“There,” Basilio whispered. He lifted his chin toward the very spot where they’d been sitting only minutes earlier. A hooded figure sat there now and cradled a guitar in white hands.
LoriAnne wanted to dash to him and go all fangirl, but she forced herself to walk in his direction like a not-crazy person and stop at the low wall. “I love your music,” she blurted. “I’ve listened to all of your YouTube recordings about a million times each. I can’t believe I’m here. I mean, you’re here. With me.” Oh, that’s nice. I sound like a blithering idiot. “And … and you need to be careful because Bambi Coldwater might sic protesters on you because she hates jokers.” LoriAnne gulped. “I mean. If you are a joker. A joker-ace.” She tried to get a glimpse of his face, curiosity burning. “Are you?”
The hooded man stroked his fingers over the strings, setting them humming. “I’m not a joker,” he said, voice low and rich. “Or an ace.”
“Then why don’t you set people straight?” she asked, confused. “Tell them who you are.”
“Wouldn’t make a difference to those who want to hate, though, now would it? People believe what they want to believe. Truth doesn’t enter into it half the time.” He picked out a lilting riff. “Besides, I know who and what I am. A musician, doing my thing.”
Asti shook his head in disbelief. “But you’re incredible.”
He let out a soft laugh. “I practice a lot. But it doesn’t feel like practice, ’cause I’m doing what I love.”
“You’re an albino?” Basilio said.
One shoulder twitched up. “Something like that.”
He’s just a nat, LoriAnne thought in chagrin, then realized how stupid an attitude that was. No, he wasn’t just anything. He was a brilliant musician. It made no difference why he was so brilliant.
Her fangirl respect for him skyrocketed. Nat or joker or ace, TheFeels didn’t give a crap what other people thought of him. He knew exactly who and what he was, and everyone else could take it or leave it. Earlier today, Mr. Sloane had been forced to remind her that she was, indeed, a dedicated musician. If she could learn to believe in herself as a musician and a wild card and a person with even half the cool factor TheFeels had … Wow.
Pale fingers danced over the strings, plucking out a subtle refrain. “You three must be here for the band competition,” he said, then he laughed softly. “I remember those days.”
LoriAnne’s jaw dropped. “You were in high school band?!”
“Couldn’t do marching band, of course.” He raised a white hand. “But I did a couple years of orchestra and jazz. Like I told ya, I’m no magic man. I’m just a guy with a bit of talent and a lot of love for music.” His head tipped back enough for her to see his smile within the hood. “What’s your name?”
She straightened as if coming to attention. “LoriAnne Broom, sir. I play the drums.” She gestured to the others. “Basilio’s a drummer, too. Asti plays guitar.”
“It’s real nice to meet you, LoriAnne, Asti, and Basilio. Most people know me as TheFeels. A few people call me Feeley Fitz.” He leaned forward. “My real name is Greg Fitzmorris. But I like to keep things private. Low-key, y’know? So I’m trusting you’ll keep it under your hats.”
LoriAnne felt as if she’d been honored with the secret of the universe. She and the others solemnly promised to never reveal his name to another soul.
Greg “TheFeels” Fitzmorris tucked the guitar into its case and flipped the latches closed. “Well, I need to get going, and I have a feeling y’all are out a bit later than you should be.” He chuckled as they groaned. “Just head to the corner and hang a right then keep going. Hotel’ll be on your left.”
Before LoriAnne could say another word, he stood and sauntered off into the shadows.
“So, yeah, it’s almost midnight.” Basilio laughed. “Go big or go home, right?”
LoriAnne sighed in mock despair. “Not sure how the rest of the week can measure up to tonight.”
“It was worth every minute,” Asti said fervently, then he blew out a breath. “Now to get back to our rooms without anyone catching us.”
She glanced at her phone. “Mr. Sloane hasn’t texted or tried to call. Believe me, if he’d done a bed check, my phone would be blowing up.”
Asti and Basilio pulled out their phones and confirmed no messages for them either.
“At least we avoided Bambi,” Basilio said.
“So far.” LoriAnne wrinkled her nose. “We still have to get through the lobby and to our rooms. I’d be willing to bet there are some nat chaperones who’d come down hard on Asti just for being a joker.” Probably not Mr. Sloane, but best not to take the chance. “What about Rubberband? I mean, Mr. Ruttiger? Do you think he’d help us out?”
Asti rubbed the back of his head. “It can’t hurt to try. Any trouble I get in with him is sure to be a billion times less than with anyone else.” He thumbed in a text. “Crap. I’m probably going to wake him up. Hopefully, he’ll understand.” He hit send. Less than ten seconds later his phone buzzed.
LoriAnne winced. “I guess he wasn’t asleep.”
Asti sighed as he skimmed the text. “Guess not. He says to meet him at the hotel parking garage entrance.” He grimaced. “And to stay out of sight.”
Fortunately, their route took them right to the parking garage. They slipped in and threaded their way between the cars as covertly as possible.
Rubberband was waiting for them in the shadow of a van, not far from the entrance. The dim light made it impossible to read his expression. Or maybe it was always tough to read.
“Asti. Miss Broom. Mr. Morales-Soto. I trust you are all well?” His eyes skimmed over them, lingering briefly on the thin scrape on Basilio’s chin and Asti’s scuffed sleeves.
All three hurried to assure him they were okay.
Rubberband nodded. “Asti, you can tell me all about it tomorrow.” He glanced behind him. “For now, wait thirty seconds, then come in and go directly to the stairs and up to your respective rooms.”
He slipped into the hotel. Asti stared glumly at his watch. “That’ll be a fun conversation. But he’s pretty cool. I’m just going to be honest and tell him we went looking for a musician and things went south.”
“Deep South,” LoriAnne said with a snort.
Asti smiled. “Okay, let’s go.”
As they entered, a screech of surprise came from the far end of the lobby, followed by a crash and shouts of dismay. Taking that as Rubberband’s not-so-subtle diversion, they sprinted and reached the stairs without any chaperones spotting them.
But not completely unseen. A certain scrawny busboy stood in the entrance of the bar across the corridor. He stared at the trio in comical dismay as he clutched a bundle of dirty tablecloths to his chest like a shield.
“Heyyyy, Melvin!” LoriAnne stage-whispered with a fierce smile and wave. “It sure was great to meet Marvin.”
His eyes went wide. “I … I didn’t tell him to mess with you.”
Basilio laughed under his breath. “You two stay right here.” He shot a quick glance toward the lobby then darted over to Melvin.
“Hey, man,” Basilio said. “I just wanted to apologize for yelling at you.” He clapped a hand on Melvin’s shoulder, paused a second, then dashed back to the others.
Melvin scowled and stalked back into the bar. Basilio whispered, “Three, two, one…”
Braaaaaaaaaaaaaap.
“Jesus, Melvin! What the hell’s wrong with you? Gah! Get out!”
Smothering laughter, they ran up the stairs.
When they reached the sixth floor, Basilio stopped. “This is me.”
Asti nodded. “Same here.”
“I’m on the seventh,” LoriAnne said.
They cautiously peered out the stairwell door.
“Looks clear,” she whispered. “Y’all be careful, okay? I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Asti smiled and leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Definitely.”
Basilio kissed
the other cheek. “You’re stuck with us now.”
Blushing, LoriAnne closed the door to a mere crack and watched the two boys creep silently down the hall. She stayed until each one slipped into a room, then she continued to her floor.
Fortunately, her room wasn’t far from the stairs. She eased in as quietly as possible and sloooowly closed the door, pleased when it latched with the tiniest of clicks. Using her phone for light, she crept to her suitcase to find her sleep clothes.
The sound of a keycard in the lock sent her heart spasming. Bed check? Crap! She dove for her bed and scrabbled to untuck the very well-tucked sheets, then blinked in shock as Cassie slipped in.
Cassie startled at the sight of LoriAnne but recovered enough to shut the door. “Why are you still up?” she demanded in a hoarse whisper. Her eyes widened as she took in LoriAnne’s attire—which was certainly not pajamas. “And where have you been?”
LoriAnne folded her arms over her chest. “I might ask the same of you.” Cassie had on a slinky purple dress, and a pair of stiletto heels dangled from one hand.
Cassie pursed her lips and gave LoriAnne a calculating look. “Why, I’ve been in here reading while my roommate…”
LoriAnne considered. “While your roommate listened to music, ever since dinner.”
Cassie grinned in relief. “Dibs on the shower,” she said, already heading for the bathroom.
LoriAnne smiled. “Have at it.”
A familiar whispery whine brushed her senses. She moved to the window to see her Louisiana skeeter drift upward from the pool area and settle on the outside of the glass. Beyond it, the lights of San Antonio twinkled with promise as Greg Fitzmorris’s music echoed in her memory.
LoriAnne let out a happy sigh. “This is going to be the best week ever.”
THURSDAY
Bubbles and the Band Trip
Part 8
GHOST SHOOK MICHELLE AWAKE at midnight.
“Holy shit! What are you doing here?” Michelle asked. She was bleary and a little disoriented. “And how did you get in?”
Ghost put her hands on her hips and looked at Michelle as if Michelle was incredibly stupid. But she also looked furious.
“Oh, right,” Michelle said. “The walking-through-walls thing. Sorry, I’m not awake yet. Seriously, didn’t Rusty talk to you about doing that here? And where is he?”
“He’s asleep,” Ghost said in a rush. “I just … I just couldn’t sleep.” She shivered. On top of the anger, Michelle saw a raw fear. “I hate those people! They want to kill us! They want to kill me and Adesina, and you!”
Michelle threw back the covers. “It’s okay, Yerodin,” she said, reaching out to her, but Ghost just floated away. There was nothing to be done when Ghost got into this frame of mind. Even living with Rusty couldn’t completely repair the broken part of Ghost. “You want Wally or Sharon? Or you want to stay with me?”
“Sharon. If we get Wally, Mr. Ruttiger will wake up, too.”
“Okay.”
Michelle walked across the hall and knocked on Sharon’s door. A few moments later, a bleary-eyed Sharon opened it.
“She’s having a rough night,” Michelle replied softly. “You okay to spend some time with her?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Michelle replied. She turned and went back to her room.
And then she couldn’t get back to sleep. She got up and threw on a pair of dove-colored baggy pants, sneakers, and a loose, leaf-green tunic top.
When she got to the lounge, there were no tables available. She went to the bar and ordered a vodka tonic. Light on the vodka. As she was waiting for her drink, she couldn’t help but overhear a conversation from a table behind her.
“Yeah, I saw those freaks,” came a slightly slurred woman’s voice. “Walking down to the River Walk like they were normal tourists. Big as life. That one with the wings. And the one with the wheels. Creepy as hell, if you ask me.”
The bartender put her drink down in front of her. “Here you go, Ms. Pond. Light on the vodka. On the house.” She gave her a nice smile that surprised Michelle. “Don’t mind the idiots.”
“Too late,” Michelle said, fishing a twenty out of her pocket. She tucked it under the drink on the bar. “Those are my kids out there.”
“I understand.”
Michelle slid off her stool.
I’m so going to ground Adesina. And Peter. Even if he wasn’t her kid, she was going to ground him. Now all I have to do is figure out where the hell they are.
She stopped at the front desk. The clerk was a tall girl with a blond bob wearing a navy blazer and red kerchief around her neck. “Did you see a couple of joker kids leave here?” Michelle asked.
The clerk nodded. “They wanted to see about getting into Bohanan’s next door. The jazz is great there, but there’s no way they’d get seated given … well, you know. Also, it’s expensive.
“They left about five minutes ago. Asked me where the Indigo Night jazz bar was. I gave them a map and showed them.” She reached below the counter and pulled out a map of the River Walk. “You go to Navarro and turn south. When you get to the bridge, go over and down the steps. Head east and you’ll find it.”
“Did you mention that they were too young to be going to a club?”
“I did. But they told me that they were just going to hear music. I know that club, they weren’t going to get in no matter what. I used to date the bouncer.” The desk clerk gave Michelle a bright, disconcertingly gummy smile.
The River Walk was swampy. Despite the cool temperature at street level, down along the walk there was a hint of heat. The man-made concrete river was arched by metal bridges, some leading to the streets above, some that just went from one side of the walk to the other. The water was a dirty jade color and looked as if it would be nasty to fall into. Tour boats made their way slowly through the murky water.
The River Walk was still busy, even at a quarter to one in the morning. There was a steady stream of tourists, but it was mostly small groups and a lot of couples.
After getting a heady, smoky whiff of barbecue from the County Line as she went down the stairs from Navarro to the River Walk, she saw the Hard Rock Cafe nestled back among the liriope, Texas lilies, and boxwoods overhung by live-oak branches. Round metal tables with white umbrellas and wood slatted chairs were set out on the patio. “I swear, there’s a Hard Rock everywhere,” Michelle muttered.
A couple jumped up from their seats and hustled over to her. Both men wore tailored khakis, short-sleeved madras print shirts, and Top-Siders with no socks. One had light brown hair with blond streaks and the other’s hair was salt-and-pepper.
“Oh. My. God!” said the blond one. “It’s you! I told you, Ben. It’s really her!”
Ben smiled at her, then said, “I apologize for my boyfriend. He gets a little excited. You’re Michelle Pond? You’re much prettier in person. Could we get a photo with you?”
“Well, I’m trying to find my daughter and her friends,” Michelle said, attempting to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “Did you see a girl with blue wings and a boy with wheels for legs come by here recently?”
The blond man chuckled and said, “How could we miss them? They went by a few minutes ago. There was a short, brunette girl with them. But no one bothered them, if you’re worried.”
“Thank you! I appreciate the help! I’m so sorry about the photo, but I really have to catch up.”
Ben and his companion gave her the sad-face, then Ben said, “It’s okay. I understand. We already got a pic of you as you were coming up.”
“Thanks for understanding.” She started walking again, passing Joe’s Crab Shack, where the smell of frying everything hung heavy in the air.
It didn’t take her long to see the kids. Kimmie and Segway were holding hands, and Adesina was walking behind them. They were causing something of a sensation—as any jokers migh
t—but no one was harassing them. However, Michelle was getting stopped by almost everyone. She hated disappointing people who wanted autographs or pictures, but sometimes she just wished she could be part of the crowd. It would make things easier.
The pathway curved and narrowed as it went under one of the bridges at Presa. Under the bridge, vendors’ tables selling Dios de los Muertos and other kinds of tchotchkes narrowed the path, and people stopping to look-see or buy merchandise forced everyone to walk in single file. As Adesina, Kimmie, and Peter emerged from under the bridge, Michelle saw the Indigo Night bar on the other side of the river.
There were two popping noises. Then a pinging noise off the metal bridge.
Michelle knew what gunfire sounded like. Apparently, so did a lot of the sightseers. There were screams and some of the tourists hit the ground. Adesina unfurled her wings, then wrapped them around Kimmie, Peter, and herself. “Get down!” Adesina shouted.
Michelle knew Adesina’s wings were tough enough to resist bullets, but that didn’t address the problem of everyone else’s well-being. And she was trying very hard not to freak out about the whole my-daughter-and-her-friends-almost-got-shot thing.
Michelle thought she knew which direction the bullets had come from. She began running toward the stairs leading to the top of the bridge at the corner of Crockett and Presa. She yelled at Adesina, Kimmie, and Peter, “You guys are in a world of hurt! And, oh my God, be careful!”
Michelle took the steps two at a time, then dashed across the bridge. She was at street level now, but there were only a couple of drunks staggering away from her. “Did you see anyone up here?” she asked them.
They turned and gave her tipsy smiles. “Nah,” said one of them—a pretty girl with straw-colored hair in goth clothing. “Just us.” Then she and her companion giggled. A car drove by with Tejano music blaring through the open windows.
Michelle swore under her breath. She looked around. But if this was where the shots had come from, the shooter was long gone. Frustrated, she turned and headed back over the bridge. It was a lousy night for the River Walk to be slow.
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