The bar had advertised the band both with flyers and by word of mouth. ‘Fifties night -- live music from the era’ had been the theme. When the boys had set up, the place was full and jumping. Well, perhaps not jumping. It appeared most in the crowd would need oxygen if they did much jumping.
There were certainly more gray and white hairs and wrinkled skins in the assembly than young-twenties complexions, but there were quite a few middle-aged gents as well. Jake saw some female couples, too, as he scanned the crowd. This group wasn’t full of familiar faces, the faces he’d seen around town or at the mall.
Then he saw a face that didn’t fit with the others. It belonged to a tall, thin man who appeared to be in his late thirties. Jake realized he’d seen him before around town. He was sitting at a table for two, but he was alone. The other chair had been taken by someone who needed it at another table.
Other than that man, Jake recognized no one. He was surprised at how noisy the crowd of old people was. Perhaps it was that the venue was a bar, and everyone had glasses in their hands. Some had their other hand in that of their partner.
The band—they had yet to decide on a name, and in lieu of one were calling themselves The Four Teens until they could come up with something better—was different in most respects from other teen bands. A major difference was that neither the guitar nor the bass were amplified instruments. Jake was playing an acoustic guitar, Gary had an unmodified string bass, Peter had a small drum set with no amplification. Only Keith’s keyboard required an electronic sound system, and that was set with the volume level to match that of the other instruments. What Jake had was a mike to sing into and another that was on a waist-high stand that would pick up the sound of his guitar; without that, it wouldn’t be heard at all.
All this lack of amplification meant the music was played at a much softer level than teens liked. The older crowd did like it, however; some of them didn’t have to turn down their hearing aids, and the rest liked that they could distinctly hear the song lyrics. Jake liked the set up, too, as he had no problem at all being heard this way and didn’t have to stress his vocal cords while singing.
They played through their set, and the crowd loved them. Jake, having the mike, became the de facto voice of the band. When they’d played their last number, the crowd didn’t want them to go and made that very clear, calling for them to play more. Jake told the crowd these were the only numbers they’d prepared, and the response to that was someone urging them to sing them again. The crowd seemed to like that suggestion as it cheered it and them on.
Jake was undecided how to respond. Keith came forward, took the mike, and told the crowd they’d take a break and then do two of the songs from the set they’d just sung. “You guys have to get together and choose which two. When we get back up here, tell us, and we’ll do them. Gentlemen, this is our first gig ever. We weren’t sure how much music to prepare. For all we knew, you’d all be booing us off the stage after our first piece. If you want us back again, let the owner here know, and if he agrees, we’ll rehearse a longer set for next time. Now, if one of you will give up your table, Gary and Nick need a place to sit down, and we all need Cokes!”
One table of men got up for them, and they sat. The boys all lauded Jake. Even Peter got in on the act. “Nick, you’re wonderful at this. I like the way you talk to the crowd, joke with them. You’re so comfortable doing that! How’d you know so much about each of those songs so you could introduce them so well?”
“I figured I’d have to introduce them so did a little online research. Easy enough.”
“You’re not a bit nervous, talking and singing in front of a lot of people?” Gary asked.
“I guess not. I don’t know why. But no, it doesn’t bother me. I’m kinda enjoying it, actually.”
Keith spoke up. “When I went to the bar to get them to send us over these Cokes, I spoke with the owner. He’s delighted. He said he’s doing more business tonight than on most Fridays and Saturdays combined, his busy nights, and he wants us back. He’ll pay us good money, too. So, it looks like we have a good gig going here. A weekly one, looks like.”
Jake smiled. “Good thing you’ve got all that music. That’ll make it easy.”
When they went back up on stage, Jake took the mike and asked, “What did you choose to hear?”
The answer came back loud and clear. And so Jake sang Love Me Tender and Goin’ Home again, putting a lot of soul into both. The cheering at the end was almost too loud and continued long enough to cause Nick to blush. Then the night was over.
= = =
They had to come up with a name for the band. ‘Oldies But Goodies’ was kicked around, as well as was ‘Young At Heart’, but neither seemed exactly right. Surprisingly, Peter advocated for keeping the name they already had: The Four Teens. Simple name, accurate, but best, it had a 50’s feel to it, he argued. None of the others thought it had enough pizzazz. It sounded like they weren’t clever enough to come up with something good, which Peter, with a grin on his face, said was just about right. They decided to keep thinking and stay with what they had till then.
They worked on ten different numbers for the following week. 50’s ballads tended to be fairly short, so it still wasn’t that much music to prepare. The four guys got along very well, and Jake invited them over to Mr. Scott’s house for a swim Friday night after the football game. They weren’t performing at the bar till the following Thursday. Thursdays would be their regular play date.
The football team lost on Friday, but the game was close against an opponent that was predicted to win big, now that Grady wasn’t playing. As it was a home game, Gary was able to come with the rest of the band to Mr. Scott’s house.
When they were all there, they had Cokes on the patio before swimming. Jake explained the house rules. “Okay guys, it’s like this. Uncle Greg, uh, Mr. Scott, talked to me about this when I came to live here. He swims nude. Jeremy comes over a lot and always swims that way, and I’ve gotten used to it, so I do, too. Uncle Greg is out tonight. It’s just us here. Now, none of you have to, but I’m going to swim nude, and anyone who doesn’t is a lily-livered, yellow-dog chicken. I don’t see why any of you would want to be that modest. I’m the one who should be worried about swimming with three ravenous gay guys, but I’m not. So, here goes.”
He stood up, stripped off, posed for them for a second with a smirk on his face, and then cannonballed into the water with a whoop. The other three looked at each other, grinned, and in a moment, all four were both nude and wet.
They played in the water for an hour and until exhaustion crept up on them. Peter was the first one out, and the others quickly followed. They discovered that Mr. Scott had returned home and gotten towels out for them all, then retired to his bedroom.
“We’ll have to make a habit of this,” Jake said while drying off and getting dressed again. “This is the most fun I’ve had in ages.”
The others soon left, but Gary stayed behind. He and Jake stayed on the patio, just talking, until they both began yawning. When it was time to say good night, they ended up staring at each other. Gary, finally, looking reluctant, said, “Good night, Nick,” and even then lingered. The feeling was strong in his heart to kiss Nick, and he thought Nick looked like he very much wanted him to. But instead, the two boys simply locked eyes for a moment, and then Gary left.
= = =
Ricco had tried watching the door that led from the school to the parking lot and then the side door where the kids who rode bikes came out. Nothing. He was starting to feel annoyed. It was time to return to New York. He had an appointment there with the guy who was responsible for checking his ankle monitor every two weeks, and the time was getting short. Yesterday he’d primarily watched the front door of the school again after watching the buses arrive in the morning. Today he was going to watch the side door for the bike riders. If that didn’t work, he had one more thing to do: he’d grab some kid, make him tell him who all the new kids were, then off him and go through the list of newcomers. How many boys could look like Derrick/Jake? Not many.
He was thinking this through, thinking he should probably grab two boys as his chances of success were doubled that way, when something happened he couldn’t believe: he spotted Jake. He saw him come out, get on a bike and ride away.
Suddenly Ricco had a decision to make. Run him down with his car and then drive off? That would work, but there were lots of cars on the road, and what if when he took off after the kill, some Good Samaritan decided to come after him? He’d have to shoot that guy, and, well, no. Too messy. No control at all over the situation. He was now in control, and there was no reason to take chances. This was what he was good at. And following his rules helped make him that way.
He decided to simply follow Jake, find out where he was living, then come back in the wee hours of the morning and go in and end the kid, leaving afterward as quiet as a mouse. If he was interrupted by anyone when he was in the house and was confronted, he’d put them down, too. He’d done this how many times? He couldn’t even count them. But he’d do it tonight. Then he’d be back in NYC, no one would be the wiser, and there’d be no trial. Without the kid to testify, they had nothing on him.
He watched as Jake rode away, then pulled out, did a U-turn when he had the chance and followed at a distance. Turned out Jake didn’t have more than a ten-minute ride. Ricco stopped down the street from where Jake lived. It was a residential neighborhood, and only a few people were out on the sidewalk. A woman was in her front yard, cutting back some bushes. A teenager was washing his car.
Ricco thought of driving off and returning at one or two in the morning, but then he had another thought. He really didn’t know if this was Jake’s house. What if it wasn’t? What if after he left, Jake did, too, and he wasn’t here when he returned?
No, he needed to stay, to wait to be sure Jake was still here when he wanted to go in. It was about four in the afternoon now. That meant he’d need to stay here watching for ten hours if he were to go in at 2 AM. He wasn’t prepared for that. He had nothing with him to eat, he’d have no bathroom breaks, and worst of all, Ruby would wonder where he and her car was.
No, he’d have to think this through. He had an address now. He could find out who lived here and whether the kid did just by asking a few innocent questions and using the computer. No reason to go at this in a half-assed manner. He just had to get more information. And gathering information was something he was good at.
He’d spotted his quarry. He knew he was here now; no more nagging doubt about that. He’d do his research, build a workable plan, and be done with the job by tomorrow at the latest. Off scot-free.
He pulled away from the curb and drove back to Ruby’s, opened his laptop and went to work.
= = =
It wasn’t hard for Ricco to learn the house belonged to a
Gregory Scott. Further searching showed Mr. Scott was employed by the Reston School System and worked as a guidance counselor at Prescott High School.
That, of course, didn’t mean that the kid was living with him. Perhaps the kid had ridden his bike there for an after-school counseling session. But Ricco knew how to find out. He got into the school’s student database again and searched the records for any students living at the address of Mr. Scott’s house.
Bingo! Nicholas Karras lived there! He was fifteen. So was the kid at the indictment, the kid who was either Derrick Winters or Jacob Delgado. He looked for a picture of Nicholas Karras but couldn’t find one. Then he looked for the school record of Nicholas and found he’d been enrolled as a freshman. That set Ricco back a little until he thought to look for the date of that data entry. It was this current week! Bingo again!
Why would a freshman who’d supposedly enrolled last year have his data entered this week? Because it was a fraud, that was why. Ricco was now 99% sure Derrick/Jake was now Derrick/Jake/Nicholas, and he was living in Gregory Scott’s house.
So why wait? He decided not to. He’d go in tonight. Then he had another thought. Perhaps he could do it earlier than that. He looked for recent activity on Mr. Scott’s email account. Then he smiled. Mr. Scott had made dinner reservations for two at a restaurant at the mall. Seven-thirty at the Stuffed Duck.
Perfect. That meant one of two things. Either Mr. Scott had a date, in which case Derrick/Jake/Nicholas would be alone in the house, or Mr. Scott was taking Derrick/Jake/Nicholas out to dinner. All Ricco had to do was be near the house at a little before seven and watch. Mr. Scott would drive out, headed for the mall, and Derrick/Jake/Nicholas would or would not be sitting next to him.
Easy as pie.
= = =
“Surprised the mall’s this busy this time of night,” Mr. Scott said
as he moved up the ramp from the second floor to the third. Both the first and second floors had no vacant spot to park. He was happy to see there were several places available on the third floor.
“Two stores are having clearance sales tonight, and a new movie is opening,” Jake told him as they headed for the door into the mall. A car passed them as they did, but neither of them gave it any notice.
“How in the world do you know that?”
Jake grinned, and Mr. Scott, taking a glance at him, marveled at how the boy had changed in such a short time. Now, he only caught glimpses of the closed-down boy who had come to him from New York. This boy was communicative and fun. Mr. Scott realized how much he enjoyed having Jake living with him, knew he’d miss Jake when he left, and hoped that damned trial would be held off for two or three years.
“I know a lot of kids at school now, and kids know everything that’s happening in town. I know the only reason you got a reservation tonight is because of me,” Jake said, sounding pleased with himself.
“Huh? You? What did you have to do with it?”
Jake grinned again. “The restaurant was overbooked, and because of what was going down here at the mall tonight, I figured it would be. I knew you were excited about taking me here, and when you told me you were going to email for a reservation, I guessed you’d be out of luck. But I thought I might be able to get us in, being the mover and shaker that I am.”
He stopped to laugh, then explained. “I called them before you sent in your email request. I asked for the owner, and luckily he was there; I told him you’d be calling in for a reservation. I knew the guy because I’d met him at the bar where I sang. He’d heard all the music we did at the bar as a teenager and loved it, both back then and now. He introduced himself after our set was done, and he told me if I ever wanted to eat at a fancy place—you know, for a special occasion or something—to give him a ring. Well, this was special for you, so . . . you got the reservation.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
Jake shook his head. “I’m getting to know the right people in this town.” He puffed up his chest and fake-polished and fake-admired his fingernails. “Maybe I’ll run for mayor someday.”
Mr. Scott was about to remind him that he wouldn’t be in this city that long but realized before he opened his mouth that that would kill the mood. So he merely said, “Well, thanks, I guess. You’ll like the food here. Probably the best restaurant in town.”
Their table was ready for them when they arrived. Mr. Scott went the whole nine yards, and it was after 8:30 when he tried to pay the check. The owner came over, told him the bill was covered, and how much he’d loved hearing Nick sing. The meals that evening were to show his appreciation and to bribe Nick to keep performing at the bar.
They walked to the elevator on the ground floor of the parking structure. An argument ensued, a playful one. Jake had been happy all day and was even more so now. He was completely full of good food and thoroughly relaxed. He looked at the elevator and the stairs next to it and said, “We‘re not taking this, are we? The stairs are right here, and a man of your age needs to work off some of that dinner. Besides, climbing the stairs will be quicker. By the time you push the button, the elevator doors close up on whatever floor it’s sitting, the elevator rumbles into motion, comes down here, stops, the doors slowly open, we get in and push the button, the doors close . . . well, the stairs are much faster. What, you’re getting too feeble to climb the stairs? It’s only two flights up. Good for you, too, and puts hair on your chest.”
Mr. Scott had already pushed the button, and the elevator doors had opened while Jake was speaking. Mr. Scott stepped in and said succinctly, “I don’t want hair on my chest. Ugh. Ride with me or walk. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Jake had laughed, taken a glance at the stairs, and stepped in beside Mr. Scott.
The third floor had been about two-thirds full of cars when they’d arrived, but there were far fewer now. They began walking to where Mr. Scott’s car was parked.
Jake saw there was a car parked close to theirs but didn’t think anything of it. As they approached their car, he started walking faster, moving up ahead of Mr. Scott. As he reached the passenger side of the car, the driver’s door of the car parked near theirs opened and a man stepped out. Jake saw him and froze. It felt like his heart had stopped. He recognized the man: Ricco.
The man had a smile on his face, a triumphant one, and a handgun with a long barrel in his hand. He raised it so it was pointing at Jake. “Sorry kid,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. Jake could do nothing but close his eyes.
Mr. Scott, a couple of steps behind Jake, saw what was happening. He didn’t hesitate at all. He took a quick stride forward and threw himself between Jake and the gunman.
Jake heard the explosive crack of two quick shots and felt himself knocked backward. He was slammed down onto the concrete. He was surprised he didn’t feel the pain in his chest he expected, but thought that maybe when you’re dying, you don’t really feel it. He did feel a heavy weight on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. Maybe he’d been hit in the lungs, maybe he was drowning in his own blood. It wouldn’t take long, he thought.
Then the weight seemed to lessen, and he was able to take a deep breath. Still no pain, except on his shoulders and the back of his head, both of which had hit the concrete first.
No sharp pain. It didn’t make sense. Then he realized his eyes were still closed. He opened them and saw Mr. Scott on the ground next to him. He wasn’t moving at all. Then, he slowly pulled his arms back from where they’d been stretched out in front of him and looked like he was trying to push himself up.
Jake remembered, now that he could think about it, catching a brief glimpse before his eyes were shut of Mr. Scott diving at him as the man with the gun was pulling the trigger.
Ricco! Jake quickly looked to where Ricco had been standing beside his car. The car was still there. Ricco was gone. Jake was still on the concrete floor. Now, he dropped his eyes and by looking beneath the car, saw a body. The body was lying on the floor where Ricco had been standing. The body was lying in an unnatural posture, lying very still and showing no signs of life.
Jake heard a noise and quickly looked over at Mr. Scott. Mr. Scott groaned, then tried to stand. He didn’t make it all the way up but collapsed back onto the concrete.
“You okay?” Jake asked, sudden panic in his voice. “Are you shot? Where were you hit? I’ll get help.” His voice was quivering now. He rose to his knees and reached for both his phone and Mr. Scott.
“No, no, not shot,” Mr. Scott said. “I banged my damned knee and elbow when I went down. Hit it hard. Hurts like the devil. Not sure I can stand on my leg, and moving my arm hurts. Give me a minute.”
Jake looked at him with awe in his eyes. “You tried to save me. You risked your life for me.”
Mr. Scott managed to look a little sheepish, but then sat up. “I wasn’t going to let him just shoot you. It was just a reaction, I imagine. I just saw what was happening and, well, reacted. I . . . I just . . .” He stopped, not knowing what else to say.
“But, but . . . you could have been killed. For me. Me.”
“Well, I wasn’t. I just wasn’t going to let you get shot. And you know, Jake? I think if it were to happen again, I’d do that exact same thing. Even having time to think about it.” He paused and shook his head, like he didn’t understand it any more than Jake did, but then he smiled, a very wan smile, and it was clear that he did understand.
“But what happened?” he finally was able to ask. “Someone must have shot that guy. That’s the only reason this guy didn’t come over and shoot us both when we were on the ground. Those shots we heard, they had to come from somewhere else. Someone else. So where is he?”
“I don’t know about the shooter, but the guy who was going to shoot us? The guy I saw murder someone in New York—his name is Ricco. And that’s him,” Jake said, pointing at the body.
Mr. Scott took a quick peek then tried to stand again. He made it up this time. He started to limp toward the car when he saw a man approaching. He was a tall man wearing jeans and a baseball cap, the bill pulled low enough that his eyes couldn’t be seen. He had a gun in his hand, but it was hanging and pointing toward the floor. Mr. Scott stopped. The man ignored Mr. Scott and Jake, walked up to the car, looked down at the body lying next to it, then squatted down and felt his carotid artery. He nodded and stood back up. “Might be the easiest thing for you two if you’d just get in your car and drive away. No reason to be involved here at all. No one saw this happen. You’re in the clear. But your choice. If you want to call the cops and go through all kinds of shit, that’s up to you. If you do do that, just one thing: best for all of us if you never saw me here.”
I, I’ve seen you before,” Jake said. “At the Bent nail, in the mall, a couple other places.”
The man smiled briefly, then looked around. There was no one in sight, no one running toward the sound of gunshots. The man looked back at Jake, gave him a quick nod, then walked away and within seconds was out of sight.
Mr. Scott and Jake looked at each other. Finally, Mr. Scott asked, “Who was that?”
“No idea. But I have noticed him around town some. Just a face in the crowd. Now and then, just glimpses. He was at the bar at a table all by himself when we played. Haven’t a clue who he is, but there is one thing.”
“What?”
“He has a New York accent.”
= = =
The WITSEC operator took the call. “Security. How may I direct your call?”
“Mildred Healy, please.”
“One moment.”
Then, “This is Mildred Healy.”
“It’s done.”
“The boy?”
“Safe.”
“Thanks.” Then she hung up.