Carla Neggers - Cut and Run

She nodded. “All right.”

“Say it back to me.”

Years and years of solfeggio and memorizing countless pieces had left her with an acute ear. “‘Tell him to back off…Tell him Phil Bloch says so.’”

“Good.”

She waited for them to leave, but they lingered, watching her as she debated whether to bolt past them or to scramble into the house. She didn’t have a key, didn’t know if the door was locked, didn’t know if Matthew were there. Had he already left for the Gazette?

The darker one raised his left arm.

“No-”

But it came crashing down, swiping her across the side of the head. The blow sent her sprawling backward against the steps and crashing into the wrought-iron rail. She yelled as pain exploded in her shoulder and started to grab it, but he snatched her wrist and twisted it behind her back. She ignored the shooting pain in her shoulder and he tightened his grip. Don’t break my wrist…dear God, don’t let him do it!

“Just want him to know the sergeant’s serious.”

He released her.

She collapsed on the steps without making a sound and didn’t even attempt to look back. She didn’t want to know anything more about them; she didn’t care where they were going or what they were doing.

My wrist…

You jackass, never mind your damned wrist! The sons of bitches didn’t kill you, did they?

But she cradled her wrist in her other hand, focusing all her terror on it, and examined the bruise. There was no serious damage. She shut her eyes, shaking all over. The pain in her shoulder was already beginning to subside. You’re all right, she told herself; you’re all right.

Matthew? Had they hurt him?

Behind her, the front door opened. She whirled around, terrified, but saw instantly it was Stark. He rushed down the steps and scooped her up, and she was glad for the warmth and solidness of him.

“It’s all right, Juliana,” he said.

“All right? All right? ” She pushed him away and noted he was in perfect health, looking tough and competent but not at all pleased to see her. “Goddamnit, it is not all right!”

His black eyes narrowed, taking in her hard breathing and frightened, angry look. “Good, you’re not hurt.”

“In the great, grand scheme of things, no, I am not. No thanks to you, I’m sure. What did you do, watch through the window?”

“Pretty much.”

“Thanks a lot.” Then she noticed his gun, a big ugly thing. “You had a gun? Jesus Christ, why the hell did you wait? Were you waiting for them to blow my head off?”

“I didn’t want to start firing when there was no need.”

“No need-”

“You could have gotten hit in the cross fire.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want to go inside?”

Feeling calmer, she said, “If you don’t mind.”

He led the way. They went back to his kitchen, a cheerful, cluttered room with white cabinets and white tab curtains hanging in a window that overlooked a terrace. A couple of dead plants sat outside on the cold bricks. Aunt Willie would have had a fit. A battered pine table stood in front of the window, piled with copies of various newspapers-the Post, the Times, the Christian Science Monitor -and the most recent issue of Motor Trend. There were dirty dishes in the sink and two empty Sam Adams beer bottles on the counter.

“Need ice?” Stark asked.

She shook her head, which hurt, but not as much as it might have. “Did you know those men?”

“Not personally.”

“They asked me to give you a message from Phil Bloch. He’s a sergeant, I think they said. Did you know him in Vietnam?”

Matthew got two beers out of the refrigerator, opened them both, and handed her one. He took a gulp of his and sat down as he swallowed it. “Yes.”

“You know, I’ve lived in New York all my life, and I’ve never been mugged, robbed, assaulted, or even seriously threatened.”

“That’s because you’re a rich girl,” he said.

“Well-off. I know rich girls.”

“Have some beer, Juliana.”

“I don’t usually-” She sighed, cutting herself off, and tried the beer. She knew Sam Adams was supposed to be high-quality beer, but it still tasted like beer to her. “You’re very calm, you know. I just got assaulted on your doorstep, and you’re not even upset.”

“That’s because I figure these guys did me a favor.”

“How?”

His expression didn’t change. “Maybe they knocked some sense into that dizzy brain of yours.”

She took a breath and held it, pursing her lips together.

“Not used to being called names, are you?” Stark laughed, not pleasantly. “The only child, the rich girl, the talented pianist. Everything’s gone smoothly for you your entire life. You’ve never had to get dirt under your nails or suffer a whole hell of a lot or listen to people call you things you don’t want to be called.”

“Listen, you arrogant, inconsiderate shit,” she said, her voice low and controlled, “you don’t know anything about me, and until you do I suggest you keep your remarks to yourself. I was just backhanded up your front steps because of you.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, dammit, that’s right!”

“And I invited you here, did I? I knew you were coming, did I? I knew there might be trouble and so did you, and that’s why you played it smart like I told you and stayed the hell in New York like you were supposed to. Lady, let’s not talk about arrogance, and let’s not talk about being inconsiderate.”

She thought she took his outburst well. She didn’t cower, she didn’t run, she didn’t avert her eyes from his black stare. She just sat there and took it and even considered letting him have it right back. But she didn’t. Her shoulder and her wrist hurt, and besides, he had a point.

Instead she drank some more beer. “I found out about LZ, you know. Len told me. I’ve never read it, obviously, or seen the movie.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

She ignored him. “When the book came out, and even the movie, I didn’t have time to pay much attention to goings-on outside the world of music. I still don’t. I have so much work, so many commitments, so much I want to do, and so much everyone else wants me to do. I’ll never even come close to being the kind of pianist I want to be. I’m not saying I’m proud of being such a ding-a-ling, and I’m not saying that’s how all musicians should or do operate, just that I’ve had to be single-minded about what I do.”

“Juliana,” Stark said, “what the hell does that have to do with any of this mess? Two people are dead, and you just-” She shot him an irritated look. “I know two people are dead, damn you, and you don’t understand. Maybe you can’t. Maybe it doesn’t matter to you. I haven’t been single-minded about what I do just to make a name, to get to where I am today. I’ve just always been absolutely, compulsively driven to play piano. I don’t know why, I’ve never known. Ever since I can remember, I’ve had to play. I never imagined myself doing anything else. My status today is a result of that compulsion, not the reason for it. But I’m losing that need-no, maybe that’s not the right word. The basis for it is changing. I need to be a part of the world.”

She looked at Matthew, but he didn’t say anything. She felt pale and weak and annoyingly vulnerable. Why was she trying to explain? “Never mind,” she said. “I know Rachel Stein and Uncle Johannes are dead, and I know what happened out there just now, but I can’t back out.”

Stark settled back in his chair, one foot up on his knee, his eyes never leaving her. “You’re not going to bird-dog me so you can get excited about playing piano again.”