The Grey Tier (11 page)

Chapter Sixteen

AFTER THE CONVERSATION with Jackson, I stood in the kitchen eating my now cold tacos as quickly as possible. Becky was going in and out with food and gave me a little wave. It was kind of a busy night. Since Nick’s death, the place had gotten some notoriety, so a few new faces had shown up.

“Hey, Becky, I don’t mind helping out in here and tending bar. I can go back to playing when it quiets down some.”

“Oh, honey, that would be helpful, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem.”

“I can wait the tables and manage the kitchen, if you can tend bar,” she said.

“You got it. Can I ask, how did you get elected to start running things?” I didn’t say it in a mean way. I was simply curious.

She smiled. “I guess it was a natural fit, considering how close Nick and I were.”

I wanted to ask how close that was, when we both heard a commotion coming from the bar.

“Probably Mumbles or the broad wanting another drink. Can you check it out? That table of kids from SC wants a mess of tacos,” Becky said.

I nodded. Becky never referred to Candace by her name. She simply called her “the broad” while Candace called her “the bitch.” Fun times.

I walked through the kitchen doors to find George Hernandez pounding his meaty fists on the bar. Mumbles sat with drooping shoulders, staring a hole into his drink. Candace had inched as far away from the large, angry man as she could. A few other patrons were watching and waiting to see what the crazy guy would do next. But thanks to the loud background noise and crowded tables, not everyone seemed aware a scene was brewing. I aimed to keep it that way.

I walked calmly to George and said, “Can I help you, sir?”

“I wanna talk to whoever is in charge here!” He bellowed, as if I were across the room instead of a foot or two away. His fleshy face was a deep crimson color and slick with sweat.

“That would be me,” I said, straightening my 5’4” frame as tall as it could go. No point dragging poor Becky into this, at least not yet.

“You? He left everything to
you
?”

“What you mean?”

“What I mean is someone owes me. And if Nick left this place to you, I suggest you sell it and pay me back.”

“Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I bet you’d like me to leave.” He moved closer to me, and I could smell his sour body odor mixed with cheap cologne.

Jackson suddenly appeared next to me. Now Jackson wasn’t a huge guy, but at over six feet tall with a relatively fit build, something told me he could hold his own. Plus he was at least twenty years younger than this Hernandez character. Jackson clapped a hand over the big guy’s shoulder. Hard.

“The lady asked you nicely to leave. I suggest you do so.”

“You do, do you?” Hernandez said. He shook his shoulder, trying to knock Jackson’s hand off. It didn’t budge.

“I do. Unless, of course you would like to find out what it means to have your ass kicked by someone who is skilled in Krav Maga.”

“What the hell is that?” Hernandez asked. I wondered as well. Whatever it was, I prayed Jackson wasn’t bluffing.

“It
means hand-to-hand combat. It’s a form of street fighting in Israel, used by military forces around the world and in Special Forces like Israel’s Mossad, the CIA, and the British SAS. I am quite adept in it.”

I wasn’t sure who looked more shocked by this admission. Me or the fat guy. It worked though. But not before he got the last word in.

“I suggest you get an attorney, lady. I plan to get the money back that Nick owed me.” Then he turned and bolted out the door before Jackson could make good on his threat.

The room was silent. All eyes were focused on Jackson and me. I smiled and waved and went back behind the bar. Within a couple of minutes, everyone appeared to have lost interest. Jackson went back to his booth. I wanted to thank him, but by the time I’d poured a half a dozen beers and a handful of
Jägermeister
shots to the group of college kids, he was gone. I was pretty grateful to him for stepping in like that and resolved to thank him as soon as I was able.

Mumbles looked unsettled. I leaned towards him across the bar counter. “You okay, Mumbles?”

He looked up at me with his unpatched eye. It was tearing up. “Not same, Evie. No Nick. Not same. Bad people.”

“Oh no, Mumbles. Don’t let one bad seed ruin things. He’s just an idiot and a bully. Of course it isn’t the same without Nick. But we have to move on. We can do it together.” I grabbed a paper napkin from behind the bar and wiped his eye.

“Are you crying? Goddammit, Mumbles! What the hell!” Candace scolded him.

I glared at her. “Now, come on, Candace. I would think you would have a little more compassion. I mean, you were once engaged to Nick!” So much for my delicate approach.

Mumbles stared at me and then looked at Candace who’s normally blurry eyes snapped with anger. “Who told you that? That bitch?”

“No. I read it online.” I quickly threw together a Candace Special and handed it to her. “There was a photo of you and Nick from an old newspaper clipping.”

She pushed the drink away, spilling some of it over the side of the glass, and stood abruptly. “I don’t want it. I have somewhere I need to be.”

“At ten o’clock on a Thursday night? Really?” I didn’t bother to mention she and Mumbles never seemed to have anywhere to go.

“Yes, really. Mumbles, you coming?!”

He didn’t say anything at first. She started to stumble away. Mumbles slid off the bar stool. “Sorry, Evie. Gotta watch her. Bad on the street. Bad.”

“I don’t want the two of you on the streets! You both need to sober up first.” I jogged after them. “Come on, Candace. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“You didn’t, sweet pea. You didn’t. Mumbles and I need a rest is all.”

“On the streets?”

“We got a place. Don’t worry about us.”

One of the frat boys called out for more beer. I turned to see where the hollering was coming from, and when I turned back, Candace and Mumbles were gone. So much for a night of getting answers to my questions. If anything, I was more confused than ever.

Chapter Seventeen

IT WAS AFTER TWO O’CLOCK when I finally headed home. And, thankfully, I had a day off from Simone tomorrow, which meant I did not have to get up at the crack of dawn, grab her pumpkin spiced latte, and get to her place only to find her lounging with her cat, Clooney. She was having what she referred to as a “mental vacation.” I had no idea what exactly that entailed, and I did not plan to ask. She did not invite me. And I was okay with that
.

I had been asking Becky and everyone else at the bar who might have been there the night before Nick’s murder if anyone had noticed a new guy there—the producer. According to the regulars, no newbies had turned up. I hated to think maybe Nick had been stringing me along after all as Simone insisted. No matter what, though, in my heart I knew Nick had been a good guy who didn’t deserve what he’d gotten, and I was driven to get some answers.

As I turned off Sunset and onto Laurel, I noticed a car behind me, following really close. After all that had happened recently, I was instantly on my guard. I turned right onto my street, and so did the car. I gunned the gas pedal, hoping to zip away. Yeah, that didn’t work so well. I wasn’t sure if I should just keep driving past my place and head back into town. The only plus was the automatic security gate at the entrance to the drive that wound up to the house. I figured I could open the gate, drive through, and block the drive until the gate closed behind me. Once inside, I’d set the alarm and have Cass there to protect me.

I clicked open the gate. The car was still right on my bumper. What if whoever it was jumped out and tried to open my car door? What if they had a gun? I double checked the locks on my doors and waited. My heart was pounding. I inched the van through the gate and waited for it to close, keeping my eyes trained on my rear view mirror. Finally the gate locked shut and the car continued on. From what I could see in the dim light, it looked like some type of wagon. Maybe an older Volvo or Audi. I couldn’t tell. I raced the van up the remainder of the driveway, anxious to get behind closed doors and snuggle up with Cass and Mac.

I bolted for the front door and unlocked it as quickly as I could. Before I had one foot inside, I knew something really weird was going on. I immediately forgot the car that had followed me.

I could not believe what I was seeing.

Chapter Eighteen

NOW, IT’S ONE THING to see a ghost, um spirit. And it’s another thing to run into the spirit of Bob Marley. But to walk into your home to find Bob Marley
and
the spirit of Janis Joplin on your sofa, smoking pot, while your overweight cat is lying on his back on the backside of the couch, seemingly stoned out of his mind, well, it’s probably safe to say you have seen it all.

Bob looked up and smiled through the smoky haze, “Ah Evie, thank you, sista, for lettin’ us hang out here tonight.”

Janis glanced up from where she sat strumming on her guitar and smiled at me. “Yeah. You’re a cool chick. I like your pad.”

“Uh, thank you.” Mac opened one green eye and let out a soft, contented meow. He stretched a leg out and promptly went back to his happy little slumber. Cass thumped her tail but didn’t move from her spot next to Janis.

“So, you guys been here long?” I know that sounded lame, but what the heck did you say to two famous spirits?

“Oh, you know, we don’t be keeping track of the time here on dis side of tings,” Bob said, his Jamaican accent melodic and soothing.

“Riiight.”

Janis waved a hand at me. “No way, girl. There’s no need for time and all that shit here. Come have a seat.”

I decided I didn’t have a choice, and it’s not often you get to shoot the breeze with Janis Joplin and Bob Marley (even if they are dead). Speaking of which, “You guys are real, right? I mean, this isn’t just one loooong hallucination I’ve been having . . . is it?” Of course, asking your hallucinations if they are real or not is probably not going to clear things up much in the long run.

Bob laughed, his voice warm and smooth like chocolate. “Do you know I once said, ‘I don’t believe in death neither in flesh nor in spirit.’ And that be the truth, Evie. It’s all the same no matter where you be. And here,” he gestured to me and Janis on the sofa, “. . . we are!” He laughed.

Well that certainly cleared things up for me. Now I knew how Alice felt trying to talk to that darned caterpillar. I plopped down next to Janis and reached over to pet Cass, who’d drifted off to sleep.

Janis took another hit off of her joint (I was still trying to figure out if the pot was real, and if so, where the heck did they get it?) and then blew a graceful plume of smoke into the air. “He’s deep. Real deep. Just relax and enjoy the moment. Go with it.”

“Is Lucas here, too?” As much as I wanted to get to know these two, and I definitely did, I was hoping he was here and just hadn’t joined us yet.

“Nah. Lukie boy be off doin’ some work,” Bob said.

“Work? You work on the other side?” I asked. Well, so much for spending eternity lounging around playing harps.

Janis laughed. “Like Bob said, hon, there isn’t much difference between here and there, and it really isn’t so much the other side.”

“So, are you still musicians?”

They nodded. “Among other things. We have projects,” she said. Bob eyed her and shook his head. “But that’s up to Lucas to discuss with you.”

“Yes, indeed, and Lukie boy be needin’ to get permission for his project.”

“Permission? From who? What project? I’m confused.” I didn’t know if it was the exhaustion, the lingering smell of weed in the room, or the bizarre conversation I was having with two dead people, but I leaned back into the soft throw pillows and felt my eyes slowly close.

“It all be good, Evie girl. It all be good.”

Bob started singing “One Love.” Janis joined in with her raspy vocals. I was blissfully happy, and everything else floated away as I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.