David Coe - Spell Blind

Late in the set they played a ballad that their keyboardist had written, and before I knew it, Billie was in my arms and we were dancing close.

“So why don’t you like to dance?” she asked, her breath stirring my hair and warming my neck.

“Because I look stupid doing it.”

She pulled back so that she could see my face. “Who told you that?”

“No one had to tell me. I just know it.”

She shook her head and nestled against my chest again. “You’re wrong.”

The set ended with a funky, upbeat instrumental that really got the place jumping. When they finished, the band vanished off the back of the stage, and some prerecorded music was piped through the sound system.

“That was fun,” Billie said, flushed and smiling, a fine sheen of sweat on her face. “You want a beer?”

“Sounds great. But I have to go work now.”

“Right.”

“Will you be okay?”

“Yes, Mister Fearsson,” she said, her voice like that of a dutiful schoolgirl.

I smirked.

“I’ll be fine. Go do your thing.” She smiled. “Then we can dance some more.”

“All right.”

I could see the manager’s office from the club floor. It was an elevated room with glass walls; a narrow stairway led to the door. I fought my way through the crowd toward the stairs and soon found myself face to face with a bouncer.

He was about six-four and he had the build of a professional wrestler. His head was shaved and he wore a black Robo’s t-shirt that must have been three sizes too small. He had on one of those small headsets that allowed him to communicate with the rest of security.

“Sorry, buddy,” he said, blocking the stairs. “No access beyond here.”

“I need to speak with Mister Moore,” I said. I pulled out my wallet and showed him my license. “I’m a PI and I’ve been asked by the Deegans to learn what I can about Claudia Deegan’s murder. I’m here as Randy’s guest tonight. He told me that Moore would see me.”

His entire bearing changed, as if he hadn’t considered the possibility that I might have a legitimate reason for going up those steps. “What’d you say your name was?”

“Jay Fearsson.”

“Fearsson,” he repeated. “Wait here.” He turned and went up to the office.

It occurred to me that Randy might have forgotten to mention my name to Moore, but after only a few seconds the bouncer opened the office door again and waved me upstairs.

Moore was at his desk and speaking on the phone when I entered the room, but he hung up a moment later and stood to greet me.

“Mister Fearsson,” he said, holding out a hand. He was about my height and weight, with brown curls and a receding hairline. His skin was rough and pockmarked; I guessed that he’d had bad acne as a kid.

I shook his hand and tipped my head toward the window, which offered a clear view of Robo’s stage. “Those guys are great.”

“Glad you’re enjoying the show,” Moore said. He pointed to a chair in front of his desk, and both of us sat. “Randy said you wanted to talk to me about Mike Gann.”

“That’s right.”

“He also said that you’re a private investigator, not a cop. I’m a little uncomfortable talking to you about a former employee. Especially since I’ve already told the police everything I know about him.”

“I understand,” I said. “I used to be on the force, and I know how they work. I expect my questions will be a bit different from the ones they asked you.”

He frowned at that.

I pulled out my pad and pencil. “Did you ever see Mike do magic?”

Moore laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not.”

His smile faded. “He always talked about stuff like that. To me, to Doug Bass, to the musicians. He wasn’t shy about it, but all of us thought he was crazy.”

Doug Bass didn’t, but I kept that to myself.

“You never saw him do anything that you couldn’t explain? Nothing that seemed. . magical?”

“Not a thing.”

“Was he a good worker?”

“He was all right. I probably wouldn’t have fired him if Randy hadn’t insisted. Truth is, I didn’t want to do it. But when I mentioned that Electric Daiquiri was going to be playing here, Mike got real weird about it. After that, I understood what Randy was so worried about, you know? So I let him go.”

“Did he ever work on nights when the moon was full?”

He frowned again. “You’re right, Mister Fearsson: your questions aren’t at all like the ones the police asked me.” He sat back, eyeing me for a few seconds. “No, he didn’t work full moons. It was a pain in the ass if you want to know. If Doug hadn’t volunteered to cover for him whenever the moon was full, it would have caused me real problems. As it was, I didn’t pay him for those nights. But I assumed it was part of the whole magic thing, one more delusion. You think there was something to it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Did he miss other nights? Quarter moons, maybe?”

Moore shook his head. “No. Just the full ones. If he’d missed more than that I definitely would have canned him sooner.”

I jotted down a few notes. The fact that Gann had worked on the nights of quarter moons could help prove that he hadn’t killed the other Blind Angel victims. Kona and I would have to match murder dates to the club’s payroll records, but it might be the evidence we needed to save Gann’s neck.

The piped-in music stopped and a cheer went up from the crowd on the dance floor.

“I think that’s my cue to leave you alone,” I said, getting to my feet.

Moore stood too, and I shook his hand.

“Thanks for taking the time to talk to me.”

“You’re welcome.”

I crossed to the door.

“Do you think Mike really could do magic?” Moore asked before I could pull it open. “Real magic?”

“I don’t know, Mister Moore. I’m just trying to figure out what happened to Claudia Deegan.”

He nodded, though he looked troubled. I let myself out of his office, descended the stairs, and waded through the crowd toward the bar.

I found Billie there, speaking with four or five college kids. As soon as she spotted me, she waved and started pushing through the throng to get to me. She glanced behind her once or twice, seeming to make certain that she wasn’t followed. The kids waved to her, and eyed me with obvious interest.

“Fans?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes again. “I was hoping to avoid them and instead it was like I stumbled into a nest of sorority kids.” She handed me a bottle of beer. “Here. It might be a bit warm by now.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking it from her and sipping some. It wasn’t too bad.

“How did the work go?”

I shrugged. “Not bad, I guess. I learned a couple of things that might be helpful.”

At least I thought I had. I found myself wondering if I should have asked more of the club’s manager. Only now, working this case alone, did I realize how much I had come to depend on my give-and-take with Kona when doing police work. We used to challenge each other, offer competing theories and then dissect them until we had figured out what happened. Working alone was like sitting solo on a seesaw. I wasn’t sure I was asking the right questions or following the right leads.

“You okay?”

I smiled at her, and while I was frustrated by these doubts, the smile was sincere. “I’m fine.”

Electric Daiquiri began their second set, and Billie and I made our way back onto the dance floor. We hadn’t been dancing long, though, when I felt him again. The red sorcerer. He was close, and he was intent on me.

The panic I’d felt earlier, when he made me turn the Glock on myself, flooded into me again; I felt the blood drain from my face. I stopped dancing, cleared myself, and began to chant wardings in my mind.