Scary Modsters... and Creepy Freaks: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection)

by Diane Rinella

  His image fades at my nodding. I bend over to grab my hair dryer out of the cabinet. "That's a rather lovely view," his voice calls out from behind. "I was hoping you would've lost the robe by now."

  "Damn it, Peter! Get out!"

  "Enjoy your day." As his voice trails off, I chuckle along with him.

  The shine of my shoes blends with the sheen of an oil slick on the pavement. Was coming dressed like I am prepared for a day in court a wise move? What looks scarier to a woman who has spent nearly fifty years in hiding, a ratty thug or a man in a well-tailored suit? Doris puts a hand to my shoulder. "Slow your pace." She's right. Fast clicking heels sound threatening.

  The house is small with a yard free of clutter, yet a broken gutter hangs off the roof. Lively, classical piano music floats through the windows. Except for the dry, desert heat, the setting is unassuming enough to be tucked in the backwoods of Anytown, USA.

  "Remember what we discussed on the flight." Doris's hushed tone contains the firmness of a warning. We have one shot, and lately I've been striking out in the tact department.

  Surprisingly, my knock is readily answered. Since people in hiding are generally cautious when opening a door, I scan her for a gun. Instead, a German Shepard sits attentively at her feet. Don't dogs usually bark when strangers approach? Still, he's right by her side, licking his chops and ready to eat me for dinner if so instructed. This woman is cautious, but she's hardly paranoid.

  Ms. Mills is comfortably dressed in un-tattered jeans and a soft-blue blouse. Her silvery-blonde hair is neatly clipped, thus exposing a face that's lightly made-up. She appears to want to look respectable, even if it's only for a walk around the block. Our business cards are already in my hand so she doesn't have to wonder why I'm reaching into a pocket. "Ms. Mills?"

  "No, you have the wrong address." It's said flatly and without the slightest trace of an accent. How odd that she has yet to shut the door.

  I brave it up and try not to sound like I completely don't believe her while exhibiting camaraderie. "My name is Niles Barton. This is my associate, Mrs. Doris Clayburn. We work for a legal firm in California." I offer our cards, yet Ms. Mills stays in her fortress. She looks at Doris like she's an odd part of a complex equation. "We're here on a personal matter. A friend was caused great financial damage by a former employer of Ms. Mills and is trying to recover his losses. Do you know anyone who ever worked in England for—"

  The door flies open, and I'm yanked inside the house. Quickly she shuts the door behind Doris and I. The dog, whose teeth are now quite visible, begins sniffing me in the most uncomfortable of places. "How did you find me?" Ms. Mills demands while still gripping my arm. A growl occurs so close to my crotch that my balls are warmed by dog breath. Cautiously I raise my open hands while looking into the eyes of Rin Tin Tin's evil twin.

  "Through desperation. I wouldn't trouble you if this wasn't something that I felt to be important."

  "Take off your coats," she demands.

  Doris and I obey by handing over our jackets then slowly turning so she can see we don't have weapons. With my hands still signing a request to keep the dog at bay, I lift my pant legs to reveal nothing but shoes and socks. Ms. Mills pats our coats before flipping them over her arm. "Your card claims you are a paralegal. Isn't that like a secretary? Why are you here?" she asks Doris as if her presence is a crime.

  "I came to assist Niles."

  I continue Doris's display that, unlike the prior boss of Ms. Mills, I have a respectful relationship with my employees. "Mrs. Clayburn is a valuable asset to my work. She often provides insight I am incapable of finding."

  Doris gets eyed over. "Well, aren't you a lucky one. Go on." We are motioned toward a worn, yet clean, tan sofa that sits in front of a window with frilly curtains inside a light grayish-green living room. Numerous happy moments in the form of family photos cover the walls. I sit farthest away from the chair in which Ms. Mills sits, thus lessening my threat. Regardless, as soon as the dog takes a seat next to his master, his eyes are right back on me. He's salivating as if I'm a raw steak.

  I dive into my story. I try not to sound rushed, but I have to move forward before Ms. Mills gets scared and tosses us out. Her face contorts through a myriad of emotions over how my friend was robbed and basically left to starve. I leave out the little detail that he was also killed.

  "Who's your friend? Maybe I know him."

  Idiot! You spent so much time developing your character you forgot to learn your lines. Just mash two celebrities together. Use, uh, Ray Davies and that cute girl from Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush. "Ray Geeson. He's a musician who was promised the moon and back."

  "Doesn't surprise me in the least. Ben would screw anyone, one way or another. He even screwed the only tailor that could properly fit his sloppy gut. Ben's a weasel. If you tracked me down, you're well aware of what he did."

  My eyes meet those of Doris, and I get a nod to proceed. We have an agreement. If Doris starts talking, my trap gets locked shut. "Honestly, I don't have proof of anything, but I'm assuming he did something to make it easier for you to leave than stay. I only hope he didn't threaten you like he did others."

  Doris gives me a subtle thumbs up. Whew.

  "Oh, he threatened me all right. I thought I had the stomach flu, but that little snake recognized my pregnancy signs before I did. Ben was conveniently called out of the country while my replacement handed me a substantially sized severance check. A visitor then greeted me at my apartment. He wanted to be sure that I never contacted Ben again, regardless of the reason. His eyes were on my stomach the entire time as he said, 'Well, lady, you got what you wanted. You can go get that problem fixed now.' I know damn well Ben gave me that check because he dared to think that getting an abortion and cashing out was my end goal. That's how he sees women."

  Now is a great time for this male to lock his lips. With a single look I request Doris chime in. "Ms. Mills, I can only begin to imagine what that must have been like. You showed great strength in having his child. If you felt strongly about the man, I'm sure it hurt all the more. I'm very sorry that happened to you. No woman should go through that."

  "Thank you, but it taught me I could either wallow in misery or move on in strength. I never even cashed the bastard's check." She points to a frame on the wall, and I pop up to take a closer look, forgetting about the sharp canine teeth that long to devour me. Sure enough, it's a check made out to Harriet Mills for five thousand pounds, signed by Stoddard himself. That was a hell of a lot of money in nineteen sixty-six. To think she relocated thousands of miles away and had a child, all without cashing that check. The strength this woman has shown is unfathomable.

  "Good for you, Ms. Mills." Doris beams as if the pride is her own. "I can't even begin to tell you how much respect I have for you."

  "Thank you. Please call me Harriet. You're very lucky to have a boss who values you enough to let you speak."

  Excellent. Keep keeping your trap shut, Niles.

  "And how are you now, Harriet? You seem to be without need."

  "That's far from true. I need to see that horse's ass burn in Hell, which is the root of why you're here. What is it you want?"

  Doris wipes off her sympathetic smile and brings on a braver, proud woman face. "Ms. Mills, would you be willing to make a statement saying you had an affair with Mr. Stoddard and he is the same person listed on the birth certificate? Without that statement, if his wife divorces him, she won't get a penny. She's either stuck with him or out on the street."

  "Are you kidding? I was a slave to working and raising a child for years by myself because of that asshole. David's father should've helped our son through his life. That coward needs to burn."

  Niles, you are a real dirt bag for betraying Rosalyn's trust in such a blatant fashion. Steven has got to help Peter with that contact. What you're doing now just isn't enough.

  When Angels Sing

  This is rubbish. How is it Niles is able to contact my brother but
I can't? If I'm meeting with an angel, or a ghost, or whatever Steve is now, why am I on a street corner in El Segundo?

  I lean on a lamppost and wonder what all the mystery is about. It's been ages since I've seen Steve. I've missed the guy. Is he still a boy or has he grown?

  A tug comes on my sleeve. Excitement hits me in the gut as I spin around and give what looks like a mirror's reflection of myself a hug. Finally I'm able to make some type of physical contact with another being. "Steve, how I've missed ya! How are ya?"

  He rubs my arms then pats them heartily. All the while his smile brings back happy childhood memories. That is, until he swallows heavily, and concern blankets his face. "I'm good, but you're not. All I can do now is push you in the right direction before I finally move on. You made a shady deal with the dark part of the other side, and it's biting you in the bum. Niles is right. Stop falling for trickery. Stoddard has earned his place in the pits of the afterlife, but your desire to right a wrong could earn you yours." He points to a shop across the road with a big red and green sign. "Head that way. Goodbye, Pete."

  Is he kidding? After all these years I get a brush off. "Wait, Steve. There is so much I want to say. So much I want to hear."

  "I love you, mate. Mum and Dad have moved on and are great. Now it's my turn. Everyone is great, except you. Go make us proud." Steve fades away. With a heavy sense of defeat and anger toward myself I head off to the 7-Eleven.

  Damn it, Peter, you were supposed to meet me here yesterday afternoon. Why is it you pop in at the most annoying times yet when I need you—

  I catch a glimpse of the hotel room clock. Crap! It's 10 A.M. already. Asking Peter to chat with the other side was stupid. If he got trapped, I'm screwed and … and I can't bring myself to think about the rest, other than he's gonna be pissed off as hell if this mission doesn't get completed.

  Screw it! I'm off to Stoddard's place without him.

  The lovely manor in Henley-on-Thames is unapologetically built like a fortress. Cameras around the perimeter boldly announce it is under heavy surveillance. Add in the fact it's tucked up on a hill and it's one tough place to watch discretely.

  I'm parked halfway down the road with my surveillance gear pointing out the back window. I'll be barely able to catch warning if someone leaves Stoddard's house. My jittering stomach makes the ham sandwich I nibble tough to choke down, but I'm attempting to look like a random guy on a lunch break.

  The monitor in the seat next to me shows a big guy on the approach. My inclination is to race off, but that will raise even more flags. Instead I hang fire and use a remote to re-aim my camera so it's looking at the house down the hill. As the big man with the dark sunglasses steps up I roll down the window, slip him a smile, and raise my hand in a wave. "Hey."

  "I'm part of the neighborhood watch program. Mind telling me what you're doing here? You're making the neighborhood a little nervous."

  "I am?" I ask oh-so-innocently. "Sorry. I'm visiting from America and got a little lost. The countryside looked lovely so—"

  "So you decided to drive out here of all places?"

  "I was raised a country boy."

  The big guy looks at my designer suit and curls up a side of his lip into his nose. His arms cross, and I'm reminded of a roadblock.

  "Okay, you got me. Isn't this where a bunch of big rock stars live? You wouldn't happen to know where George Harrison's estate is, would you?"

  His eyes go off of me and catch a glimpse of the monitor. The cool steel of a gun barrel gets pressed against my temple. "Out!" he demands. So much for respecting England's gun laws. Slowly I reach one hand down to open the door while the other stays in his view. I slide out with cautious movements. My hands are placed against the side of the car before being asked. With the gun still aimed at my head his free hand searches me. "Okay, mate. What's the real story?"

  A good lawyer always comes prepared with the truth and an angle. A great schemer prepares like a lying lawyer. "I'm a lawyer from The States doing some research for a client. My business card is in my left jacket pocket. I'm investigating Lionel Jones who lives down the block."

  "Since when do lawyers get their hands dirty? I thought only detectives did stuff like that."

  Damn it. I'm jittering. Look at his eyes, not at the gun. "I'm a corporate lawyer. My client never buys anything without knowing who they are buying from. You know how paranoid Americans are, which is why I don't trust investigators."

  Backup arrives and begins searching the car. With a smash and a stomp my equipment is destroyed, thus increasing my bill for services rendered. The new guy digs under the seat. If they find the slit cut in the carpet where the affidavit is stored, I'll be seeing Peter on the other side.

  He comes up empty and heads for the trunk where he finds the decoy—my briefcase containing papers that show Lionel Jones is interested in selling some American-based assets. Doris's hourly rate just doubled.

  The gun-toting big guy practically shoves me back inside the car. "You'll be on your way now."

  I don't argue.

  Heads I Win, Tails You Lose

  Some things never change. Stoddard's tactics are so old I swear the same goons still work for him.

  Once he's had a chance to steady his pulse I pop in on Niles. "Well, that was foolish! You could have been killed." The car swerves. You'd think this chest-clutching bloke would be used to me by now. "Do you have a medical condition?"

  Niles pants while saying, "You are so, so lucky that you got most of the anger. When you didn't show I feared the worst and tried to implement the plan anyway."

  "Aw, you'd do that for me? Makes me all toasty inside. Thanks, mate." I pat the old boy on the back and his shoulder bounces forth a tad with each tap. "Anyway, I just spent a spell watching the old broad get ready for a lunch appointment." I shiver at the memory of how she looks like a shriveled old piece of chicken skin. "She's not the right bird she used to be! Anyway, stay on this road a spell, and we can join her. We need to grab her while—"

  Niles's eyes shift toward his shoulder and then back at me. It's about bloody time he caught on.

  Either I've gone off the deep end or there's been a major turn of events. "Waiiiit a minute. Did you just …"

  Peter fades, but this voice carries through. "While I was off taking care of your little request, I learned a few things." The glove box appears to open without help. The car's rental agreement flies out and rips in two. Each half then flips aside.

  "You're fully functional!"

  "I've something else." Peter reappears, rolls down his window, and catcalls a girl crossing the street. She checks out her admirer only to watch him vaporize before her very eyes. Her mouth goes agape.

  "Amazing!"

  "Don't get too excited. I can only stay visible briefly. However, my new abilities do mean I don't need your help. I can simply stroll my ghostly self into Stoddard's place, knock out one of his goons, and borrow his gun. However …" Peter taps his fingers on the door. Could it be he has come to the conclusion he has been tangoing with Hell?

  "However you've come to learn that Rosalyn means more to you than any crazy revenge you have deluded yourself into thinking is insurance?"

  "Yeah, this odd division of emotions has me acting like the female of the species on special, monthly occasions. It's now so clear I only need to be as close to my true self as possible and all will fall into place."

  I have to wonder what Peter's true self really is. Once more, "Peter, after all this happens, will I be more like you or will I stay like me?"

  A moment passes while Peter ponders the question that seems to perplex us both. "I don't know, really. Jane's not much different from before in that the same things make her heart sing. Whether you and I care to admit it we're already very much alike—determined to be happy, get what we deserve, and take care of Jane. The only difference is I have love on my side. I figure that's the only part of you that will really change when I die." Peter's voice chokes. "When I die… ," he mutters soft
ly. "Make a right at the corner. Mrs. Stoddard is due at Badgemore Park any moment."

  "Yes, and you'd better make ghostlike so only I can see you, else you may cause a scene—especially in those clothes. Men haven't worn brocade and frills for nearly half a century."

  Peter eyes his swanky jacket and fluffs the frills on his sleeves. Outside the window stands a guy in a tattered grey hoodie and cut-offs that slide down to his hips, thus exposing the plaid glory of his boxers. "Damn pity. If I'd known what crimes I'd be exposed to under the guise of fashion, I may have very well stayed dead."

  Inside the restaurant I request a corner table so we can watch the entire room. When Mrs. Stoddard arrives she's guided straight to where a friend awaits her arrival. Damn.

  Twenty minutes and two glasses of champagne later her friend finally makes for the powder room. Thankfully we are in an expensive place so the women don't feel the need for safety in numbers. I slip into the recently vacated seat. "Mrs. Stoddard?"

  "Yes," she says hesitantly. A wicked, pink-painted smile blooms as her eyes run up and down me. Her teeth capture her lip so hard I expect to see blood. "May I help you?" This time Peter did exaggerate. The skin of the perfectly made-up woman is tight for her age, presumably from plastic surgery. This tells me a lot about her ego and bodes well if I need to resort to using my insurance policy.

  "I'm sorry to trouble you, but I need to speak to you about your husband."

  Her gaze sours. "If you're here to see if I will give my husband a demo recording of your little brother's band, forget it. Ben got out of that part of the business a long time ago."

  I slide her my business card. "Actually, my presence here is intended to benefit you. I've caught wind of some nasty rumors about your husband's behavior over the years. I also know you signed a very strict prenup. I have a way to get you around it, if you are interested."