This Girl Who Was A Ghost, page 11
part #2 of Near Future Series
“Sam, most pros specialize in one area. This way they know the ins and outs of acquiring and selling the item.”
“I was going to sell it to you.”
“If you’re talking about a Stradivarius, that’s out of my price range.”
“Never thought about that.” Sammy scanned the place, not somewhere a million bucks would be stashed. “Don’t know anything, do I?”
“That’s a start.”
“Not knowing anything?”
“Knowing you don’t know anything.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel good?”
“If you want to feel good, I know a fortuneteller who will give you vague rosy predictions for twenty bucks.”
“I’m not a sucker.”
“Didn’t say you were,” Arnie said, nodding toward the violins. “Still want one?”
“Don’t know.”
He lifted a violin off the wall. “Here. Maybe it’ll help you figure it out.”
Sammy held it gingerly. It was covered in dust. “Did you ever clean this thing?”
“The cleaning bot took off the first chance it got.” Arnie shuffled back behind the counter and threw her a rag. “Have a ball.”
Sammy ran the rag over the strings and along the neck. The tuning guy would have his work cut out for him trying to get this thing tuned. “It wouldn’t hurt to fix this place up a little bit, Arnie.”
“Who says?”
“Wouldn’t you get more customers?”
“I’d get the wrong customers.” Arnie dropped to the stool. “Plus more cops busting my balls, or some jarhead with an automatic trying to rob me.”
Sammy flipped over the rag and wiped down the body. “You forgot to mention some old lady selling a ring for cat food.”
“That falls under wrong customers.”
Sammy held up the violin. “Clean enough?”
“Now it’s priced out of your range.”
“What?”
He grinned, reaching under the counter. “Maybe you’re a natural.” He offered her a stick with a string stretched along its length.
Sammy had seen people playing in the park and tried to remember what they did. She rested the base of the violin on her shoulder, but it kept sliding back.
“You tuck it under your chin.”
She placed the violin on her chest and dropped her chin over it.
Arnie waved her over. “Let me show you.” He placed the base slightly forward to the side of his neck and held the other end with his left hand, fingers pressed on the strings. “That’s how you hold it.” He laid the violin on the counter and picked up the stick. “This is called the bow. The string is called the hair, and you hold it by the end part called the frog.”
“Are you making this up?”
He shook his head.
“Let’s see you play it,” Sammy said.
He picked up the bow and violin. “Be warned if your ears start bleeding.” He began to play, slow at first, and then he picked up the tempo.
Sammy thought it sounded okay.
Arnie put the violin on the counter and the bow on top. “No bleeding?”
“It looked like you knew what you were doing.”
“You try.”
“I’m sure it won’t sound good.”
“Maybe you’ll surprise yourself. Worst case, you’ll clear the building of rats.”
Sammy tucked the violin under her chin just like how he’d showed her and grabbed the frog, running the hair over the strings. She moved the bow every which way to get a decent sound out of it, but nothing was working.
Arnie waved her to stop.
“Couldn’t find a decent sound.”
“I think you chased all the decent sounds out of the city.”
Sammy shoved the violin and bow across the counter. “Said I didn’t know anything about music.”
“Some people pick it up right away, some need to take lessons, lots of lessons.” He swung the bow like a pendulum. “I took lessons until the teachers were paying me to stay away.”
“Is that how you bankrolled this place?”
He grinned. “Something like that.”
The front door slammed and two guys strode in, one middle-aged, the other in his twenties. Were they cops?
Arnie grimaced. “This clown.”
“Don’t let the decor fool you,” the middle-aged guy said with a smirk. “Half of everything that’s stolen goes through this dump.”
The younger guy studied the display casement along the side as if he were going to be tested on it.
“Why does Arnie the snake still get to slither around, you may ask? Because there isn’t a hole small enough he won’t slither into.”
Sammy turned back to Arnie. “Who’s this dick?”
Arnie cast his gaze onto the violin, tapping the bow on the counter. He shoved the violin and bow toward her. “Play it.”
“What?”
“Keep playing it. No matter what I say, you keep playing it.”
Sammy picked up the violin and stroked the strings with the bow, trying to get a decent sound. A couple of the strokes sounded halfway decent. “I’m getting better, right?”
The older guy stepped behind her. “Okay, that’s enough, kid.”
Kid? Sammy leaned into the strings a little too hard, making a shrill sound.
The guy squirmed. “Jesus, enough already.”
“I’m trying to get better.”
“Try it without strings.”
Need strings to play it. Sammy turned from him, causing the bow to run away. The sound rattled her teeth.
“Make her stop!”
“Give me the violin, Susie,” Arnie said. “It still needs to be tuned.”
“You mean destroyed.”
The guy was pissing her off, and Arnie was running a con. She gripped the bow too tight, letting out a screech.
“If you don’t take it from her, I will.”
“I’d tread lightly there, Sergeant.”
Cops? The violin screeched again.
A pained expression flashed over Arnie’s smirk. “She’s Judge Daniels’s niece. I’m the only place in the city that has any Clemson bows.”
What was he mixed up with? Was he trying to get her arrested? Sammy hit another shrill note.
“I’m getting a migraine,” the middle-aged guy said. “Let’s get out of here.”
The door slammed shut. Arnie laughed, pounding the counter. “You were great, Sam.”
Sammy dropped the violin and bow on the counter. “You didn’t tell me they were cops.”
“What are you worried about? To them you were some kid playing a violin badly.”
“Said I didn’t know anything about music.”
“I should’ve made a recording of that, and every time I smell a cop, I’ll blast it out. It’ll send them running like light to a cockroach.”
“Funny.”
“What are you mad at?”
“Forget it.”
“Wait. You weren’t trying to play bad?”
“You said play it. I had some good notes until that cop got on my nerves.”
Arnie grinned. “If it’s any consolation, you got on his nerves too.”
“I wanted to hit him over the head with it.”
“Would’ve been the best use of the instrument.”
Sammy plucked the string. It sounded better than anything she’d heard so far. “So you don’t think I should do this heist?”
Arnie shrugged. “Just because you can’t play it, doesn’t mean you can’t steal it. And if you do, I know a guy or two who can help you move it.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know anything about music.”
“So you learn.” He shoved the violin toward her. “Take it. If you decide not to do it, bring it back, and I’ll give you something else for the bracelet.”
Sammy ran her finger along the side of the neck. “I need the case more than the violin.”
He nodded and went into the back.
Sammy plucked the string. She’d do better without the stupid bow.
Arnie loaded the violin and bow into the case and handed it to her. “Trust your gut, kid. If you don’t feel right, walk away.”
“I’m not a kid.”
He dropped down on his stool and shoved a toothpick into his mouth.
Chapter Twenty-Five
________________________________________
Sammy slogged from the bus stop to the concert hall, wearing the long dress she used for Xanadu with the chest pinned back. Cindy offered to do her makeup, but she was supposed to be thirteen, not twenty-three. A truck was backed into a service entrance, unloading crates. There were no bots in sight, just two guys with hand trailers. Sammy scooted around to the other side of the truck. This might be the best chance to steal the Stradivarius.
A guy in a suit, looking a little too slick, stood toe to toe with a guard blocking the entrance. “You want to be responsible for canceling the show?”
“Sorry, sir, but I can’t admit flammable materials into the building.”
“Let me make this as clear as I can for you—no fire, no show.”
The guard’s expression turned dark. “I understand, but that doesn’t change our policy.”
“I want to speak to Tate.”
“She’s been notified.”
“If she’s not here in ten minutes, I’m packing up and canceling the show.” The guy in the suit spun around and marched to the side of the truck.
One of the hand-trailer guys followed him. “You’re still going to pay me, right?”
“They’ll let us in.”
“I didn’t hear a yes, Mort. Took a lot of time setting this up.”
“It’s the smallest venue in the city. If they cancel this, they’ll look even smaller.”
“If I don’t get paid, I’ll burn your shorts with you in them. You’ll know what hot is.”
Mort turned back, then leaned into the guy. “You just worry about burning that violin.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“I’m talking dust here.”
The hand-trailer guy sighed. “It’ll be unrecognizable.”
“And I want it contained. Nobody gets hurt.”
“Burning it that hot and quick comes with no guarantees.”
“Are you with the New Hope program, young lady?”
Sammy jumped. A tall lady with a regal disposition and dressed in dark trousers and a beige shirt towered over her. “Yeah, I’m—”
“You’re supposed to be inside by now.”
Mort and the hand-trailer guy crept around to the front of the truck.
Sammy nodded to the entrance. “I’m going in right now.”
“That’s the south entrance,” the lady said. “You’re supposed to go in through the east entrance. Didn’t you get the memo?”
Mort studied her badge, which gave Sammy the creeps. “I’m sure Paolo will want to hear you play, Amanda Ryan.”
The tall lady waved a guard over. “Jerald, could you show Miss Ryan to the east entrance? I don’t want her to get lost.”
The guard escorted her to the side of the building and up the steps, and even opened the door for her.
Sammy watched the guard leave and wondered if she should follow. Her gut was telling her to get the hell out of there unless she wanted to end up like one of Golden Boy’s marshmallows.
“Are you with New Hope?” The voice had an edge of annoyance.
It was the bulldog. Sammy thought of saying no and bolting out of there.
The bulldog spotted the name tag, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled Sammy through the lobby. “You can’t be loitering. We have important people coming.”
“Wouldn’t want to scare them away.”
The bulldog released her grip. “Then stay with your group.”
Kids and parents huddled in the narrower lobby about twenty feet away from the meeting rooms. Clara stood in the middle of the throng, looking a bit overwhelmed.
The bulldog waved as if she were paddling frantically. “Clara, get them inside.”
Clara nodded with a pained expression.
“Go ahead,” the bulldog said, nodding to Sammy to move along. “And don’t go wandering around the lobby.”
Sammy trudged toward the group, wanting to send the bulldog sprawling to the floor. She’d tell Clara about the fire, and then she’d get out of there.
Clara stepped up to Sammy, her pained expression heightened by a forced smile. “There seems to be a problem here.”
“You got that right.”
“This girl claims to be Amanda Ryan also. Do you have a copy of your invitation?”
Sammy swallowed. She hadn’t expected that. “I’m Amanda Bryan. Thought they just got the name wrong.”
“Do you have your invitation?”
Sammy shook her head. “Didn’t think I needed it.”
Clara looked out past her as if searching for someone to come to her rescue.
Sammy unclipped the badge and handed it to her. “If she’s Amanda Ryan, then she should have it.”
Clara took it gingerly, biting her lip. “I’m sorry, but we only have twelve open slots.”
Sammy didn’t care about that now. “I got to tell you something about the show.”
“Yes?”
“They’re going to start a fire and burn a violin into dust.”
“As part of the show?”
“I don’t know, but people could get hurt because it’s got to be real hot.”
“I’m sure they know what they’re doing.”
“It didn’t sound legit to me.”
Clara pursed her lips with a knowing nod as if Sammy had made it up or got it wrong.
The tall lady and Mort strolled up to them from the other side of the group. Hand-trailer Guy came up behind them. He searched until his gaze found Sammy. If she had those long hands now, she’d reach out and wring his neck.
“Is this the next group of up-and-coming stars?” Mort asked.
Tall Lady wore a reserved smile well. “These are the finalists in our New Hope group. Clara Byrne is the chief coordinator for the program.”
Mort shook her hand and introduced himself. “I’ve already met one of your finalists, Amanda Ryan,” he said, pointing to Sammy.
Clara glanced back at Sammy with a pained smile. “I’m afraid there was a little bit of a mix-up.”
Tall Lady stepped forward. “What type of mix-up?”
“This is Amanda Bryan, not Ryan.”
“I’ll have Paxton look into this.”
“I hope this won’t deter us from hearing from the young lady?” Mort asked.
Clara sighed. “We only have twelve slots open.”
“So add another one. Make it a lucky thirteen. I’ve always found thirteen to be a lucky number.”
Tall Lady nodded to Clara.
“You’re in, Amanda,” Clara said. “Isn’t that great?”
“Yeah, great.” Just in time for a barbecue.
Mort turned to Tall Lady. “Paolo wants to meet them in the room off the stage.”
“The holding room?”
“He should be here soon, so why don’t all the kids head over there.”
The kids left the warm embrace of their parents and shuffled along the lobby, banging violin cases against bony knees. The parents bunched outside the meeting room, choking the lobby for the well-heeled patrons. They looked like tattered refugees, watching the last boat leave without them.
Hand-trailer Guy popped out of some hole, walking lockstep with Sammy.
“So what do you and Mort the snake have planned?”
“Keep walking, kid.”
Why would they want to burn a violin? Uncle Danny used to say there are two types of lightning strikes: lucky and planned. “Insurance? Is that why you’re going to burn that violin?”
“Shut up and keep walking.”
Stradivarius? “Going to burn the Stradivarius?”
He wrenched her arm just above her elbow. “You got a big mouth, kid.”
People have been known to do a lot of things for four million bucks, and Sammy didn’t like the ideas that were coming to her.
The kids crowded around the door to the holding room. Clara stood by as they filed into the room one by one.
“Clara, I—”
He yanked her arm. Something sharp pricked her back. “Say something else and that’ll get a lot sharper.”
Clara cocked her head to one side, waiting for Sammy to finish. “Yes, Amanda?”
“She wanted to know if you can get her a name badge,” Hand-trailer Guy said, tightening his grip.
“Oh, of course.”
“I’ll make sure they all get in while you get the badge.”
Clara nodded, sidestepping the remaining few by the door.
Yeah, this was a trap all right, and she had to get out before it sprang closed on her. Sammy switched hands on the violin and swung it at Hand-trailer’s head. He released his grip, careening against the open door. “It’s a trap! Run!”
All the kids stared at her, dumbfounded.
The door slammed into her, knocking her into the room. Her head pounded and her arm burned. He must’ve gotten her with the knife.
“They left us in this room with the nut,” someone whispered from the other side of the room.
“We have to all stick together,” another said.
Were they talking about her? They were line up against the back wall, holding their violin cases out in front like a barricade.
Sammy leaned back against the door. Her arm was bleeding like she’d thought. “The nut’s on the other side of the door.”
“There’s twelve of us.”
“You can count.”
“We’re sticking together, right?” They all nodded with ghostly expressions.
They’d all be ghosts if they didn’t get out of there soon. She turned the knob. It was locked. “Check to see if the other door’s locked.”
No one budged.
“If you can open it, I’ll go.”
One kid broke off from the group. He was the one who made the quip about her wanting to play the Stradivarius. “Keep an eye on her.”
It was locked also. “Why would they lock us in here? Did you think about that?”
“Because you’re nuts.”
“So they locked me in here with the twelve of you?” Sammy chuckled. She felt giddy for some reason. “Guess they don’t think too much of you.”
