Sand City Murders by MK Alexander Read Free Book Online Page B

a tough crowd in Partners. A tough crowd to play for. One night a month the regulars found themselves in the minority. The new gang was much younger, there for some live music, to support their friends, or to try to engage in competitive conversation while the music played. Most everyone who showed up did tunes from the last century, pretty much. Old guys, women with acoustics, fiddle players, even Randy, who showed up with a different instrument every month. Randy, the human jukebox. There wasn’t a song he didn’t know, or an instrument he couldn’t play, or fix. “Hey Randy, ever hear that weird song by Steely Dan?”
    “Oh sure, I know that…” he’d say, and then play the whole damn thing on an acoustic. Not a note out of place and he even remembered most of the lyrics. Not everybody was as good as Randy. The level of talent varied. Some of the musicians were incredibly gifted, that is, really good. Some not so much, but everyone who got on stage and tried had one thing in common: bravery.
    I just played originals, well mainly. I do some covers, interpretations really, but always on my electric guitar. My electric, my pride and joy, a 1964 Fender Telecaster. I picked it up at a garage sale for about a hundred bucks. It was a mess when I bought it. Got Randy to fix it for me… that cost another six hundred. I always wondered if it was a good deal or not. New fretboard, new pick-ups, tuners… Painted gloss black.
    And groupies? Everyone who played had a following. I remember some old guy once came up to me with tears in his eyes. “That song was about my girlfriend, right?”
     
    My mind was drifting again. Suzy got my attention by gently squeezing my hand. I finally replied to her question. “...I don’t know, pretty busy these days.”
    “Busy on what?”
    I looked at her and wondered if she was really interested. “There’s the Brand Wars vote coming up, the Saint Alban’s thing… Plus, we have to start getting ready for the season.”
    “Already?”
    “The Summer Preview issue…. the Treasure Hunt… you know, stuff like that.”
    “Are you doing that night life thing this year?” Suzy asked.
    “Yup... I’ll put you on the list.”
    “Thanks.” She smiled sweetly and put another draft up on the counter.
     That was probably one too many for me. I drank it anyway, said my good nights, and more or less stumbled back to my apartment. It was a dark night, a rain squall let loose and I still had a couple of hundred yards to go. I pulled up my hood and picked up the pace. Home was close. I lived on the second floor of the Depot building, an odd place that actually might have been a train station at some point in history. I never did the research, but I do know that there was a railroad terminus in the days of yore. No sign of tracks anymore.
    The downstairs was closed up for the season, for now. Half the building was a bike rental shop and the other half, a small cafe. Wasn’t exactly eat and run, but eat and ride was close enough. My car was safely parked in the far corner of a gravel lot under a willow tree. I dashed around back and up the wrought iron staircase. The steps made a hollow sound every time I ran up or down, almost musical. It spiraled up steeply onto a very small deck that could fit two or three people at most. On my way to the glass sliding doors, I heard a terrible scuffling noise, something was bounding across the shingles. Oh, it was Zachary, my cat. He had clambered up the nearby pine tree and now skidded across the rooftop to the deck. He jumped and started winding between my feet. The rain had stopped already.
    “Well, look who’s back?” I picked him up; he seemed drier than he should be. “I hope you weren’t hiding under the car again, you stupid cat,” I admonished him. Zachary was a stray I had adopted almost a year ago. He was completely white, or there a-bouts, maybe with a little beige and brown. I guessed he was mostly siamese, especially by the way he meowed.