joking. He vomited before he cleaned up and put
the coffeepot on again. But he’d do it, finally say goodbye to his past. And
apologize to Laura. Chick was right. She didn’t deserve what he’d done to her
and he needed to tell her.
Time to man up.
Chapter Four
“Is that you, girl?”
Laura had her own key to the flat, so Jimmy didn’t have to
get up to answer the door. He was shaky on his legs these days and couldn’t
walk far without help, but he refused to have anything more than a cane to help
him. “No power scooter for this dude,” he’d told her, and she had to accept it.
He didn’t go out much anyway. Thanks to his son, he had enough money to order
food by phone or online, and to have an assistant a few times a week, as well
as a nurse to help him with more intimate matters. And Laura came courtesy of
the local council. So his call could be to one of several people.
“It’s me.” She walked through to the small living room to
find Jimmy sitting in his well-worn recliner by the fire, which wasn’t on and
the room was as cold as outside. It had been raining all morning, in tune with
her mood, though she doubted Zazz would use a cliché like that in his work.
Better not to go there. Except she had bad news for Jimmy.
Zazz was a selfish jerk whom she shouldn’t give time to anymore.
Jimmy’s broad smile was his trademark, as much as the
trumpet sitting by the side of his chair. Except that mouth was twisted, the
lips scarred. After one syringe full of junk too many, one bet too many, Jimmy
had finally found his comeuppance in San Francisco. The guys he owed money to
took his best asset. Not his horn, but his mouth. They’d smashed it beyond
repair.
But he still had his smile.
“Hey, have you eaten?” Aware of the answer already, she went
through to the kitchen and put her bag on the stool in front of the counter
that separated the kitchen area from the lounge. Zazz’s money had made this
place more comfortable than it used to be and better suited to a semi-invalid.
He peered at her, his rheumy eyes intent. “So, did you go?”
She knew this moment was coming. “I’ll make you a sandwich.
Ham and pickle okay?”
“Sure.”
She loved Jimmy’s accent, a hybrid of all kinds, a mix of
English, deep Southern and other elements she couldn’t identify. “The band was
amazing, you’d be proud, Jimmy. You should have taken that extra ticket instead
of letting me give it to Kelsie.” She paused. What could she say? The truth.
This man deserved the truth. “James Asaro is the lead singer for Murder City
Ravens. Zazz.”
“Yeah. I kind of guessed.” Jimmy shrugged. “But I wasn’t
sure. I’ve heard the album, and I thought, yes, my son could do that. But he
never contacted me after he left, so I couldn’t be sure. I guess I thought I’d
find out for sure after you met him.” He glanced around. “Plus, he’s sent more
money recently. Nightstar did real well.”
Earlier today, she’d sent a couple of emails to the address
she’d been corresponding with, requesting him to visit. No reply, but she
didn’t expect one. It would show her bosses that she’d done her best. How “best”
she’d try to ensure they never found out.
While she busied herself making the sandwich, the doorbell
rang, but Jimmy stopped her going. “You carry on that good work, kid, and put
the kettle on. I could use the exercise.”
Probably the nurse. She came several times a week, checked
his basic health and gave him his methadone injection, although Jimmy was quite
capable of doing it himself, as he often told her.
Laura called out, “Hi, Jane, I’ll make some tea.” She found
the ham in the refrigerator and some lettuce that would give the sandwich a bit
of crunch. “Want a ham butty?”
“No,” Zazz replied from behind her.
She dropped the butter knife. It fell with a clatter onto
the tiled floor. Turning around, she opened the refrigerator door to put the
ham back and locate the jar of
the coffeepot on again. But he’d do it, finally say goodbye to his past. And
apologize to Laura. Chick was right. She didn’t deserve what he’d done to her
and he needed to tell her.
Time to man up.
Chapter Four
“Is that you, girl?”
Laura had her own key to the flat, so Jimmy didn’t have to
get up to answer the door. He was shaky on his legs these days and couldn’t
walk far without help, but he refused to have anything more than a cane to help
him. “No power scooter for this dude,” he’d told her, and she had to accept it.
He didn’t go out much anyway. Thanks to his son, he had enough money to order
food by phone or online, and to have an assistant a few times a week, as well
as a nurse to help him with more intimate matters. And Laura came courtesy of
the local council. So his call could be to one of several people.
“It’s me.” She walked through to the small living room to
find Jimmy sitting in his well-worn recliner by the fire, which wasn’t on and
the room was as cold as outside. It had been raining all morning, in tune with
her mood, though she doubted Zazz would use a cliché like that in his work.
Better not to go there. Except she had bad news for Jimmy.
Zazz was a selfish jerk whom she shouldn’t give time to anymore.
Jimmy’s broad smile was his trademark, as much as the
trumpet sitting by the side of his chair. Except that mouth was twisted, the
lips scarred. After one syringe full of junk too many, one bet too many, Jimmy
had finally found his comeuppance in San Francisco. The guys he owed money to
took his best asset. Not his horn, but his mouth. They’d smashed it beyond
repair.
But he still had his smile.
“Hey, have you eaten?” Aware of the answer already, she went
through to the kitchen and put her bag on the stool in front of the counter
that separated the kitchen area from the lounge. Zazz’s money had made this
place more comfortable than it used to be and better suited to a semi-invalid.
He peered at her, his rheumy eyes intent. “So, did you go?”
She knew this moment was coming. “I’ll make you a sandwich.
Ham and pickle okay?”
“Sure.”
She loved Jimmy’s accent, a hybrid of all kinds, a mix of
English, deep Southern and other elements she couldn’t identify. “The band was
amazing, you’d be proud, Jimmy. You should have taken that extra ticket instead
of letting me give it to Kelsie.” She paused. What could she say? The truth.
This man deserved the truth. “James Asaro is the lead singer for Murder City
Ravens. Zazz.”
“Yeah. I kind of guessed.” Jimmy shrugged. “But I wasn’t
sure. I’ve heard the album, and I thought, yes, my son could do that. But he
never contacted me after he left, so I couldn’t be sure. I guess I thought I’d
find out for sure after you met him.” He glanced around. “Plus, he’s sent more
money recently. Nightstar did real well.”
Earlier today, she’d sent a couple of emails to the address
she’d been corresponding with, requesting him to visit. No reply, but she
didn’t expect one. It would show her bosses that she’d done her best. How “best”
she’d try to ensure they never found out.
While she busied herself making the sandwich, the doorbell
rang, but Jimmy stopped her going. “You carry on that good work, kid, and put
the kettle on. I could use the exercise.”
Probably the nurse. She came several times a week, checked
his basic health and gave him his methadone injection, although Jimmy was quite
capable of doing it himself, as he often told her.
Laura called out, “Hi, Jane, I’ll make some tea.” She found
the ham in the refrigerator and some lettuce that would give the sandwich a bit
of crunch. “Want a ham butty?”
“No,” Zazz replied from behind her.
She dropped the butter knife. It fell with a clatter onto
the tiled floor. Turning around, she opened the refrigerator door to put the
ham back and locate the jar of
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