by Byrne, Wendy
Rather than watch Shane’s reaction, she ushered a slightly inebriated Patrick onto the dance floor. Her personal breathalyzer test on Patrick was holding at about a six point five, making him close to obnoxiously drunk.
He chose a slow dance, probably because he couldn’t stand upright without her to lean on. She was wearing a short, tight, black leather skirt that hugged her hips just below her belly button. Lengths of gold chain linked around the top like a belt and a black lycra t-shirt stopped two or three inches above the skirt, exposing her midriff.
His fingertips tickled the length of her exposed spine as he moved. It didn’t feel icky, but it also wasn’t something she welcomed.
“Why’d you call?” His breath whispered against the column of her throat and he placed a kiss at the sensitive spot below her ear. “You wanna hook up?”
That was the last thing she needed right now.
She pushed back to get some space. “No. I…” In light of Annie’s death, reporting the purse-snatching incident now seemed almost silly. Shane was right. She had gotten her stuff back, and after the display of cop force earlier, she didn’t want anything to go haywire. “This gig will be over in a couple of weeks and I was wondering if you could line me up some interviews.”
While she didn’t necessarily want to stay in Chicago, it was the first thing that came to mind. Besides, it made the most sense to keep the topic on her rather than on anything going on between Patrick and Shane.
“I could get you a job tomorrow. One a hell of a lot better than this. Why do you stay here? Shane’s a prick.”
She ignored his comment. “Why didn’t you tell me he was your brother?”
He shrugged. “Don’t think of him as my brother. Never did, really. We’re not blood.” His narrow definition of family was sad for both of them.
“Why?”
“Loved to show how much better he was than me at everything from sports to women.”
“Shouldn’t you have outgrown the sibling rivalry thing by now?”
“Don’t tell me you’re falling for him? He’s an ass, always out for himself, never caring about anybody else. Killed the only mom I ever knew just as sure as I’m standing here.”
The crazy notion that Shane had been responsible somehow for his mother’s death seemed ludicrous. From experience, she knew most people had a tendency to point the finger at others when something went wrong rather than admit that sometimes there wasn’t anyone to blame. She should know all about that. She blamed everything from the wrong outfit to the stars being misaligned when things went wrong for her.
“Are you saying he took out a gun and shot her? Or maybe wielded a knife and stabbed her?” She couldn’t help noticing there was a whole lot of anger behind her words, although she wasn’t sure why.
“But that doesn’t mean he didn’t cause it.”
“You’re a cop. You should know there’s no waffling in murder. He either did the deed and should be in jail, or it was an unfortunate accident, something that just happened and was nobody’s fault.”
“His soulful looks and war wounds have gotten to you, too.” He pulled away, seeming much more sober than he had a few minutes earlier.
“I’m saying brothers should act like brothers. They should be there when they need each other, not be each other’s worst enemy.”
“And I don’t need a lecture from you.”
“Tough.”
He glanced at Shane, then came in close, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek along with a cocky smile. “Thanks for the dance, Gabriella.”
“Anytime, Patrick.”
She mumbled thanks before making her way off the floor. Anxious to have some breathing space, she stumbled through the poorly lit back hallway and pressed the bar to open the back door. Since there was a wedge of wood stuck inside the door jam to keep it from closing completely, she figured either Donna or Mack must be out back catching a smoke.
But once she got outside, she was alone. Which was good. She didn’t feel like company. A mix of emotions tumbled through, turning her mood even more somber.
The weird vibe permeating the club tonight had invaded her as well. The fact that the woman who sang there before was dead made her nauseous. Sucking in giant gulps of air, she tried to keep from throwing up.
While she stood there minding her own business, leaning against the brick of the building, a black Cadillac slowly made its way down the alley and stopped on the other side of the dumpster to the right of the doorway. She didn’t think much about it until she heard Mack’s voice coming from somewhere out of sight. Though she tried to make out what was being said, she couldn’t catch most of the conversation.
The whole thing seemed odd and she was mesmerized for a few minutes, trying to sort it all out. Suddenly she remembered Mack being AWOL for stretches of time during certain evenings for no apparent reason. Frequently, Shane would ask where Mack was, but she never had an answer. She’d always thought Shane was being controlling, but now she had to wonder.
She glanced at her watch, trying to pinpoint the time. As she was trying to put two and two together, she heard a car door slam and then Mack came around the dumpster.
“Gabriella, what are you doing back here?” Fidgety, he looked over his shoulder.
“I came out for a little air. Who was that?” She wouldn’t have cared much, except that he acted so guilty she couldn’t help being curious.
He shrugged, but even in the dim light of the alley, it looked false. “Just some guy. He was lost.”
Mack clearly couldn’t lie well. But she didn’t have the energy to press him on it.
Later, as things continued to go downhill, she barely remembered his lie. She was way too absorbed in the escalating tension swirling about the club like a big black cloud.
At first it was a kind of restlessness in the audience. She wondered if she wasn’t giving her best performance because she was distracted. And even though she shouldn’t let it bother her, it got under her skin when people chatted and carried on while she was singing. When arguing broke out, she got downright angry.
Between song four and five of the set, she heard voices escalate in the corner of the room at the table of cops. Pretty soon, chairs were tumbling, and a glass shattered on the wood floor prior to two men squaring off.
Shane bolted from behind the bar to wedge himself between them, his arms keeping them at a distance. He told them to knock it off in Shane-type colorful language.
It seemed to her he shouldn’t toss off those kinds of threats to a table full of cops. She sauntered over, convinced it would get really ugly within thirty seconds or less. Patrick and another guy stood on the periphery, not encouraging but also not stepping into the middle of things. More than likely, Patrick had every intention of letting Shane go down in a blaze of glory.
She gave Patrick her best scathing look and moved in next to Shane. Nobody was saying anything, just glaring like guys do, and it made her anxious.
“Come on, fellows. The song wasn’t that bad, was it?” She touched one man’s arm and he recoiled. “Keep this up and you guys are going to have to arrest yourselves.” She figured if she made it clear they were cops, they would stop. Either that or get even worse.
Patrick finally spoke. “Knock it off, Dan.”
The man in question—Dan—did kind of a wobbly glare at the other guy. Then he turned his attention toward Shane and pointed. “You think you’re all badass. But, Shane O’Neil, you’re a dead man.” With that, he turned and walked out the door.
A shiver raced up her spine. She gulped and glanced toward Shane. Either he had ice water in his veins, or he had some kind of a death wish.
What she didn’t understand was how the argument had somehow gone from between the two cops to between the cop and Shane. Then it hit her. He was one of the guys from court earlier, the one Shane had words with. She didn’t recognize him at first because he was in jeans and a baseball cap. It couldn’t be coincidence that he’d ended up at the Blues
Stop tonight.
This didn’t look good. She wanted to hightail it out of Dodge and be rid of this mess. But either through stubbornness or nosiness or just plain craziness, she decided at that very moment to stay put. Maybe she was a glutton for punishment.
One of the remaining cops motioned to Shane. “I need a beer.”
“You’re cut off,” Shane said before walking away.
“You can’t do that.”
Shane didn’t respond. He went behind the bar, ignoring the guy’s rant, which didn’t last long because the other men at the table managed to quiet him. Still, any moment the whole place could erupt into a giant fistfight like in those old westerns on TV.
She made her way to the stage. “Well, that was the most excitement I’ve had in a long while. But I think it’s time we get back to singing.”
She was relieved when the set was over and the between-sets music began to play. As quickly as possible, she slipped off to the dressing room. Most times she liked to hang out at the bar or with customers—or Shane—during breaks. Tonight she wanted to hibernate. Starting with the news about Annie, the night had turned into one gigantic disaster. Gabriella was willing to bet it was going to get worse before it got better.
Understandably, Donna wasn’t much in the mood for conversation. So instead of chatting, she had time to think. All she could focus on was getting back to Florida where these kinds of things didn’t happen to her and all she had to worry about was annoying lectures from her family. She hit the play button on her iPod and let music drown out her thoughts.
As she tried to relax, she spotted a piece of paper crumpled up in the corner of the room. She reached down and opened it. ‘Ayudeme, por favor. Please help me.’
What the heck? Had that been there before? If it hadn’t, where did it come from?
A sick feeling lodged in the bottom of her stomach as she struggled to normalize the situation. Could it be a prank? Even though part of her knew it wasn’t, she wanted it to be something innocent. A practical joke.
But then she saw a spot of dried blood about the size of a quarter not too far from where the note had been lying. At least it looked like dried blood. Either that or her imagination had gone into overdrive. Considering the last few hours that wouldn’t be much of a stretch.
She glanced over at Donna, but she was lost in sad thoughts, a tear running down her cheek ever so often. Just as she was about to seek out Shane, Mack poked his head inside the door.
“Mack, what’s this on the floor?” She pointed at the spot. Would he come to the same conclusion she had?
He gave the spot a superficial glance, then shrugged. “Those cleaning people suck. I spilled some wine there about a week ago.” Without another word, he turned and left.
Of course. She should have figured. Bar and wine totally went together. It seemed feasible, even probable. She stared at the spot once again and reined in her overactive imagination, pushing down the thought that there could be any connection between the scribbled note she still held in her fingertips and the spot.
She wanted to share her concerns with Donna, but Gabriella didn’t have the heart. “I’m sorry about Annie.”
“I thought she was getting better. She was hooked up with the methadone clinic and a sponsor, but I guess relapse is a part of life for an addict.” A tear hung at the edge of her eyelashes.
“You think it was a drug deal gone bad?” Despite herself, Gabriella was starting to wonder about a lot of things, things that didn’t seem to add up. Getting beat up the way Annie had seemed more an act of vengeance than a drug deal gone bad. And then there was the note and the ‘wine spot.’
“I’m not sure what to think. She swore to me she wasn’t using anymore, but if you ask me, methadone is almost as much of a crutch as heroin, just legalized.” Donna shook her head. “But she was acting strange the last couple of days before she disappeared. She didn’t want to talk about it, which was kind of unusual. We were different kinds of people, but I liked her—not like in a ‘let’s go hang out’ kind of way, but…” Donna stopped for a few seconds, taking a giant gulp of the water and composing herself. “It sucks that it happened to her.”
Gabriella could only nod in affirmation. While she didn’t know Annie personally, she did have up close and personal knowledge of drug addiction. She’d lived with a drug addict of a boyfriend for a long time. In her experience, most of the time they were nice people who’d gotten off on the wrong path. She would bet Annie was the same.
But why had she been killed? If, in fact, Annie had been in recovery and going through a methadone clinic, why would she be searching for drugs? Could it be that she had seen or heard something she shouldn’t have? Then again, maybe Annie had lied to Donna. Perhaps she had disappeared because she’d gone back to her drug use and ceased caring about anything else, including the Blues Stop.
When living with Terence, her drug-addict-ex-boyfriend, Gabriella hadn’t recognized that he was still using until the evidence slapped her in the face. Maybe Donna had been as bad as she had been in recognizing what was really going on. Addicts were good at hiding the truth until they got caught. Then they’d squirm, deny, and blame everyone but themselves for what happened. She knew the ritual all too well.
Would anyone ever know what had happened to poor Annie? Would the police continue to pepper Shane with questions until he finally lost his temper and got arrested?
And what, if any, role had Mack played in what happened? She couldn’t help thinking of him differently after what she’d seen in the alley. No doubt he was guilty of something, but she didn’t know what.
Donna’s hands were shaking as they got up to go back on stage. Gabriella took her hand. “Why don’t you go home early? I can handle this last set alone.”
The tears started to flow again. “Are you sure?” When Gabriella nodded, she continued, “But could I ask you a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Would you mind coming with me tomorrow to snoop around about Annie? I’m sure the police aren’t going to do anything about it. They’ll just chalk it up to a druggie’s inconsequential death. I can’t let it…”
“No problem.” She wanted to suggest Shane help as well. He was the private dick, after all, not her. But whether it was oversight or intentional, the idea didn’t seem to be on Donna’s radar at the moment. So, for once in her life, Gabriella went with the flow, consoling herself with the thought that Donna actually thought she could help.
Mack peeked his head inside the dressing room. “What’s going on?”
“Donna’s sick. She’s got to go home.” Gabriella chewed her lip. “Is there a guitar somewhere around here? I’m better on that than the keyboard.”
He gave her a weird look, then shrugged. “In the back hall closet.”
She followed him there and got the guitar. While it had definitely seen better days, with a little tuning, she could make it work.
When she returned to the stage, she was a little surprised but relieved to find out Patrick and his friends were gone. She figured they’d stick around to the bitter end, if only to finish off this crazy night with a bang.
Thankfully, the night petered out uneventfully, although Mack was acting weirder than usual. She tried to ignore him as much as she could but noticed he was watching her more closely than normal. She couldn’t help wondering if he was still bothered by the encounter in the alley.
More than likely he’d been smoking weed or doing some coke and thought if she told Shane, he’d be fired on the spot. Which he probably would be. She had more than enough trouble dealing with Shane as it was. She didn’t need an angry Mack on her back.
Then again, Mack hadn’t seemed overly weird when she’d asked him about the spot on the floor. Spilled wine made a lot more sense than dried blood. And the note was probably nothing.
Satisfied things were hunky dory again, and that Shane would be taking her home as per usual, she walked up to the bar after the club closed.
Before sh
e got even close to the bar, Shane blurted, “You screwing my brother?”
“Excuse me?” That wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting.
In fact, she’d had this lovely fantasy in her head in which Shane would confide in her and divulge all about O’Brien and his threat. And she’d tell him about the weird note and spot and they’d laugh about her overactive imagination. Then they’d work together to figure out what was really going on. Instead, she’d gotten Mr. Crazy Paranoid Macho Man once again.
“He had his hands all over you while you were dancing.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Not that I care. I just want to know if the asshole is going to come sniffing around here often.”
Where was all this coming from? Had some kind of weird spell been placed on this club or had she somehow been transported to an alternate universe where everyone was crazy, cranky, and paranoid? “Don’t be ridiculous. He was drunk.”
“I didn’t see you fighting him off.”
“Not that it’s any business of yours, but there was nothing to fight off.”
“Oh, I get it. You’re doing the O’Neil brothers comparison. You won’t be the first. It happened when we were in high school, too.”
“You’re in a foul mood and taking it out on me. I’m sorry your singer was killed. I’m sorry you, for some reason, feel responsible. I’m sorry a cop wants to see you dead. I’m sorry Tony got stabbed. But don’t think you can catch me in the middle of your drama.” She pulled the strap of her purse onto her shoulder. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take a cab home.”
She stormed out, half expecting him to stop her and apologize. At least in her fantasy version, he did. Instead, Mack followed her out.
“I’ll give you a ride, Gabriella.”
Like hell. “No thanks.” She flagged down a passing cab which, through some miracle, was nearby. Still steaming from Shane’s over-the-top behavior, it took her a few minutes to recognize she was being followed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Shane chastised himself as he opened the front door to apologize. It wasn’t her fault he had issues. But instead of getting a chance to talk, he spotted her getting into a cab. Probably a good thing.
