Chasing Those Devil Bones

by W E DeVore

  “Get in the truck, Clementine,” he said.

  She flipped him off and kept walking. “Fuck you. I thought we were done.”

  He followed her in the truck, shouting, “Clementine, I’m sorry. Get in the truck. Please.”

  She climbed in and slammed the door, folding her arms and settling back into the seat as he parked on a side street.

  “I have a reason,” he said. “A reason for believing that Tori didn’t hurt Savion.”

  “Yeah, you’re in love with her and don’t want to send her to prison.”

  He scowled at her. “God damn it. You are the most infuriating person on the fucking planet. Just listen to me. After you and Ben went into the studio with Stanley that night at the party, I gave Tori a really hard time. Played it off like we were just two old friends catching up, she started to get mad. As mad as she could get with so many people around, anyway. Then she told me that it was over, that we had to stop seeing each other and I told her it was fine by me, I don’t fuck married women.”

  “That’s some proof, cowboy. You’ve convinced me.”

  “Shut the fuck up and listen, will you?” He turned to face her. “Savion was standing behind her with two drinks. I didn’t notice him. He heard us, I’m sure of it, but I didn’t care. I left.”

  “Where did you go?” she asked.

  “To look for you and Ben. I couldn’t find you. I found Tom instead and we did some shots. While we were drinking, I heard you singing and went in to watch. You were singing that Rosemary Clooney song I like so much and I decided to go look at the courtyard…” His voice trailed off.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, Clementine, I was drunk. I wanted to look at the fountain and the lights and listen to you sing. She was down there, cleaning up. He came around the side of the house. It didn’t look like they were fighting, but maybe they were. She saw me watching them and came upstairs. That was it.”

  “You sure you didn’t miss anything before or after?”

  “Pretty sure. I just don’t see how she could have done anything without me seeing something suspicious. I mean, I’d been drinking, but I don’t think I’d have missed something like the two of them doing a line of blow. When she came upstairs, I confronted her about everything, because we were alone. About twenty or thirty minutes into it, you came in and we went downstairs.”

  “You sure it was Savion?” she asked. “You didn’t know him…”

  “Who else would it be? I figure he decided to do a little blow before coming up to the party. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He reached over and took her hand. “I’m sorry about your friend, Clementine. I’ll keep digging, if that’s what you want. I shouldn’t have lost my temper earlier.”

  “Likewise, cowboy. How fucked up is it that I’d rather turn you into a liar and Tori into a murderer than to believe that Savion would do something so stupid.” Q sighed. “How am I going to tell Stanley?”

  “Tell him what?”

  “Tell him that his only child died in a stupid fucking accident.” She looked at Sanger. “Why would he do that to himself? Why would he risk losing that beautiful mind of his?”

  “I’ll still run a toxicology. Something made him have another seizure last night, you’re right about that. Maybe the hospital fucked up and gave him the wrong meds,” he said.

  “Death by incompetence strikes again.” Q blinked away tears. “Take me to the studio, will you, cowboy?”

  “You think that’s a good idea? Stanley will know by the time we get there,” he said.

  She ignored him and pulled out her phone, quickly dialing Derek’s number before she thought too much about it.

  When he answered, she asked, “You make it to Stanley’s yet, Cincinnati?”

  “Just got set up, angel.” He paused. “But we have to call it a day. Q, Stanley’s son…”

  “I know. His son just died. I was there with him when it happened. I want to record ‘Saturday Night,’” she said. “Right now. While it’s fresh. Tell the boys.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because I’m pissed the fuck off and that’s how we’re going to do it.”

  Derek paused and spoke with whoever was in the room with him. He finally said, “Stanley and Walter want us to clear out. Meet me at Son of Perdition in an hour. We can record it there.”

  “But Drake’s mixing…” she started to argue.

  “He can take the day off and record this instead. One hour, Q. Don’t be late.”

  ◆◆◆

  Stanley’s courtyard was eerily quiet. The normal undercurrent of laughter and mirth that usually flowed from the crush of people closest to him had faded into an uncomfortable murmur of condolences. As soon as they’d returned from the graveside service, Stanley had retreated into his studio, locking the door behind him. Q sat next to Walter on the edge of the fountain, the smell of his cigar tickling her nose.

  They both stared at the door to the studio.

  “How long do you think we should give him?” Q finally asked.

  “As long as it takes for me to finish this cigar.”

  “You think he’s drinking?”

  “No,” Walter said. “I think he’s crying. He did the same thing after Loretta left him. Locked himself in a vocal booth and screamed where no one could see him or hear him do it.”

  She elbowed him. “If no one could see him or hear him, how do you know?”

  He smiled. “I’m his brother. Who do you think was minding the door?”

  Q took his answer at face value and glanced around at the gathering mourners. A familiar face appeared at the top of the stairs and Q glared in its general direction. Urian Galanos, underworld kingpin and Adonis look-a-like, strode down the stairs with his wife on his arm.

  “Great. Urian Galanos is here,” she muttered. “You know him?”

  She pointed him out and Walter shook his head. “Who is he?”

  “A drug dealer. Most likely the biggest of deals in the Greek mob. Pete used to buy his dope and place his bets with him,” she explained. “He also, maybe, a little, saved my life once.”

  “Sounds like you’re not too pleased about that.”

  She shrugged. “Most days, I can pretend that it was just Aaron, but Urian was there. The Beasts and me played his wedding back in February.”

  She pointed to the dark-haired woman on his arm. “That’s his wife, Karen. She’s some kind of artist. I think she knew Savion. He had a picture of the two of them together on his Facebook page.”

  Her gesture caught the attention of the Galanos’ and they approached her through the crowd. Q stood up to greet them, resigning herself to the fact that no matter how much she hated to admit it, Urian Galanos was a member of her social circle, even if it was only on the outermost rim.

  “Beautiful girl,” Urian purred in his thick accent, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Terrible business, this.”

  “How did you know Savion?” she asked.

  Karen moved closer to Urian and said, “He bought some of my work about a year ago, we got to talking and became friends. He helped me to figure out a way to turn weather prediction equations into 3D visuals. It’s a new installation I was working on for a museum in Miami.”

  Walter hefted himself up and Q introduced him. “This is Savion’s uncle, Walter Gerard.”

  Urian and Karen offered their condolences. Karen said to Q, “Savion was so sorry he couldn’t make it to our wedding. He was really excited when I told him you were playing the reception. It was actually his idea.”

  “It was Savion’s idea for your wedding reception to be at the Bourdello Burlesque?” Q asked, stunned.

  Urian replied, “No, that was Karen’s idea, but Savion suggested we hire you. He was a kind man. I liked him.”

  Q scanned his face for signs of insincerity and failed to find any. The fact that the cocaine Savion had ingested had most likely been procured by the man standing before her, made Q’s blood boil. She bit back her accusati
ons.

  Karen looked around at the courtyard, admiring the foliage. “He’d had such a rough year. What with losing his funding and his girlfriend and all.”

  “What girlfriend?” Q asked.

  “I never met her, but he called her ‘Goodness,’ it was his pet name for her,” she explained. “They split around Thanksgiving last year. He was really broken up about it. Started drinking too much. He knew he shouldn’t be drinking at all with his seizures, but he didn’t seem to care.”

  Q decided to get her suspicions out in the open. She looked at Urian and asked, “So, how long had Savion been buying cocaine from you?”

  Urian smiled innocuously and moved his wife towards the house. “Karen, darling, why don’t you go get a cup of coffee with Savion’s uncle? Let me have a chat with Q.”

  Karen nodded and looped her arm through Walter’s. “Come on, Mr. Walter. Believe me, this is something neither of us wants to hear.”

  Walter looked at Q in concern, but allowed himself to be guided away. Once they were out of earshot, Urian put his arm around Q’s waist and moved her to the side of the house, away from the rest of the mourners.

  “Beautiful girl,” he said, once they were safely alone. “I thought we got past this petty foolishness last fall.”

  “You’re a criminal, Urian. You sell drugs. Savion died because he did blow. You sell blow. It’s not rocket science,” she said, pushing him back.

  He folded his arms and leaned against the house. “I didn’t sell drugs to Savion.”

  “You gave them to him for free because he was friends with your wife.”

  He stared her down. “I would have thought you would know by now that I’m a businessman. I don’t give away product. To nobody.”

  Knowing that Urian was not celebrated for his generosity, she conceded his point. “I think someone poisoned him.”

  “I can see that,” he said.

  “Do you recognize any of your customers here?”

  Urian glanced around the courtyard and replied, “It’s a house full of musicians. What do you think, beautiful girl? I don’t share other people’s secrets, it’s bad for business.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re not a filthy blackmailer, so you’ve said.”

  When Urian had told her that the girlfriend of the Beasts' former bass player had been blackmailing a Louisiana power couple, he’d taken great offense at the thought that he’d assist in the nefarious scheme. While he wasn’t above selling drugs, taking bad bets, and running the occasional girl or two, blackmail was somehow well-beneath what he considered to be moral behavior.

  “Savion wanted to kill himself,” he finally said.

  She looked at him in horror.

  Urian continued, “He came to me, drunk. Asked me for pills. Said he wanted to die. Said he let everyone down, mostly his father. Said he wasn’t worth the air he was breathing. Said he’d ruined his life, his father’s life, his woman’s life.”

  “Who was the woman?”

  “He didn’t say, just that he couldn’t hold onto her. She was married to someone else.” He paused. “Karen wanted to help him, beautiful girl. So, we did. We put him to bed in our guest room. Sobered him up. He and Karen finished her installation and he went with her to Miami in January.”

  “You let your wife go to Miami with another man?”

  “We have an arrangement.”

  “What kind of arrangement?” she asked.

  He leaned down and stroked her jawline with his thumb. “One that would allow me to see you naked should you ever change your mind.”

  Q batted his hand away. “Well, that’s never going to happen.”

  “Never say never, beautiful girl.”

  “Fuck you,” she said. “Do you think he was still suicidal?”

  “I wouldn’t know. We hadn’t seen him for a few months. He was busy, teaching. Karen thought he’d patched things up with his woman. He was better. Purposeful. It’s good to have purpose.”

  “Would you do me a favor?” she asked.

  “Anything,” he said.

  “If you remember the name of the woman he was seeing. Her real name, not her nickname. Would you let me know?”

  “Why?”

  “I’d just like to know.”

  He nodded and walked away, leaving her alone with her fears that Stanley was right: That Savion had never stopped loving her and her marriage to Ben the previous fall had somehow contributed to his self-destructive behavior. She kicked her foot in the redwood shavings, disrupting the perfectly landscaped flowerbed next to the fence. Glancing down, she discovered she’d also done a number on an innocent flowering plant that was now resting at an awkward angle, its purple blooms laying haphazard in the exposed dirt.

  Q squatted down to undo the damage she’d just inflicted. As her hands reseated the plant and smoothed out the landscaping, her fingers closed around a piece of plastic. She pulled it out, looking at the white plastic cup in her hand. As she read the purple words inscribed on it, commemorating Stanley’s last headlining performance at Jazz Fest two years ago, a lyric from the Dark Harm album she’d finished recording flew into her mind:

  Beauty for all to see, hides the garbage underneath.

  She shook her head in agreement with Derek’s words and turned the cup upside down before nestling it beneath the flowering plant, incorporating it into the perfectly landscaped flowerbed.

  Chapter 9

  And Baby Makes Three

  Q sat at her piano, struggling to play her parts for tomorrow’s session. In the weeks since Savion’s funeral, Stanley had begun to fade fast. He was tired more often than not. His quick wit and good humor had a dull edge that terrified her. Some days he was fine in the morning and took a turn after lunch. Others, he was barely cognizant by the time the Beasts had assembled for their morning session. This morning was one of those days. After Walter had put his brother to bed, he’d sat them all down in the living room and Q had helped him tell the Beasts and Derek about Stanley’s health. After being sworn to secrecy, they’d all agreed to reassemble the next day to try and record the last song on the album with or without him.

  The doorbell rang, and Q stood up to stretch, reluctantly traipsing downstairs. Yvie’s smiling face greeted her from behind the glass in the front door. Q unlocked it and Yvie handed her a manila envelope.

  “This was leaning up against your door, darlin’,” she said.

  Q invited her inside, taking the envelope and setting it down on the foyer table.

  “Where’s my brother?” Yvie asked, walking inside.

  They sat on the couch and Q said, “At the gym with Aaron, doing whatever it is that one does at the gym.”

  Yvie laughed. “One of these days, you’re going to realize how much you should enjoy eating food and have to find out for yourself. But my guess is that the only thing those two are doing is distracting every woman in the place.”

  “So, what’s up, Yvie?” Q asked, not sure why her sister-in-law was coming to call in the middle of a Wednesday.

  “Aaron and I went on another date,” she said. “Two, actually.”

  “Disaster?”

  “Not hardly, but they were both day dates,” Yvie said, clearly disappointed.

  “He’s been on nights for the last few weeks. Don’t take it personally. It goes with the territory if you’re going to date a cop. And you can have sex in the daytime. It’s allowed.” Q nudged her with her foot. “Or have you figured that out on your own.”

  Yvie blushed. “No. Not yet. Maybe we would have this weekend, but I had that stupid wedding. We were supposed to go out for lunch yesterday and he canceled.”

  “What wrong Yvie?” Q asked, seeing the hallmark signs of Yvie’s neurotic tendencies cracking through her confidence.

  “I think he’s going to break up with me.”

  “Because he canceled a date?”

  “Yes, well, no. It’s not that. He just called and said something came up and he was sorry, but we’d have to rainche
ck. He didn’t sound right.” She looked down. “Is he still seeing Tori?”

  Q shrugged. “I don’t know, honestly. But I doubt it, though. He’s kind of a one-woman or no-woman man. I haven’t really talked to him since Savion died. We had a huge fight and I said some things I shouldn’t have. I don’t think he’s quite forgiven me.” She paused briefly, hoping Yvie would disagree with her. She didn’t. “He didn’t sound right, how?”

  “Jittery.”

  “Jittery,” Q repeated and her years of being around cops and prosecutors held up three dozen red flags at once. “Do you know what case he pulled?”

  She’d seen it on the news. Everyone had seen it on the news. A student at Tulane stepped right in front of a streetcar, committing suicide, but not before he’d killed his girlfriend and their five-month-old baby.

  Yvie shook her head slowly. “You don’t think it’s the Tulane case. I mean, that he had to go to that crime scene?”

  “I don’t know. If he did, he’s probably not sleeping much,” she said as she heard Ben’s car pull into the driveway. “Maybe he talked to Ben about it.”

  The front door opened, and Ben came in, his body still slick with perspiration. He picked up the envelope off the table and walked over to the two of them on the couch.

  “What are you doing here, Sissie? I just saw your boyfriend,” he teased, mussing Yvie’s hair. “You’ve got him completely strung out. He hardly said one word.”

  “Did he talk about work?” Q asked.

  Ben shook his head. “Just that he hates being on nights and his new partner’s a tool. He’s got the night off, Yvie. Y’all got plans?”

  His sister looked at Q and said, “See? He’s dumping me.”

  She waved her hand dismissively and asked, “What else did he say? Yvie said he sounded off when he called to cancel their date yesterday.”

  He sat in the chair across from Q. “He was just quiet is all. And you’re just feeling guilty for reading him the riot act after Savion died. Call him and apologize, already. It’s just weird him calling me without talking to you.”

  Yvie said, “I thought y’all were the three musketeers.”