Murder at The Blues Stop

by Wendy Byrne

  Just as the cabbie had said, an armed guard stood inside the door. I bounded up the stairs as quickly as possible. The guard opened the door as soon as I reached the top step and ushered me inside.

  “Shane O’Neil.” Nervousness combined with the stair climb had my breath labored.

  The guard nodded. “In the gym. Down that hall, and then turn right.” The man motioned with his hand as he spoke.

  “Thanks.” A prickle of fear climbed up my spine as I made my way down the hallway. Maybe the cabbie’s stories had made me uneasy. Maybe the unsettling silence grated on my nerves. Maybe the pervasive bad vibe had me worrying about anything and everything.

  Lockers lined both sides of the hall and gang graffiti covered much of the available wall space. Definitely a scary place to attend high school.

  Students roamed the halls in groups of two or three, but none of them paid much attention as I meandered along. I turned right at the end of the hall and spotted a big door with the word ‘Gymnasium’ scrawled across the top.

  I peeked through the swinging door and spotted Shane, barefooted and demonstrating some kind of martial arts move to ten or so students. The superficial side to me couldn’t help but notice the tight fit of his t-shirt showcasing well-developed biceps as well as his muscular legs and butt outlined to perfection in black athletic pants. I couldn’t help thinking that his body mirrored his persona—every inch of him inside and out was honed and sculpted to perfection. Yet he kept others at a distance through his gruff facade.

  Immersed in teaching, he didn’t notice me until he broke the students into pairs to practice the techniques and looked in my direction. I gestured for him to come over.

  “What’s wrong?” His brows furrowed.

  “Cara sent me. There’s an emergency court hearing today at five with a lawyer named Vince Perry. She left you a message on your cell but feared you wouldn’t retrieve it in time. She had class and asked me to give you the message.”

  He nodded, his face inching into a half-smile. “I guess you saw the ugly side of the city on your ride over.”

  I nodded. “Miami has its bad areas too. Every big city does. Mix oppression with lack of money and opportunity, and something bad is bound to happen.”

  “Did your cabbie stay to take you back?”

  I shook my head. “I had to bribe him with a twenty-dollar tip to bring me here in the first place.”

  “If you don’t mind sticking around for a few minutes, I’ll take you back.”

  He placed his hand on the small of my back and led me toward the group of students. “This is Ms. Sanchez.”

  One of the boys spoke. “Is this your woman, Mr. O’Neil?”

  “No,” Shane answered quickly, as if the idea were too absurd to enter his mind.

  “Are you going to show us some martial arts too?” one of the girls asked.

  I bit my lip to keep my laughter in check. “I’m afraid that would be a disaster. My brother tried to teach me once, but when I broke a nail, I called the whole thing off.” Why did I suddenly feel inadequate? “My only skill is singing for a living.”

  Shane held up his hand. “And she is amazing at it. Currently, she’s working at The Blues Stop.”

  I tried, but wasn’t sure I was successful, in keeping the incredulous look off my face as I stumbled through a response that didn’t seem forthcoming.

  Thankfully, one of the girls spoke up. “I sing in the church choir. But getting paid for it is a whole different story. I’m going to try out for American Idol when they come back into town.”

  “Maybe while Mr. O’Neil is here teaching us, you could teach kids who want to sing,” one of the girls suggested.

  “I’ll only be around for a little less than a month. After that, I’ll be heading to my next gig.” Which reminded me that I needed to talk to Patrick about any connections he might have.

  “If you’re not Mr. O’Neil’s lady, maybe you’d consider going out with me.” The boy that spoke had the swagger of a player within the body of an adolescent. When his body grew into his bravado, no doubt he’d be a lady-killer if he wasn’t already.

  “If only you were ten years older.” I gave him my most flirtatious smile.

  “That’s okay, I like older women.” Dimples lined his cheeks, making his grin infectious.

  “Enough flirting, Terrell.” Shane smiled and patted the boy on the back.

  Seeing Shane’s level of commitment to these kids made me feel superficial and woefully inadequate in comparison. Seeing him here personified the ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ adage, proving I had misjudged him from the beginning.

  “I’m going to wrap things up a few minutes early as I have some business to attend to. I’ll be back next Wednesday. But in the meantime—”

  In unison they recited, “No drugs, no alcohol, no junk food, and no gangbanging.”

  For the first time since I’d met him, he seemed to have a genuine smile on his face. “You’ve got this,” he said as he high-fived the kids as we walked together out of the gym.

  He steered me toward a side door and down a hallway in the opposite direction I came in. “This is the closest exit to my car.”

  “How long have you been coming here?”

  “Every Wednesday for about a year. Several of us work together year-round to give the kids something to focus on. Let’s face it, none of the kids living in this area could afford to take martial arts classes.”

  “How did you start?” I’d become fascinated with this part of Shane I hadn’t glimpsed before.

  “I met the principal while I was volunteering at a youth shelter. She’s committed to the kids and is constantly on the lookout for volunteer mentors to impact their lives in a meaningful way.” He hit the remote for his car, threw his gym bag in the trunk, then opened my door. “We worked out a reward system to make the kids eligible to participate. So far it’s been working.”

  I settled into the passenger seat, engaging the seat belt. “A kind of prescreening process?”

  “The kids in my class are attending school regularly; they have at least a B average; they aren’t in trouble with the law and don’t have a gang affiliation. It goes without saying if they use what I’ve taught them as a means to intimidate, they’re out immediately.”

  “Has that been a problem?”

  “A couple of times. But nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  It was becoming increasingly clear to me that there wasn’t a lot Shane couldn’t handle. Give me a broken nail and a bad hair day and I was in a dither. I wished I could muster up the confidence to tackle life’s curves. Give me a quiz on the latest fashion trends or how to accessorize and I’d ace it. Anything more complex than that and I was at a loss.

  “Are you going—” My words were cut off when the back window of the car suddenly shattered, sprinkling glass throughout the interior.

  Bits adhered to my skirt and dusted my bare arms. Tiny shards dotted my hair. My hands shook while my stomach twisted.

  He pushed on the top of my head. “Get down.”

  I didn’t argue. Sliding down in the seat as far as I could go, I managed to squeak. “Was that a bullet?”

  Nodding, he negotiated his way through the streets while I kept my lanky body squeezed as close to the floor as possible. I tried not to dwell on the possibility that whoever shot at us was now following close behind.

  “Stray gunfire. Happens sometimes in this neighborhood.”

  Shane didn’t seem fazed. He acted as if this kind of thing happened every day.

  Crouched on the floor like a chickenshit, my heart rat-a-tat-tatted in my chest, likely to explode any minute as I hovered dangerously close to hyperventilating. My usual go-to of singing wouldn’t be possible right now. “I ...” The words couldn’t seem to make their way from my brain to my mouth in any logical sequence.

  “Are you okay?”

  I tried to smile but suspected I looked like a wild-eyed idiot. Trying to soothe the raging fear inside,
I began to hum like a lunatic. “Music,” I managed to stutter, even though he no doubt thought I was batshit crazy.

  He cranked up the stereo. As the soothing sounds of Aretha Franklin filled the car, I felt myself begin to relax.

  “You can get up off the floor. It’s safe. We’re on the expressway.” He reached out his hand to help me slide back into the seat. “You don’t look so good. Did you get cut by glass?”

  Somehow, I managed to shake my head, even though my whole body seemed to be buzzing from the inside out.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Shane glanced at me, and his jaw locked tight. “I’m sorry.” He touched my hand with his.

  “Not your fault.” I gave him a tentative smile. “Did this ever…?” I didn’t finish and instead weaved my fingers into his.

  “Nothing this close.” He glanced at me and smiled. “Sure, I’ve heard gunshots in the distance but never a close call like this.”

  As the music of Buddy Guy filled the car, I relaxed into the seat and closed my eyes. “I swear, music runs through my veins instead of blood. When I’m nervous, it makes me calm; when I’m happy it makes me happier; when I’m sad it gives me a sense of peace. It’s almost like I need music to breathe.” I gave him a tentative smile. “I know it makes no sense, but it’s the only way I have of explaining how I feel.”

  “I just carry a really big gun. That gives me peace.” He smirked. “Once we’re downtown, I’ll get a cab to take you back to the apartment.”

  I shook my head. “No way. I’ll go with you to court.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.” Besides, I didn’t want to be alone right now but didn’t want to admit that either.

  He gripped my hand and smiled. I took a deep breath, sat back, and listened to Ella, feeling a kind of mellow slither through me. He pulled into the parking garage, grabbed a bag from his trunk, and we passed through security before taking the elevator to the fifth floor. Shane went into the bathroom to change into a shirt and dress slacks. As soon as he came out, a man looking to be in his late fifties and wearing a slightly rumpled suit greeted Shane with a robust handshake.

  “I’m so glad you could make it last minute like this.” The man glanced in my direction.

  Shane made the introductions. “Gabriella Santos, Vince Perry.”

  I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you.” The man had a nice smile and welcoming demeanor. To be honest, being surrounded by men and women wearing guns and sworn to protect made me feel a whole lot better.

  “Same here.”

  Shane motioned toward me and smiled. “I almost didn’t make it. If Gabriella hadn’t come to get me, I wouldn’t have known until it was too late.”

  “It wasn’t a coincidence they scheduled the hearing on my motion at the last moment. No doubt they’d hoped you wouldn’t make it here in time.” Vince shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Whatever dirty tricks they’re trying to pull, you made it. The judge will be calling the case in a few minutes. But I’ve got to tell you, Tony’s been acting kind of weird, like something’s bothering him, but he’s refusing to talk about it.” His mouth pulled into a tight grimace, as if he wanted to say more. “I’ve got the motion prepared, but I’ll need your testimony about the alibi witness if the judge asks for it.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  The bailiff came out to call the case, and Shane ushered me inside. I sat in one of the seats toward the back while Shane moved in close to the defense table. A handful of other people sat in the courtroom. The young man in the orange jumpsuit sitting at the table with Vince was obviously the defendant, Tony Marcos. A female attorney sat at the opposite table, and a few spectators were scattered in seats behind the rails.

  Judging by the grumbling and angry expressions directed toward Shane, the opposition wasn’t happy at his appearance. The vibe in the air hovered somewhere between bad and horrific.

  The state’s attorney had a dour expression on her face as she wrote notes on a file folder. I couldn’t tell if her crankiness was due to the woman’s bad choice of wardrobe or frustration with the case. Even a blind man could tell the woman was having a What Not to Wear moment.

  Wearing a pair of boring, sensible flats, a too- tight and equally boring brownish-black suit, with a white-turned-dingy-beige blouse peeping from beneath the suit jacket, she shuffled through paperwork while she waited for the judge. Since my sister was a state’s attorney, I knew the woman was both overworked and underpaid, so I gave her bad fashion choices a pass, even if I had a nearly irresistible urge to offer her a makeover.

  Instead, I bit my tongue and glanced around the courtroom. I’d watched my sister during a trial and knew that, unlike on TV, trials were typically lackluster and boring. Today, however, the whole courtroom seemed charged with frenetic energy that swirled around the room. I couldn’t tell if it was because of the last-minute court appearance or something else. Finally, the bailiff called the court to order and asked everyone to rise. The judge bristled as he sat down in his chair as if he didn’t want to be there either.

  Vince Perry began to speak on the merits of his motion for dismissal while the judge listened. Next the state’s attorney argued her opposition. On the other hand, I morphed into boredom at the legal discussion and glanced around the room.

  In the back of the courtroom a group of men sat together. Unlike me, they seemed supremely focused on the back and forth between the state’s attorney and Vince. Several times the judge gave them a stern look when their whispers got a little too loud.

  Maybe they were some kind of court groupies. If so, they needed to get a life.

  Just as I contemplated if a person could technically die of boredom, the bailiff called Shane to the witness stand. After being sworn in, he gave his testimony. Looking as if he’d recited the story a million times, he remained confident even when the state’s attorney peppered him with questions. Everyone in the courtroom seemed unnaturally focused on Shane, especially the men in back who remained eerily quiet.

  Still rattled by the gunshot incident, I tried to discharge my anxiety by playing one of my favorite games: Giving males and females that made bad fashion choices, a makeover.

  For instance, the guy with the bad glasses and the poorly fitting suit, I reoutfitted in a nice Armani suit, got him a good haircut, and exchanged his out-of-style eyeglass frames for a pair of small, squarish, wire-rimmed ones. He looked downright presentable when I mentally finished with him.

  Just as I was about to give the state’s attorney a head-to-toe makeover the judge stood. “I’ll review the testimony and the motions submitted and give you a decision within forty-eight hours.”

  Shane talked to Vince Perry for a few minutes while guards escorted Tony away. When they moved toward me, one of the men from the court groupies section walked up to Shane and shoved him in the chest.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, O’Neil? You trying to get a cop killer off?” The guy’s voice echoed in the small courtroom.

  Cop killer? I should have paid much more attention during the testimony. I couldn’t help wondering if Shane’s car being used for target practice had anything to do with this court appearance. Did they want him delayed so he missed the court call?

  I glanced around, checking to see if the bailiffs would intervene, but it didn’t look like they had any intention of stepping into the middle of that mess. Maybe, if it came to blows, they might, but for right now, they seemed content to watch.

  Shane folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not doing anything except offering testimony. It’s not my fault your whole case stinks. The kid’s getting railroaded. You and everybody else in this courtroom knows it. There’s nothing but circumstantial evidence to tie him to a crime he didn’t commit.”

  The man bounced on the balls of his feet like he might be contemplating taking Shane on in a fistfight. I had no doubt that wouldn’t end well for the other guy.

  “No,” the man pointed a shaky finger at b
oth Shane and Vince, “you two want to get off a cop killer.”

  Vince spoke up at that point, grabbing Shane by the bicep and directing him away from a potential confrontation. “We want justice served.” Without another word, he steered Shane toward me, and the three of us headed toward the elevator.

  “What was that all about? And do you think those guys had anything to do with the window of your car getting blown out?” My earlier bout of nerves resurfaced as we rode down in the elevator, and all manner of villainous and paranoid connections in my head sprung to life.

  Vince stopped Shane with a grab to his forearm. “What’s this about your car getting shot at?”

  Shane shook his head. “It’s nothing. Wrong place, wrong time. Random gunfire on the South Side. That kind of stuff happens all the time there.” Shane seemed agitated, but for once it didn’t seem directed at me. We’d somehow had a special moment in the car when he held onto my hand. “Besides, O’Brien’s a prick, a big talker in front of his friends. He wouldn’t have the balls to shoot out my window.”

  “He seemed pretty angry.” Stating the obvious seemed to be my go-to when nervous.

  Vince glanced at Shane, then back at me. “Emotions run high when a cop dies. There’s a rush to judgment. They want to believe they’ve caught the bad guy. But in this case, they haven’t.”

  “It’s not our fault they don’t want to do their job.” Shane leaned against the wall of the elevator and folded his arms across his chest.

  “What happened?” They both seemed to be talking in riddles. Then again, maybe it would have made more sense if I’d been paying attention earlier in court.

  “A cop interrupted a liquor store robbery and was killed. My client is accused of committing the crime, but he wasn’t even in town at the time.”

  I nodded as understanding sank in. Shane had been there to testify he’d uncovered evidence that the defendant was incapable of committing the crime. No wonder everyone was so on edge. They had a dead cop and nobody to blame now except Shane and Vince.