Bird Lives!

by Bill Moody

  “Why did Cook assign you to me instead of Ted Rollins?”

  “Rollins?” Andie laughs. “You two didn’t exactly hit it off.”

  I keep looking at her. I know the unlocked door to our adjoining rooms at the Travelodge is still on both our minds.

  “Okay.” She closes her notebook and sips from her Coke. I opted for Scotch when the attendant took our orders.

  “That was only part of it. I guess I wanted to see if this was going to go anywhere.” I still don’t look away.

  “You want it plainer?” She shifts toward me. “Okay, the first day you walked in, I knew I was interested. You had me at hello. How’s that?”

  “What about Natalie?”

  “What about her? You’re not married, you’re not engaged, you don’t even live together. She’s not exactly standing by you in this, is she?”

  I look away. Andie’s only half right. Maybe I’m expecting too much of Natalie. I can’t tell her everything, and she has little to go on except that I’m spending a lot of time with another woman, even if she is an FBI agent.

  Andie reaches across the aisle and touches my arm. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair.” She smiles. “Remember what I told you before? Timing is everything. I shouldn’t have to tell a musician that.”

  I finish my drink. The flight attendant comes by with a plastic bag collecting glasses, looking like she’d rather be anywhere than at twenty-eight thousand feet. She makes me think of Cindy Fuller, also a flight attendant, and how much a part of my life she’d been for a while, when she lived next door to me. I lean back on the seat and close my eyes. But twice, when I open them, I catch Andie glancing up from her notes, looking at me. I don’t think she’s really working.

  We hit an air pocket, and the pilot announces our descent into Los Angeles. Greg Sims doesn’t even stir. When we taxi to the gate, I have to wake him and get our bags out of the overhead compartment.

  Andie has called ahead. Amid the mob of friends and relatives waiting at the gate at LAX, we have our own welcoming committee. Craning their necks for a first look, Wendell Cook and Ted Rollins might as well be wearing FBI warm-up jackets instead of the dark suits. Cook is pacing, scanning the lounge area, and Rollins is on his cell phone. I wonder for a minute if he’s going to call Andie.

  The only one I’m glad to see is Coop. He stands off to the side, looking cool as only Coop can, like he’s just waiting to fly standby.

  Cook nods at me, shakes hands with Greg, and then, one arm around his shoulder, walks him over to a deserted gate area where they sit down. Cook never takes his eyes off Greg’s face. Andie and Coop follow and stand a few feet away, talking. I start to join them when Rollins pulls me aside.

  “So that’s the loony tune’s brother, huh?” he says to me. “He looks a little wacky too. Maybe it runs in the family. How do we know he isn’t in on it with her?” While he’s talking to me, Rollins scans the faces. I bet he enjoyed flashing his badge to security.

  “Sure, Rollins, that’s why he faked his suicide.”

  “Well, he has possibly broken the law.”

  “Really? What did he gain? Since when is it illegal to disappear?”

  “We’ll have to deal with that issue. Any deals you made with him are subject to Bureau approval.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Ted.” I’m tired. I just want to get away from here, from everybody.

  Rollins gives me a puzzled look. “I have to admit, that was pretty good work, Horne. You know, I’ve been thinking, maybe you and me, we could turn over a new leaf, since we’re working together.”

  “A new leaf? Rollins, you’d have to replant the whole forest.”

  The muscles of Rollins’s eyes twitch and pulsate. He just gets in “Fuck you, Horne,” before Wendell Cook comes over.

  “Nice going, Evan,” Cook says. “This may be the break we needed.”

  “Ted was just telling me that, weren’t you?”

  Cook glances between the two of us, decides that isn’t worth pursuing. “We’re going to take care of Sims, get him fixed up somewhere safe.”

  “Just go easy on him,” I say. “It may not look like it, but he’s been through a lot.”

  “I can see that.” Cook’s big, round, sturdy face looks comforting. I’m sure Greg will be okay with him. Coop aside, if there’s anyone I trust, it’s Wendell Cook.

  “Okay, we’re out of here then. Coop will take you home, and we’ll want to see you tomorrow. Gillian will expect you to go on with things, so do whatever you think.” He turns to Rollins. “Ted, you come with us.” He signals Andie, and the four of them start the long trek to the street,

  I catch Greg’s eye and give him the thumbs-up sign. I’ve already given him my number. Andie smiles at me once, pats her coat pocket, and points to me. I don’t understand the gesture.

  “Well, the prodigal son returns,” Coop says. “You’ve got the FBI pretty heated up.”

  “Hey, Coop, tell me something good.”

  “I will. Tell you on the way.”

  “Where we going?”

  “Somebody wants to see you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When we get to the street, I look around for Coop’s car, but see only cabs, shuttle buses, and tired travelers loading suitcases into station wagons and sport utility vehicles.

  “It’s in the parking garage,” he says.

  “I thought you’d leave it at the curb with the red light on.

  “Nah, you know me, never take advantage of my official law enforcement capacity. I leave that to Ted Rollins.”

  “Yeah, he’s a real piece of work, always on my case.” An airport security cop stands in the middle of the crosswalk and blows his whistle and waves his arms, signaling us to cross. We shoulder our way past the wave of people coming our way who can’t wait to get out of L.A.

  “Yeah, well, leave his girlfriend alone.” Coop smirks as we cross the street and head into the garage.

  “Andie? You’re kidding?”

  “Nope. He told me. She won’t give him a tumble, though. She goes for musicians, it seems.”

  I remember Andie’s gesture at the gate then and check my coat pocket. I pull out a scrap of paper with “Call me” scribbled in her hand. That I will do. We have a lot to talk about.

  Once we clear the airport, Coop turns north on Lincoln. I roll down the window and light a cigarette. “So, any new developments?”

  Coop shakes his head and glares at a Toyota that tries to cut him off. “Valet parking guy at Chadney’s vaguely remembers a woman alone in a Lexus, but it’s nothing we can take to the bank. Otherwise, zip. I told you if anybody takes this fruitcake down, it would be you. Finding the brother alive was a break. They’ll start running Gillian through NCIC and DMV. Any more calls from her?”

  “Yeah, one, while Andie was grilling Greg Sims.”

  Coop glances at me as he swings into the right lane and turns east on Wilshire. “And?”

  “This one was different. She talked about me and Andie, wanted to know if I was interested. Playing with my head.”

  “Bet you didn’t tell Andie about that one.”

  “No, I didn’t. Where are we going anyway?”

  “Somebody wants to talk to you.” He palls up in front of a coffee place Natalie and I have gone to many times. When he doesn’t turn off the engine, I look at Coop. He nods his head toward the patio seating. Natalie is sitting at one of the outside tables. She glances up at the car and waves.

  “If it goes well, Natalie will take you home. Otherwise, you can call me,” Coop says.

  “Does she know that?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” Coop says. I get out of the car and shut the door. Coop leans over. “Tell Andie about that last call, or I will.”

  “Always the cop.”

  “That’s me,” Coop says, then he drives off.

  I walk over to where Natalie is sitting. “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi yourself.” She tries a smile but doesn’t q
uite make it. She looks tired and drawn. There’s a half-full cup of coffee in front of her.

  “Want a refill?”

  “No, I’m fine. Get something for yourself.”

  I go inside, get a large coffee, and bring it back to the table. I sit down and light a cigarette. “Why the secrecy?”

  Natalie shrugs. “Coop thought it was best. He told me some of it.”

  “What? What did he tell you?” I sip my coffee, keep my eyes on her face.

  Natalie looks away. “He told me you’re helping the FBI catch a serial killer, you’re the contact, that she’s calling you and you’ve made some kind of deal with her.”

  “Is that all? Did he tell you what the deal was?”

  “No, but isn’t that enough? God, Evan, what are you doing to yourself? How did you allow this to happen? How long is this going to go on?”

  “I didn’t allow anything, it just happened. I told you before, I can’t walk away from this.”

  “No, you never can.” She pulls her jacket tightly around her body and stares at her coffee. More quietly now, she says, “How was San Francisco?”

  “Fine. We maybe have a break in things.”

  “We? You and Andie Lawrence, right? She was with you?”

  “You know she was.”

  “Did you sleep with her?”

  I look away and let that hang in the air for several moments. “Come on, Natalie.” I crush out my cigarette and lean forward with my arms on the table. “I had the chance, but no, I didn’t. You’ll have to take my word for it.”

  I watch Natalie. It’s not much, but I see a flicker of relief graze her face, soften her eyes. Any other answer, and it would have been over right here, sitting on hard metal chairs at a coffee place on Wilshire.

  I think back to our first days together, meeting in Las Vegas, driving back across the desert to L.A., and later, meetings at this very place that began as stolen moments and turned into long sessions, talking about everything. I never dreamed then we’d be having this conversation.

  “Well, that’s something,” she says. She sips her coffee and sets the cup down carefully; but she won’t look at me. It’s as if she’s been rehearsing, and now she’s ready for a first reading.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think, Evan. I don’t know what’s happening with us, but I think we both need some time apart, at least until this, whatever this is, is over.”

  “You said that the other day.”

  “I was angry then. Seeing Andie at your place, listening to music—”

  “I explained that. It had nothing to do with Andie and me. It’s part of the case.”

  “I know, but now that I’ve had more time to think—she doesn’t matter—I still feel the same way. I don’t know what it is, Evan, but there’s always been a part of you I couldn’t get to. Maybe nobody can. You always seem to hold something back, and that’s made me think about us even more.”

  I have no answer for that. She’s probably right. Not many people get in all the way. Natalie has been the closest.

  “Do you know how long this is going to go on?”

  “No.”

  “What about the recording? The trio?”

  “Why didn’t you come to Chadney’s? You could have heard.”

  “Was she there?”

  “Yes, but that was also part of the case. I couldn’t do anything about that.” I feel my anger rising. This is old ground.

  “Sure. Anyway, I’ve decided.” She looks at me now. “I think you need to decide some things too, and we have to do that alone.”

  “So that’s it?”

  “For now, yes.”

  A kid in a white apron is wiping down tables, straightening chairs. He catches my eye and comes over.

  “We’re closing. Can I take these?” He points at the cups.

  I look at Natalie. She nods slightly. “Yeah, we’re finished.” I wait till he’s back inside.

  “Natalie, don’t dangle this in front of me. It would be nice to know that you’re behind me on everything too. If you’re not, I need to decide what to do about it.”

  “Yes, you do.” Her voice is firm but so quiet I almost can’t hear. She stands up then. “Let’s see how we do on our own, okay? I want you to be sure.”

  “If that’s the way you want it.”

  “It’s not the way I want it, Evan. It’s the way it is.”

  She touches my shoulder, gives me another half-smile, then turns and walks off, slowly at first; then she gathers speed as I watch her go, head down, shoulders slumped, hugging herself, all the way to her car. I wait to see if she turns around, but she doesn’t, and I don’t go after her.

  I sit there for a long time, thinking, smoking, long after the lights go off and I’m left in the darkness.

  Then I call Coop.

  It’s raining and dark when I wake up. A slow, fine drizzle, just enough to keep an oily sheen on the streets, reflects headlights and neon and makes driving an exercise in tension. I lie still for several minutes, listening to the rain, listening for the phone, listening to my own heartbeat.

  A little over a week ago I was well on the way to a comeback, a recording contract in the offing, my hand better than ever. Now I’m helping the FBI, getting calls from a psycho serial killer; and Natalie, if she isn’t already gone, is rapidly slipping away.

  Maybe she was right. We need time alone, time for me to decide what I want. Maybe I need to really see what Andie Lawrence is all about. Was Gillian right? How interested am I? Enough to cross that line? How did I let Gillian get into my head? There’s no turning back if I do, not with Natalie. Keep up with things as usual, Wendell Cook had said. I don’t even know what that means anymore.

  I get up, make coffee, and call Jeff Lasorda. “Hey,” Jeff says, “everything still cool?”

  “A few complications, but otherwise no problem.” Jeff is silent for a moment, not sure what to say. “Any chance we could get together this afternoon?” I need to play, keep up some semblance of normality until Gillian’s next call.

  “Sure, fine with me,” Jeff says. “Want me to call Gene, see if he can make it?”

  “Yeah, let’s do that. Thanks, Jeff. Your place?”

  “I’m here.”

  Next I call Andie Lawrence. “How’s it going?”

  “It’s not. She’s a phantom. Gillian Sims, Gillian Payne, there’s nothing on her anywhere, but we’re still looking.”

  I sigh. How can anyone elude the FBI like that? “How’s Greg?”

  “He’s fine, don’t worry about him.”

  I think of something else then. “Has he played his horn at all?”

  “Yeah, he had it out, fooling around with it. He seems embarrassed, though. Why do you want to know if he’s been playing?”

  “I’ve got an idea, to push things along.”

  “What?”

  “When Gillian calls, I want to tell her I’ve got Greg’s horn, see if she’ll meet with me.”

  There’s silence for several moments on Andie’s end. “I don’t think so. She’d never go for it, and neither would Wendell.”

  “Andie, I want this over. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

  “All right, I’ll run it by Wendell. Evan, I want to see you.”

  “I want to see you too. I’m rehearsing this afternoon. I’ll call you later.”

  “Do that.” She hangs up then.

  The line has been drawn.

  Gene, it turns out, can’t make it, but at Jeff’s house, he and I go over a number of tunes, rewrite some chord changes, and decide on some sketchy arrangements for the recording.

  For some reason I feel more relaxed, as if I’ve turned a corner somehow. Jeff notices and rises to the occasion, literally reading my mind. The musical bond between us grows as the afternoon wears on.

  “You’re playing in the zone, man,” Jeff says, after over an hour. “Especially on ‘The Very Thought of You.’ What made you think of that one?”

  I shrug. “Don’t know. Jus
t heard it again recently.” I look at my watch. “I have to go. Thanks, Jeff. This was a good session. I’ll call you.” He lays down his bass and walks me to my car.

  “My offer is still good, you know, if things get too weird.”

  “Thanks. Don’t worry. Things ain’t what they used to be, but they’re going to get better.”

  “Now there’s a tune,” Jeff says.

  As soon as I hit the Ventura Freeway, I call Andie. “I’ll be a while,” The rain has quit, but the oil-and-water slick makes for slow going. I circle around two fender benders before I merge onto the San Diego Freeway.

  “Okay,” Andie says. “I’m leaving the office now. How about if I pick up some Chinese?”

  “Sounds good to me. See you then.” I break the connection and crawl over the Sepulveda pass behind a snarl of winking brake lights, all of us packed together in five lanes. I manage to squeeze over, take the Sunset exit, and make it to Andie’s without any mishaps or calls.

  She comes to the door in jeans and a soft white turtleneck sweater, a whiff of perfume trailing after her. Inside there are cartons of rice and a variety of dishes on the table. Carmen McRae is singing Monk on her CD player. “Thought we could share,” Andie says.

  I hang my coat over the back of a chair, feel the weight of the cell phone I’m never without now. “Great, I’m hungry.”

  She brings two bottles of Henry Weinhard and plates to the table, and we dig in with the plastic chopsticks. We eat, listen to Carmen McRae, and sneak glances at each other, relative strangers, circling, investigating. It’s unspoken, but things have changed now, and we both know it.

  “You’re different tonight somehow,” Andie says.

  “Am I?” I push my plate aside and drain the last of my beer.

  She nods, drinks from her own. “Rehearsing must agree with you. How did it go?”

  “Fine, it’s coming together well. What about you?”

  Andie sighs and sets her bottle on the table, turning it in circles. “No luck on Gillian, but I didn’t expect any.” She holds my gaze for a moment. “Wendell didn’t think much of your idea about meeting with her.”

  “But?”

  “He’s weakening. Hell, he’s desperate. We just have nothing else. Are you sure you want to do this?”