Blues in the Night Read Online Free PDF Page A

me.’
    â€˜Rear door it is,’ Mace said. ‘If Paulie or anybody else asks, you haven’t seen me. OK?’
    â€˜You can trust me, Mace. Honest Abe,’ he said as he moved off to meet the new pop wonderboy.
    Mace had a vague feeling that he’d made a mistake coming to Abe. He’d always been a stand-up guy, but people changed. He watched the lanky aging entrepreneur approach the shorter, younger newcomer and do that hand-slap bullshit.
    What the hell. If he had been stupid to seek Abe’s help, it was too late to do anything about that now. And what was the worst that could come of it?
    He made his exit through the club’s rear door.

FIVE
    A be’s mind was spinning as fast and erratically as a Tijuana roulette wheel. Had he kept a game face or had Mace been able to read a reaction to the bitch’s name?
    No. He’d been cool. He was Abe, for Christ’s sake.
    He put on his fixed grin and moved in past Jerry Monte’s two beasts of burden to high five the tanned, diminutive superstar who was dressed in the tattered, soiled style known as homeless chic.
    â€˜Jesus, it’s like a meat locker in here,’ Jerry Monte said. ‘I can see my breath.’
    â€˜I’ll bring it up a few degrees,’ Abe said, though he had no intention of doing so. He liked it cold.
    â€˜Some crowd, huh?’ Jerry Monte said. His spiked jet-black hair had been given a blueberry tint since their last meeting. ‘My net geeks got everything goin’?’
    â€˜We’ll be blasting broadband in exactly fifteen minutes,’ Abe said, hoping it was true. He left that end of things up to the Geek Chorus, the two sullen men and one sullen woman who worked for Monte and handled the Empourium’s web site and its accoutrements. They usually got the job done.
    â€˜There’s this freaking incredible poem this broad works at the Hyatt in Orlando tipped me to. It’s called ‘Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bright.’ That’s t- y -g-e-r. By this dude named William Blake.’
    â€˜Bobby’s dad?’ Abe asked, and was immediately annoyed with himself for snarking at the wrong time and at definitely the wrong person.
    But he need not have been concerned.
    Jerry Monte was oblivious to the sarcastic nature of the question. ‘I kinda doubt it,’ he said. ‘This Blake’s from, like, ancient times. A, what do you call it, an ancestor of Bobby’s, maybe. Anyway, he’s written this mind-blowin’ masterpiece. I got Blaine and Richards workin’ on a melody. But I’m giving it a lyrics-only try-out tonight.’
    â€˜I’m looking forward to it,’ Abe said.
    Monte scanned the room. ‘Angie pull a no-show again?’
    â€˜She left word saying she was sorry,’ Abe said, wondering if Mace’s ignorance of Monte had been a put-on. ‘She promised to tune in, though.’
    Monte shrugged. He winked at a brunette at a table to their right. ‘I think I see a stand-in,’ he said.
    The brunette looked to be possibly twenty-one, pretty in a semi-Goth way. Black blouse and short skirt. Black lipstick and fingernails. But no piercing or tattoos that Abe could see. She was sitting with two other girls, also attractive, but not quite as promising.
    â€˜Hi, ladies,’ he said, approaching their table. ‘I’m Honest Abe, proprietor and master of revels. Welcome to the Empourium.’
    The brunette’s name was Katie. Her two friends were Joanie and Tess. They seemed friendly enough to bring the category ‘new meat’ to mind.
    â€˜Jerry likes to have the most beautiful ladies present right in front of the stage,’ he said. ‘It inspires him to . . . greatness. So, allow me to invite you to the numero uno table.’
    â€˜We’re fine here,’ Katie said, surprising him.
    â€˜Oh, Katie,’ Tess said. ‘It’ll be fun.’
    â€˜Fun it will be,’ Abe said.