloined his agreeable humor. And he tried to conjure up the memory of his grandfather the only way he remembered him. Healthy. But instead… Arianna. Her large brown eyes stared at him from the driveway of their Manhasset home – where she’d fallen. Where he’d pushed her.

  “I’d sacrifice anything come what might for the sake of having you near…”

  Demoralized, he propped an elbow on the bar and lowered his head into his hand, struggling to get back to neutral, where he’d compartmentalized everything he didn’t want to remember.

  “In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night and repeats, repeats in my ear…”

  But her sultry, rich voice quieted his inner turmoil by degrees. Warmed him. It was ridiculous, but at that moment, he felt connected to her. He hoped it was only because she was James’ and Erik’s sister.

  “Don’t you know little fool? You’ll never win. Come on use your mentality, wake up to reality… But each time I do just the thought of you makes me stop before I begin… Cause I’ve got you under my skin…”

  His martini sat forgotten. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore as his mind submitted to her sonnet. A breathy, intimate tenor sax solo began flavored with splashes of ebony and ivory. He looked at Shelley again. Really looked at her. And the hard façades of the fortress inside him cracked. But then…

  A male voice rumbled behind him, heavy with an Eastern European accent, breaking into his pleasure. “So that’s the way the river runs.”

  16

  Startled, Zach turned and found a seasoned gentleman in a fine wool tux with groomed salt-and-pepper hair. He looked vaguely familiar, but Zach couldn’t place the well-preserved face, high cheekbones, and murky green eyes.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective Ericson,” he said with gracious formality and a slanting, handsome smile. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. I’ve been a fan of yours for some time.”

  Suspicious, Zach shifted on the barstool. “Forgive me, have we met?”

  “Oh, my apologies.” At once, he extended his hand. “Rybar Cervenka.”

  Zach’s chest tightened, hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood on end.

  Rybar gestured grandly towards a recessed secured door in the entryway. “I would like for you to join me in my office.” For good measure, Rybar added, “Please. I won’t keep you long.”

  They passed through a metal-barred door in the foyer into a dark, restricted area. With each step, the music dulled more and more as if heard through a wall of water. Zach followed Cervenka up a curvilinear staircase, feeling like a minnow forced into shark-infested seas. He wished he’d brought a weapon. Any weapon.

  While Zach puzzled and writhed within himself, they started down the curved corridor lit by dim recessed lights in the ceiling. It smelled like an infusion of tropical flowers. Some toxic air freshener, no doubt. He stopped in front of a door and while he dug in his pocket for a key, Zach made a quick sweep of the unfamiliar surrounds. He saw the one-way glass and had a clear view of the Greene’s, his grandmother, and Carrie.

  The Czech must know all his connections now. The realization gripped him.

  “Ah! Here we are,” Cervenka said as he finally found his key, unlocked the door, and hit the brights. “Come in, come in.”

  Zach’s eyes constricted with the influx of light. Blindly, his legs carried him into what was apparently an office. Adjusting, he looked around as Cervenka went to his rather expansive, modern black desk marked ‘P G’ with elaborate gold scrawl.

  There were pictures of famed musical artists performing at the club through the decades. Duke Ellington, John Coltrane, Machito, Thelonious Monk, Woody Herman, Charles Mingus. The names and dates of engagements were engraved on the frames of
each.

  But other than these, there was little to clutter the wide layout with the exception of comfortable seating and a fully-equipped bar that looked new. Fresh carpet. Fresh paint. Modern track lighting. Through the wall of glass which formed the exterior façade of the club, Zach had an exceptional view of the front drive, neon-glowing fountain, and bordering street. Busy, as always. He could see the vague beginnings of Central Park in the distance.

  “I’m still working on decoration,” Cervenka said. “I don’t know what” – he gestured like he was making clouds of smoke – “to do with all this space yet.”

  And there was a lot of space, Zach judged with one fell sweep.

  “Go ahead, Detective. Make yourself… comfortable.” Rybar went to his personal bar and started mixing some concoction with expertise. Zach remained standing. “So. I’m sure you miss the football life.”

  Zach, still wary, hackles on end, kept one eye on the surroundings and one eye on Cervenka. “You watched my games?”

  “My sons mostly. I came to this country not knowing much about that sport, but now look, my boys both are playing for their high schools. And they want to be in the NFL. Of course.” Cervenka threw a look at Zach. “Like you were going to.”

  Zach smoldered. This guy thought he knew everything.

  “Shame what happened. I know it’s been several years, but I still remember,” he said with a tap to his head. “Must be difficult. To go from being the idol of thousands to underappreciated.”

  Zach listened carefully, trying not to find succor in Cervenka’s words. There was a catch forthcoming. A waterfall drop. Sharp. One thousand feet.

  Cervenka set two fresh martini glasses out and poured his creation into them. He brought one to Zach and raised his glass in a wordless toast, drinking first. Zach simply eyed his and left the glass untouched on the sheening black desk.

  Briskly, Rybar finished the whole cocktail and looked at Zach questioningly. “Don’t you like Vespers? I saw you having one down at the bar.”