A Murderer Among Us, page 9
They headed back in together. It was a neighborhood kind of place—not like a bar on Bourbon Street, blasting music and catering to tourists. It was somewhat surprising that a reporter had made his way here, but when Joe introduced him and Sky to the man, it turned out his name was Jimmy Broussard. He had been born in New Orleans but headed out to California for work. Naturally, he latched on anytime he could when a known band was playing in the vicinity.
Broussard was maybe in his late thirties, and despite the fact he’d probably interviewed dozens of music celebrities, he seemed in awe of Sky. He shook her hand, telling her she looked like her father and added quickly, “A beautiful, feminine version of your dad, of course.”
She thanked him and glanced a little nervously at Chase.
“The two of them are a thing,” Joe said. “If you want Sky—”
“Please, Chase, join us!” Broussard said. He pointed to a table at the back of the bar. It was quiet there; music was playing, but it wasn’t a live band. It was controlled from behind the bar and was kept at a volume that allowed for conversation.
“Sky, Chase, what would you like—” Joe began.
“No, not to worry. I know what she likes,” Chase said. “Mr. Broussard?”
“I’m good, got a beer,” Broussard said.
Chase hurried to the bar himself and asked for two beers—in bottles. He brought them back to the table where Broussard was smiling at Sky as they waited.
“Thanks,” Sky murmured.
“Broussard, you’re sure—”
“Got my beer right here, never go for more than one. Anyway...” he turned to Sky as Chase took a seat at the table “...I just loved your dad’s work,” he told her. “You know, some songs are catchy just because you’ve got a beat that people can’t resist. Words don’t even matter—it’s the tune. A tune that makes you move, that is just peppy. But so many of the groups from decades past had some real songwriters in them, too,” he told her.
She smiled at him in turn. She seemed okay with the reporter, which was good on many fronts.
“Yeah,” she said. “My dad loved what he called the storytellers. He was a big fan of Roger Waters and Pink Floyd. The Who and Pete Townshend with Tommy, the rock opera...there were a lot of great writers out there, really. And there still are! Music keeps growing. Oh, that was something else my dad taught me. Every genre has good music, just as every genre has music that will fade. He told me one time that rap really wasn’t his favorite form of music but that there was good rap and that you could combine all kinds of music. He and my mom got to see Hamilton, and he fell in love with it and Lin-Manuel Miranda. He was one of those guys who truly appreciated the talents of others.”
“So I heard,” Broussard said. “He’s also known for helping young musicians—and anyone who needed help, really.”
“He had a lot of pet charities. I try to keep up with them, as does my mom.”
“That’s great. I mean, growing up with that kind of a rock legend...”
“He was a great father. He taught me good lessons for life. I didn’t get away with anything—”
Broussard laughed. “Can’t imagine Jake Ferguson spanking his kid. Did you spend a lot of time in time-out?”
She shook her head. “I was a good kid. There was something about him and my mom. I wasn’t afraid of horrible things happening if I misbehaved, I just didn’t want to disappoint anyone.”
“Wow. Great. And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Sorry. I’m usually a great interviewer, right on with questions. I’m in awe. Anyway, what about you? Favorite group, singer—”
“I couldn’t pick a favorite. If I’m looking to some of the artists from past decades... Freddie Mercury, amazing vocals. Roy Orbison! Hmm, oh, wow, Nancy Wilson from Heart. My God, what a voice! There are others, of course, so many...and...”
Broussard laughed. “It’s an amazing world. Glad to be on the sidelines, though...” He paused, grinning. “My dad was an attorney. Loved boats, and we took a lot of holidays down in the Caribbean. He ran into a fellow at a local place where people just sat all together. Started talking to the fellow next to him who said he was a guitarist. My dad told him that he could help him get a real job. Turned out the fellow was Eric Clapton, possibly the best guitarist out there!” He turned to Chase suddenly. “Wow. I’m sorry, didn’t mean to be ignoring you. You are...Hank McCoy’s grandson, right?”
“I am,” Chase said. “And don’t worry about ignoring me at all. No problem.”
“Hey, drums are a big deal. And I’ve heard you. This is off the record—better vocals from you than your granddad, but...hey, who am I to judge?”
Sky was gazing at Chase, and he caught her eyes, and they both laughed. “A guy who has listened to more rock bands than anyone can possibly imagine?” Chase said lightly. “Anyway, I take any and all compliments. Back to Sky.”
“You still play. You still sing.”
“I like life low-key,” she told him.
“So—kids and Jazz Mass.”
“You do your homework,” Chase told him.
“It’s my life!” Broussard said lightly. “Anyway, Sky, thank you. I was in love with your father’s talent. I think this is going to be an amazing gig.”
“You’ll be there?” Sky asked him.
“Oh, you bet. Hey, can I get a shot of the two of you together?”
Chase noticed Sky seemed to miss a beat, but she was quickly back with the plan.
“Of course!” Chase said quickly.
“Of course,” she echoed.
They’d been sitting in chairs at a square table. Chase stood and walked around behind Sky, ducking down with an arm around her and his head by hers.
Broussard said, “Well, should have had my photographer here, but this was truly happenstance, so... Well, they say phones take incredible pictures these days.”
“Any device can only take what it sees,” Sky murmured.
“It sees pure beauty!” Broussard said, snapping his pic. “And handsomeness, of course,” he told Chase.
Chase laughed aloud at that one. “Hey, how about ‘the group at play at home’—This is where Skyhawk began years ago in a little garage,” he reminded Broussard.
“Yeah, cool!” Broussard said.
The others—including roadies Nathan, Justin and Charlie—were at one of the long plank tables. Chase motioned to them and they scrambled, half the table heading to stand behind the other half, allowing room at one end for Chase and Sky.
The picture was taken.
When several backup shots had been made, Broussard thanked them all, as they did him and he was gone and the bartender-owner, Danny Murphy, came over to express his appreciation.
“The real deal. You guys are the real deal!” he told them. “And Sky...wow. Thanks. I mean, thanks. What that will do for this place... Major league!”
“Yeah, but keep it real, okay, huh?” Joe Garcia begged. “That’s why we love to come here, it’s just...real. Not a gig, just a beer!”
“Oh, always,” Murphy promised.
“Anyway, we’re going to get home—” Chase began.
“No! Hey, we’re all just finally together!” Brandon protested. He went silent, though, suddenly. There was a TV screen behind the bar. A twenty-four hour news show was on and the headlines were running.
“Oh, my God!” Joe said.
“Another one,” Mark added, shaking his head. “Man, am I glad I’m not young anymore.”
“You’d think, too, that kids would cool it right now! I mean that poor kid, from what I’m seeing, he was just going to have few tokes!” Chris Wiley said. He looked at Brandon. “Don’t even think about buying any weed right now!”
“I’m here, with you, drinking a near beer, Pops!” Brandon protested. “Not to worry. What the hell kind of a dealer does that?” he added. “Kills their customers?”
“Some ass who doesn’t know that overcutting stuff to make bigger bucks doesn’t do the trick. Man, that’s right...poor kid,” Mark said. “We haven’t had trouble like this in a while now. What a...well, what a mess and a tragedy.”
“Absolute tragedy,” Charlie agreed, standing. He shook his head. “What is the matter with people? I’m almost glad Jake isn’t here. He’d be so upset over...”
His voice trailed, and he looked at Sky. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. My dad would be furious, you’re right,” Sky said. She looked around at them all. “Everyone should be furious. This is random murder for profit. But the cops get on to people eventually. And I hope whoever did this is charged with murder.”
“They’ll get them. They always do,” Joe said, nodding his head sagely.
“But they don’t, do they?” Brandon asked, looking at Chase. “Hey, you’re the guy who has taken all the classes. They don’t get them all the time, do they? I mean, look at the serial killers who were out there for years and years—and those who were never caught.”
“Most of the time, from the lectures I’ve heard, criminals eventually make mistakes,” Chase said. “Any of us who might want to take a puff now and then...wouldn’t be doing it right now! Hey, one more round of bottled beers. We’ll play everything safe!”
He headed to the bar, keeping his eye on the table. They all seemed perplexed, horrified by what they had seen on the news.
And yet one of them...
He snatched a tray off the bar to carry the beers back, placing them in front of everyone.
“Hey, cool,” Chris Wiley said, smiling at Chase. “When all else fails, you can be a bartender!”
“Aw, he’s aiming higher than that!” Mark said. “What are you going to do with all these classes? You know, I just never saw you working in a basement lab, kid!”
Chase shrugged. “Thanks to you guys, I get to be whatever I want.” He laughed. “Never worked in a basement. Most labs would be underwater soon in this area!”
They all laughed. Mark, Joe and Chris, the remaining original members of Skyhawk, all seemed to be at ease. Older men, those who might have retired in another life, but all still strong and vibrant. Chase was grateful his grandfather, Hank, would soon regain his strength, and he would still be part of what he had loved all his life again. And still...
Brandon? Wild child? Sometimes what was in plain sight was the simple answer.
But for some reason, Chase just didn’t think it could be that easy. Gut reaction. A man’s gut could be wrong.
But it could also be right.
Then...the roadies. Charlie, like Brandon, the wild child in the group. Justin, a man who by all appearances loved his wife of years and years and his sons, both in college, one headed for a career in medicine, the other in banking.
Nathan...divorced. A few times. But a man who coached his one son’s team, a guy who seemed to love his children...
“I think it’s time, children, that we do get back. Last tech tomorrow, and then show goes up at eight!” Mark said. He looked around the table, grimacing. “I am the oldest dude in this fizzy party now, so children, all of you—off to bed for a good night tomorrow!”
They all stood and headed out. Chase paused on the sidewalk.
“Chase?” Sky asked softly.
“Such a beautiful night!” he said.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “For...for most of us.”
“Let’s get to the car. Get some sleep.”
He nodded. The street here, off the tourist path and in a neighborhood section of the city, was quiet. His car was just down a block or so, and they started for it in silence.
Maybe it was the quiet, maybe it was his training, but he heard someone slip almost silently down the street toward them just as he opened the driver’s door to his car.
He spun around, almost reaching for the small sidearm in its holster at his waistband which was hidden by the jacket he was wearing.
But again, gut sense had kicked in.
It was Brandon Wiley, looking at him anxiously.
“Brandon?”
“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I mean, I wanted to get to you without anyone else seeing... I, man, I don’t know. Well, I mean, you do know. I swear, no hard drugs, but I do some weed now and then, and now...”
“Do you have something on you?” Chase asked. “Brandon—”
“Yes, yes, I do. And I don’t know, Chase, I mean no one really understands what you’re up to all the time, but I thought that—”
“Brandon, yeah, I know some people, and I can—”
“Please, please, please, I’m going to be sitting in for many of the numbers tomorrow night, and it all means a lot to me. I don’t want to get in any trouble—”
“Brandon,” Chase promised, “I’m not going to get you into any trouble. I’m going to be grateful as all hell you came to me if the stuff you have turns out to be tainted. Thing is, if there is something... Brandon, we have to know where you got it.”
Brandon nodded. “I didn’t buy it. There’s a guy who works the spotlights over the audience at the arena. I gave him a few joints a few years ago, he caught up with me after today’s rehearsal and gave me these.”
He produced two joints, handing them to Chase.
“I’m going to need to know this guy’s name,” Chase told him.
“But if there’s nothing wrong with these—”
“Look, laws about pot have changed. Possessing a couple of joints is nothing. Let me find out what the story is with this. First off, you no longer possess it, I do. And as for anyone else...at tops, small amounts are a fine and a few days in jail. But I’m not after you or anyone else just smoking a joint—we need the source.”
Brandon nodded seriously. “Don’t worry. Nothing for me in the next days except for a beer—in a bottle that’s sealed when I get it!”
“Good thinking. Okay, I’ll get this somewhere. I promise. And I’ll let you know what’s up in the morning. And if there is something in this...”
“I know, I know, I know. I got it from a guy named Bobby Sacks. He works lights.”
“Thanks. Let’s keep Bobby alive, okay?” Chase said.
“Thanks,” Brandon told him. “Okay, uh, see you lovebirds tomorrow, huh?”
“Yep, good night.”
Brandon walked away. Knowing Sky was watching him, Chase still knew he had no choice.
“Just a sec,” he told her, dialing Wellington’s number. “Hey, um, a friend of mine got panicked when he saw the news. I have a couple of joints...um, yeah. I’ll give you an address. You can pick them up from me there? I mean, I know you’re a lecturer, but with what’s going on... Great. I thought you might know what to do.”
He hung up. “A friend who knows everyone in every lab from here to the ocean.”
“Chase, my God, do you think—”
“I don’t think anything right now. Let’s let my friend get these to a lab, huh?”
She nodded and crawled into the car. They were silent on the way to the house. When they arrived, Larry was overjoyed to see them.
Sky might have said she didn’t want a dog. But Larry evidently loved her.
And she loved Larry, it seemed.
“He’s been sleeping on the couch, you know. And there are guest bedrooms here—”
“I guarantee you, when you go to bed, Larry will park himself in front of your door,” Chase told her dryly. “I have to wait for my friend.”
“I’ll wait with you.”
Before long, there was a buzz at the door. Chase looked out—Wellington had come straight to Sky’s house when he had called him.
“That’s him?” Sky asked.
He nodded, hitting the release for the gate and the door. A minute later, he opened it to meet Wellington on the porch.
“Don’t be rude—invite him in,” Skylar said.
Larry woofed; she set a hand on his head, telling him that it was all right.
Chase had no choice. He stepped aside as he greeted Andy Wellington and introduced him to Sky as one of his lecturers.
“Sky Ferguson, what a pleasure!” Andy told her.
“And so nice to meet you, too. Brandon is a dear friend of ours, and we’re so grateful he came to Chase and that Chase...knows people. Can we get you anything?” Sky said pleasantly.
“No, it’s late, I’m just going to get these joints to friends I’ve met along the way,” Wellington said politely. “But... Chase scored me some tickets for tomorrow night. I can’t wait—you mostly disappeared, Miss Ferguson, and like me, tons of people out there are anxious to see you step into your father’s shoes.”
She shook her head. “I can’t step into his shoes. I can only hope to honor him.”
“I’m sure you will. He had an excellent reputation, and Chase tells me that all the amazing things written about him being an incredible human being are true.”
Sky smiled and nodded. Wellington asked if he could pet the dog, and Sky assured him it was fine because he’d been identified as a friend.
Andy’s eyes locked with Chase’s for just a moment, and then he was gone.
“We’d really best get some sleep,” Chase said.
“What did you think about Brandon? And...do you know this guy he was talking about? Bobby, who works lights?”
“I don’t know Bobby. But—”
“Chase, if this stuff is laced, more people could die!”
“Wellington will get back to us as soon as possible and...” he shrugged “... I already told him Brandon got the stuff from Bobby Sacks.”
She arched a brow at him.
“A little note I passed to him along with the joints.”
She stared at him suspiciously. “Hey, let it get to the right people! If it was no big deal, it was no big deal. Well, hopefully, some lives will be saved.”
“Shower,” she said.
