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“And All That Jazz” was a short-listed entry in our recently concluded 66th Short Fiction Contest, and is published with the consent of the author.
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And All That Jazz
by BV Lawson
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…..The winds were blowing out of the east, and Scott Drayco thought he could just hear a wailing sound carried on the breeze. He continued his run past the Tidal Basin and the Washington Monument heading toward Capitol Hill, but he was so focused on the sound he didn’t see the shiny-new red car that came within inches of putting him in the hospital. Or worse.
…..The shiny-new car pulled into one of the shiny-new office buildings popping up along Mass Ave. The driver hadn’t bothered to see if he was okay, not terribly surprising since Capitol Hill was the capital of self-absorption. Drayco stopped long enough to catch his breath and continued toward his target.
…..It was just a bit after noon, and he now distinctly heard the musical sounds wafting in his direction from their usual place. Being outdoors kicked his synesthesia brain into high gear—with every noise hitting him with an explosion of colors, shapes, and textures—but the music from the saxophone cut a colorful path through it all. To his ears, most saxophones were like fuzzy caterpillars with magenta spikes, but this one was different, better. More like a crumbled azure chalk dust formed into fan shapes.
…..He drew closer and spied the musician seated against the building, surrounded by his backpack, a lone water bottle, and an upturned cap with a few dollars and some change inside. Not too far away stood a metal shopping cart filled with plastic bags of clothes, another backpack, and the other few possessions the musician pushed around with him from place to place.
…..As Drayco neared, the musician stopped playing, prompting Drayco to say, “Abiram, you didn’t have to stop.”
…..“Well, now, Dee-teck-tive Scott, can’t exactly ignore my best customer, can I?” The voice of Abiram Fox also had an unusual coloration, like turquoise gravel. He and the sax were a perfect match in more ways than one.
…..Drayco shook his head. “I don’t know about the ‘best’ part. But your wailing on that sax is like some kind of saxophone god. Reminds me of John Coltrane.”
…..“Oh, now, you’re just being an idle flatterer. But, if you really like it,” Abiram picked up the cap and gave it a little jiggle, making the coins inside clink together.
…..Drayco grinned and tossed in some twenties. When he saw a shadow looming off to his side, he turned to see a ten-year-old boy hanging back and watching. Drayco said, “I see you around here a lot, Fitch. Are you a sax fan?”
…..The boy nodded. “Used to listen to my granddaddy’s Charlie Parker records. Abiram here is better.”
…..Abiram gave a little half-bow from his seated spot, and Drayco asked Fitch, “Do you have a request for our saxophone master?”
…..Fitch looked from Drayco to Abiram with a shy smile. “‘Just Friends’ is one of my favorites.”
…..The audience of two, man and boy, stood in admiration as Abiram belted out a note-perfect rendition of the piece, and when he finished, they applauded. The musician bowed again, and Drayco tossed in another twenty.
…..Fitch said, “You should play at Blues Alley or maybe the Kennedy Center.”
…..Abiram’s face grew pensive. “Well, now, I don’t know about that. I do recollect when I was about your age, I used to go to Carter Barron over in Rock Creek. Heard the likes of Ella Fitzgerald, Stan Getz, Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Ray Charles. Always thought I might be up on that stage one day.”
…..“I’ll bet you still could.”
…..“Ah, young Fitch, that was another lifetime ago. But I don’t mind. I’d play just for myself if nobody else was around.” He asked the boy, “You thought of taking up sax playing? Bet you’d be a natural.”
…..Fitch’s smile faded. “Can’t afford one. And they canceled the program at school. Used to have instruments they loaned to kids like me.”
…..Abiram shook his head. “Well now, that there’s a crying shame.”
…..A faint voice in the distance calling Fitch’s name made the youth give the two men a wave and dash off into the nearby alleyway. Abiram leaned up against the building. “Yep, a crying shame. Too bad his daddy lost his job. Leastways, the boy still looks up to him no matter what. That says a lot right there.”
…..Drayco didn’t have to ask Abiram what he meant because the man had offered up past clues about his own estranged son. They hadn’t spoken in years, though Drayco sensed it wasn’t due to any lack of desire on Abiram’s part. Quite the opposite, since Abiram always had a haunted look in his eyes when the topic of the son came up.
…..Just then, Drayco got a sudden whiff of hot, sweaty cotton, à la baked Drayco, and took that as his cue to finish his trek back to his townhome and a waiting shower. After he toweled off, he called up a recording off the internet of Charlie Parker playing “Just Friends.” Fitch was right—Abiram was better, and Parker was no slouch.
…..The strains of the piece followed Drayco over the next week as he got involved in another case with its usual long days and late nights. When he finally got a breather, he decided to check up on his favorite saxophone player again and see how he was doing.
…..But when Drayco arrived, Abiram was sitting against the building, his instrument nowhere in sight. “Taking a break for a few minutes, Abiram?”
…..The man shook his head sadly. “It’s gone, Dee-teck-tive Scott.”
…..“What’s gone? Your sax?”
…..“Was at my usual night spot couple nights ago. The railroad underpass at the Second and L bridge. Hadn’t put up my tent. Too hot. Just a blanket. Woke up, and the case and sax were gone.”
…..“You didn’t see anyone suspicious hanging around?”
…..“Just the usual folk, but couldn’t have been one of the camp. I’d swear to it on a stack of my mother’s Bibles. And she had a dozen of ’em”
…..“So you weren’t alone?”
…..“Yes and no. We always spread out a little bit under the bridge. Privacy, you see.”
…..With a frown, Drayco said, “You know my offer to help you find a permanent place still stands.”
…..“And that’s mighty nice of you, Scott, but I kind of like it the way it is.”
…..Drayco sighed inwardly. It didn’t hurt to keep trying. “Has anyone threatened you lately? Followed you?”
…..Abiram took off his cap to scratch his head. “Can’t say yes. Did have a funny dream, though. The night my sax went walking.”
…..“What was it about?”
…..“Was one of those fancy electric cars, you know? A red one. It smiled at me.”
…..“What do you mean by ‘smiled?’ ”
…..“Don’t know exactly. Just that it chirped and smiled. Maybe that’s ’cause its driver was a bird.”
…..Drayco stared at the other man. “You mean the driver flew?”
…..“No, just colorful like a bird. One of those toucan birds. Had a hawkish nose, too.”
…..Drayco was a victim of hypnagogic dreams, so he guessed it might be something like that. Especially since he knew Abiram never touched drugs. “Did you report it to the police?”
…..Abiram rubbed his forehead. “The police don’t care about us homeless people, especially losing things. Not when they have rich folk paying their salaries.”
…..Drayco thought for a moment. “Your gifts shouldn’t go without a voice. Why don’t you just let me buy you another sax?”
…..“Oh, that’s right nice of you, Scott. But it wouldn’t be the same. My ole sax and me, well, now. We’ve been together for forty years. It’s got character, like me. A little roughed up, dents in both sides. Not so shiny anymore.”
…..Drayco rubbed the back of his neck. “I understand. I don’t know what I’d do without my best girl.”
…..“You mean your piano, doncha?”
…..“Like your sax, she’s not the latest model, but you can’t beat the sound. Look, just in case anyone has seen your sax, you wouldn’t mind if I checked around?”
…..Abiram gave one of his half-bows. “That would be just fine. I’d be most grateful.”
…..True to his word, Drayco consulted some of his MPD officer contacts, but there weren’t any reports of similar thefts. Drayco also did a little research to track down Abiram’s estranged son, Franklin. That conversation hadn’t gone exactly as Drayco hoped, either. The son had pretty much washed his hands of his father and seemed embarrassed to talk about him.
…..That left just one other fairly obvious avenue. Drayco called up a list of all the pawn shops in the area and stopped by to visit each one in turn. He struck out with the ones in the District, but when he popped into Bixby’s Pawn Shop in Prince George’s County, one of the first things he spotted in the window was a saxophone.
…..He hurried in and approached the man behind the counter who sported a tag that said, “Mitchell.” Drayco said to him, “That sax in the window. When was it brought in?”
…..Mitchell eyed him skeptically. “You a cop?”
…..“Not a cop, no. Private.”
…..The other man appraised him for a moment. “Seems like it was about a week ago. No longer than.”
…..Drayco went over to the window and picked up the instrument to examine it more closely. It was definitely not new, as the dull finish showed. On each side of the bore lay a matching set of dents. Without asking, Drayco blew through the mouthpiece and keyed a few notes. He was no pro, but his “playing” was enough to tell him this was indeed Abiram’s instrument. It had the identical sound of crumbled azure chalk dust formed into fan shapes.
…..He looked at the price tag. About what he’d expected, but Abiram could never afford it. Drayco reached into his wallet and pulled out some cash he flashed at Mitchell. “I’ve got enough for this sax upfront. And if you recall the person who dropped it off, I’ll throw in a couple of extra Ben Franklins.”
…..Mitchell’s eyes widened at that. He hesitated for only a moment and snatched the bills from Drayco’s hand to stuff into the cash register. “I remember the guy. Kind of hard to forget. Reddish hair, kind of a large nose. Think he was driving one of those new Teslas.”
…..Drayco took a stab in the dark. “A red one?”
…..Mitchell nodded. “To match his hair, I guess. Maybe he spent all of his cash on that car ’cause people who can afford those don’t usually need to pawn these,” he nodded at the sax. “This stolen from you?”
…..“No, a friend. A homeless man.”
…..Mitchell frowned. “That’s pretty low. Too bad my security camera’s on the fritz. Don’t have the guy in my books, either, ’cause I gave him cash upfront, no questions asked.”
…..Drayco handed over the promised additional C-notes and carried the precious cargo to his car. Once back at his townhome, he made sure it was hidden away in a locked closet. Although he’d prefer not to wait to reunite the instrument with its rightful owner, he had someone else he needed to see first.
…..When Abiram told Drayco about his “dream” and the “bird man,” Drayco was convinced it was just the man’s imagination. But only yesterday, when Drayco was on another run through Capitol Hill, he’d spied someone who might match the description of both Abiram’s “bird man” and the details from the pawn store clerk—red hair and “hawkish” nose, probably from being broken at one time.
…..The man had headed into the same ritzy office buildings where the red-car driver who almost hit Drayco had disappeared into a parking garage. So, Drayco had followed his target into the building long enough to see him get into an elevator that stopped at the third floor. Upon checking the directory, Drayco noted the entire third floor was taken over by Carr Legal & Accounting Services.
…..Armed with this new information and putting two and two together, the next day, Drayco again headed toward that same building, opting to drive instead of run to avoid working up a sweat. He parked in the underground lot, climbed out, and stopped in front of the reserved space labeled “Basil Carr,” which sported a shiny-new red Tesla.
…..On a hunch, Drayco pulled out his cellphone and found a video of that model of Tesla, especially when the remote was used to open the falcon-wing doors. The sound was a little like an electronic “chirp.” Abiram had referred to a “flying” car in his dream the night his sax was stolen. Falcon wings, a chirp, the bird man—it all seemed to fit.
…..After taking the elevator to the third floor, Drayco stepped out into a hallway and made a beeline for the door with the lettering “Basil Carr, JD, CPA.” He entered, taking note of the mahogany veneer and gold hand-tooled leather on the front desk and the polished white marble floor. He approached the secretary, asking to see Carr.
…..When she replied, “Do you have an appointment?” he shook his head. “No, but he’ll want to see me. Tell him it’s about a saxophone.”
…..She eyed Drayco skeptically but used her inter-office phone and parroted back what Drayco had told her. He could hear a male voice on the other end say, “Send him in,” so Drayco didn’t wait for her, and let himself into the back office.
…..Abiram’s red-haired “bird man” stared back at him. “What’s this about a saxophone?”
…..Drayco smiled as politely as he could, trying to hold back his anger. “Three words. Bixby’s Pawn Shop.”
…..Basil Carr frowned. “I don’t understand. Pawn shop?”
…..“You were seen taking a saxophone into that particular pawn shop several days ago. Funny thing, though. That sax was reported stolen.”
…..Drayco could see the wheels turning in the man’s head as he considered his options. Apparently deciding total denial wasn’t going to work, he replied, “Why, yes, I did drop off a sax at a pawn shop recently. But it wasn’t stolen. I found it lying on a sidewalk.”
…..“Oh, really? Just lying there?”
…..“I asked around to see if anyone knew who it might belong to, but alas, I struck out. So, I decided to take it to the shop. Finders keepers, I suppose,” and he uttered a fake laugh reminiscent of a hyena barking. It hit Drayco’s brain with little mud-colored darts that he found particularly annoying.
…..“You didn’t think to report it to the police?”
…..Carr shook his head. “Why should I? They’re very busy with rapes and murders. This seems like such a minor thing.”
…..“There’s a musician who plays a saxophone identical to the one you pawned. He’s often just around the corner, not too far from here. Surely you’ve heard him?”
…..Carr shifted around in his chair. “I suppose I might have. From a distance.”
…..“It never occurred to you that this ‘stolen’ sax might belong to him?”
…..The other man’s jaw worked side to side, and he grabbed a pen etched with “Basil Carr JD, CPA” in gold lettering that he tapped on the desk. “I don’t pay much attention to the homeless people. Especially the street musicians. Except for how they affect businesses around here. People don’t like having to step over those dirty types to visit their accountants. Customers will go somewhere else rather than deal with that.”
…..Drayco’s eyes narrowed, and he had to count to ten to let his blood pressure die down. “And if one of those musicians could no longer play—say, because his instrument disappeared—they’d move along, is that it? No more nuisance?”
…..Carr dropped the pen on his desk and tilted back in his chair. He waved his hand at the door and said, “I’m quite busy today. And you just barged in without an appointment. You can let yourself out, can’t you?”
…..Drayco reached over to pick up the pen by the ends. As he let his arm drop to his side with the pen still in his hand, he nodded at a photo on the wall of the red Tesla. “That your car?”
…..When Carr turned around to look, Drayco palmed the pen into his pocket. Carr turned back with narrowed eyes. “If anything happens to that car, I’ll have your head. Now, are you going to leave, or do I have to call building security to help you with that?”
…..Drayco just smiled and headed out of the building. He hadn’t expected the guy to make a full confession, but at least Drayco got some ammunition from his visit. Later that day, he took the pen and sax to a friend at the MPD and explained the story. Knowing Abiram wouldn’t want to get involved, and the MPD couldn’t open an investigation without the owner filing a report, he got his friend to agree to run the prints off the books as a favor. But the results were another disappointment. No match between prints lifted off Carr’s pen and the sax, meaning Carr probably wore gloves, something he’d have to ask the pawn shop clerk. If so, wearing gloves in summer was another red flag.
…..Without fingerprints or video proof, Drayco knew he didn’t have a case with the guy, at least nothing that would stand up in court. It was the word of a successful accountant-attorney versus a homeless musician who’d “dreamed” he saw someone who “might” have looked like Carr the night the sax went missing.
…..It was rare Drayco faced a situation where he solved a crime without the perp being held accountable at the end. He was angry Carr wouldn’t face justice—at least, not this time. Karma willing, maybe at some point in the future. Sometimes it was a hard fact to swallow, but life wasn’t always fair.
…..But as he stewed about it some more, he decided that no, he wasn’t just going to leave it at that. He wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off Basil Carr’s face. Drayco returned to the pawn shop and checked with the clerk, who did recall that Carr had worn gloves. Like Drayco, the clerk thought it odd anyone would wear gloves in the summer heat, but he was in the business of not asking questions.
…..Fortunately for Drayco, that summer heat had been accompanied by a lack of rain. He located the nearest dumpster to the pawn shop and peered inside. And he was in luck—he spied a pair of gloves like the ones the clerk had described—thin, brown leather. He hadn’t been dumpster-diving in years, but it was worth it if it would avenge Abiram.
…..Drayco was afraid his MPD friend would laugh in his face this time, but it turned out that the department had just received a new vacuum metal deposition machine. Drayco had asked the MPD to save the pen, just in case, and lo and behold, the prints on the pen and gloves were a match.
…..Nothing would have made him happier than to be present when the MPD questioned Carr. But Abiram was right about one thing—to a department facing rapes, murders, and even terrorism these days, the theft from a homeless man wasn’t a high priority. Drayco—and justice—would just have to wait a little longer.
…..He could still look forward to returning the sax to its rightful owner. He’d just gotten home and pulled the instrument out of the closet when he got a call from one of the police officers he consulted when the instrument was stolen.
…..The tone of Officer Alissa Smoak’s voice should have given him a clue the call wasn’t good news. “You were asking about that homeless man’s stolen sax. Abiram Fox, right?”
…..“That his name, yes.”
…..“Apparently, he had a heart attack last night. At least, that’s what the coroner thinks. One of the other homeless people who slept under the same bridge told us Mr. Fox had been complaining of chest pains the past week.”
…..“I see.” Drayco kicked himself for not checking up on Abiram yesterday. Would it have made a difference? Now, he’d never know.
…..Officer Smoak continued, “The homeless camp told us about his son, who we called. Apparently, they were estranged. He’s not interested in claiming the man’s body but told us to contact you—that you could decide what to do with it.”
…..Drayco blinked several times as he considered her words. Guess that made him the unofficial executor. He thanked her and told her he’d pay for a cremation and pick up the ashes when they were ready.
…..He tossed the phone aside and sat back against the sofa with his eyes closed. Maybe he’d brought Abiram a little bit of justice, but it was too late. And now, Drayco felt an even heavier burden wondering how to handle his new duties. What would Abiram have wanted? How did you honor someone whose life had been filled with such quiet pain but who possessed such a rich musical soul?
…..He knew one thing he had to do. He jumped up, grabbed the saxophone, and hurried down the stairs of his townhome. After heading to Abiram’s former spot, Drayco maneuvered through the back alleyways until he found the address he was after. When he knocked on the door, a woman answered, and Drayco asked to see Fitch Solomon. She hesitated for a moment but called her son to the door.
…..Drayco explained to the boy, “I’m sorry to bring you sad news, but Abiram Fox passed away from a heart attack. Before that, he told me he wanted you to have this,” and Drayco handed over the sax. It was only a little white lie since Abiram had never told Drayco that, at least not in those exact words. But he was pretty sure the musician would approve.
…..Though his eyes were full of unshed tears, the boy’s face lit up like footlights on a stage. “I’ll take good care of it,” he said. “Maybe one day, I’ll be as good as him.”
…..“I have no doubt of it.” Drayco fully expected he and everyone else would be seeing the name of Fitch Solomon in the arts headlines in about ten years.
…..The other part of Drayco’s tribute to Abiram was a bit harder. He had to wait five days for the urn with the cremains to be transferred to his care. During that time, he’d wracked his brain trying to decide what would have pleased Abiram the most. Then, he remembered Abiram’s words about the Carter Barron Amphitheatre in Rock Creek Park.
…..It was a hive of summer concerts and festivals in its heyday, but it was currently closed for restoration. Thus, as Drayco stood there now, the only music he heard were the sounds of the crickets, the mourning doves, and the wind whispering through the oak trees.
…..He turned to his young companion, “Are you ready to do this?”
…..Fitch nodded. “Sure we won’t get into trouble?”
…..“There aren’t any laws against scattering ashes on federal land. And we’re not near any trails, facilities, or waterways on this particular spot.”
…..Drayco looked around. The concrete platform and stairs were a little dirty, the audience chairs a little faded, and the whole middle and back part of the stage were missing. But it would be restored in time, and when it did, the atoms of Abiram Fox would dance around along with the musicians.
…..Drayco and Fitch went to the edge of the stage and scattered the ashes as the winds picked them up and carried them across the grass. Then, Drayco pulled out his cellphone and called up a sound file. Soon, the strains of “Just Friends” were carried on the winds along with the ashes and the music of the universe.
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Poet, author, and journalist BV Lawson grew up in rural East Tennessee, where she won a poetry competition at the age of 10. After earning two degrees in music and a stint as a radio DJ, she continued her passion for creative endeavors by writing feature articles and fiction for dozens of national publications. BV Lawson’s stories have won the Dillydoun Review Flash Fiction Prize, Short Mystery Fiction Society Derringer, Noir Nation Golden Fedora, and Gemini Magazine Award. Her Scott Drayco mystery novels won Best Mystery in the Next Generation Book Awards, were longlisted for the Publisher’s Weekly Book Prize, chosen as a Featured Library Journal pick, and finalists for Shamus, Silver Falchion, Daphne, and Foreword Book Reviews Awards. BV currently lives in the mid-Atlantic and enjoys flying above the Chesapeake Bay with her husband in a little Cessna. Visit her website at bvlawson.com. No ticket required.
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