“Perfect, just perfect,” Billie said. “We’ll be needing to leave the house now, though, before lover boy can’t make it out the door. Quinn, grab your guitar and let’s go.”
Quinn grinned at that, winking at Danni. “Billie, you could run ahead and—”
“Way more than I want to be thinking about,” Billie said. “Come on, let’s go. Before I do pick up my bagpipes.”
Billie had the sax that Tyler had left the night before. Quinn had his guitar. Danni had...
Looks to kill.
She paused before they left, though, turning to Wolf. “You protect the store and watch out for Bo Ray, okay, Wolf?”
He whined. He would do as he was told, but he wanted to go with them.
“Come on, let’s see how this goes,” Quinn said.
It was only a few blocks’ walk to the La Porte Rouge. It was early for a Friday night, but already Bourbon Street was booming. Couples, groups, the old and the young, wandered down the street. Some were three sheets to the wind already; this was a city where alcohol flowed freely. Some locals moved along briskly, going to or from work, long jaded when it came to the sins of the city they loved and going about their daily routines. A man in a white T-shirt and apron leaned against a wall that divided a pizza restaurant from a strip club. A sexy, scantily clad hostess leaned next to him, chatting as they took simultaneous cigarette breaks. A hawker passed them, advertising one-dollar beers.
When they arrived at La Porte Rouge, the band was already setting up. And, just as Tyler had promised, none of them seemed to mind that they would have company onstage for a few numbers.
Until they went on at nine thirty, new talent worked the stage as an “open mike” night. Between their sets, canned music played over the loudspeakers. There were already a dozen patrons in the bar, and Quinn knew the crowd was going to get heavy—it was a Friday night, after all.
Tyler left the other band members—Shamus, Blake and Gus—to finish setting up while he went over the list with Billie, Danni and Quinn. Tyler pointed out three numbers for which he thought “dueling saxes” would be fantastic. Quinn was set to play for the majority of the set. Just as Tyler turned to Danni with a deep grin, Shamus came walking up with a tambourine trailing colorful ribbons.
“You can be up there with us the whole time, Danni,” Tyler said.
“The backup mike is stage left,” Shamus told her. “You’ll have a sense of when to come in. Do it even if you’re faking it half the time. You’ll know the songs. We cover the most popular groups from the last few decades, a lot of eighties stuff. You’ll be fine.”
Danni looked at Quinn. He smiled.
Tyler and Shamus left them to do a sound check.
“Quit grinning at me,” Danni said to Quinn, sounding more than a little panicked.
“Hey, this could be a good tryout for us,” he said. “When all else fails, we may have a backup career here.”
Gus Epstein came over and slid onto a stool at the small table where they sat waiting. He must have heard Quinn, because he smiled at him sheepishly. “Great—more musicians in the city. Like we don’t have enough competition.”
“Trust me, I’m not competition,” Danni said.
“Trust me, all you have to do is stand there and you’re competition,” Gus said. He looked at Quinn and said, “Sorry—you have to manage the request list, make sure we’re all aware of any audience requests that come in, whatever.”
“I’ll deal with it,” Quinn assured him.
“And you...” Gus said, looking at Billie.
“Yeah? What about me?” Billie demanded.
“You’ve got style,” Gus said.
Billie grinned, and they all laughed.
But then Tyler wandered back over, looking serious. “We’re glad you’re here.”
“Really glad,” Gus said quietly. He looked around, as if he was afraid they might be overheard. “I mean, first we lost Arnie, and now, two musicians killed, right in their homes. Hell, yeah, I’m glad we’ve got a cop here,” he said, meeting Quinn’s eyes.
“I’m not a cop,” Quinn said.
“You’re like a cop, you were a cop, and it’s good to have you onstage looking out for us.”
As they sat there, everyone suddenly silent, Jessica served another table and then came up to them. Quinn noted that Danni greeted her warmly, as if they were old friends. Jessica’s eyes were bright, and she told them with a pleased smile that all soft drinks and bottled water were on the house, and that Eric, the bartender, had told her to tell them that they were welcome to domestic draft beers, as well.
Quinn thanked her and waved to Eric. He was pouring a shot for a customer at the bar, but he smiled and nodded.
“Well, this is it—time to do or die,” Tyler said.
“Don’t say die,” Gus told him.
“Does ‘break a leg’ work?” Jessica asked, grinning.
Shamus joined them. “Tyler, you doing the intros?”
“I am,” Tyler said, getting up.