" Are you coming inside or are you gonna sleep in the car?" Jack had snuck up on me, at least it felt that way. In all probability, I'd been lost in my memories. He leaned against the front fender, waiting for me to move.
"Go on ahead," I said, stirring. "I'll be in in a minute."
"You all right?" he asked, concern mirrored in his eyes.
"Finer than frog hair split down the middle." I didn't meet his gaze for long.
He shrugged and turned away. That was something I liked about him. If I said I was fine, then he let me be fine, no matter what evidence there was to the contrary. When I stepped out of the car, he was disappearing inside the club without a backward glance.
I'd reached the stairs, almost to the back door, when I heard the ping and saw a tiny flash of light. It took the second shot for my brain to register that someone was shooting at me.
I think I screamed. I know I ran for the door, grasping at the handle, ducking down, every nerve in my body painfully tingling with fear. I half fell in the back door, too scared to do more than run for the first person I saw. Cletus.
"Help me!" I yelled. My body was at war. Part of me was scared to death, the other part, numb with denial. Don't be silly! No one shot at you!
Cletus, for his part, responded like a bouncer, instantly and with a sense of authority, no rushing, just steady, solid presence. He stood next to me, muscles bulging, dressed all in black, his bald head gleaming in the club lights, a tiny earpiece and wire running down to a small box clipped to his waist. Cletus was on the job.
"What happened?" he asked, his eyes scanning behind me, running to the sides, looking for trouble. I pointed to the back door; by now the denial side of my body had won out. I was calm, even a little embarrassed.
"Out there," I said. "I think somebody shot at me." The band, unaware of my situation, saw me and went into my intro. I had to get back on the stage. A new thought entered my mind and blew away the denial. "What if the shooter came into the club? What if he was already in the club?"
Cletus spoke into his walkie-talkie. Across the room, I saw two of the security staff begin to move, one toward the back door and one out the front. The guy working the front door picked up the phone.
"Clete, what if he's in here?" I asked.
"He didn't come in here with a gun," Cletus answered calmly.
"How do you know?"
Cletus looked at me. "I know," he said. "You're all right."
I was facing a dilemma: Did I trust Cletus to really know the club? In the six months I'd worked here, nothing had ever happened. But someone had just tried to shoot me.
The band was coming up on my spot. I either ran up those stairs now or missed another intro and faced Sparks after the set. I ran. After all, it was my job and I needed iv I'd just have to trust that Cletus could do his job. I grabbed the mike and walked out onto center stage.
He was too hot to handle.
He said, "Baby don't touch."
I said, "I live for the moment,
I ain't asking for much."
You've never had trouble,
you never had style.
Well son, you're fixing to tumble
'cause I'm totally wild.
The Young Bucks were back on the dance floor. The night was coming to its hormonal peak. This was the last set, the last chance for the unattached to hook up before the bartenders announced last call and the houselights went up. Alcohol was having its desired effect on the crowd. Anyone who wanted to dance was out on the floor, with or without a partner.
Jack wandered up. "Why're the cops back?" he asked.
I looked out past the dance floor. Two uniformed officers stood talking to Cletus. He'd called the cops.
"Someone shot at me out in the parking lot, right after you went inside."
I looked behind the two officers, expecting to see Weathers. If he was there, he hadn't come inside.
Jack grabbed my arm. Sugar Bear was playing the last few measures of the song. The dancers whirled around the floor, oblivious to everything but their carefully timed steps and twirls. Jack and I were standing in the eye of the evening's storm.
"He didn't… You're…?" Jack was at a loss.
"He didn't hit me. I'm fine." I turned away from him and stepped back to the mike. I didn't want to think about it. I wanted to be inside the music. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to be the singer, not the victim.
Chapter Fifteen
Jack let me stay inside myself. We rode all the way home in silence. The police had come and taken their report They weren't the same officers that I'd come to expect. They were young, and if they knew anything about me and Jimmy, they didn't say. They didn't seem surprised that someone had shot at me. In this part of town, on High Point Road, gunfire on a Saturday night was nothing new.
Cletus had escorted us to my car and made a big show of checking it out before I could drive off.
"We'll take good care of you, Maggie," he said, resting a big, beefy hand on my shoulder. "Probably somebody got liquored up and didn't watch where they were shooting." I nodded, but I didn't believe that for a second.
"Did the police find anything when they looked around?" I stared across the lot, suddenly seeing bad guys behind every car and shadow.
Cletus shook his head. "No, only thing they found was a couple of thirty-eight casings. That's all."
Jack stayed silent, lost in his thoughts. That was just how I wanted it. He seemed to sense this and left me alone, even after we got back to his place. He wandered over to the woodstove and busied himself stoking it, then adjusting the vents. I walked around the open space, unable to relax. Those shots fired in the parking lot had something to do with Jimmy. I could feel it.
I heard the sound of a wine cork softly popping, then the sound of liquid hitting the back of a glass. I stood in front of the CD player, staring blankly at the equipment.
"Here," he said, appearing by my side with a glass of red wine.
"Thanks, but I don't drink red wine," I said. Red wine didn't do much for me. Too dry.
"Try it," he said.
I took the glass, like a good guest, and brought it to my lips. It wasn't bad. I liked the way it slid down my throat without burning. It reminded me of the berries on my grandma's place, just before we picked them for jam-making.
Jack punched a button on the CD player. Jesse Winchester began singing "Yankee Lady."
"You like this, don't you?" he asked. "I saw it was on here, so I figured you were listening."
I nodded and took another sip of wine. My stomach felt warm when the wine hit. My shoul
ders were beginning to loosen up. I went and stood by the tall window that went from the loft upstairs all the way to the floor downstairs. Outside the moon glowed, almost full. Jesse Winchester sang about leaving Vermont.
Why couldn't I find a man like Jesse Winchester, I wondered. A strong rich voice, singing about loving women. I bet he didn't take potshots at women. I took another couple of sips of wine and let my body sway softly. I bet Jesse wouldn't spend all his time drunk, forgetting he had a family waiting at home for him.
Jack's red wine was probably one of the most delicious liquids ever invented, I thought, finding myself near the bottom of the glass. My face felt flushed, and I realized that I felt a little floaty. Shouldn't be drinking wine on an empty stomach, I thought, but that didn't stop me from holding out my glass when Jack came around with the bottle.
"It's good," I said.