The Grey Tier

by Michele Scott

  “This is a lonely existence. It really is. Everyone wants something from you. You don’t know who your friends are, if you even have any at all. Hell, my own sister wants to mooch off me constantly. Then you came along and you didn’t want anything from me. Granted, I did give you a great place to live, but you didn’t ask for it. You seem appreciative, and you’re nice. Now, you want something from me, like everyone else. I don’t know why, but I thought we were friends and honestly, I was trying to protect you.” A flash of hurt darted across her face and she quickly covered it up with another gulp of champagne. Although I wasn’t a big drinker, that stuff sure was starting to look good right about now.

  I tossed my arms up in the air and sighed. “Simone, we are friends. That’s why I haven’t bothered you about an audition. But where I come from, when you tell somebody you’re going to do something for them, you do it. You’re only as good as your word.”

  “What about Nick then? Was he a good guy?”

  “Yes. I think he was. I think his intentions were good and for all I know, the producer came that night. I never did get a chance to follow back up with Nick about it.” A stab of guilt shot through me. “I do believe Nick wanted the best for me too.”

  “So do I. I mean, I want the best for you, like I said. You’re good peeps.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed her. But I nodded anyway. “But why didn’t you tell the cops this, instead of saying I borrowed your phone?”

  “Duh. Because I don’t need a scandal. If the cops thought I threatened the guy and the media caught wind of it, I’d be screwed. I don’t need the paparazzi climbing up my ass any more than they already do.”

  The knot in my stomach was back again. “Wait a minute . . . why would the police think you threatened Nick?”

  “Because I did. I mean, I didn’t mean it.” Simone had a grim expression on her face.

  “What?”

  “And my sister heard me, and if she gets in one of her little snits and decides to tell that to the police, I could be in trouble. She hasn’t connected any of it yet. She’s in Hawaii for two weeks. But if she did, and I didn’t keep doling out to her all the time, well, I could be front page on US Weekly or worse.”

  “What did you say to him? To Nick?”

  She knocked back the rest of the champagne and poured herself another glass. “I told him I’d fucking kill him if he didn’t let you go.”

  “You said that?! Oh my God.” I turned to walk out.

  Simone jumped up off the sofa, dropping Clooney unceremoniously on his rear. “Evie, please don’t go! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was only protecting you.” She darted over and grabbed my arm—a shockwave of loneliness traveled through me and I shoved her hand away.

  “You can’t leave me. I need you. We have a shoot in the morning. You know, for my new video.”

  I turned the knob on the front door, determined to leave for good. But then I remembered exactly what would happen if I quit. I’d lose an awesome and much needed salary, my only chance of ever singing for the Sony people, and most importantly, my home, which meant Lucas. I sighed.

  Nevertheless, I decided to let Simone sweat it out for a while. I marched out the door without a word and headed back to my van.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I WAS THERE THE FIRST night the bar reopened, a week after Nick’s death. As Bradley Verne promised, he did what he could to keep Nick’s Place in business. His wife, Raquela, rectified the books and paid the bills. And they’d contacted the attorney in charge of Nick’s affairs.

  Becky was the new bartender, much to Candace’s chagrin. But truth be told, Becky sure could mix a mean martini. And as for Candace, she could be found in her usual spot next to Mumbles. Honestly, it was as if nothing had changed. But of course, everything had.

  I had yet to question Candace about her engagement to Nick. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. I mean, if Candace had wanted me to know about it, she would have told me herself. But after giving it a lot of thought, I decided to approach her that night after my final set.

  As I prepped for my first song of the night, I recalled what Jackson had said about the cops losing interest when it came to murder investigations involving the mob, and I worried Nick’s murder would get the same treatment. My gut was telling me it wasn’t the mob who’d killed Nick. Yeah, there was that nasty guy Pietro, and I intended to talk to Becky about what went down that evening when she and Nick ended up in the kitchen with him. But truthfully, the mob story just wasn’t very convincing to me. And that’s because I was becoming more and more certain Nick’s murder had something to do with his past.

  And of course, there was Simone. I continued to feel uncomfortable around her after she revealed her threat towards Nick. Which is why I wondered, briefly, if she could have possibly hired someone to kill him. She certainly couldn’t have done it herself; she was at the photo shoot the morning I got the call from Nick. But there was one guy who hung around Simone from time to time. Dwight Jenkins, the guy who’d approached me at the counter at Nordy’s and informed me of my “interview” with Simone.

  See, Simone and Dwight seem to have this friend with benefits thing going on. They were very discrete about it. But I’d noticed a wink here, a meaningful look there, every so often when they though no one was looking. And then there was the night I walked out her front door to see Dwight speed up the drive in his sleek Audi. He told me he was bringing her take-out, even though he wasn’t carrying any bags except for one from BevMo. I didn’t trust the guy at all. And I think he would do anything for Simone. Even kill for her.

  I managed to make it through the first set without any issues. I’d been worried how strange it would feel to be back at work without Nick’s familiar, comforting presence. But once I started playing . . . it all faded into the background, and I felt peaceful for the first time in weeks. I decided to take a breather and make myself a bite to eat in the kitchen. Sadly, Nick took his famous fish taco recipe with him to the grave . . . but I knew the chicken and steak recipes by heart and promptly whipped up three for dinner.

  Back out front in the bar, I noticed Jackson in his corner booth. He was typing fast and furious. I had some questions about his screenplay or documentary, whatever it was. I plopped down in his booth on the seat across from him. He looked up from the computer and smiled.

  “Hey, Evie. How’s it going?”

  I shrugged. “I miss Nick.”

  “We all do.”

  I nodded, pointing down to the plate of tacos. Figured I might as well sweeten the deal a bit before I started asking questions. “Want one?”

  Jackson eyed the tacos appreciatively. “Sure! Thanks.” I scooted the plate across the table so he could grab a taco, and then leaned in close, clasping my hands together. I was pleased to see he was being Mister Nice Guy tonight.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Um . . . yeah.” He took a bite of the taco, moaning appreciatively.

  “How well did you know Nick?”

  He sat back against the booth, taco in hand, and didn’t say anything for a few seconds. He took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “I thought I told you all of that.”

  “Well sure, I mean . . . I know you were doing a documentary and wanted him to be in it. But how did you guys meet?”

  “I came in here one night and that was it.” He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and eyed my remaining two tacos enviously.

  “But how did you find him?”

  Jackson sighed and pointed to his closed laptop. “A good writer does his research.”

  “So, you targeted him.”

  “You make it sound so slimy. Yeah, I knew Nick owned this place, thanks to the powers of Google. And I’ve been a fan of Nick’s because I’d watched Next-Door Neighbors a billion times as a kid. I didn’t exactly have a great family life. TV was my best friend.” He set his napkin down on the table and clasped his hands together. “Everything I’ve ever gotten was because I earned it, including gett
ing into film school on a scholarship. Not too many people can say that. My mom was a single parent. I have three brothers and I’m the oldest, so guess who ran the family while mom was out? Me. And I still made it to USC. And I am going to have an awesome master’s project when I’m finished, Nick or no Nick. Not that he planned to help me anyway.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t help wonder if Jackson’s mother had divorced his father due to the physical abuse I knew Jackson had suffered. I assumed the man I’d seen in the vision had been his father.

  “I don’t understand why he was so shy about being on camera. I mean, he’d obviously been in front of it for years as a kid and young adult.”

  Jackson leaned back and crossed his arms. “Secrets. Nick had secrets like everyone else, and he didn’t want me to expose them.”

  “What kind of secrets?”

  A smirk crossed his handsome face. “Who knows. But I’m uncovering them, and it’s changing the entire storyline of my documentary. See, lies make for good entertainment.”

  “Lies?” I arched my brow in disbelief.

  “There are tons in this bar. This place.” He gestured at our surroundings. “It’s built on lies. With this new angle, I don’t need Nick anyway.”

  Jackson was really starting to irritate me. “That sounds a bit arrogant.”

  Again, he shrugged. “Maybe it is, but you know, it wasn’t like Nick was super warm and friendly to me. He didn’t like me coming in here, trying to get the scoop on his life. But he couldn’t do much about it either. It isn’t like I was disruptive. I’m just doing my thing. And I pay, unlike those bums at the counter.”

  He did have a point. “Oh. Well, Nick gave me my first opportunity here in LA, and I will always be grateful for that.”

  “More than he gave me.”

  I was feeling uncomfortable with the conversation, so I decided to finish up my meal in the kitchen and get ready for the next set.

  “It was nice chatting with you Jackson. Gotta get back to work now.” He smiled at me, nodding as if we were the best of friends, which we definitely were not.

  Chapter Sixteen

  AFTER THE CONVERSATION with Jackson, I stood in the kitchen eating my now cold tacos as quickly as possible. Becky was going in and out with food and gave me a little wave. It was kind of a busy night. Since Nick’s death, the place had gotten some notoriety, so a few new faces had shown up.

  “Hey, Becky, I don’t mind helping out in here and tending bar. I can go back to playing when it quiets down some.”

  “Oh, honey, that would be helpful, if you don’t mind.”

  “No problem.”

  “I can wait the tables and manage the kitchen, if you can tend bar,” she said.

  “You got it. Can I ask, how did you get elected to start running things?” I didn’t say it in a mean way. I was simply curious.

  She smiled. “I guess it was a natural fit, considering how close Nick and I were.”

  I wanted to ask how close that was, when we both heard a commotion coming from the bar.

  “Probably Mumbles or the broad wanting another drink. Can you check it out? That table of kids from SC wants a mess of tacos,” Becky said.

  I nodded. Becky never referred to Candace by her name. She simply called her “the broad” while Candace called her “the bitch.” Fun times.

  I walked through the kitchen doors to find George Hernandez pounding his meaty fists on the bar. Mumbles sat with drooping shoulders, staring a hole into his drink. Candace had inched as far away from the large, angry man as she could. A few other patrons were watching and waiting to see what the crazy guy would do next. But thanks to the loud background noise and crowded tables, not everyone seemed aware a scene was brewing. I aimed to keep it that way.

  I walked calmly to George and said, “Can I help you, sir?”

  “I wanna talk to whoever is in charge here!” He bellowed, as if I were across the room instead of a foot or two away. His fleshy face was a deep crimson color and slick with sweat.

  “That would be me,” I said, straightening my 5’4” frame as tall as it could go. No point dragging poor Becky into this, at least not yet.

  “You? He left everything to you?”

  “What you mean?”

  “What I mean is someone owes me. And if Nick left this place to you, I suggest you sell it and pay me back.”

  “Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “I bet you’d like me to leave.” He moved closer to me, and I could smell his sour body odor mixed with cheap cologne.

  Jackson suddenly appeared next to me. Now Jackson wasn’t a huge guy, but at over six feet tall with a relatively fit build, something told me he could hold his own. Plus he was at least twenty years younger than this Hernandez character. Jackson clapped a hand over the big guy’s shoulder. Hard.

  “The lady asked you nicely to leave. I suggest you do so.”

  “You do, do you?” Hernandez said. He shook his shoulder, trying to knock Jackson’s hand off. It didn’t budge.

  “I do. Unless, of course you would like to find out what it means to have your ass kicked by someone who is skilled in Krav Maga.”

  “What the hell is that?” Hernandez asked. I wondered as well. Whatever it was, I prayed Jackson wasn’t bluffing.

  “It means hand-to-hand combat. It’s a form of street fighting in Israel, used by military forces around the world and in Special Forces like Israel’s Mossad, the CIA, and the British SAS. I am quite adept in it.”

  I wasn’t sure who looked more shocked by this admission. Me or the fat guy. It worked though. But not before he got the last word in.

  “I suggest you get an attorney, lady. I plan to get the money back that Nick owed me.” Then he turned and bolted out the door before Jackson could make good on his threat.

  The room was silent. All eyes were focused on Jackson and me. I smiled and waved and went back behind the bar. Within a couple of minutes, everyone appeared to have lost interest. Jackson went back to his booth. I wanted to thank him, but by the time I’d poured a half a dozen beers and a handful of Jägermeister shots to the group of college kids, he was gone. I was pretty grateful to him for stepping in like that and resolved to thank him as soon as I was able.

  Mumbles looked unsettled. I leaned towards him across the bar counter. “You okay, Mumbles?”

  He looked up at me with his unpatched eye. It was tearing up. “Not same, Evie. No Nick. Not same. Bad people.”

  “Oh no, Mumbles. Don’t let one bad seed ruin things. He’s just an idiot and a bully. Of course it isn’t the same without Nick. But we have to move on. We can do it together.” I grabbed a paper napkin from behind the bar and wiped his eye.

  “Are you crying? Goddammit, Mumbles! What the hell!” Candace scolded him.

  I glared at her. “Now, come on, Candace. I would think you would have a little more compassion. I mean, you were once engaged to Nick!” So much for my delicate approach.

  Mumbles stared at me and then looked at Candace who’s normally blurry eyes snapped with anger. “Who told you that? That bitch?”

  “No. I read it online.” I quickly threw together a Candace Special and handed it to her. “There was a photo of you and Nick from an old newspaper clipping.”

  She pushed the drink away, spilling some of it over the side of the glass, and stood abruptly. “I don’t want it. I have somewhere I need to be.”

  “At ten o’clock on a Thursday night? Really?” I didn’t bother to mention she and Mumbles never seemed to have anywhere to go.

  “Yes, really. Mumbles, you coming?!”

  He didn’t say anything at first. She started to stumble away. Mumbles slid off the bar stool. “Sorry, Evie. Gotta watch her. Bad on the street. Bad.”

  “I don’t want the two of you on the streets! You both need to sober up first.” I jogged after them. “Come on, Candace. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  “You didn’t, sweet pe
a. You didn’t. Mumbles and I need a rest is all.”

  “On the streets?”

  “We got a place. Don’t worry about us.”

  One of the frat boys called out for more beer. I turned to see where the hollering was coming from, and when I turned back, Candace and Mumbles were gone. So much for a night of getting answers to my questions. If anything, I was more confused than ever.

  Chapter Seventeen

  IT WAS AFTER TWO O’CLOCK when I finally headed home. And, thankfully, I had a day off from Simone tomorrow, which meant I did not have to get up at the crack of dawn, grab her pumpkin spiced latte, and get to her place only to find her lounging with her cat, Clooney. She was having what she referred to as a “mental vacation.” I had no idea what exactly that entailed, and I did not plan to ask. She did not invite me. And I was okay with that.

  I had been asking Becky and everyone else at the bar who might have been there the night before Nick’s murder if anyone had noticed a new guy there—the producer. According to the regulars, no newbies had turned up. I hated to think maybe Nick had been stringing me along after all as Simone insisted. No matter what, though, in my heart I knew Nick had been a good guy who didn’t deserve what he’d gotten, and I was driven to get some answers.

  As I turned off Sunset and onto Laurel, I noticed a car behind me, following really close. After all that had happened recently, I was instantly on my guard. I turned right onto my street, and so did the car. I gunned the gas pedal, hoping to zip away. Yeah, that didn’t work so well. I wasn’t sure if I should just keep driving past my place and head back into town. The only plus was the automatic security gate at the entrance to the drive that wound up to the house. I figured I could open the gate, drive through, and block the drive until the gate closed behind me. Once inside, I’d set the alarm and have Cass there to protect me.