The Game of Love and Death(74)

He turned and walked out the door.





FLORA had a few more tables to set before she could head for the Inquirer offices. It seemed kinder to tell Henry in person. He’d surely find another band — every club in town knew his name now. It would devastate him. But there was no choice.

Doc snapped the last big shards of glass out of the frame. “I’d cover this,” he said, “but it’s such a nice day I hate to block our air.”

“But what about security?” Glo laid cutlery on a neatly folded napkin. “The people who did this might like to come back and rob the place. Or worse.”

Doc rubbed his chin. “Sure enough.” He returned a few minutes later with a sheet of plywood, which he pounded into the frame.

“Such a shame,” Glo said. “There goes our light.”

“I’m sorry,” Flora said. “I’ve brought this on you.”

“You did no such thing. We’ll call it atmosphere. Meanwhile, let’s don’t curse the darkness.” She flicked a light switch so they could see well enough to keep working.

“As soon as I have some money,” Flora said, “I’ll pay you back.”

Sherman walked in. “Who needs money? And please tell me one of our guys didn’t do that.”

“Brick through the window,” Doc said. “Little gift from someone who is not a fan of our opening act, apparently. Flora, show him what the newspaper said.”

Flora fished the newspaper out of her pocket. It had stuck together in parts where she’d gotten paint on it, but there was enough legible for Sherman to get the gist.

He whistled low as he read.

“That’s a terrible thing. Just terrible.” He opened his wallet and offered Doc cash. “For a new window. Our insurance ship came in.”

Doc waved away the money. “You got your own windows to buy.”

Flora looked at Sherman, hoping the money would be enough to rebuild the club. He shook his head. Her stomach fell. He didn’t need words to tell her the payment had been poor.

“We’re not thinking about windows at the moment. New ventures, maybe,” Sherman said. He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Let’s just say the ship that came in was more of a canoe.”

“You are always welcome here,” Glo said. “I don’t suppose there was enough for Flora to make her flight?”

Flora shook her head. Talking about this … she just couldn’t.

“Time will tell.” Sherman put his hand on Flora’s shoulder. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

“Knock knock,” a voice said. Flora bristled, recognizing it immediately.

Helen stepped inside. “I read the newspaper today and I had to see for myself what madness you and Henry have gotten yourselves into,” she said. “I’m so concerned. How are you? Since your incident with the po —”

“Fine.” Flora’s tone was short. She hadn’t told Glo anything about her arrest and didn’t intend to. That was her private sorrow and Ethan’s father had maneuvered to get the charges dropped against the both of them so there would be no further embarrassment to his family. “Unfortunately, we’re not open yet.” She slapped silverware down with more force than was necessary or wise.

“But I’d be happy to let you look at a menu,” Glo said, layering her words with extra warmth. “You can come back tonight for the supper and show.”

Helen accepted the menu but did not read it. “Your bad luck follows you like a tail follows a dog.” She nodded toward the broken window. “Such a pity.”

“Bad people, not bad luck. There’s a difference.” She had no need for Helen’s condescension. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Helen laughed. “I was planning to help you.”

Flora doubted that very much. But she didn’t want Sherman, Glo, and Doc to think she was rude. “And what did you have in mind?”

“Pour me a drink,” Helen said, “and I’ll tell you.”

Sherman nudged her from behind. “Don’t keep the lady waiting,” he said. “We need all the friends we can get.”



Henry practically danced out of the Inquirer Building. Who needed that crummy job, anyway? Well, he did. But he’d make do. He took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and hopped a cable car to Pike Place Market, where he planned to buy a peach for himself and a bouquet of roses for Flora.

The peach was easy. He found one from Frog Hollow Farm the size of a softball. He ate it standing in the middle of a crowded aisle, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t care that he might be in the way. This was history’s most perfect peach; this was the moment his life became his own. He finished the fruit, dropped its pit into a trash barrel, and then chose a bouquet of red roses.

“Robin Hoods,” the flower girl said. “Everybody’s favorite.” She wrapped them in the previous day’s paper. Henry shook his head to see it. So much sweat and stress and yelling over this dirty, flimsy newsprint. It was supposed to be his future, his and Ethan’s. And invariably it was the next day’s trash. That was no way to spend a life.

Henry cradled the bouquet and walked north and then west, past vegetable stalls and fishmongers. He fished a nickel out of his pocket and caught the Third Avenue cable car, which carried him past the Smith Tower. For the first time, he felt nothing as he passed through its shadow. The Majestic wasn’t far from the Yesler stop. Flora stepped outside just as he arrived.