by S. W. Lauden
“There you are. I’ve been trying to call you all morning.”
Greg said nothing. He dragged the back of his hand across his lips, wiping the last of the vodka away. She took one look around the room and burst into tears.
“This is what you’re doing now? Wallowing in your own misery out here while your family’s inside worried sick about you?”
Something about the way she said “family” felt like a punch to the gut. He wanted to comfort her, tried to stand, but his legs were like rubber. The baby wailed as Greg fell back down to the sofa. He heard the hurt in her voice receding as the anger rolled in.
“Say something! Tell me what the hell you’re doing out here.”
He attempted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Mercifully, the baby’s crying filled the painful silence. Kristen backed out of the door, slamming it shut behind her.
Greg grabbed the bottle. It was the only response that made sense.
h
“Wake up!”
Greg forced his eyes open a moment before the fist hit the side of his head. He sprang forward, trying in vain to defend himself. A palm met his chest, sending him back on his ass.
“Sit down. You don’t stand a chance.”
Junior hovered over him, an angry scowl on her face. It didn’t look like she’d been sleeping well either. He rubbed at the painful welt forming on his temple; sure that vodka wouldn’t be an option for the moment. Neither was getting up.
“What time is it?”
“Time for you to grow the fuck up.”
“I get it. You’re disappointed in me. Why do you—?”
“Disappointed in you? This isn’t some soap opera, Greg. Your wife’s inside packing her things and getting ready to take off with your son. My son spent the entire night at the police station. My thirteen-year-old son!”
Images of Detective Bowers flashed in Greg’s mind, his words ringing in Greg’s ears. Paralyzing remorse gripped him. Junior swung again, her open hand connecting with his left cheek. The blow stung his bones and rattled his teeth, snapping him back to reality.
“Whatever drama you’ve got going on means nothing to me now.”
Greg could see Junior gearing up to attack him again. He put his hands up in front of his face, waiting for the next blow. It probably wasn’t a fight he could win on his best day.
“Is Chris home now?”
Junior calmed down slightly at the sound of her son’s name. She took a step back, hands on her face.
“He’s with my dad. I told him to get some sleep. Which is what I was trying to do when Kristen called me.”
Greg scanned the tables and chairs around him, trying to locate the bottle of vodka. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was empty considering how he felt, but he suddenly needed to know. It came as some relief when his foot bumped against it on the floor. That tiny splashing sound meant relief was nearby, as soon as he got rid of Junior.
“Are you going to hit me again if I ask you what time it is?”
“I should.” She shook her head in disgust. “It’s ten in the morning, okay? And you’re still shitfaced, you pathetic fucking loser.”
Greg could think of only one thing to say in response.
“I am Tim.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I read some of Tommy’s book. Those signs—the ones that say ‘I am Tim’—they’re because of you.”
Recognition slowly dawned on her face. It was quickly replaced with a psychotic mask of fury. Greg wondered if he’d live to see lunch, as if he could eat anything without throwing up.
“Are you trying to say this is my fault?”
“No, not the murders. But those signs? That’s because of something stupid you said about my brother.”
“I didn’t say it about your brother, I said it about my friend. But it doesn’t matter. I didn’t come here to listen to your pathetic excuses for why you fell off the wagon.”
“Then why did you come here?”
“To tell you Kristen and Timmy are coming to stay with me. At least until you get your shit together.”
“What if I don’t want them to come back?”
Junior looked at him as if he were a stranger.
“Then I guess you’ll get to spend the rest of your life with the person you love the most—Greg Salem.”
h
Urgent knocking on the garage door. Greg stumbled from the sofa, nearly falling on his face in the process. He pulled himself up on the edge of the desk and managed to find the knob.
Gabriella stared back at him when he opened the door. She gave him the once over, wrinkled her nose, and extended a hand. The edge of a white envelope was only inches from his face. She pulled it back before he could snatch it.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
He stepped aside.
“Knock yourself out.”
She sauntered into the destroyed room with all the attitude of a runway model. Greg was still too cross-eyed to fully appreciate it. He went back over to the sofa, collapsing down into one corner. She slid her sunglasses off, setting them down on the desk along with the envelope.
“Got anything left to drink?”
Greg leaned forward, groping at the floor near his feet. The mostly empty bottle was in his grip when he sat up again. He took a slug before extending it to her.
“Pretend it’s a very dry martini.”
“My imagination isn’t that good. Take a shower and we can go out for a real drink.”
Greg sniggered, pointing to the desk.
“I’m not going anywhere. What’s in the envelope?”
“It’s a check from my lawyer. Payment for the job you did for my—” The words caught in her throat. It was the first time Greg had seen her look vulnerable. “For Tony Flores.”
“You mean for following you around?”
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
“Most guys would follow you around for free.”
“Thanks for finally noticing.”
Gabriella reached down with crossed arms, shimmying out of her shirt. Her lacy black bra came undone with the flick of a wrist. She leaned forward, pushing her skirt and panties to the floor.
“You ready for that shower yet, or what?”
Greg stayed put despite the sudden urge to get clean. He wondered how many men she’d ruined with her perfect body. Joining them seemed like his fate, unless he kept her talking.
“Your husband threatened to kill me because he thought something like this might happen.”
“He was real smart. Be a shame to disappoint him.”
She strode forward, naked save for high heels. Greg felt his heart beating for the first time all day. The thick, sludgy blood turned to lava in his veins.
“You’re supposed to be in mourning.”
“Consider this denial.”
“Did you have anything to do with his death?”
If his question offended her, she didn’t let it show.
“He was a powerful man with a lot of powerful enemies.”
“Men you slept with?”
“I’m young and I like to have fun. I won’t apologize to anybody for that. Let me show you what I mean.”
She planted a soft kiss on the nape of his neck. He felt his futile resistance melting. Only one card left to play before all bets were off.
“What about Marco?”
She took him by the hands, lifting him up.
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
He followed her into the bathroom, drinking in the view as she bent over to turn on the hot water. Steam rose up all around as she reached out to undress him.
It took every ounce of strength in his body to push her away.
“I can’t. It would destroy him.”
She st
epped forward, her lips caressing his ear.
“I thought you were a bad boy.”
Greg stepped back, his body rigid.
“You really have to go.”
Gabriella stormed out of the bathroom, grabbing her clothes from the floor as she went. Greg listened to her cursing him as she made her way across the room. He waited until she got dressed before closing the door. He turned the lock and stripped. The scalding water felt good against his sticky skin, washing away the sweat and grime of the last twelve hours. They swirled down the drain along with the fresh memories of Gabriella’s naked body. There has to be some kind of award for resisting that much temptation.
He stayed under the water until she was gone. His legs were still a little wobbly as he dried off, but his head felt clearer than it had in days. He wrapped the towel around his waist and went back out to the sofa. The room was empty, but the white envelope rested on his pillow. He picked it up, seeing the note scribbled on the outside: “I took the check with me. You know where to find me if you want it.”
Greg dropped the envelope onto the desk, right next to his phone. There were several messages waiting for him, but he needed to make a liquor store run before he dealt with any of that.
He’d barely stepped away to get dressed when the phone rang. Greg looked at the name on the screen before picking it up.
“JJ?”
“Holy shit, Greg. You have to get down to the rehearsal space right now.”
“Why? Is everything all right?”
“There’s another body. Somebody’s hanging from the ceiling.”
Chapter 19
Greg pulled up to the rehearsal space minutes after the police cruisers. He saw the flashing lights and got overwhelmed by the urge to leave. There was nothing he could do to help JJ, especially in his current condition. The assembled BCPD officers would probably take one look at him and slap the cuffs on for drunk driving. Even if he looked better than he felt, the evidence of his most recent bender was written all over his face—dark circles, bad breath, and fresh sweat. A quick peek at his shattered reflection in the rearview mirror confirmed it.
Greg dropped the El Camino into reverse, slowly backing out. He slammed the brakes on when he heard a loud slap against his tailgate.
“That’s far enough. Get out of the car.”
He put her in park, but left the engine running as he opened his door. Detective Bowers waited for him to emerge.
“Leaving us so soon? The party’s just getting started.”
His brain felt like a smooth stone as he fished for an excuse.
“I, uh, just came down here to grab some gear.”
“Okay. Now I know something’s up.” Detective Bowers studied his face, quickly sizing him up. “I was surprised you didn’t stop by the station last night to try and save your little guitarist. At least I was until I got a good look at you. Rough night?”
“I’m a little under the weather.”
“You’re actually hungover, and maybe still drunk. I’d love to field test you right now, but we’ve got bigger problems. What do you know about this situation?”
Greg was caught between lies and he knew it. He’d have to come clean if he wanted to get out of there.
“Nothing much. JJ called me when he found the body.”
“He called you before he called us? Interesting.”
Detective Bowers put his hands on his hips, looking over his shoulder at the crime scene. Greg saw JJ in the doorway of their room, an officer on either side of him. They both had notepads out, peppering him with questions.
“Do you know anything about the victim?”
“Well, his name was Tim, if you believe the sign around his neck. Beyond that, I was hoping you or your friend over there could shed some light.”
“I was at home all morning.”
“Alone?”
Greg hesitated, unsure if the visits from Kristen and Junior were even real. He had no doubt about Gabriella, but that one would be the hardest to explain.
“I had company. I’d be happy to share who once you tell me why you’re so convinced the killer is in my band.”
A scowl formed at the corners of Detective Bowers mouth.
“You’re friend’s son, Chris, is off the hook—for now. Your tweaker friend Marco was next on the list, but I think we’ll move JJ to the front of the line. If they both check out, we’ll be coming for you. That’s a promise.”
“What about our tour manager?”
“Leave Ms. Pierce to us, and all of the other police work while you’re at it. We’ll be talking very soon.”
Detective Bowers charged toward JJ to take over the interrogation. Greg got back into his car, tracing the boulevard back to the beach. He passed Marco’s condo along the way and considered stopping by, but wasn’t sure he could look his friend in the eye. Not with all of the impure thoughts about Gabriella still dancing around his mind. At some point, Greg would have to tell Marco what kind of woman he was mixed up with. Not today.
Greg needed something to take the edge off, followed by sleep. He rolled by Eddie’s, continuing west until the ocean spread out before him on the horizon. A few waves would probably do wonders, but it was also a lot of work. And he didn’t want to risk running into any of his sober friends in his current condition. His liquid salvation would have to keep coming from a bottle, at least for today. He pulled into the next liquor store parking lot, going inside to acquire his remedy.
Greg was relieved to see no police cruisers were waiting for him at home. He grabbed the Glock from the glove compartment, tucking it into the back of his pants as he climbed out. There were a lot of uninvited guests stopping by these days, and not all of them were friendly.
The bag in his hands was twice as full as the last one. He opened the back gate and briefly considered moving the party into the house, but opted for the garage instead. No need to pollute another environment.
Greg was so focused on his next drink that he didn’t immediately notice the woman sitting on the back deck. Of course, it could’ve had something to do with her size.
“I heard you stopped by my studio.”
He jumped back at the sound of her voice, almost dropping his precious cargo.
“Tina? I thought you were on tour.”
“I was, but only for a couple of dates. I’ve been laying low other than that, trying to figure some things out. Why were you looking for me?”
Greg pushed his way inside, nodding for her to follow. He shoved the bag down under the desk, stashing it back behind the chair. That drink would have to wait until after she left, or as long as he could stand it.
Her eyes looked red and swollen when he saw her in the light, as if she’d been crying for days.
“I’m not really in the mood to hang out, Greg. Tell me what you want and let’s get on with our lives.”
“You lied to me about your relationship with Jerry.”
Her face turned to horror at the sound of his name.
“He’s dead, in case you hadn’t noticed. Forgive me if I don’t see why any of that matters now.”
“Because of how he died. Your neighbor told me about the performances you two used to put on. Marco and I looked some of your videos up online. You tie a strong knot.”
“For your information, Shibari is an ancient Japanese art form. And it’s got nothing to do with those murders. If you don’t believe me, ask that asshole detective. I just came from his office.”
“Detective Bowers? How did he track you down?”
“He didn’t. I called them once I heard you were snooping around. I have nothing to do with any of those murders, and I’m getting pretty tired of you telling people I do.”
Greg couldn’t decide if Tina was innocent or a criminal mastermind. His brain was too fried to form a solid opinion at the moment.
; “Look, Jerry and I used to be a couple. We broke up a year ago, but kept working together for my performances. We decided a long time ago not to act like more than friends whenever we were on tour together.”
She seemed to be on the verge of tears, but did an admirable job of holding them back. Greg sensed a moment of weakness and pounced.
“Who would want him dead?”
“I could ask you the same question. Detective Bowers seems pretty convinced it was somebody in the band. I have to say, after the fight you and Jerry had in San Francisco, I’m thinking he’s right. None of you assholes ever gave him a chance.”
If the best defense is a good offense, Tina was a wizard-level strategist. Greg couldn’t find a way to shake her, leading him to the conclusion she might be innocent after all—as much as he didn’t want to believe it. The alternatives were too terrible to consider.
He went over to the desk and took out a thick envelope.
“This is your cut from the tour.”
She tore it open and started counting. Greg hoped she’d count fast. He suffered every second until she left, his mouth watering in anticipation of that first taste of vodka.
She shoved the money into her pocket, looking up at him.
“What about Jerry’s cut?”
“What about it?”
“He doesn’t have any family. I need money for the funeral.”
Greg went back over to the desk, producing a smaller wad of cash.
“He only played two shows, so there isn’t as much. Do whatever you want with it.”
She didn’t thank him or say goodbye before disappearing into the bright afternoon sunlight. Greg set the gun down on the desk next to his phone. He grabbed the bag, straight back to getting numb.
h
Darkness had fallen the next time Greg came up for air. He sat up on the sofa, a sound inside the house dragging him from his stupor. His head felt stuffed with used gauze as he sat in silence, waiting for something else to happen. Whatever came next, he had some decisions to make. His Glock was nearby if it were burglars—or worse. But if it was Kristen, back to collect some more of her things, he needed to stay silent until she went away again.
Then he heard the voices. It sounded like two men were having a conversation in his kitchen, but too quiet to make out what they were saying. He stood up, grabbing his gun before heading outside. The door creaked open. He poked his head around the corner to get a better look. His view was obscured, but the conversation was unmistakable. There were definitely two men inside of his house talking about the latest murder at the rehearsal space. He heard little snippets of their conversation—“Detective Bowers is barking up the wrong tree,” “we need to make sure we’ve got back up,” “where they’ll find the next body”—but he couldn’t identify them.