by Ed Briant
“How would you feel if instead of giving you a reward”—Julie runs her fingers down the strings—“I just gave the bass right back to you?”
This completely throws me, but before I can speak Julie says, “This probably sounds mad, but the bass has been bad luck for me.”
With impressive speed the calico cat jumps on to the table and settles into the case. Julie ushers it aside with the back of her free hand. “It’s been stolen more than once,” she says. She places the instrument in its case, but the cat immediately settles down on top of it, as if it’s the most comfortable bed in the world.
“The first person who stole it was a girl.” She points at Michelle. “Younger than you, sweetheart.” She turns back to me. “She was a Beatles fan—a groupie really—and she stole it from George Harrison.”
I gasp. “This was George Harrison’s bass!”
Julie picks up the cat. “Let me tell the story,” she says. “George invited her to Abbey Road Studios.” The cat blinks as Julie scratches its head. “They were going to go out for the evening, but the group was working on ‘Back in the USSR.’ A sales rep showed up at about ten p.m. with some free samples of Fender guitars and basses, one of which was this.” She taps the case. “Paul was intending to play bass, but he was busy working on the piano part, so he asked George to play some bass lines, and he used this instrument.
“When he was done, he left it on a couch next to the groupie. She fell asleep while she was waiting. She woke up some time later. It was three a.m., and the band was still playing and shouting at one another. The girl was pissed off that George had left her waiting, and it was pretty obvious that he wasn’t going to take her out, so she quietly picked up the bass and walked home with it.
“When she woke up the next afternoon she was racked with guilt, but what could she do? She could hardly take it back at that point. Eventually she taught herself to play it.” Julie grins. “Not terribly well, as you just heard.”
“You were the groupie?” says Michelle.
“Bingo,” says Julie without looking at her.
“But why do you think it’s unlucky?” I say.
“That was the high watermark of my life.” She taps the case again. “Aged fourteen.” She clasps her hands in front of her chest. “In spite of being a fairly lame musician I got into a number of bands, partly based on the fact that I had George Harrison’s bass, and partly because I was cute.” Now she does look at Michelle. She shakes her head. “Boy, you should have seen me back then, sweetheart.”
Julie turns back to me. “That was the sum total of my life.” She nods her head. “Then along comes your brother. One way or another he gets the bass, and voilà. My luck changes overnight. The very next day—and I swear to God I’m not making this up—I get a publishing deal for a book I’d been working on for about five years.”
“That is amazing,” says Michelle.
“The day after that”—she stabs her finger at Michelle—“I file for a divorce from my deadbeat husband.” She plays a drumbeat on the edge of the bass.
“Divorce isn’t lucky,” I say.
“Trust me, honey,” says Julie. “Divorce isn’t always a bad thing. So.” She bends down while still holding the cat, plucks a toy mouse off the floor, and dangles it by its tail in front of the cat. “Call me a superstitious fool, but I’m not quite as enthusiastic about getting the bass back as you might think.”
“Couldn’t you sell it?” I say.
She shakes her head. “I’m done with it,” she says. “It’s not one of the really valuable ones.”
“But it was George Harrison’s,” says Michelle. “That must make it worth thousands.”
“Aren’t you the clever one,” says Julie, “but you only have my word for it. To sell it based on the fact that George Harrison once touched it, you would need to authenticate it at one of the big auction houses like Sotheby’s.” She lifts the cat above her head as if it’s some kind of sacrifice. The cat doesn’t seem to mind. “No receipts. No authentication. Nothing distinctive about the bass, really. Poor old George is no longer with us to verify anything. Worst-case scenario, Sotheby’s checks the serial number and finds out that it was stolen. They give it back to Fender-CBS, and Fender-CBS put in a glass case in some executive’s office where nobody ever looks at it.”
“I thought possession was nine-tenths of the law,” I say.
“Between you and me perhaps.” Julie makes a coughing laugh. “Between one of us and a multi-national corporation, probably not.”
“If you really don’t want it, then I’ll keep it,” I say.
“Deal.” Holding the cat in one hand, she latches the case with the other, lifts it off the table, and holds it out with the handle pointed toward me. “Thank you for letting me see it again.” She drops the cat to the floor, takes my hand, then closes my fingers around the case handle.
Just as she does this there’s a loud buzz, which makes me jump. Then I realize it’s the doorbell. I turn to look down the hall and catch Michelle’s eyes. She smiles at me.
I turn my attention back to Julie. She seems to have aged ten years in just a few seconds.
She’s standing. “Crap.” She is no longer smiling. “Toby, I wish you’d gotten here earlier,” she says. “Take the bass and go. Right now. Don’t argue.” She pushes Michelle and me toward the door. “It was a stolen bass, but now I’m giving it back to you. It is no longer a stolen bass.”
I’m not sure whether I really should keep the bass, but she steps out of my reach, giving me no choice in the matter.
“Let’s hope that giving it away creates good karma.” Julie makes her way back into the hall. “Hi,” she says into the intercom. Her voice sounds different than when she buzzed me in. She sounds her age. She turns to me. “Toby, please leave right now.” She opens the door and stands by it. “Bye, bye. Michelle, it was nice to meet you.”
32
Tuesday
We squeeze past Julie into the hall.
I look down at the bass, then I grin at Michelle and laugh. I can’t believe that everything worked out so well. I turn to the doorway to say thank you, but I’m distracted by footsteps thundering up the stairs behind me. I turn around to see the last person I wanted to see.
“Hey, my brother!” he says. “It is a pleasure to see you.” He looks from me to Michelle, and down at the case. “What unexpected delights rain down on us.”
“Hi Rupert,” I say. Each time I see him he’s wearing one less item of clothing. This time he’s not wearing a shirt. He’s so lean that he looks like an anatomical diagram with every muscle sharply defined. I hope this is the last time I see him.
“Toby and Michelle were just leaving, Rupert,” says Julie.
“And you came bearing gifts.” Rupert’s arm ripples as he points at the case. “Would I be right in assuming that you have in your hand a precision bass?”
“Yup,” I say, a little sheepishly. “It’s the same one.”
“You have returned that which was lost to its rightful home.” His face crumples into a smile, which somehow looks wrong with the sunglasses and the pork pie hat. “You are a man of honor. All the muses in heaven thank you.”
“Actually I’m taking it away,” I say.
His smile fades a little. “Taking it away. Bringing it back.” He shrugs. “It’s all the same in the end. It’s the music that remains.” He jabs a finger at me. “Hey, do you think I could see it one last time? Just for posterity?”
“I suppose.” I look from Rupert, to Michelle, to Julie.
I’m just about to kneel down, open the case, and let Rupert have one last look when Julie says, “They have to catch a bus, Rupert.”
“Women! Can you believe it?” Rupert glares at me and knits his eyebrows. “Always in a panic about something.” He looks at me as if he expects me to agree with him
. “There’s always another bus. Am I right, Toby? Or am I right?” His eyes light up. “Hey, why don’t you come back inside. I have some Emerson Lake & Palmer CDs. Awesome bass playing. Greg Lake. You’ve never heard of him; you’re way too young. I consider it my solemn duty to educate you in the knowledge of great bass players.”
“Actually I do need to get to the bus station,” I say. I make a silent prayer that Rupert’s car has broken down or something. I do not want him to offer me a lift.
“Time and tide wait for no man,” says Rupert. “May the wings of the angels bring you a safe journey and a safe return.” He shuffles over to the banisters, leaving room for us to get past. “All I ask is that you leave a little of the joy you brought with you.”
I stand to one side to let Michelle go first. She jogs down the steps, past Rupert, then stops to wait for me. I begin to follow. Just as I pass Rupert, I reach out to shake his hand. I can’t say I’ll ever think of him as a friend, but at least things have ended up okay with him.
Rupert doesn’t take my hand, though. Instead he slides back across the stairs, blocking my exit and cutting me off from Michelle.
A dark shape scuttles past my feet and dives down the stairs. It stops, crouches down on a step between Rupert and Michelle, and begins to lick one of its paws.
“Lex!” cries Julie. “Rupert, can you grab Lexington?”
Rupert looks Michelle up and down, then studies the cat for a moment but makes no move to pick it up.
“Please, Rupert,” says Julie. “He’ll be stuck out there yowling all night.”
“Okay, let’s quit the pantomime,” says Rupert. With what is now a familiar move, he swings his arm behind him, reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out his Stanley knife.
“I think you should give the bass to me.” He holds the knife down and away from his leg, then slides out the shiny blade.
Michelle picks up the cat and holds it out toward Julie, but with Rupert blocking her, she can’t reach.
I offer yet another silent prayer that she doesn’t try to take the knife away from Rupert. Any more prayers and I’m going to end up being religious.
“Rupert,” says Julie, “just let him leave.”
“It’s Toby’s bass,” says Michelle.
Rupert swivels around to look at her, keeping the knife by his leg.
“It’s not yours,” Michelle continues. The cat wriggles, jumps out of her grip, and flops onto the stairs. “Toby came to give it back, but Julie told him he could keep it.”
“Is it Toby’s bass?” says Rupert. “Or is it Julie’s bass? You don’t seem too sure of yourself, my friend.”
“Rupert, shut the hell up!” says Julie.
“Oh, so it’s shut-up-Rupert time.” Rupert tosses the knife in the air with the blade still out. It spins a couple of times and he catches it by the handle. “I was just having a pleasant conversation with this young woman here, and all of a sudden it’s shut-up-Rupert time.”
“It is Toby’s bass,” says Julie.
I listen to a motorcycle passing out on the street below.
Rupert takes a step toward me, presses his free hand against my chest, and points to the bass with the knife. “I’m afraid that this item is not leaving with you. It belongs to my wife.”
“Ex-wife,” says Julie. “He’s just a kid, Rupert. Let him go.”
“Soon-to-be ex-wife.” Rupert brings his face close to mine. He still has the cheesy smell of cigarettes. He brings the knife up next to my cheek. The shiny blade reflects a beam of light that flickers across his face.
I want to be afraid, but I’m not. This just doesn’t seem real.
“I gave him the bass.” Julie’s voice seems to come from a long way off. “It belongs to him now. Just let him go.”
“Nope,” says Rupert. “Love, honor, and obey. Giving something away. Giving something valuable away. Giving something valuable to a complete stranger should be a joint decision for a married couple.”
He brings the blade closer to my face. I can feel the sharp metal against the side of my nose.
“Fair is fair, Toby.” Rupert’s mouth opens and closes, showing his yellow teeth. “You’re a man; you’re probably going to get married at some point. Do you want your wife to make important financial decisions without consulting you first?”
“No. I don’t,” I say.
“Rupert, just let him go,” says Julie.
Rupert looks up at her, as if he’s actually considering doing what Julie says. Then steps off to one side.
“Run back to Port Jackson, Toby,” he says.
I take one step, then another. The third step brings me level with him. With the fourth step, I’m past him. I’m just about to break into a run when a steel claw fastens onto my wrist. I wince, expecting to feel the knife slash at my face, but instead my hand is twisted backward. I have no choice but to let go of the case, and it falls onto the stairs.
The next moment I’m gripped around my upper arm and shoved down the stairs. For a second I think I’m going to go headlong down three floors, but Michelle catches me.
“A Fender Precision Bass.” I turn to see Rupert triumphant at the top of the stairs. He picks up the heavy case as if it weighs nothing. “How much do you think it’s worth?” With his other hand he slides the blade back into the knife and returns it to his back pocket.
I know that Rupert is going to sell the bass, but I’ll be hanged if he’s going to get several thousand for it. “It’s not a very good one,” I say. “It’s worth maybe two or three hundred pounds.”
“A Fender? Two or three hundred?” says Rupert. “How about five or six hundred? Let’s call it seven hundred for you thinking I’m dumb enough to believe it was only worth two hundred.”
“Rupert,” says Julie. “You’re going straight down to the pub, and somebody’s going to give you a hundred quid for it.”
Rupert grins at Julie. “That’s the fun part,” he says. “Some punter will give me a hundred, but he’ll sell it for a grand.” Rupert looks back at me. “I’m just cutting out the middle man, Toby. You can have the bass back if you give me seven hundred pounds, or you can give some punter a thousand. Can you see what I’m doing? I’m giving you a bass and putting three hundred quid in your pocket. You will never get another opportunity like this.”
“Where’s he going to get seven hundred pounds?” says Julie.
“He’s a Londoner,” says Rupert. “He’s got a bundle stashed away some place.” Rupert looks at me. “That’s right, isn’t it?”
“I don’t have seven hundred pounds,” I say. “I don’t even have seven.” I turn and walk down the stairs. Julie is right. The bass is cursed. Maybe you have to give it away to get rid of the curse. Maybe this is for the best.
33
Tuesday
“I don’t understand why you don’t go to the police,” says Michelle from her seat on the opposite edge of the lifeguard platform to me.
In the darkness, I can just make out the white top of a wave before it thuds into the sand a few yards in front of us.
“What would we tell them?” I turn and study her silhouette as the breeze makes her hair flutter. “Doesn’t there have to be a crime to report?”
The night is fractured by a silent sheet of lightning that snakes across the horizon, igniting the edges of humungous clouds and turning the distant sky into something that looks like a vision of heaven in an old painting.
Michelle is only sitting a few inches away from me, but the gap is empty space, and she might as well be as far away as wherever the thunderstorm is taking place. She’s probably completely ashamed of me for letting Rupert walk off with my most-treasured possession.
“It’s your bass.” Her silhouette shifts as she turns toward me. “Rupert threatened you, and then he stole it.”
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br /> Something buzzes past my face. I swat it away.
“Threatening and stealing are against the law,” she says.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe the police might say that the bass was his.” A wall of surf thumps on the sand a few yards away. “You know, possession is nine-tenths of the law. Anyway, I think it’s difficult to get the police to respond to a threat, especially when the threat is over.”
“But you can prove that the bass is yours.” Michelle’s silhouette is lit up by another sheet of lightning. “Just show them the receipt.”
Two human figures walk along the shoreline in front of us. I can barely see them in the gloom. “It’s not quite that simple,” I say.
“Do you think they’re going for a night-time dip?” Michelle points to the shadowy figures.
“No,” I say. “I think they’re just out for a stroll.”
“If it’s your brother’s bass,” she says. “He must have a receipt somewhere, from when he bought it.”
“I’m pretty certain that he bought it from Rupert.” I study the string of small lights that stretch across the bay. I suppose they’re fishing boats. I wonder if they’re afraid of the storm. Or maybe it’s heading away from us. Can I actually bring myself to say this? If I reveal that there’s a thief in my family then she’ll never be interested in me again. Not that it matters now. Nothing is going to happen this evening, and this was my last chance. “Either that or he stole it from Rupert.”
There I’ve said it. I turn and study Michelle’s profile as the surf booms onto the sand, expecting her to make some excuse, jump down from the platform, and go home. But she doesn’t. Maybe I should qualify my last statement.
“Knowing Rupert, I doubt he’d let anyone steal from him.” I take a long breath. “Shawn paid for it, but he bought it knowing full well that it was stolen. I remember the night he came home with it. The description of the bloke more or less matches Rupert.”
Michelle gives a hollow laugh. “Yeah. Let’s go back and ask Rupert for a receipt.”