by A. R. Case
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Chris eased across the intersection with traffic as the light turned green again. “You lied to the cops.”
“Of course. I don’t trust those rat bastards. Allergic, remember?”
He cursed under his breath. “How bad?”
“What do you mean, how bad?”
“What did you tell them? About Friday?”
“What? That we had torrid sex on the kitchen floor. It was freezing cold. You should have put your damn wool coat under my ass because it turned as blue as my hair. But the orgasms— yes, plural— were amazing!” She started singing in a breathy tone. “You were really good last night…”
At the next red light, Chris tapped his forehead on the steering wheel. “I hope to God that was a lie,” he muttered.
“So, you dropping me off at the Cave or not?”
He was silent. Despite the trouble he was in because she lied, he couldn’t abandon her. It didn’t sit right in his gut. He was no angel either, so he could relate to her lies on a visceral level. In fact, her alibi was almost better than the truth he’d told. But still, it was going to bite him in the ass if she’d truly told the police that lie. There’d be questions. Then follow up questions about why she lied. Or why he lied. He’d need to keep her close, just in case.
“Seriously, Chris, it’s better this way. I’m a flake as it is. Let them think I hooked up with you for some fast sex, then I can disappear.”
“I told them nothing happened.”
“Who? Because Detective Katz bought my story hook, line, and sinker.”
Here was the crux of the matter. If it were the local police, it wouldn’t matter, but it wasn’t just them. “The FBI agent, Mills.” He slammed his hand onto the steering wheel. “Fuck.”
“Wait, FBI? What the fuck, Chris?” Her voice was normally melodic but had hit the same harsh pitch Vi’s did when she was pissed.
He sighed. “I should call my lawyer.”
“Chris?”
“What?”
“Why would the FBI talk to you?”
He pulled into his building’s parking lot and turned off the car but didn’t get out to open her door. “A mobster turned up dead at the house we rented.”
“In the house? Like IN the house where we slept?” She turned at him against her seat belt. Her finger punctuated the statement against her opposite palm.
“No, his boat crashed into the dock after we left.”
She quieted. “Oh. That’s weird.” She thought for a few more seconds. “But if it happened after we left, why are they asking us questions? To figure out when we left?”
“Something like that.”
“No, Chris, don’t lie to me. Please don’t do that.” Her voice had changed.
“Long ass story.” His sigh was audible.
“Maybe you can tell me while I pack?”
“Sure.”
Alexis reached for her door handle, but Chris stopped her. “Stay right there, don’t touch that handle.”
She flinched and curled into the seat. Chris got out of the car and walked around to her door and opened it. “I open doors for ladies.”
“Who are you calling a lady?”
“You.”
“You’re weird.” She said as she got out of the car.
“You are calling me weird?”
“Yes.” Her hair flicked back and she shifted her nose higher as she walked past.
“Huh.”
~~~~~~~
Mrs. Wheldon was in the lobby with her dog. Alexis dropped down to pet it and get licked. Then began to ask Mrs. Wheldon questions about her day. Their conversation filled the elevator ride up to the condo. Chris was grateful to be sidelined. Alexis took over the conversations and had no trouble talking to people. To the police, and even his lawyer. Sure, she’d been scared in the lobby, but once she started talking, her fear disappeared. In his entire time at the condo, he had maybe talked to his neighbor four or five times. Within two days, Alexis knew her first name, her dog’s ailments, and they’d just discussed how long it had been since her husband had passed.
Chris made a mental note to check in on the older woman more often.
At the door, he waited while the women said their goodbyes. Alexis took over his space. Vi had fought to make her presence known, but Alexis entered, and it became hers. Chris hung his keyring with the fob for the car, and the house key on the hook by the door. There was a mate for the condo on one of the other hooks, a lanyard from a convention over two years ago, and a padlock he used when he worked out at the full-service gym. The keys, the lock, the takeover of his space, all jumbled in his head. He hung up his wool coat next to the leather jacket he’d given Alexis.
“Why was the jacket important?” He’d said it out loud, but not for Alexis, more for himself.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing, I was just talking to myself.”
“Careful, I might take back the not a serial killer assessment.”
She laughed at him and kept packing.
Chris lifted the spare key with the electronic lock fob and rolled it in his hand.
Alexis moved into the bathroom, then back into the living room. She didn’t have much stuff. It all crammed into the duffel bag, and a fake fabric grocery tote he used at the local market. There was at least one more trip into the bathroom, and one to the kitchen, and not a designer suitcase in sight.
“All set. You ready?”
He rolled the key in his hand one more time. “Would you like to stay here?”
No question, he was having some sort of crisis, or breakdown. His space was sacred. He liked things the way they were. He folded his towels into thirds. His brother thought he was weird. He dated, well, had dated until Vi took over. How would that work?
Alexis moved in front of him. “You okay?” she touched her hand on his forehead like his mother used to when checking for fever.
“No.”
Her head tilted to one side. The blues rippled like Caribbean tide pools. “You’re not, are you? What gives?”
He couldn’t pinpoint it. It was as if he’d been asleep and was in that halfway point between dreaming and waking up. He couldn’t trust what he was feeling, or thinking, but it felt like a good place. His body welcomed it but he had no words to describe it.
“So…” Alexis took a step back. Her face moved through at least three or four thoughts before it settled on something. “What is the long story about the FBI?”
Chris blinked. Now he was awake. Harsh reality took over and chased the dreams completely away. “It was a while ago. A kid found a body in the marsh near the sign shop. He spooked and came to my building for help. My brother got tangled up in it all because he started dating the kid’s mother, and…” He trailed off. “I need to backtrack a bit. The guy that died was dating my cousin.”
Alexis sucked in her breath in a hiss.
“Yeah, the FBI thought that was just a bit convenient, too. So there were questions. Hence why I needed a lawyer then. But it all worked out, eventually. Fact was, the guy was working with the FBI to get info on a local mob boss, the same guy who just washed up in the boat. My cousin’s boyfriend was killed for a flash drive he had stored stolen information on. The kid found it near the body and turned it over to the FBI. Whitehead went on the run when things got too hot, and I thought it was the last of it.”
“Then he washes up where you and I stayed.” She whistled. “Damn, I thought I had bad luck. You’re a magnet for that shit.”
“But it’s just coincidence. I didn’t kill him. When would I have? Between bacon and packing the car?” He shook his head.
“When did Whitehead die?”
“No clue.”
“Maybe he was dead already, then the boat washed up. Or, they thought you’d killed him and let the boat d
rift, but it came back.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Not really, tide goes out, it comes back in.”
“The very same place?”
“Yeah, I see what you mean. That would be horribly bad luck. You haven’t messed with Karma recently?”
“Who?”
“Who? You don’t know the goddess of destiny? She’s got a wicked sense of humor.”
“That explains you then.”
“What?”
He ignored her confusion because he was still distracted by the blues of her hair. “So, Karma, you mean like I walked in front of a black cat or something?”
“No, I’m thinking more like you screwed over someone who didn’t deserve it. You didn’t do that, did you?”
“Does Vi count?” He was only half-joking.
“No, she may be a bitch, but Karma hates real bitches.”
“Whoa, tell me how you really feel.” She made him smile, even though he knew it was wrong. “I shouldn’t be laughing at that.”
“Yeah, it’s that sort of stuff that gets me in trouble too.” She crossed her fingers and said to the sky. “Sorry Karma, I didn’t mean it.”
“Ditto.” Chris echoed to the ceiling.
“Are you serious about this?” Alexis pointed at the key.
Chris weighed the key in his hand. “Yeah.” He handed it to her. “You saw the door pad I held mine in front of? It unlocks the door to the lobby after hours. During business hours, there’s usually someone there. If they give you shit, just drop my name. It’s not like I rent, so they can’t say too much.”
“What will I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just no parties.” He wanted to tack on more.
“You’re not a very social person, are you?”
“I go out.”
“No, I mean bring people over her and throw wild parties, that shit.”
“No, I don’t do wild parties.” That life died when he woke up staring at a respirator.
“Aside from Vi, you ever have a girl here?”
“Sure.” He cringed after saying it.
“Okay, but no parties, soirees, Thanksgiving dinner, that shit?”
“I went to other houses for that shit.” He deliberately used her description. It was apt since his family didn’t celebrate holidays. They never had up until last year when Tony finally settled down. His wife invited him over for Thanksgiving, after yet another set of canceled plans with Vi. Thinking about her rankled. “Do you throw a lot of parties?”
“Never had a place of my own, so can’t say I have.”
“Never had a place of your own?”
She walked over to her bags and picked them up. “Unless you count a hole I dug out under the bridge just off 95 near Secaucus, nope.”
“You really are homeless.”
“I told you I’m not. I’m staying here, then moving into the bar, right?” She did that swaying motion to build up momentum with her bag.
“I meant you were homeless.”
The swaying stopped. “Yes. Since I was just about seventeen. It’s cheaper to just crash on people’s couches.”
“I’d ask you what happened, but I’m afraid there might be dragons or some sorcerer involved.”
“Evil demons, and corrupt warlocks. Those bastards will do anything for a buck.”
“Yeah.” He motioned toward the bedroom she’d just taken all her belongings out of. “Put your shit back.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “You’re asking me to stay?”
“Why not, I’ve got the extra room.”
“What happens when you need a place for those mountains of paperwork you horde?”
He cocked his head at her. “It all fit in the desk out here.” And the two filing cabinets, and the six storage boxes he bought yesterday.
“How much?”
“Buy the food, and cook, and clean, how’s that?” He didn’t like her tone.
“Why do I have to cook and clean?”
“You want to pay the bills?”
“Depends, how much we talking?” she asked.
“Thirteen hundred for your half. That’s not including the off-street parking, because you don’t have a car.”
She whistled. “You know I’m a bad cook, right?”
He shrugged.
“I set off smoke detectors.”
“Then get carry out.”
“You’re serious?” She started that swaying shit again and it pissed him off. He grabbed the duffel from her hand and took it in to the room for her. She tore after him.
“Don’t do that again!” she said.
“Someone had to get it back in here.”
“That’s my shit in there. You don’t get to touch it.” Her voice had gotten back under control, but she was holding back.
“You let me carry your clothes the other night.”
“You don’t understand.” Her head dropped and he saw the top of her blue hair.
He set the bag down very carefully. “The recording equipment.”
Her eyes pinned him. “Yes. My fucking life, okay? I worked my ass off to buy it and it’s all I have. Don’t. Fucking. Touch. It.”
Chris held his hands up. “Never again.” He walked around her to leave her alone.
Maybe he might regret this.
Chapter 7 — Ghost
Thursday
Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday nights were open jam nights at the Cave. The weekday nights were usually regulars, and Alexis liked those the best because she could experiment with new songs, taking time to work out arrangements with the musicians who lived locally. Long ago, when she took a summer job in Atlantic City, it wasn’t meant to be a permanent thing. The lower cost of living, easy summer work, and the eclectic music scene kept her here instead of returning to the much harder scene in New York City. Tonight, a Thursday, was the second night this week she showed up. Dylan made it clear her time in their band was done. She hoped to find another gig soon. Her budget was barely a shoestring, with not nearly enough saved to cover the entire winter.
Chris’s offer of a place to stay was the one bright spot so far this week. He wasn’t loud. He worked long hours starting at six a.m. He left his company at almost seven p.m. every weekday since she’d moved in. That freed her entire day. With unlimited internet to upload new video blogs, and write songs, she’d gotten more done than in months of working with Dylan. One song, in particular, was generating good comments. It was as if everything blocking her was finally releasing its hold. There were some regrets, but mostly, she was flying high.
Maybe that’s why she didn’t notice the shift in the club’s mood. She was deep in discussion with a guitarist from a regional cover band. He was looking to collaborate on music so he could break out of the grind of the same old clubs over and over. His eyes focused on the door and traveled to a table near the back, almost parallel to where they were tucked in at the high top.
She noticed his lack of attention. “What’s wrong?”
“Brigands,” he whispered, then got up and disappeared into the backstage hall.
Brigands were a motorcycle gang, heavy emphasis on gang. They sold and used meth and other drugs. That business and their violence put them against almost everyone, even national gangs. The Cave tried to enforce a no colors rule, but it was ignored by the Brigands on the rare nights they took over.
She grabbed her coat off the back of the chair she was sitting on and pulled it on to follow the guitarist out of the line of fire.
“Hey, bitch.” One of the gang was standing between the door to the hall, and her. His tone was suggestive, not angry. Alexis played off that.
“Hiya, handsome.” She smiled to sooth his ego.
“Nice coat.” His eyes traveled over the coat but got snagged near
her chest. Why, when she was almost flat, Alexis had no clue.
“Thanks.”
“It yours?”
There was something in his tone which was off. Another Brigand joined him. Unlike the first, his eyes didn’t stop at her chest and instead, focused on her wrist. There was a cool, black patch sewn just above the cuff. The design depicted three red cups and a saber. It was stained and dull, but his eyes had picked it up right away. Alexis searched his coat and saw a similar patch on his.
She swallowed. “It is.”
The second man sneered. “You’re a liar.” He looked at her. His eyes were flat and hard. She took a step back.
“I…” none of her usual stories bubbled up. She had an unusual urge to protect Chris.
“You what, bitch?”
Unlike the first man, this one’s voice was angry.
The bouncer and the bartender moved closer. The bartender spoke. “Alexis? You okay?”
The spell that had kept her frozen broke. “I’m fine, they were just asking about the jacket I picked up from Goodwill last week.”
The flat eyed man moved in close.
“Ain’t no way you picked that up from Goodwill.”
“There’s all sorts of cool stuff from Goodwill. My combat boots for example. Did you know they are government surplus?” She showed them off. “And I made this wrist cuff from broken jewelry.” Her best Vanna White impression turned on as she displayed the black band she’d embellished to look like a steampunk gauntlet.
“You are a fucking liar. Three people I know have that patch. One of them is dead and his mother buried him in his jacket.” His eyes narrowed. “You know Chris DeSantos..”
Holy shit, Alexis thought and fought to keep the panic off her face. “So what if I do?”
The Brigand spit on the floor at her feet. Then he circled her. The bartender and the bouncer watched, helplessly. Alexis noted the bartender had one hand under the bar where he kept a baseball bat. He’d never used it in all the time she’d been coming, but everyone knew it was there.