by A. R. Case
“Not Dylan.” Alexis didn’t expand.
“I’m okay with it.” He moved closer to tuck up against her back.
She reached out to twine her fingers in his. They sat in silence for a few minutes. “There are times I pinch myself when things go too right,” she confessed.
They were facing south, but the sky to the right was beginning to warm from golden to red. “Sometimes things go right. But I get it.”
“Things can go very wrong.”
He snorted.
“Those tattoos you have, they cover scars. I could feel them.”
“Yeah. Got shot when I was young.”
“More than once.”
“It was a bad day.” He shrugged. “Mostly I was stupid as shit.”
“Been there. But bought the T-shirt instead of getting scars.”
“Then you are smarter than I am.” He took a deep breath and let the tension go. “What you working on?”
“Wanna hear it?”
“Of course.”
She glanced back at him. “It might be something you don’t like.”
“Try me. I like a lot of different kinds of music. Except grindcore. Hate that shit.”
“No way you’ve listened to grindcore.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Alexis shook her head at him. “Sometimes I don’t know whether to believe you or not.” Then she cued up the project she was working on. “Here.” She handed him the headphones. “Let me know if you don’t hear it.”
Chris nodded.
She started the song, apologizing right away. “It’s still rough.”
The beat was slower than most of the music she performed. It matched something primal inside, and his heartbeat fell into rhythm with it. Her voice carried him into the story. His hands tapped on her legs as he listened along. They’d been doing things like that all day. Breaking apart and doing their own thing, then reconnecting by touching casually, as if they’d been doing it for a long time. Chris became conscious of it when the song ended. He moved his hands off her.
“That’s really good.” He handed the headphones back to her.
“It needs a few more tracks.” She packed up the headphones and saved the project.
“Sounded okay to me.”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Of course, I’m not a professional like you. Are you going to play it when you get an audition with Ellis’s contact?” He got up and saved his notes.
“I don’t know. I’ve got a couple which are better, a little more mainstream. But I don’t know if that would pigeonhole me.” She’d moved the gear from the living room back into the spare bedroom she’d been using.
“If I knew what I was doing, I’d tell you to play it for him or her. But maybe ask one of the musicians you know for a second professional opinion.” He’d moved to the kitchen to grab a water from the fridge.
She moved in on him. “You aren’t going to go all caveman on me?”
“Of course not. You’re good. You deserve to be famous. I’m just the temporary bad boy so…”
She stepped back, blinking.
Chris realized what he’d just said. And he’d figured her reaction into the mix. “No strings, Alexis. Right?”
“Of course.” She recovered her composure with a bright smile. “I do so love a bad, bad boy.”
It was his turn to move back in on her. “My first bad girl. Unless you count Restituda Sofia Russo in fifth grade. She was in middle school.”
“Sounds like a good nun name.”
He laughed. “That’s what her parents thought. But she was about as far away from being a nun as…” His smile deepened. “About as far away as I was from choir boy.”
“You didn’t have a string of bad girls?”
He shook his head. “I liked them a little…” His eyes got distant. “I guess a little harder to get, or…”
“Or what?”
He began to get embarrassed. “I started dating society girls early.”
“So Vianne isn’t a fluke?”
It wasn’t a question. Under the weight of her scrutiny, Chris glanced away.
“Time for music.” Alexis changed the subject. She plugged her laptop into the speakers of Chris’s sound system. A funky song filled the house.
“I like this band.”
“So do I.” Alexis danced around the house, picking up her recording gear, and straightening as she went. Then she unloaded the dishwasher, putting things away in the right places. That was one thing Chris usually had trouble with when people shared his space. But Alexis adapted to his quirks quickly and even had good suggestions to make the space work better.
His phone buzzed with a door alert. He answered it. “May I help you?”
“Prince? Crank sent me.”
“Wait there.” He hung up the phone.
“Alexis, I’ll be right back.”
He grabbed his keys and locked the door behind him, then took the stairs instead of the elevator down to the lobby. He hadn’t buzzed the guy in but was taking no chances. As he passed the security desk, he waved at the weekend guy, making certain he got his attention.
A prospect, in half patch, waited outside. He had Chris’s coat in one hand, and a bag in the other hand. Chris didn’t have shoes on, so let him in the lobby, moving to a space just out of the path of the doors. “Is that my stuff?”
The kid nodded. “Crank said I was supposed to ask for ID.”
Chris flipped him the finger. “Tell Crank to fuck off.”
The kid pulled the bag back.
“Fine.” Chris pulled up his shirt. On the left side was his tattoos around the worst scar. The design was one that some members got inked, but it had been only half-finished when he got shot. Then the club allowed him to date out instead of blackening it. Part of it was incorporated into the larger, newer design which took up most of his side and around to where the solo exit wound existed. He wasn’t about to drop his pants to show it all off. The kid only needed to see this one.
Flashing the remnants of his past should have been enough. The kid compared the contrast between the tattoo and Chris’s expensive athletic brand clothing. Then he seemed to make up his mind. “No wonder they call you the Prince.”
Chris looked to the guard station. “Joe? Look away for a second.”
Then he slammed the kid against the wall. Twice. “I’ll take my stuff now.”
The kid handed over the coat and bag. It had Alexis’s cell phone in it, and the spare set of keys he would turn in once the office reopened. There were three new patches in the bag. One was Crank’s business logo, one of them had the word “Princess” embroidered on it. The last one was in an envelope with other items in it. His name was written on the Manila paper. He glanced inside at it, saw the contents, and closed the envelope up. Chris debated what to tell the kid to relay to Crank, and how much of it would end up being retold to others. He knew what he should say, and he also knew what he wanted to say.
But instead of either, he said, “Tell Crank I appreciate this.” It was a lie. Crank was meddling.
After seeing the prospect out and making certain the door was latched, he pulled the phone out.
“Hey Joe, you know anyone who would be able to refurbish this?”
The guard took the phone and powered it up. “I’ve got a cousin who owns a phone store. He probably could reprogram it.”
“It’s yours if he can, otherwise, trash it.”
“You sure about this?” He put the phone on the desk between him and Chris.
Chris nodded. “Ask him to check for trackers as well.” He glanced back at the door.
The guard followed where he was looking. “Friend of yours?”
“No.”
Joe nodded and slid the phone off the desk and into his poc
ket. “What about the jacket and whatever else he dropped off?”
“I think it’ll be okay.” He thought about Mills, and what he said about the coat. “I’ve got an acquaintance I can call.”
The guard shook his head. “You’ve some mighty strange acquaintances.”
“Yeah?”
“But your taste in women has improved.”
He couldn’t help it, he laughed. “So I’ve been told. More than once.”
“At least this one we haven’t had to threaten with a restraining order.” Joe chuckled. “Mrs. Wheldon likes her a lot.”
“That counts for everything then.” Chris was still smiling when he got back upstairs.
He locked the deadbolt. Just in case.
“Is that your jacket?”
“Here.” He pulled out the envelope but gave Alexis the bag with two patches in it.
“Cool.” She pulled out the patch with the business logo on it. Then she frowned at the “Princess” patch. “I think I got a real nickname.”
“It’s cute.”
She shook her head. “At least it is better than the other one.” She took the coat from his hands and placed it on the couch. Then she played with the position of both patches. “I’ve got a sewing kit in my bag.” She disappeared into her room.
Chris tucked the contents of the envelope into his lockbox while she was out of sight. Then he put the envelope in his filing cabinet with the office supplies. “You might want to hold off on sewing on the patches.” He raised his voice so she could hear him in the other room.
“What was in the envelope?” She came out of her room with a small plastic bag containing three bobbins of thread, and some other things.
“Secret message from the king of jokes.”
“Oh?”
Instead of telling her about the contents of the envelope he said, “Most people would think Crank got his name because of something to do with motors.”
“It wasn’t crank calls?”
“You’d be closer with that idea. He likes to twist people up, mess with them and get them to believe in shit. Then he lets them go around and cause mayhem. He thinks it’s funny to see the mess they make.”
“He ever do that to you?”
Without thinking, Chris rubbed his hip. “Maybe once.”
Chapter 12 — All cranked up
“Chris? Would it be bad to wear the fur coat to the meeting?”
It was Tuesday. Chris reviewed his notes for his meeting with Hammond, and Ellis had wasted no time setting up a meeting for Alexis. He shifted them so he could grab another bite of breakfast.
He was going in later than his normal time, so he could drop her off on the way to work. “How are you getting home?”
“I guess I’ll call an Uber. Thanks for picking up a phone for me last night. I can’t believe they kept it. Ugh!” She stole one half of his toast from his plate.
“Door to door, right?”
“Of course.”
“Did you get your new bank card yet?”
“No. Shit. Uber doesn’t work on cash. Dammit.”
Chris dug out his wallet and handed her two fifties. “Here, ask the doorman at the casino to get you a sedan. It should be only twenty or thirty, but some services are higher.”
“No. I can’t take this, Chris.” She shoved the money back at him.
“I can’t call off the meeting with Hammond. Either take the money or…” A wicked smile crossed his face. “I know, I’ll make my brother pick you up.”
“The one that used to beat you up?”
“Yeah, Tony. You met him at the shop.”
“Dark hair, cuter dimple.”
“Hey now. I’ll have you know mine is the cutest damn DeSantos dimple.”
“Alliteration aside, who told you that?”
“Every girlfriend that’s met him so far, except you.” He frowned but ruined it by making it comical.
“Deal with it, suit boy.” She joked back.
“Can I borrow your coat back?”
“You going to go all bad boy inside and out now?”
“No, I wanted to see if Mills could check it for trackers.” He half lied.
She froze with her hand hovering over the orange slice she was going to steal next. “Do you think they would do that?”
He scooped up a forkful of eggs but didn’t eat it. “Probably not. It’s a lot of hassle to track someone, but we’re not exactly dealing with the sanest people.”
“Ghost.”
“You should add Crank to that list too.”
“Him I understand.”
“Do you now?”
She nodded. “He’s trying to make amends.”
“That what you young folk are calling it now?” The eggs went in his mouth.
“Listen to you. Turn forty and all of a sudden, you’re ancient. Do you need me to chew your food for you?”
He swallowed. “You’re stealing enough. You sure you don’t want breakfast?”
“If I eat, I’ll throw up,” she said, straight-faced as she stole another slice of orange.
“Crank’s being the same, old, meddlesome coot he always was.”
“What did he give you?”
“See? It doesn’t matter what he gave me, you’re getting all cranked up because you don’t know.”
That made Alexis huff. “No, I think you’re the one getting me all cranked up because you won’t tell me.”
“Ha! I wish I could get you all cranked up. But we don’t have time for that right now.”
“Now who has a filthy mind?” She rolled her eyes.
“So, Tony picks you up, or am I ordering a car?”
“You are not ordering me a car.”
“Tony it is then.”
“You and Crank aren’t related, are you?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Hmm…”
“You ready, or do you need me to make some bacon for you to steal?”
“I’m ready, and I told you I’ll puke if I eat.” She ruined her statement by scraping up the last forkful of eggs. “You weren’t going to eat that were you?” Her cheeks bulged out for a second while she talked.
“I’ll get the coats.” He kissed the top of her head as he walked past her. “You’re cute with your mouth full.”
“You said that last night too.” She fired back.
“I don’t remember that.”
“Ha! Liar.”
He helped her get the fur on. “You have everything?”
“You don’t have Pepto-Bismol or Tums or something, do you?”
He dug in a pocket. “Tums. Here.”
“Told you.”
“You will be fine. You look like a million bucks, and you’ll be worth as much by the end of the day.”
“You lie very well, Chris.”
“I mean it.” He stopped everything so he could look at her. “You will do this. You’re going to ace this. You will be a star.”
She blinked.
“Say it.”
“I will be a star.”
“Keep saying it.” He tucked her in close. “I’m going to say, I knew her when, one of these days.”
Her arms came up around him and she tightened the embrace. “Thank you.”
“You better now?”
She held on for a moment longer. When she broke away, her eyes leveled out. “All set.”
“You will be a star.” He held her eyes as he said it. She nodded back at him. She whispered it to herself in the car. He continued to whisper it for her after he dropped her off, trying to coax the universe to form it into reality.
~~~~~~~
Mills met him before he had to leave for the meeting with Hammond.
“Can you run this for trackers?”
>
The special agent eyed the coat and then Chris. “You are giving me the coat Alexis wore, correct?”
“Yes.”
The agent sighed. “That’s not how this works, you know?”
“I thought you have whole teams to do this stuff.”
“You watch way too much TV. Usually, I’d need a warrant, evidence bags. You’re making paperwork for me.”
“So you can do it?”
Instead of answering, Mills walked over to a roll of shrink wrap near one of the shipping desks. “Bring it here.”
Chris laid it on the shrink wrap Mills pulled out.
“And if I test it for other stuff, what will I find?”
“Twenty-year-old blood from fights, spilled alcohol. I doubt much else.”
“So, you don’t mind if I run it through the lab?”
Chris shook his head. “I figure this should clear me of any involvement in Whitehead’s murder as well as find out if Ghost messed with it, so I don’t mind at all.”
“You run this past your lawyer?”
“I’m sure she would tell me I’m being an idiot.”
Mills’ pursed his mouth. “Probably. You realize you gave me permission just now?”
Chris nodded.
“Damn. Beats having to get a warrant for it.”
“Would you have? Gotten a warrant?”
He shrugged. “Not me, but I’ll bet Longport would salivate over this. It will be nice to have one up on them. Especially the officer in charge of this case.”
“You don’t like him?”
Mills glanced at Chris. “He got sloppy. I hate sloppy.”
There was a brief moment when Chris recognized a bit of himself in the agent. It was disconcerting.
“How about that introduction to Crank?” His question broke any camaraderie Chris was feeling.
“You don’t like me living, do you?”
“It would help make your case go a lot easier if I tell Longport you are being cooperative.”
“There’s a difference between voluntarily giving you a jacket and putting my neck out for you. Last person I know who did, washed up just over there.” Chris pointed toward the wetlands to the east.
“Forget I asked then.” He finished wrapping the coat in the shrink wrap and looked at Chris. “Is Lisa, doing better?”