R. Jagger - A Way With Murder

By most people’s score,Wilde was Denver’s best drummer, hands down, end of story, next subject please. He could land a seat with any band in its right mind as well as a few that weren’t. He didn’t do that though. Instead he filled in at clubs when regular drummers couldn’t make it, for pay of course; that, and he did studio work-also for pay, also of course.

He was particularly effective in the studio.

He could keep a constant beat throughout the song.

He didn’t speed up.

He didn’t slow down.

He didn’t get up halfway through to go to the restroom or spit-shine his wingtips.

He’d sat in with Mercedes Rain twice before, once when her regular drummer got arrested for murder, and the second time when her next drummer got arrested for murder.

“This probably means I’ll get arrested for murder,” he told her.

That was last year.

Now, tonight, he got Secret as composed as he could during the break.

In two minutes the break would be over.

Wilde worked the drumsticks on his knee, getting the speed up.

“Here’s the main thing to remember,” he said.

“What?”

He tilted his head and softened his voice.

“Even a lot of established singers don’t know what I’m about to tell you,” he said. “But if you remember this one thing, you’ll always be tops.”

“Okay.”

“Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“Whenever you sing, be sure you sleep with the drummer after the gig.”

She punched him on the arm.

“You’re awful.”

“Thank you.”

Then they were up.

Mercedes introduced them.

Secret took the microphone.

She was shy, uncertain, looking down.

Wilde got his frame comfortable on the throne.

Then the band broke into the greatest Lady Day song ever. Wilde altered his eyes from Secret’s backside to the crowd.

Just as Secret was about to let the first word loose, something happened that Wilde didn’t expect.

A familiar face appeared by the bar.

It was Alabama.

She wasn’t work-Alabama, not at the moment, she was sexy-little-thing Alabama, wearing a short red dress that was strong on color but short on coverage.

She looked into Wilde’s eyes, saw she had his attention and pointed discretely to her left.

He looked that way.

About four steps down, leaning against the bar, was a tall, good-looking man in a white suit and a matching hat.

For some reason he looked familiar.

Wilde couldn’t put his finger on it.

Secret started singing.

Her voice was incredible.

Wilde hardly heard her; he was more focused on the man. Suddenly he realized why the guy looked familiar.

It was Robert Mitchum.

Day One

July 21, 1952

Monday Night

The storm would kill her.Waverly knew that, deep down. Her core temperature was dropping and the wind was pounding the rain through her clothes and straight into her bones.

“I need to get out of the weather.”

“Can you hold on another half hour until we’re sure he’s asleep?”

“No.”

A beat.

“Okay, stay here a second.”

Su-Moon crawled to the front of the boat, hung over the edge and studied what was below. Then she came back, slowly.

“There’s no way down except to jump,” she said. “It’s not far but there’s no way he won’t feel it.”

Waverly’s heart raced.

She couldn’t outrun anyone.

She could barely move.

“We have three options,” Su-Moon said. “We can climb down the ladder, get in the water, make our way to the finger and climb up.”

“I can’t swim.”

“I’d have to hold you up.”

“No, you’ll drop me.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“No I won’t. I already had a vision about drowning.”

“Okay,” Su-Moon said. “The other option is for you to get to the front of the boat. I’ll climb down the ladder and get on the swim platform. I’ll beat on the door to distract him. You jump down and head down the dock.”

“How about you?”

“I’ll dive in the water.”

“What if he comes after you?”

“He’ll still be half asleep. I don’t think he will.”

“What’s the other option?”

“Okay,” Su-Moon said. “The third option is that we both crawl to the front of the boat and drop down. As soon as we land, you head down the dock and disappear as fast as you can. I’ll stay there. If he comes out, which he probably will, I’ll pretend that I’m drunk and I’m on the wrong dock, I’m looking for D-22.”

Waverly chewed on it.

Her core temperature dropped even more.

“Let’s do it,” she said. “Number three. I’ll stay behind though, not you.”

“Can’t do it that way,” Su-Moon said. “He’ll see your face.”

“So?”

“So, you’ll be working at his shop tomorrow, remember?”

Waverly hesitated.

“I just won’t show up,” she said. “Forget work. I don’t want you taking the risk. This is my issue, not yours.”

Suddenly the boat shifted,ever so slightly, the kind of shift that would come from the movement of weight.

The black silhouette of a man appeared over the edge of the roof where the ladder came up.

A hand darted out and grabbed Waverly’s ankle with the force of a vice.

“Got you!”

Day One

July 21, 1952

Monday Night

The pool cuesmacked upside River’s head with a force that dropped him to his knees. Colors exploded deep in his brain and little hammers pounded at the inside of his skull. He was hurt and hurt bad. The hearing shut off in his left ear. He raised his hand to find it filled with blood.

Voices hollered.

They were deafening and jumbled and overlapped to the point where he couldn’t understand anything except an occasional word.

A boot landed in his ribs.

“How’s it feel little girlie?”

His brain spun.

“You want some more? Huh? You want some more?”

Another kick came, lower, more in his stomach.

He braced for another one.

It came from behind him, from a second man.

Then an iron fist grabbed his hair and pulled his face up. Spit landed in his eyes.

“Cut his eyes out!” someone shouted.

A man’s face got close to his.

“You want me to cut my dick off? I’ll cut a dick off all right. It’s not going to be mine though.”

“Do it!” someone shouted. “Cut it off.”

River tried to get to his feet but couldn’t.

His muscles wouldn’t work.

His head was dark with pain.

Three guys held him down.

A fourth one grabbed his belt and undid it.

River struggled with every working molecule left in his body.

It did no good.

He wasn’t even close.

Suddenly the roaringdialed down a touch, then abruptly fell to almost nothing.

Stop!

Stop!

Stop!

Stop!

Stop!

The voice came from a female somewhere behind him.

“Leave him alone!”

Now he recognized it, it came from January. He twisted his head and saw her, clutching what was left of her white dress to her body.

“Those men raped me,” she said. “Him and him.”

“Bullshit.”

“Jesus, Jackson, look at her.”

“She’s lying.”

To prove it, he punched her in the face.

She raised her hand, staggered back and dropped to the ground. The dress fell to the side. She wore no panties. Between her legs there was blood.

She didn’t move, not a muscle.

The hands came off River.