That’s what we're counting on, anyway. Hoping our boy shows up and wants to visit one of his favorite ladies.”
He raised his arms over his head and stretched. “I'm going back in the shack for a few minutes and warm up. Let me know if you see anything.”
“Crack a window in there, space heaters can dangerous.”
“Yes, Mother,” Shado responded. He cast a tolerant gaze to the van as he tugged open the rickety wood door. Inside were a small kitchen stool, a red-hot space heater, and a crude wooden ledge with a metal money box. The department paid the owner of the facility to have access to the lot after hours in order to watch the comings and goings of the hotel that was known to run a prestigious gentleman's escort service.
While the service, too, was a concern, it was secondary to catching a man by the name of Espinoza, head of a prominent East side drug ring, and someone with whom Shado had an intimate score to settle.
“You guys hear about that Billy Joel musical that opened tonight?” One of the surveillance crew’s voices filtered through the mike.
Shado pulled off his gloves and tried to stuff the heat packs in the sides of his work boots. He ignored their chatter drifting from the musical, to what to get the kids for Christmas and who they were taking to the annual Policeman's Christmas Party. He didn’t care for Joel's music, he didn't have kids, nor had he attended the Christmas party in years—hell, he hadn’t even thought about Christmas in years. And dating? He’d discovered that most women didn’t want to share a life with an undercover cop always out at night and with no guarantees of coming home…alive. No, he’d given up dating quite a while back, immersing himself into his work.
“It's supposed to be pretty good. My wife has been at me to take her. Maybe that’s what I'll do for Christmas this year.” Gleason's voice sounded thrilled that he'd solved his own dilemma.
“How about you, Jackson? What are your plans for Christmas?” Gleason’s voice crackled through the transmitter.
Truth was the holiday was just another day. “Probably the same thing I’m doing tonight—sitting in this god-forsaken toothpick hut watching pimps pick up their products.”
“Damn Jackson, you make the Grinch sound like Mother Theresa,” his partner retorted.
Shado arched his brow. He was probably right. He wasn't exactly Mr. Holiday Cheer.
“Yeah, well, get off my ass. Just because you go around from Thanksgiving to December like some overgrown elf,” He responded as he rubbed the frost from the window so he could see the hotel.
“Ouch, man that was cold, Jackson.”
“More than you know, brother,” he muttered. “How much longer do we have?”
“Next shift, Rooney. He’s supposed to be here at midnight. You okay?”
“Yeah, listen, I'm going to step over here and relieve myself. Keep an eye on things.” He slipped on his gloves, awaiting confirmation.
His pulse quickened in the wake of unexpected silence. He'd anticipated one of Gleason's smartass comments. “Gleason, you copy?” He tapped his earring stud, his gaze squinting through the dark toward the van. A raucous laughter burst through the earpiece.
“What the hell—” Shado yanked at his ear.
“Sorry, bro, we were taking bets at how many trees Mr. Grinch was going to take a whiz on.”
“You're a sick, sorry bunch of bastards.” He flipped them the finger and turned on his heel toward the abandoned gas station’s bathroom. Rundown and ransacked years ago, the property now served locals as a place to peddle everything from velvet pictures of the Virgin Mary to shiny chrome hubcaps of questionable origin. A string of cars passed by.
“Must be the traffic from the musical. It would be letting out about now. Stay alert.” Gleason's voice came through the transmitter.
Shado sighed with relief as he zipped up his jeans. Three days more of this. He better see some action or he'd go nuts. He snaked back through the fragrant pine trees to his post, his memory touching lightly on the Christmas’s past and how much fun he and his brother used to have getting up before anyone else and sitting in the living room looking at the tree lights. It was a cheesy thought and he quickly shoved off the dull ache it produced inside of him. Determined to focus on the here and now, he glanced up at the eleven-story Imperial across the street.
A famous brothel or parlor house, depending on your view, and saloon called the Sweet Magnolia, in its day. Burned down once, it was re-built by a gambler who’d come through town on his way to Reno. After that ownership was taken over by many hands, all with their own renovations. It now featured large white marble columns and a grand circle drive where limos and vintage Cadillac's picked up Madam Lee’s “special girls.”
Located in the heart of downtown Reno, Madam Lee had reopened the Imperial, barely keeping her dealings under legal restrictions. But she’d readily cooperated with authorities in the sting operation due to the ruthless drug lord, Espinoza that had been using the Imperial to drop his deals. When some of her girls began to disappear with some of the new breed of unsavory clients brought in by Espinoza, Madam Lee was more than happy to cut a deal with police. In the last couple of weeks, she’d even sent the girls out with thermoses of coffee and homemade cookies.
“Keep sharp, Jackson. Captain says this guy does whatever he wants and doesn’t care how he does it.”
“You don't need to remind me, Jesse.”
“Oh hey, I’m sorry, man.” His tone was apologetic.
“Let it go,” Shado replied, shoving off the tragic events that left his brother dead in the line of duty. “What's the word on this guy lately?” He purposely changed the subject, knowing that if he dwelt on it, he would lose his focus. And he needed that completely if he wanted to take down the bastard that killed his brother.
“Captain says he's desperate—reportedly paid some of Madam Lee's girls to score new clients, offering them a kickback. Word is that he’s now outsourcing fresh faces from out of town to put down his scores. Problem is they seem to disappear right after the deal goes down.”
Shado's teeth ground in frustration. This guy, if he ever got hold of him, was fish food. How many others would die at his hand before he was brought down?
***
Sweet Magnolia 1881~
Angel didn’t care what the citizens of Deadwater thought about her or the other girls at the Sweet Magnolia. But lately, she’d become restless, wanting more, something more permanent in her life, someone else she could count on now and again.
“Here's another load, Angel.” Josie plopped another basket on the dry, broken ground. Not much grass grew around the stately clapboard farmhouse-turned bordello.
“Thanks, Josie. Is this the last of it?”
The young girl, at least two years younger than Angel nodded, offering a bright smile, its effect showing more innocence on her face than the years of her experience.
“That's it. I'll fix us something cold to drink.”
“Sounds good.” Angel looked up at the endless span of bright, blue autumn sky. She thought of the woman she’d come to know who had changed her perspective of life.
Miss Lillian.
Two years had passed since her disappearance, and shortly thereafter Sheriff Sloan also disappeared. He’d been searching for his Lil and everyone assumed that he’d been ransacked by renegade bandits or killed by the warrior Indians that roamed the hills. He’d not been the same since she disappeared without a trace and townsfolk generally knew it best to stay clear of him. Angel spoke to him once when she saw him seated in a chair leaned against the front of the jailhouse. In his hand he’d studied a woman’s necklace.
***
“You think she's out there somewhere, Sheriff?” Angel was cautious not to get too close. People said he'd sit for hours dangling Lillian's necklace, staring at the sparkling ruby on the end.
“If she were dead, I'd know it.” His gaze never wavered.
Prompted by a morbid curiosity to understand the mechanics of such a relationship
between a man and a woman Angel pressed on. “How would you know, Sheriff? How could you possibly know what fate had in store for Miss Lilly?”
His gaze narrowed as though harnessing some sort of mystical strength. It was a moment before he turned his gaze to hers. The intensity of it caused Angel to take a step back.
“I'm going to find her. No matter how long it takes, or how far I have to go. I’ll find her. It's like a piece of me is missing. I've got to find her.” He blinked. “Does that make a lick of sense?”
Angel had nodded just to make him feel better, but the truth was, she had no idea of his devotion. Her only experience with men had been shallow at best. Two weeks later, she heard from Paddy that the sheriff had gone to Virginia City reportedly on business, but Paddy figured it had something to do with Lil. He never returned to Deadwater and that made Nate sheriff of the town.
There was a lot of speculation as to what happened, of course, gossip being common in Deadwater, but Angel preferred to believe that somehow, somewhere, they’d finally found each other. It was Nate though that tried to gain Angel’s attention and while he was a nice man, a good man, she wanted a man that felt about her, like Sheriff Jake felt about Lil.
***
“Don’t go changing…” Angel sang quietly as she snapped the wrinkles out of the wet sheets before hanging them on the line. Miss Lillian believed everybody was entitled to a little happiness. Before then, Angel had never associated happiness with relation to what she wanted.
Her wispy blonde hair blew freely around her face, and she turned her face to the sky as a warm gust of autumn wind brushed back the strands for her. She didn't know much about Miss Lillian's background, but when she played piano and sang her strange songs, it caused Angel’s heart to take wing and dream.
What kind of man could write such lyrics about a woman? Certainly no man she'd ever met, with exception to Sheriff Jake. The words made her heart race, sent gooseflesh up her arms. She remembered the night she asked Miss Lillian about her music.
“Did you make up these words, Lil?” Angel asked dreamily as she rested her arms atop the piano.
Miss Lillian chuckled as she took a sip of a Kentucky Bourbon—the best Paddy, the barkeep, carried behind the bar.
Her shoulders shivered and she grimaced as the effect hit her system. “No, the man who wrote it is named Billy—Billy Joel.” She ran her fingers lightly over the keyboard, randomly playing short tunes.
“Billy,” the name slipped off Angel’s tongue.
She gave her a smile as she touched Angel's cheek. “Don't be up too late, busy day tomorrow.”
Lil had a kindness about her that endeared her to the residents of the Magnolia. It was but a few weeks later that she disappeared and left Deadwater without a trace. They were heartbroken; the lot of them and Paddy had been running the place with Nellie’s help, ever since. Nevertheless, Lil had instilled more than friendship in Angel. She’d given her dreams permission to fly. But she knew the road to reaching them would not be an easy one. So, she appeased herself by playing the songs, over and over, creating her fantasy of finding her own “Billy” to make her happy.
***
Angel was on the front porch shelling peas later that afternoon when Josie nearly flew up the road in the horse and buggy. Dust from the wheels swirled in giant hazy, brownish-red clouds as the horse raced up to the bordello. She pushed up from the rocker, forgetting the bowl in her lap in haste as she shaded her eyes to see the girl. Josie screamed her name as she yanked on the reins and Angel considered whether to get Paddy’s rifle he kept behind the bar.
Josie’s face was alive with enthusiasm as Angel ran down the steps to meet her. “You won't believe what's—” Josie yanked on the reins, causing the buggy to swerve precariously. Angel jumped aside, waiting for the girl to explain all the commotion. Josie slapped her hand against her chest, licking her dry lips, chaffed by the desert wind. “In town…there's a new teacher, a music teacher.” Josie took a deep breath and gave Angel a wide smile. “He wants to give folks piano lessons.”
Angel's heart soared, and as quickly, plummeted into the dry, cracked ground.
“Josie, you know how the townsfolk feel about us.”
“He could come to the Sweet Magnolia,” she responded quickly. “I bet he’d come.”
The idea, though tempting, flitted briefly though in Angel's head. “That would definitely cause problems for his business.” She glanced at the peas scattered across the wood floor and bent down to clean up the mess.
“But would it hurt to ask? Maybe you could arrange something with our new sheriff?”
Angel glanced up, the corner of her mouth lifting in a wry smile.
Josie grinned in return. “It's no secret that Sheriff Nate has had his eye on you for quite a spell. He might be willing to work out something.”
It was a dream to be sure and Lil had told her once that everyone needed to follow their dream. She continued to gather the peas in the apron and dumped them into the crockery bowl. Thoughts of her fingers skipping across the beautiful ivory and black keyboard danced merrily in her head.
A small one-horse buggy pulled up in front of the Magnolia and a stylishly dressed gentleman with a brown bowler hopped down. He patted the horse’s neck, dipping around the steed as he flashed a bright smile to Josie and Angel. Though new in town, he was already well-known as a respected and wealthy businessman. “Afternoon, ladies.” The man tipped his hat and scanned the desert horizon. “It's a beautiful autumn evening.” Josie glanced at Angel and hid a smile.
He was a new patron of the Magnolia and sure it was that his wife would fall over dead if she knew he was carousing around. Many men came to the Magnolia to relieve the stress of their marriages. Angel straightened and offered the man a gentle smile. “It surely is, Mr. Brisbee, it surely is.”
***
With the benevolent, and anonymous financial aid of Mr. Brisbee, and the agreement to keep his visits quiet from his provincial wife, Angel got her wish and soon the new music man in town, Burt Smith, was making frequent visits to the Magnolia to give piano lessons. She felt an immediate kinship to him. His kind, blue eyes seemed to sparkle with wisdom and kindness. He wore his silver gray mane to his shoulders, brushed back from his face. Though short in stature, he dressed dapper in his polished attire of a brown vest and baggy black pants.
“You play as though you have carried this music inside you,” he remarked one day as they sat side-by-side at the piano.
Angel smiled. Her greatest joy was sitting at the keyboard. She played through the scales he'd taught her—first one hand, and then two—
“Lillian told me that I had an ear for music. She taught me a few chords of some songs, but I would love to play with the heart of Lillian one day.” Her fingertips stroked the worn ivory keys.
“Miss Lillian was right,” the piano instructor told her. “But the music that beats inside each of us is different, Angel. You must allow your own music to come through. Close your eyes, feel the music. Let it carry you to the deepest part of your heart, to the thing you are most passionate about.”
Angel watched her hands move with ease over the piano keys and though she played only simple scales, when she closed her eyes, she imagined herself in a great concert hall, wearing a beautiful ivory gown with thousands in the audience waiting to hear her play.
“Listen carefully to the music in you, my dear. Set it free, dare to risk what you know—for what can be.”
His voice tapped into her daydream and she smiled, allowing herself to fall more deeply into the trance of the song's melody. Angel could see the darkened stage; she sensed the anticipation around her. Her fingers tingled as though the very energy from her greatest desire was coursing through her fingertips, transporting her to her dream.
“Find your heart, Angel. Find your Billy.” Burt's voice whispered softly, drifting further into the music.
In her mind, darkness gave way to a single beam of light poised over a person dressed
in white, seated at a black piano. The scales she'd been playing gave way to thunderous applause.
***
As though hung over from a round of whiskey shots, Angel forced her eyes open and squinted into the semi-darkness.
“Sing us the song—”
She shifted in her seat becoming aware of the others around her. Where had Burt gone? Where was she? Angel blinked, peering through the darkness, her attention drawn to a stream of light shining down on a man playing the piano. The room was bigger than anything she’d ever seen and it was filled with people.
“The man's a legend.”
Angel jolted, startled when a young woman beside her leapt to her feet and began singing with the man. She glanced down and motioned to Angel.
“Come on, you can see much better if you stand. Cool outfit by the way. You get that over at Madonna's Vintage?”
Angel glanced down at her flimsy, cotton dress. She wore the same floral one when she went for her piano lesson with Burt. Even her boots were still dusty with desert clay. She felt woozy. As if she’d been riding in the desert all day.
“Where am I?” She tapped the woman on the shoulder.
“Hey, that's gutsy. How'd you get past security if you're that far gone?” The young woman smiled. “You’re at one of the best concerts of the season, girl! Don’t you remember? Listen! It’s solid Billy Joel—every one of his hits made into a musical!”
Light flooded Angel's brain. Burt had told her to follow her heart…but how? The familiar melody caught her attention and she opened her mouth and began to sing the words along with her new friend. The last note permeated the air, sizzling with a magic energy that Angel had never known. The audience chanted wildly, “Billy, Billy.” Frightened and thrilled at once, she lifted her hands and clapped.
“Come on, follow me. There's a faster way out and if we're lucky, we might get to see him.”
Closer To You (Tales of the Sweet Magnolia Book 1) Page 19