Tie Die Page 3

  “We’re talking about my daughter.”

  “Steve, if you just want to pay them off, no questions asked, then you don’t need me. Save my fee because you’ll need it when they make another demand. Which they will.”

  He looked at her, uncertain. “I’ll need to talk to Lynda about this.”

  Colleen checked her watch. “Call me when you two make up your mind. If you can’t get hold of me at home, I’ve got an answering service I check regularly. It’s on the card. Like I say, you should call the police. But if you refuse to do that, and if we do go ahead, then you and your ex have to let me drive. And that means I talk to the people who last saw Melanie.” And make sure what he was telling her was what it was purported to be. “And one last thing … if we do go ahead and I find out I’m being kept in the dark on something, or being played in any way, I’m out.” She raised her eyebrows, left him there, headed out, down the steps. On the second floor, Cheap Trick were singing about a California man.

  She fished out her keys, walked around the back of the car.

  The door to Steve’s flat opened and he came out on the porch. He had a fresh cigarette going.

  “Okay,” he said. “You’re the boss.”

  Colleen felt a shudder of relief. But she knew things were going to get rockier.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Colleen motored over to The Pitt, the Mission bar where Melanie Cook had disappeared. The lights of the stores and bars and little Mexican restaurants twinkled in the low, wet fog. People were out, all ages and shapes and sizes, most of them Hispanic, some double-parked in lowriders, others hanging out on street corners, others just walking. Anyone with money lived elsewhere, but a genuine vibe prevailed in the neighborhood.

  Steve told Colleen the band he sang with—the band with no name—would be available to talk to her as they were playing tonight. He wasn’t singing with them for obvious reasons, which irked the owner of The Pitt apparently. Steve left a message with Lynda, his ex, to hopefully meet Colleen there, too, but hadn’t been able to speak to her directly. And Lynda wasn’t the most cooperative person, he said.

  On Mission Street, Colleen could hear The Pitt throbbing with rock ‘n’ roll before she saw the place. A ’50s-style neon sign flickered with a red “P” as she passed by. A sullen-looking bouncer with a Fu Manchu mustache, sunglasses on at night, stood out front.

  She parked up the street and headed down. A raunchy version of “Johnny B. Goode” was in progress, ’70s style, which meant distortion, pounding bass, and crashing drums. The doorman didn’t actually smile but he did pull open one of the double doors for Colleen, so she figured she wasn’t too old. A screaming guitar assailed her ears. The rough floorboards gave off a stale beer odor.

  The Pitt was bigger inside than it seemed from out front, with a long, lovely old bar on the left and a small stage at the far end, where a trio was shifting into high gear as they broke for a guitar solo. A small clump of denim- and leather-clad clients stood in front, heads bobbing. The band was pretty decent, even without Steve, their singer. In the dim light from the beer sign, a tall guy with chiseled looks and a sculpted blond ducktail thumped a bass while a character who looked like an extra from Night of the Living Dead staggered around, ripping out an eloquent guitar solo that belied his less-than-sober appearance. Hunched over an old Fender Stratocaster, he was ill or beholden to some narcotic. At the drums sat a striking young woman in a tight black tank top and a punk cat-style hairdo, black, replete with little peroxide tufts that resembled ears. She had dark mascara to carry it off and tight muscled arms that offset her slim, feminine torso. The guys in the crowd were watching her while the girls watched the bass player.

  Behind the bar, a big man with wild long gray hair and a beard to match eyed Colleen. His beer gut stretched out a Stones lapping tongue T-shirt. Colleen went up, shouted for a beer. He gave her what was probably meant to be a winsome smile as he pushed a foamy glass her way.

  “On the house,” his lips mouthed, his words obliterated by the music.

  She shouted her thanks as she took a token sip. She didn’t do any serious drinking while working.

  The band with no name returned from their solo, earning a shout of praise, and the bass player got behind the mic and sang the final chorus to “Johnny B. Goode.” He looked a lot better than he sang, but then again, he was filling in for Steve. And he could play bass. The band slammed the song into a brick wall, ending it with a crash of drums and squeal of guitar. The guitarist managed to break a string as he beat his Strat into submission.

  “We’ll be back after a short break,” the drummer said in a sharp New York accent as she slotted her sticks next to the snare. Colleen set her beer down on the bar and headed over. A big black man in glasses and a camouflage jacket had jumped up onstage and taken the guitar from the emaciated guitarist and began changing the string. The guitar player teetered off the stage and down the hallway to the back. The bass player with the hair took off as well.

  Colleen caught the drummer stepping offstage before she could leave.

  “You must be Deena.”

  She gave Colleen a guarded squint. “That’s right.”

  Colleen introduced herself, handed Deena a business card. “Steve hired me to find Melanie.”

  Deena took the card, read it, handed it back. “And how is you talking to me going to find Melanie?”

  “Maybe it won’t. But it might. Buy you a drink?”

  Deena shrugged. “Draft.” Colleen went to the bar while Deena sat at a table, breaking out a pack of Marlboros. Colleen retrieved her beer and bought one for Deena. By the time Colleen sat down across from her, Deena’s legs were stretched out under the table and she was leaning back, chair tipped, blowing a smoke ring at the ceiling.

  Colleen sat down. “What can you tell me about the night Melanie disappeared?”

  Deena set her cigarette in the notch of a Budweiser ashtray. She took a slug of beer, smacked her lips, gave Colleen a frown. “Steve didn’t tell you?”

  “He told me what he knew. I’d like to hear your side of it.”

  “How much are you charging him? While his kid’s off somewhere?”

  “This is how it works. I ask questions.”

  “Like a cop. The same questions over and over. Instead of looking for Melanie.”

  “This is how I start looking. Get as many details as I can first. Maybe there’s something you know that doesn’t seem important but is.”

  Deena drank beer, set her glass down, eyed Colleen with suspicion. “Or maybe you’re just trying to milk it.”

  “If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s your call. But please don’t waste my time. Because right now, that’s Melanie’s time as well.”

  Deena picked up her cigarette, took a puff, smashed it out in the ashtray. Stood up. “I’m going to call Steve.”

  Deena returned a couple of minutes later, looking ashen. She sat down, trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me someone called Steve, demanding ransom? That Melanie’s been kidnapped?”

  “It wasn’t my place. I need to keep my client’s affairs as confidential as possible.”

  “Fuck.” Deena ran her black-nailed fingers through her hair. “Fuck.”

  “Agreed,” Colleen said. “You didn’t think Melanie was kidnapped?”

  Deena gave a deep sigh. “I thought she was playing games again.”

  “Because she’s done it before.”

  “Melanie might be a kid technically, but she can be a full-grown Grade-A bitch when she puts her mind to it. Especially when she doesn’t get what she wants. I shouldn’t say that with what’s going on, but it’s the truth.”

  Don’t hold back, Colleen thought. “Why was Mel being a pain this time?”

  “She needs her own horse.” Deena took a drink of beer, shook her head. “Apparently, the ones at the stables aren’t good enough anymore. Like Steve’s got that kind of money. But she’d just bust his chops for something else if she did get a horse. That’s what
she does. Like mother, like daughter.”

  Colleen was getting a distinct impression of Steve’s ex. “What do you remember about that night? When Melanie disappeared? Your band was playing here.”

  “One of Steve’s first big gigs with us. People were lined up down the street. The place was jammed. Steve’s still got a lot of fans. A lot of fans. He’s overdue for a comeback. I’ve been telling him.”

  “He hasn’t played for some time.”

  “Took me forever to convince him to test the waters again. And when he did, it was a flood. All my life I’ve been looking for a front man like Steve. Finally talked him back into it. And then this happens.” Meaning Melanie.

  “So what happened to Steve? The Lost Chords were huge.”

  “He’s been out of circulation since the sixties.”

  “Why?”

  Deena gave Colleen a look. “You don’t know?”

  “I was married with a kid when The Lost Chords fell out of the top forty. Too busy watching Romper Room.” And going to prison for killing her ex.

  “Then it’s not my place to tell you,” Deena said with a smirk. “I have to respect Steve’s privacy.”

  Touché, Colleen thought. But there was something in Steve’s past she didn’t know about that might have a bearing. “So the place was packed when Melanie disappeared.”

  “Yeah. Boom was watching her, but she got away. More typical Melanie bullshit, I thought. Always had—has—to be the center of attention. Now it’s the real deal.” She shook her head again. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Boom?”

  Deena took a drink of her beer and nodded at the black guy onstage who had finished stringing up the guitar and was now tuning it up. “Our roadie. He was keeping an eye on Mel while we played.”

  “Sounds like I need to talk to Boom. What about the other two? Your bass player and the guitarist? Would they know anything?”

  Deena frowned. “Finn was onstage. We were in the middle of our set. He didn’t even see Melanie. And Jamie never notices much to begin with.”

  “Jamie’s the guitarist?”

  Deena gave a knowing look. “He was especially not noticing much two nights ago.” She put her beer down, stared off. “Poor fucking Steve.”

  “Deena!” a deep voice shouted from the bar.

  Colleen turned in her chair to see the wild man with the gut holding up his watch, pointing to it.

  “In a minute, Vernon,” Deena barked.

  “I’m not paying you to drink.”

  “Lighten up!”

  Colleen turned back. “Vernon’s all heart.”

  “How am I supposed to go up there and play another set now? With Mel being held somewhere? But Vernon knows we’re no big shakes without Steve. I better get back up there before he fires us.”

  “One last thing,” Colleen said. “Steve called Lynda, left word for her to meet me here.” She gave her a questioning look.

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Lynda doesn’t tend to do anything anybody asks her to?”

  Deena stood up. “Especially if Steve is doing the asking. She’s not gonna like someone like you sticking your nose into her business either. Double if it has to do with Melanie.”

  It didn’t sound like Lynda was going to show up.

  “Give me that card again,” Deena said. “If anything else comes to me, I’ll call.”

  Colleen gave her the business card. “You’ve got a great band.”

  “With Steve, we’re a great band. Without him, we’re a good band.” She shook her head one more time. “Poor Steve.”

  Not poor Melanie. Poor Steve.

  “Deena!” Vernon shouted from behind the bar.

  “Jesus, Vernon!” Deena snapped, heading off to the stage.

  The band with no name launched into more gutsy rock ‘n’ roll. A few more people had wandered in and it was almost enough to fill half the dance floor in front of the stage. Colleen caught the roadie’s attention as he stood with his back to the bar, arms crossed over his big chest, watching the band.

  “Got a minute?” she shouted over the music.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “This is where Melanie was last seen,” Boom said to Colleen. “Two nights ago.”

  They were standing in the alley behind The Pitt, Colleen and Boom, the roadie with the band with no name. He was a big, imposing black guy in his mid-twenties with a leveled haircut and dark-framed glasses and a well-worn camouflage military jacket.

  A kid in a hoodie and high tops was leaning up against a dumpster that reeked of garbage, his head back, mouth open, about to lose balance. In the shadows, a couple of longhairs were making some sort of trade. Two youngsters in a lovers’ clinch held up a brick wall, barely lit by the streetlight that drifted down the alley.

  “Melanie had gone to the restroom when you lost her?” Colleen asked.

  Boom’s eyes blinked behind the lenses of his glasses. “The place was packed, crazy, people everywhere. A fight had just broken out. I told Melanie we were going across the street for pizza to wait until the show was over. She said she had to go to the bathroom first. I said it could wait until we got to the pizza place, but she said it couldn’t. ‘Not after five gallons of Coke,’ she said.” Boom shook his head sadly. “I went to tell Steve we were leaving but he was onstage in the middle of a number. When I got back to the restroom, no Melanie. I waited a minute. A woman came out, and I asked her if she had seen anyone like her. She said yes, she had just left. Someone else said they had seen Melanie come out here.” Meaning the alley. “I freaked, came out. It was packed out here, too. So busy no one really saw her, except one guy. Who was loaded. But he said he thought he saw her.”

  “Did he see anyone with her?”

  “He said ‘no.’” Boom grimaced, shook his head. “But, like I say, he was out of his head.”

  Maybe that’s why Steve had thought Melanie might have taken off on her own.

  “What’s your honest opinion of Melanie Cook, Boom?”

  Boom took a deep breath, looked away.

  “Confidentially,” Colleen said.

  “In a word,” Boom said, “difficult. In two words: extremely difficult.”

  Colleen gave Boom a business card. “If you think of anything else, please call.”

  Boom took the card, slipped it in the pocket of his jacket. “Two tours of Nam and this is where I fuck up. I never should have let her out of my sight. I should have just dragged her out of there, kicking and screaming.”

  “I’m not sure it would have made a difference,” Colleen said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It seems she was intent on getting away from you.”

  Back in the bar the band with no name pounded out more tunes. Lynda never showed. Colleen had Lynda’s number and she called it from a pay phone down the street where she wouldn’t have to shout over the band. No answer. She had Lynda’s address but wouldn’t be going over there tonight. Lynda wouldn’t exactly welcome her with open arms, she’d been told, and Colleen had done enough nosing around for one night. She wanted to check in with Steve anyway. She didn’t have all the info, but she could tell he was telling the truth about the kidnapping. What he knew of it.

  But something wasn’t right.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was close to midnight when Colleen got back to Steve’s. It took time to find a parking space on 20th and she didn’t want her car in the driveway where it might draw attention.

  Steve answered the door, cigarette in the corner of his mouth, eyes tight with stress and exhaustion. Once they got inside, Colleen spoke first. “Any phone calls?”

  “Just Deena, after she met you,” he said. “But you probably know about that one.”

  “She needed to get her comfort level up about me.”

  “And?” he said.

  “I met Deena. Boom. And sweet Vernon. Lynda was a no-show.”

  “Typical.”

  They looked at each other in the light of t
he single bulb.

  “Where did you get the ransom money, Steve?” she asked. “The twenty K?”

  “Borrowed it.”

  “From who?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Everything about this is my business,” she said. “Every little detail.”

  “I have the money. There’s your little detail.”

  “You have money you owe. To who?”

  “You already asked me that.”

  “You didn’t answer.”

  “Some guys Al Lennox put me in touch with.”

  That was the kind of thing she was worried about. “If Al Lennox set you up with a loan shark, Steve, you’ve got more problems.”

  Steve stubbed his cigarette out in the tuna can. “I don’t care about the money.”

  “You will if some leg breakers come around to collect.”

  “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

  “If you can walk.”

  “I do like your positive mental attitude, love.”

  Having the once-famous Steve Cook call her “love” meant absolutely nothing, but it still made her heart beat a little faster.

  “So what’s the verdict?” he said. “You good to help me get Mel back? Or do you still need to talk to Lynda?”

  She didn’t have a complete handle on the situation yet. But Steve was depending on her. Her own daughter had run off and she knew what kind of toll that took on a person. Steve apparently had the ex from hell. She’d have to run with what she had and keep her eyes open. “We are going to get your daughter back, Steve.”

  One way or another, she thought.

  He gave a sigh and the muscles in his face eased a millimeter or two and that made her feel better. “Thanks, Colleen. Thanks a lot, yeah?”

  Steve Cook. Calling her by her first name. For a moment she felt like a teenager in her thirties. Just a little starstruck.

  “So what happens now?” Steve asked.

  She went over to the sofa, pulled the plastic sheet off, sat on blue velour. “We wait. With any luck they’ll call. You get some sleep. If the phone rings, I’ll wake you.”