Voice (9 page)

“Down along the ditches
On a road headed out of town
I’m walking with my head held high
Face to the wind, and collar down

“If I leave now the world might kill me
But I won’t stay here and go to rust
Go to rust
Go to rust”

Now he was sure. His voice
was
different. It was stronger, and there was something else in there, underneath, something powerful that coiled and stretched and waited for release. His singing voice wouldn’t win any awards yet, but he thought that might be a whole different story if he could figure how to let that
something
loose.

John sang until late in the night.

Case woke up already late for work. She’d had awful dreams all night, and it had taken until five or six in the morning for her to drift into a slumber that was actually restful. Either she’d forgotten to set the alarm, or she’d turned it off in her sleep and then forgotten about that, but in any case she was twenty minutes late for work when she picked her head up off the pillow and squinted at the clock.

She swore, got up, and checked the closet. It was empty. Of course. She had planned to do laundry this morning before work. She grabbed some clothes off the floor at random. It was only after she’d gotten her T-shirt on that she thought a shower might be a good idea. She froze in the act of putting on her jeans, thinking. Show up even later, or skip the shower?

“Fuck it,” she said. She pulled her jeans on, finger-combed her hair, and took off.

I’ll be glad if we ever make any money off the band,
she thought as she drove to the restaurant. She’d heard of a couple of local acts that pulled in over a thousand dollars a night—that was a lot of hours she wouldn’t have to wait tables. That made her think about the show, and she sighed. They were a long way off from a thousand dollars a night.

Gonna have to change a few things, I think.

She was still thinking about what to do with the band when she arrived at the restaurant. She rushed inside and headed to the back to get her stupid apron and name tag.

“About time,” her manager said as she walked past him. He had a tray in his hand and sweat on his face. “Good thing for you we’re shorthanded today, or I’d send you right back home.”

She nodded without slowing down and went back to suit up.

The lunch rush was in full swing. They gave her a couple of tables that had been waiting too long, pretty much guaranteeing she’d get lousy tips.
It’s my own damn fault
, she reminded herself, but that didn’t do much to put a smile on her face either.

The one good thing about the lunch rush was that she was too busy to be bored. Her manager hadn’t been kidding—they were shorthanded today, since two other waitstaff hadn’t shown up besides her. Busy was good, though. The final tally for lunch was two fucked-up orders, one spilled lemonade, and forty-six bucks in tips. Could have been worse.

By two, things had calmed down. Usually by the end of a busy shift she felt surly and hostile at the world, but this time she felt all right. She chalked that up to relief that she hadn’t gotten fired, and that she’d made a little money despite showing up late. 

At the end of the afternoon, she hung up her apron. A couple of the other servers were talking nearby. Case didn’t pay them a lot of attention. She overheard something about a mugging, or at least a frightening encounter in a dark alley. One of the girls was complaining about the dangers of moving to the city, and Case allowed herself a little grin.
Welcome to the jungle,
she thought, and she turned to go.

“I was really scared,” one of the women said. Case had worked a lot of shifts with her before, but couldn’t remember her name. Work was a place you went, made your money, and got the hell out, not a social convention. She never seemed to have anything to say to these people anyway. Case brushed past her, and she didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t know, I’m thinking about taking karate or something.”

Case stopped in midstride. “Oh no,” she said. “Krav Maga.”

The two women stared at her in surprise. The one who had been mugged—or threatened, or something; Case hadn’t been paying attention—gave her a funny smile. “Huh? Was that English?”

Case was almost as surprised as they were. “Actually, no,” she said. “It’s Hebrew, I think.”

“Hebrew for . . .?”

Case blinked. “I don’t know.” She felt awkward. This conversation hadn’t been on the schedule, and mostly she just wanted to go home. “It’s a martial art, a really nasty one developed in Israel. If you’re serious about learning self-defense, start there.”

“How come?”

“Karate’s not all that practical. It’ll keep you in shape, but it’s not really about self-defense most of the time. It’s become a tournament sport, and you’re not going to square off in an alley and fight for points. Besides that, there’s a lot of punching and kicking—it relies on strength quite a bit. You’re what, five-two, one-ten?”

The woman looked confused for a moment, but she caught up. “Something like that,” she said.

“Yeah. Even a little skinny man will have a big advantage on you in both reach and overall strength, particularly upper-body strength. If you go toe-to-toe with him in a straight fight, you
will
lose.”

She felt like she’d just given a speech, but the woman looked curious rather than annoyed. “I knew it couldn’t just be as easy as it looks in the movies.”

“Not even close. A typical woman is not likely to win a fair fight with a man. So you learn Krav Maga.”

“So it’s Hebrew for ‘knee him in the groin and run,’ then?”

Case laughed. “Actually, that’s part of the training. Krav Maga isn’t a strength-based martial art. It’s about knowing where and how to attack to do the most damage. It teaches you how to hurt somebody badly enough that they leave you the hell alone, and quickly enough that you don’t get hurt too much in the process.”

The other woman nodded, looking impressed. “I’m Erin,” she said. “This is Danielle.”

“Case.”

“Where’d you learn all this?”

Case shrugged. “My old man. He wanted to make damn sure I could take care of myself, so he taught me a lot of stuff himself. I liked it, so I did a little martial arts for a while.” She had done more than a little—she had trained for years, until she’d broken a finger in a tournament fight. That had brought both martial arts and guitar playing to a terrifying halt, and she’d spent weeks praying her finger would heal straight. After that episode, she’d done most of her training solo, just to keep in shape.

Case paused and looked from one of the women to the other. “I can show you a few things, if you want.”

Erin smiled with genuine enthusiasm, and Danielle, though skeptical, nodded. “Let’s go.”

“What, now?”

“Sure. We’re just about ready to leave.”

Case checked her watch. She had a couple of hours before band practice, and she was in a lot less hurry to leave than she had been. “Yeah, okay.”

***

Case had a surprisingly good time. The three women went to the parking lot in back of the restaurant, and she taught some of the basics—how to break a hold, how to escape a choke, and, yes, how to kick someone in the groin effectively (“Use your whole shin, not the tip of your toe”). Erin jumped right in, asked a lot of questions, and seemed to take it very seriously. Danielle was more reluctant. She gave the impression that she thought this was all faintly foolish, and she kept looking around as if she was afraid somebody would see her. At first, Case wanted to yell at her.
Don’t you see, this stuff is important!
But she let it go. If Danielle wanted to be somebody’s damsel in distress, that was her problem. If she was lucky, there would always be somebody there to rescue her.

Before long, Danielle was sitting on the sidelines, fanning herself with her hand. Erin was asking for more, demanding that Case show her a certain move over and over again.

Case eventually gave up, laughing. “You’ll have to practice it by yourself for a while. Keep trying.” She watched Erin go through the motions a few times. The shadows, she realized, were getting long. She checked her watch.

“Hey, I’ve gotta go,” she said. “I’m gonna be late for practice.”

“That’s hardcore,” Erin said, panting. “Out here with us for two hours, and then you’re going to train somewhere else?”

“Band practice, actually.”

“Oh. A woman of many talents. Cool.” Erin wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “You going to be around tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Double shift.”

“Cool. See you then.”

Case left smiling.

***

“Have fun,” Gina said. She didn’t look up from the legal brief she was poring over, just wrinkled her brow and stuck her pen back in her mouth.

Danny leaned over and kissed her, pen and all, and he was rewarded with her laughter. She put a hand on his chest and playfully pushed him away. “Go on, get outta here,” she said, affecting a Brooklyn accent. “Ya botherin’ me.”

Danny laughed. “You bet,” he said. “Need me to pick anything up on my way back?”

“Nope. I think we’re all right.”

“Okay. See you later.”

His grin faded as he went out to the car. Gina was a first-year associate at a big local law firm, so she was always working. He had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, she never complained about his practice schedule or his late-night shows. On the other, she never had time to do anything with him anymore. She’d never been the partying type and didn’t really care for rock music or cigarette smoke, so it was no big deal that she never came out to his shows, but he wished she had time to do
something
with him. She’d had more time in law school, it seemed like.

Oh, well. There was nothing to be done for it. She was the woman he loved, and that was that. No couple was perfect.

He swung by and picked up John. He usually parked at the curb and went up to pound on the door, but tonight John was waiting out on the sidewalk for him. Danny pulled up, and John shouldered his backpack and got in. He looked good, and he wore a smirk Danny had learned to recognize over the years.
I know something you don’t,
it said.

“What’s up?” Danny asked.

“Nothing. Couldn’t be better.”

“Uh-huh,” Danny said, but John didn’t say another word, just looked out the window and tapped his foot with the music on the radio. 

They got to the practice room early so Danny could set up, since he’d just dropped off the kit after getting back and gone home. The drums and hardware were still on the floor in the corner.

John paced while Danny set up, and it sounded like he was singing quietly to himself. He jumped when the door opened.

Case came in with Quentin just behind her. While everyone else went through their normal rituals of setting up, she just stood her guitar case up in front of her, crossed her arms, and watched. Danny whacked the floor tom a couple of times, decided it was tuned well enough, and looked at her.

She looked back at him, and he felt that familiar tingle in his gut. She always seemed to be evaluating him with that look, and try as he might, he kept wondering if he was coming up short. He didn’t think so. Sometimes that look was positively hungry. He thought of Gina, and he was glad there were other people in the room.

“What’s on your mind?” he said.

Case spoke slowly. “What did you all think of the show the other night?”

“It was all right,” Quentin said.

“Jesus,” John said, and the grin faded from his lips. He scuffed the floor with his shoe. Everyone waited for a moment, but that seemed to be all the contribution he wanted to make.

“I thought we did a good job,” Danny said. “We were tight, and we played well. The crowd seemed to like it.”

Case shook her head. “There isn’t shit going on in Wichita Falls. I think that crowd would have turned out for somebody belching into a microphone in four-four time.”

“Why don’t you tell us what
you
thought of the show, then?” John asked.

“I’ll tell you what I think—I think our material needs some fucking help.”

Danny winced and looked to John. Sure enough, John had stood up a little straighter, cocked his head, and put his hands on his hips. He’d never been particularly receptive to criticism.

“What do you want, Case?” John asked. “If you don’t like the songs, then what are you doing here?”

She raised her eyebrows and gave him a bland look.
You done?
it asked, as loudly as if she’d shouted. He broke eye contact.

“John,” she began, and she took a deep breath. “Most of these tunes are four chords long, because you wrote them on an acoustic guitar, and you only know how to play a dozen chords total. We’ve worked them up quite a bit, but they’re boring as fuck to play, and they’re boring to listen to.”

“Whoa, there!” Danny cut in before John could react. “I think what she means to say is that we’ve done all we can do with the songs as they are. They’re good songs and all,” he shot a warning look at Case, though he was virtually sure she wouldn’t get it, “but we might want to try some other things.”