Not knowing if I’m making a tenuous friendship or setting myself up for a brutal attack, I place my hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t knock it away, but she stares straight ahead, still preferring the darkness over the sight of me.
Rustling comes from behind us, and we both jump.
Simon stumbles toward us, something glowing in his hand.
“Ruby, tell me she’s not this stupid!”
“What? What is it?” I shout to him.
He tosses the glowing object to me. Maxine’s hand reaches out and catches it. Quickly, she drops it into my hands.
It’s my phone. Words on a screen are so out of place in the darkness of the woods.
He says again, “Tell me she’s not this stupid, Ruby! I just can’t…I can’t even begin—”
“Yes, she’s this stupid, Simon. God bless her; she’s this stupid.”
The glowing words read, “Can’t take this. 2 bored. Coming back 2 NOLA. Turning off phone. U kno where 2 find me.”
Chapter XIV
Drowning in a Pool of Peril
Sunday. Going to be a bloody Sunday.
Sunday is Jazz Night. Can’t think of a better reason to shed some blood than being forced to listen to five hours of goatee-stroking, off-rhythm, snap-inducing, pseudo-intellectual, haughty, self-claimed-superior cacophony.
Seriously, I hate jazz more than Johnny. And if you catch my obscure reference, you belong at ‘80s Night with the rest of us.
All I want to catch is Ruby’s blue-maned, careless friend and get the three of us the hell out of here. Keep Ruby’s hand tight in my own. Haven’t feared anything in half a century, but I fear I’ll lose her. Fear it so much it hurts. Been like that since I brought her back into the city.
Scared to have her here. Scared more to leave her in the woods where I can’t see her. Edgar knows right where Ruby was—has to know by now that the number I gave him was to call upon a dead girl. Roderick probably knows right where she was in the woods by now too. Edgar’ll be all too happy to tell him to get back at me. Be his way to get Roderick off his own back for not returning to him right away—wasted his time on the chase I sent him, searching for veins that were long dry.
We walk into the bar and look around. I don’t see anything blue bopping. Don’t know if I’m happy or sad not to see her. Maybe she wised up. Or, maybe they’ve already found her before she could come out here. That seems more likely.
Still only 10:15. Place doesn’t get hot till 11 or later.
Sounds of a four-piece drum kit solo reach my ears. The awkward stops grate at me. Why can’t it be Tuesday night Burlesque? So glad they have that here—without it there’d be no pyro at the edge of the stage, and this tale would’ve been a whole heck of a lot shorter. A lot sadder too.
A guy across the bar squints his eyes behind his thick-framed glasses and waves one finger in the air—keeping his other hand at the brim of his bebop hat. Have to admit I kind of like the hat. Not my style, but a nice hat.
Ruby squeezes my hand—my eyes slide up her arm, along her shoulder, over the sleek contour of her neck—still unmarked by me, along the slender cheekbone, up her delicate nose, and to the intoxicating green of her eyes. That’s exactly my style.
Every bit of it.
She pulls my hand down, guiding my body toward her own. Her luscious, full lips press into mine, filling me with the warmth and hope that my fear had drained from me.
Knew what I needed without a word. She looked into me, knew what I lacked, and poured it out of herself into me.
Such a small package filled with so much. Even after our time in the wild—our time on the run without shower or refreshing, her hair smells wonderful—her kiss sweet.
Worry what is happening that I can’t see. Don’t want anything to harm her—even while she thrills me.
I slowly back off, fighting a pull to return to her lips as we separate. She smiles and slides her arm around my waist, running her fingers across my lower back.
I scan over the bar, trying to find anything blue or anything menacing. The night would go better if I never saw either of them, but the urge to have this weight off my shoulders—some kind of end to this stress and worry—makes me wish I’d find either of them right now and face fate head on.
I look to the DJ booth. It’s not Mark. He loves jazz about half as much as I do, although I don’t find it all that different from the drum and bass stuff he digs so much.
It’s an older guy named Jeff. Know him but not really friends. I wave and get his attention—not too much else for him to look at in the bar that’s not yet very populated.
I make a gun with my hand, aim it at my forehead, and pull the trigger with my thumb. He smiles. I hold up eight fingers and then just a fist. He mouths the word Sunday down to me. I point at my wrist where a watch would be worn if I were ever concerned about the time. He shrugs his shoulders and fiddles with equipment in front of him.
“Always Something There to Remind Me” starts, its uniquely ‘80s keyboards and chiming bells invading the jazz-only event. Beebop guy doesn’t seem too upset, still waving his lone finger around as conductor.
“How’d you do that?” asks Ruby.
“You know by now—I’m a magic man.”
She dances slowly up to me, brushing against me, “You just get us all out of here tonight—that’s all the magic I need to see for awhile.”
I nod and look around.
Her slim fingers reach up and slide over my chin, “Not that I don’t love the magic you’ve shown me, or the sparks in your fingertips.”
I smile and look at something moving over her head near the stage. It’s the emergency door—it’s not all the way shut.
I pull her around to the other side of me.
“What? What is it?” she asks.
I bang my hand on the bar as I call out, “Angie?”
The bartender shuts the lid of the cooler she was stocking with beer bottles and bops her way over toward me.
“What’s the big dea—” she starts to ask before I interrupt.
“Keep her behind the bar—don’t say a word,” I say grabbing Ruby at her waist and lifting her up onto the bar.
“What? Why should I kee—”
“Please, no questions—someone’s here that wants to hurt her—bad.”
“Okay. Okay. Try to keep things cool. Please.”
“Thanks, Angie.”
I turn to the emergency exit.
“Wait!” calls from behind me.
I look over my shoulder and see Ruby behind the bar now and watching me intently.
“I’ll come back for you,” I say.
She looks slightly relieved.
“Now, down,” I say pointing, “Stay below the bar.”
I look back to the door and rush toward it. Quick hop on the stage, pass up the door, lean on the wall with my ear close to the crack between the door and the sill.
Hear voices, but nothing clear.
I look up to Jeff and see him watching me curiously—again nothing much else to look at in the bar but bebop guy’s soul patch and his finger waving. I motion for him to turn the volume down. He looks pained, but turns the level down for me. Voices become clear.
“…been here three nights in a row—what makes you think she’s ever coming back?”
“Trust me,” this voice is Roderick’s—definitely Roderick’s, “She can’t stay away much longer—this is her drug.”
A third voice chimes in, “Look, I’m starting to get the itch, man—can’t be here all night.”
Third voice is Edgar’s. Those words could be his epitaph. Definitely him.
Roderick again, “You’ll stay as long as I tell you, junkie. She’ll be here: trust me.”
“Not here now—wasting our time. Could be anywhere in the city if she even came back at all. This place ain’t even gonna get going for another hour—playing freakin’ ‘80s music right now—it’s supposed to be stupid jazz night. Ain’t even started yet.”