The Devil's Luck

by W E DeVore

  “I’m not…” he said.

  She ignored him. “Your brother-in-law already knows, Kyle. Or suspects. Nobody could hate Derek that much just for making street-parking a little difficult once a month.” Derek gave her a questioning look and she explained, “Your little cowgirl’s man is the one that called the fire marshal on us.”

  Kyle stood up and bore down on Q. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

  She pushed him back and said, “Oh, pipe down. Your sister is a grown woman who decided to fuck herself a rock star. Let it go. Jesus.”

  Apparently, Kyle did not want to let it go. He kicked his chair over and stormed out of the room.

  Q turned back to Derek and said, “It was her idea, wasn’t it?”

  “Angel, I’m into a lot of things. Non-consensual sex isn’t one of them.”

  “Could have fooled me,” she muttered. “Is that why I have to keep telling you ‘no’?”

  “One of these days, you’re going to say ‘yes,’” he said.

  “One of these days, you’re going to drop dead of a lethal combination of STDs and I’ll dance on your grave.”

  Derek flashed a broad shark-tooth grin. “God damn, I like you.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “So, tell me what happened with Kyle’s sister.”

  “It was a couple of years ago. When we played Seattle. It was Kyle’s birthday. She came, sans husband. We had an after-party for Kyle at some speakeasy. Kyle says she was drunk.”

  “Was she?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. She flirted with me all night. We went back to the hotel. I was going to get her a room, but she said she’d rather sleep in mine. I was happy to oblige. She’s stunning. I don’t know what the Nakamuras did right, but both their kids won some sort of genetic lottery.”

  “How did Kyle find out?” Q asked.

  “Malcolm.”

  “Who’s Malcolm?”

  Derek glanced after Kyle’s path of destruction. “His husband. Malcolm put Kyle to bed, now he was drunk. Got up early the next morning to get him something for his hangover, heard Julie and I going for round three? Maybe round four?” He paused for a second, thinking intently. “No, round three… Julie’s a screamer.”

  “Why did he tell him?” Q asked.

  “Kyle wants to do film scores, and he could. He’s good enough. But he’s scared, I think. Maybe Malcolm thought it would give him a good enough reason to quit the band and go out on his own.”

  “You didn’t think that fucking a bandmate’s little sister might not be a good idea?”

  “Julie is three years older than Kyle, angel. And, like you said, she’s a grown woman. She can make her own choices. Besides, it’s just sex. I will never understand how people get so hung up about it.” He leaned his elbow on the table and rested his face in his palm. “After round four, she freaked. I guess after fifteen orgasms, her moral qualms finally kicked in. Then she told me she was married, and she didn’t know what had gotten into her and begged me to understand.”

  “Let me guess, you had no intention of ever seeing her again.”

  “Not true. I love having a playmate or two to call in most major cities. Wouldn’t have minded seeing her again, at all.”

  Q sighed in disillusionment. “You’re just like Charlie.”

  “I am not,” Derek said, defensively. “I am an ethical non-monogamist.”

  “What in the hell is that?” she asked.

  “I don’t believe in monogamy. The women I sleep with know that up front. Charlie just likes to sleep around. If you’re asking me? There is nothing ethical about your trumpet player.”

  She laughed. “Point taken. So, you really didn’t know she’d moved here.”

  He gave her non-committal smile. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  “Yeah, you’re not much of a gentleman. You should watch yourself,” she said. “I’m serious, Derek. Her husband is an asshole.”

  “You should watch yourself, angel,” Derek chided. “It almost sounds like you care about my wellbeing.”

  “Almost, huh?”

  Derek’s smile faded, and he said, “Thanks, Q.”

  “For what?” she asked.

  “Helping me with Kyle.”

  “Well, he doesn’t seem to like me much, for some reason,” she said. “He’s been kind of a tool since that dinner party.”

  “He’s just jealous. He hates musicians who are better than him.” When she pursed her lips to make it understood that she didn’t believe him, he continued, “They’re all jealous, angel. Well, not Fi. She wants to fuck your brains out.”

  “She also a better musician than me.”

  He winked at her. “That, too.”

  “You think he’ll quit?” she asked.

  “Probably. He’s under contract for the rest of the tour, then I’ll probably be in the market for a new guitar player. It’s not the end of the world. It’s probably time, anyway. Now, if Fi quit, I’d hang it up and retire.”

  “Really?” Q was surprised that Derek had any allegiance to anyone but himself.

  “It wouldn’t be any fun without her. She sprained her wrist a few years back and I had to use someone else for a one single late-night TV show appearance. Saddest night of my life.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that, Derek.” A sudden flash of pain crossed his face and she instantly regretted her words. “You ever talk about it?”

  He flashed his shark tooth grin again and said, “Nothing to talk about, angel.”

  “You sure about that?”

  He reached across the table and took her hand. “Sure, I’m sure.”

  Something caught his eye behind her and he cursed under his breath. He stood up. “You’d better come with me, Q. We’ve got trouble.”

  She turned to see Paul standing in the doorway, holding a manila envelope with two hands, looking simultaneously apologetic and apoplectic. ‘BURN BITCH BURN’ was written in bold block letters on the back of the envelope he held. Q’s stomach turned itself inside out and she covered her mouth to keep from gagging.

  Paul tilted his head to indicate for them to leave the crowded room. They followed him up the cement stairs and into the theatre. The three huddled together in the aisle, staring at the envelope with distrust.

  “When did it come?” Derek asked.

  “Troy found it when he went out for the po’ boys. It was leaning against the back door.”

  Q pulled out her phone. “I’m calling Sanger.”

  “I’ve already called Brian,” Paul said. “He’ll take it from here. I just wanted to alert Derek.”

  “Brian’s been taking it from here for over a year, Paul,” Q said. “Somehow this nutjob isn’t taking the hint.”

  When Q and Derek had been recording Scarification the previous year, an enthusiastic Dark Harm fan had somehow gotten it into their head that Derek and Q should be living happily ever after in a gloomy tower somewhere on the outskirts of the Never Never. The minor detail that Q was already living happily ever after with her husband in uptown New Orleans didn’t factor into the stalker’s logic.

  While Derek’s letters had mostly admonished him for being cuckolded, Q’s had been of the straight-up death threat variety. Both types of what Derek had rakishly referred to as their ‘love notes’ were signed, ‘Burn Bitch Burn.’ The implication being that Q was the bitch in that equation.

  Q dialed Sanger’s number and paced in front of the stage, waiting for him to answer. When he picked up after the sixth ring, she said, “I need you, cowboy. 911.”

  “I’m on my way. Where are you?”

  “The Orpheum. Got a love note for you to look at.”

  ◆◆◆

  Q paced nervously up and down the aisle, listening to Derek and Paul discuss the possibility of hiring extra security for the rehearsals. She clutched the envelope in her fist, refusing to relinquish it to anyone but Sanger.

  Sanger’s voice boomed from backstage. “I don’t give a good goddamn. Th
is is police business!”

  Derek called out. “It’s ok, Troy. Let him up.”

  Sanger rushed through the curtains hiding the door that led backstage and approached Q. “You ok, Clementine?”

  She mutely shook her head, not trusting her voice to do anything but scream in wild panic and handed him the envelope.

  He sat on a nearby armrest and pulled on a pair of latex gloves before he opened it. He slid an eight-by-ten photograph out of the envelope and heaved a weighty sigh. Q leaned over his shoulder and gasped as she saw herself seated next to Derek. His arm was draped over the back of her chair and she was laughing at something he was whispering into her ear. The table before them was laden with glimmering wine glasses and the remnants of their steak dinner.

  “This was two Saturdays ago,” she whispered.

  Written on the back in the same block script as the front of the envelope was:

  So shall the king greatly desire this beauty; for he is her Lord, and she shall worship Him. But He should give not His strength unto such a woman for she leads to the path that destroys kings. Marriage is honorable in all, and the bed undefiled; but whoremongers and adulterers God will judge. – Burn Bitch Burn

  Sanger’s eyebrows stitched together, and he pulled out another sheet of paper from the envelope. His face twisted in horror as he read it. “Oh, god.”

  “What is it?” Q asked.

  He held it up and Q immediately recognized her own name at the top of the page just beneath the hospital’s logo. The word ‘miscarriage’ seemed to levitate off the page.

  “How did they get a copy of my discharge papers?” she gasped.

  Derek leaned over her shoulder and said, “What discharge papers, angel?”

  Before Sanger could stop him, Derek took the page from his hand and Q read the rest with him. Written in red ink at the bottom was:

  Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away. I, in turn, will do this to you: I will appoint over you a sudden terror, consumption and fever that will waste away the eyes and cause the soul to pine away; you will sow your seed uselessly, for your enemies will devour it.

  Derek walked away and studied the page before handing it back to Sanger. He snapped his fingers at Paul. “Hire Jerry’s security firm. Now. I don’t care what it costs.”

  Paul started to argue, and Derek shushed him. “I want this place on lockdown. We’re calling it a night. Get everybody out of here. You have two days to get this building secure. We’ll rehearse at the studio until it is.”

  “But Derek, the crew…”

  “Can keep working. Lighting, staging, but we’re out. The band is out. Q’s not stepping foot inside this building until we know who, when, and what is going in and out. Do what I’m telling you to do, Paul. Call Jerry. Give him whatever he wants. It’s just money. We’ll make more. We know how to do that.” He turned to Sanger. “Am I overreacting, detective?”

  “No, Derek, you’re not.”

  The fact that Derek had referred to Sanger by his title and not the insulting nickname he’d been using for virtually the entirety of their acquaintance didn’t escape Q. Derek put his hand on the small of her back and said in a low voice, “You should have told me, angel.”

  “There’s nothing more to tell, Derek.”

  He frowned in powerless sympathy. “Get out of here. I’ll see you tomorrow at the studio. Ten a.m. sharp.”

  ◆◆◆

  Q sat in silence on a stiff metal chair next to Sanger’s desk waiting for him to finish filing his report.

  “How did they get my medical records, Aaron? Nobody knew I was going to be there. There are less than six people on the planet that knew it happened at all. Ben’s parents don’t even know about it.”

  “I don’t know. Could have hacked the hospital. Maybe they work there. Maybe they stole it from your recycling. You keep your copy?” he asked.

  “No,” she admitted. “I didn’t want any reminders around. I told Ben to burn it.”

  He turned his chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I want you to quit working for Derek.”

  “What?” she asked. “No.”

  “This person wants to hurt you, Clementine. They’re watching you, even when Derek’s not around.” He grimaced. “It’s escalating. You know that as well as me, and they got close enough to take a picture of the two of you without you even knowing.”

  “It’s called a window, Sanger. They just shot a photo through the glass.”

  “You know what else can shoot through a window?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t be dramatic.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” he replied firmly. “I want you to quit working for Derek Sharp, now. You mind me, Clementine.”

  “Mind you?” she exclaimed. “I’m not a child, Sanger. I’m under contract and I’m not quitting just because some weirdo sent me a few letters.”

  “Some weirdo who knew you were in the hospital. Some weirdo who could have gotten close enough to hurt you while you were weak enough for them to do some real damage.”

  “Some weirdo who would have been sorely disappointed to find an armed NOPD detective holding my hand,” she said. “Honestly, the easiest theory is probably the right one. This weirdo went for a walk on recycling day and randomly found a little treasure in my trash,” she argued. “For fuck’s sake, this has been going on for a year. And they haven’t escalated. Not really. If anything, they’ve been slacking since Derek’s been on tour. They’re just ramping back up now that he’s back in town.”

  “You’re proving my point for me, Clementine. It’s been going on for a year and Derek’s people can’t or won’t stop it. Do you want to get killed?”

  “Yes, Sanger. That’s precisely my goal. I want to be killed by a Dark Harm stalker. It’s my singular mission in life.” She folded her arms and leaned back into her chair, crossing her legs at the ankles.

  Sanger looked down for a moment and said quietly, “I’d burn this city to the ground if something happened to you, Clementine.”

  “Well, that’s good news for the Crescent City, because I have no intention of letting something happen to me, cowboy.” She stood up and walked around his chair to squeeze his shoulders. “Relax, will you? I’m not going anywhere.”

  The tension in Sanger’s body eased at her command and he rubbed the back of her hand that rested on his left shoulder. “You’re right. It’s just for a few more weeks. I can pull some strings to get an extra patrol in your neighborhood.”

  Q exhaled slowly, ill-prepared to deliver the news that she’d only discussed with Ben. “I might be leaving in a few weeks, Sanger. Then we’ll have to trust Derek’s people to their job.”

  His body stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

  She let go of his shoulders and turned to rest against his desk, facing him. “Derek wants this Archangel gig to be more permanent, Aaron. He wants me to finish the tour with him. Then record an album, something that’s just the two of us. Something neither one of us has done before. I’m considering it. Ben thinks it’s a good opportunity and so do I.” She braced herself for Sanger’s reaction. There was a reason she hadn’t mentioned it before now.

  “You’re considering it?” The hurt in Sanger’s voice tore at her insides. “And Ben’s going along with this?”

  Even she’d been surprised by Ben’s reaction to Derek’s proposal. His response had been immediate and unambiguous: she should go; it was too big of an opportunity to turn down a second time.

  “Ben wants me to do it. He thinks it’s something that I’ll regret for the rest of my life if I don’t. And he’s right. This is big. I can’t turn it down again. I shouldn’t have turned it down to begin with. Even Stanley told me I was being stupid. The Beasts don’t know yet. That’s the only reason I haven’t accepted it. If they can pull off the gigs without me these next couple months, then I know they’ll be ok. Tony Balladine is interested in fronting
. If they’ve got it covered, then I’m out, at least for a while.”

  “The Beasts are the deciding factor,” he said. “The fucking Beasts?”

  Q stared at him slack-jawed. “Yes, the fucking Beasts. They’re my business partners. It’s a tour, Aaron. I’ll be gone for months. It messes with their livelihood. It doesn’t mess with you at all. What is your problem?”

  “Fuck you, Clementine.” Sanger stood up and stalked out of the precinct office and down into the street with Q trailing after him.