Broken symphony, p.1
Broken Symphony, page 1
Broken Symphony
Alan Lee
Broken Symphony
by Alan Lee
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 Alan Lee Janney
First Edition
Printed in USA
Formatting by Vellum
Paperback ISBN:
Sparkle Press
Created with Vellum
Contents
The Abolition of Man
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
The Abolition of Man
In a sort of ghastly simplicity, we remove the organ and demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honor and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful.
- CS Lewis
1
A former prostitute named Lynsey stepped into my office and said, “Wow.”
“I know.”
She cocked her head. “You look ready for the stuff I used to do.”
“I couldn’t afford you.” I was laying on the floor on my back, legs raised, knees bent at ninety degrees, Saucony sneakers resting on my client chair. Lesser private detectives would look silly.
“Yes you could. Miss Veronica’s rich.”
“I was trying to let you down easy,” I said.
“What’re you doing?”
“Battling sciatica.”
“That something penicillin fixes?”
“No,” I said.
“‘Cause I still got loads.”
“Yesterday I deadlifted a weight I hadn’t since my twenties and now my back hurts.”
Lynsey wore flannel pajamas, blue and black checkered. Her mousey hair was held up with a cheap headband. Once upon a time she’d been an in-demand call girl in Roanoke City. Thanks to Ronnie’s rehabilitation efforts, however, Lynsey’d given it up and now tended bar at Outback, working on a nursing degree. Hope bloomed. Prostitution, though, like the cocaine she’d been snorting, was rampant with recidivism.
Lynsey worked at a ring on her left hand, a nervous habit. “It’s like you’re in stirrups at the gyno.”
“It is not.”
“You’re so strong, I didn’t think nothing could hurt you.”
“Do you want to know how much I lifted?”
“Are you too hurt to fix my bathroom sink?” she said.
“What about the super?”
“Billy can’t fix anything. Please can you come?”
I could. None of my cases were urgent.
I rolled to my feet and stood. “Tada.”
“Thanks, I really appreciate this, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“I didn’t use any hands,” I said.
“What?”
“I stood without grunting or using my hands to help, even though it hurt. Tada.”
“So what?” she said.
“I’m forty, that’s what.”
“Is this about your spaghetti back?”
“Sciatica. Do you want to know how much I lifted?” I said.
“Too much, I guess, ‘cause now your back hurts? Do you need me to rub it? Can we hurry? I’ll rub it after, free of charge.”
I grabbed the North Face jacket off my desk.
“Not necessary. Let’s go.”
“Thanks for this.”
“It was a lot,” I said.
“What was a lot?” Lynsey still twisted the ring. “Oh, that weight-lifting thing? Does it matter?”
“Apparently not.” I closed the door after us.
2
Ronnie Summers, the starlet of my daydreams, owned a three-story building downtown. Purchased two years ago, she sprang for renovations, rented out the main floor to two CPAs and a photographer, housed women on the middle floor, and kept the third floor mostly empty. Empty because she’d forgotten about it.
Like most beautiful and successful persons, she assumed she could do anything. She excelled at jurisprudence, so why would not with real estate? Besides, she had a soft spot for women attempting a life correction.
Trouble was, the gals kept boinking guys, despite vowing not to. They started strong, attending support groups for recovering addicts, and Ronnie landed them upstanding jobs. Two of her tenants, Lynsey and Simple, remained committed to the cause. The rest we bailed out of jail a couple times before Ronnie asked them to move, making room for new tenants.
That’s us human beings. We do what we don’t want to do, and we don’t do what we should.
Like a reluctant swain, April was warming slowly. The breeze held a chill that tomorrow might strengthen or wane without reason. Today’s wind held needles, a kind of sharp cold hard on the lungs. Dots of color like tulips and hyacinths swayed in planters, out of place, as indignant as the pedestrians.
Lynsey scurried ahead on Campbell Avenue, holding herself against the chill, and she waited for me inside the warm stairwell. The bell above the door jingled when I opened it.
I could hear Billy Tom the quasi-superintendent holding forth on the second floor.
“I had a shot at playing professionally. Not many goalies out there like me. Strong, I mean. You see how strong I am. Most goalies, they’re thin little nerds. Long arms, which is good, I guess, but they break. Look at me, does it look like I’d break? No got’damn way am I breaking. I’m not saying they’d invite me to the World Cup or anything. I mean, maybe they would, I don’t know. But I could have played for one of the MLS teams, there’s no doubt in my mind. Like DC United, some team like that. They need guys like me, big and strong. You remember how I moved the fridge? You think little guys can do that? There’s no got’damn way. I’m a gym rat. I was in the gym all the time. How many goalies you think work the heavy bag? None of them. None except me.”
Billy Tom was leaning against the doorframe, talking into the apartment to a woman who wasn’t listening. He wore baggie jeans with patches, and a tank-top he thought made him look strong but didn’t. His apartment was upstairs, a small room he got free for cleaning, fixing things when they broke, and for generally being available when trouble arose.
He saw me come up the stairs and he did a little jump.
“Oh. Oh hey Big Mack, how you doing, man.”
“Billy,” I said.
“I was only telling Simple about college soccer, you know. Those were the days. You playing football, me soccer, we were the shit, right?”
Six doors on the hallway. Four of them were open. The place smelled like weed and Bath & Body Works candles. Down the hall, Jamiroquai drifted from a room.
Simple stood from her couch. She waved a hand like a fan in front of her face and she coughed. Simple was her name. I know. It used to be Simply Lucious, now just Simple.
“I ain’t doing anything wrong, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“You’re smoking weed, Simple, but I don’t care.”
Simple was born good-looking. Big green eyes, skin the color of a cappuccino, her hair like a girly movie star afro. Ronnie said it was wrong to describe her skin like a coffee, but it was Simple who told me she was cappuccino flavored.
“I tole Billy to leave but he won’t. He keeps standing. I’m not smoking, Mr. Mackenzie,” she said.
“Your couch is smoldering.”
Simple cursed and smacked the cushion, a marijuana roach falling onto the floor.
The place felt like a college dormitory.
Lynsey opened the door to her apartment. She checked the time on her phone and she looked at me.
“You wanna wait out here, Mr. Mackenzie?” she said.
“Hard to fix your broken sink out here.”
Billy stood behind my shoulder. “Broken sink. What broken sink?”
“I told you about it,” said Lynsey.
“Broken sink,” said Billy Tom. “The hell? No you didn’t. She didn’t, Big Mack, swear to God. There’s a broken sink, I got it. I mean I’m not great at plumbing, but I got it. I’ll try, is what I’m saying.”
Lynsey’s eyes darted to me and beyond me. Furtive. Worried.
“Yeah okay, you can come in, Mr. Mackenzie,” she said. “It’s not just my sink, it’s a lot of girls’ sinks. I really really appreciate you doing this.”
“Multiple sinks? Multiple apartments?” I said.
“Yeah
A bong stood on Lynsey’s kitchen counter next to a container of KY Jelly.
“Multiple sinks means it’s not a sink problem,” I said.
“Oh. Well. Maybe you could look anyway? Check the other girls too?”
“Lynsey. I smell a rat.”
She shifted one foot to the other. “You smell what?”
“Chicanery.”
“That’s like a rat?”
“You didn’t ask Billy to fix your sink.”
“Maybe I did,” she said.
“What’d he say when you asked him?”
“I… Who?”
“Billy. What’d Billy say when you asked him to fix your sink?”
“He said he’d get to it later.” Lynsey checked the time on her phone again. She made a squeak when she saw the bong and lube, and she grabbed them off the counter.
“Nuh uh, no way, I never said that.” Billy stood in the doorway. He was great at that. “I never said that ‘cause you never asked me.”
“I am terrible at fixing sinks, Lynsey,” I said.
“You could look, though, right?”
“But I excel at detecting duplicity. Tell me what you need.”
“Maybe…” She swallowed. “Maybe it’s the disposal.”
“It’s not.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mackenzie. Do you want a drink?”
“No,” I said.
“I can make you a vodka?”
“It’s ten in the morning.”
“I’m out of orange juice. Maybe coffee? Oh! How’s your back? I can work the knot out?” she said.
“I think I have some sink tools around here somewhere,” said Billy, “though I’m not great with them.”
“Billy,” I said. “Why is Lynsey so nervous?”
“Hell I don’t know. Maybe her sink?”
“You’re not screwing her or Simple?”
“No way, man, hell no,” said Billy Tom.
“What about the other three? Justine and what’s-her-name and what’s-her-name?”
“Lemonade,” said Lynsey. “But she’s gone. New girl is Misha.”
Billy winked. “You got nothing to worry about, man.”
“Part of Ronnie’s deal is, you don’t touch the ladies. Keep your zipper zipped,” I said.
Billy nodded at me like we were best pals. He walked into Lynsey’s room and leaned against her counter and crossed his arms. “I hear you, Big Mack. I hear you. It’s them can’t keep their fingers offa this. You get me.”
“The women can’t keep their fingers off you?” I said.
“That’s some buuullll,” said Lynsey.
“It got to be too much, Billy, you being horny and living with these pretty women?” I said.
“C’mon, Mack.”
“You’re messing around with Justine and Lemonade and Misha?”
“No way. I love this job. I don’t chase them.”
“Yes he does,” said Lynsey. “Don’t lie Billy, at least be a man about that.”
“Shut the hell up, Lin. I’m not horny.”
“The hell you ain’t,” she said. “Justine’s gotta give you a handy every few days just so you’ll leave us alone.”
“Ohmygawd, Lin, don’t be a bitch about it,” said Billy.
“And Lemonade ran off, maybe ‘cause of you,” said Lynsey.
“Listen.” Billy held up his hands and winked at me. “Listen, I’ll tell you how it is, Big Mack. These girls, they see this body—”
“You,” I said, “hush. Don’t refer to me by any name. Lynsey, you’re stalling. Is this why you got me? Because of Billy?”
Lynsey shifted her feet again, working the ring on her finger. She bit her lip and shook her head. “No.”
“Why are you stalling? Why did Lemonade leave?”
“Because of… Lemonade left a few weeks ago. It’s complicated, Mr. Mackenzie. See, there’s this problem.”
“What’s the problem,” I said.
“There isn’t no problem,” said Billy.
“It’s all wrong, Mr. Mackenzie. Can you just stay a minute? I want you to see something. Please.”
“Are the new women bringing clients up here?” I said.
Lynsey looked at her feet. She wouldn’t snitch on her sisters.
“Billy? How many guys coming and going?” I said.
“I don’t know. These girls got boyfriends, I can’t help that,” he said. “Big Mack, I’ll take care of this. You probably got stuff to do.”
I disliked being a landlord.
A bell jingled. Someone new was coming up the stairs. Big feet.
Lynsey’s eyes rounded and she watched me steadily, taking deep breaths. She might cry. This newcomer with big feet frightened her.
“Is this person for me?” I said.
“No,” she said. “Yes. I don’t know, I got scared.”
3
A man’s voice down the hall.
“How’s my girls, how’s my girls, this place looks good. Where’s Billy Tom, this place looks good.”
A strong Boston accent, dropping the Rs. Boston Irish.
Wheah’s Billy Tahm?
Billy said, “Ah shit.” He avoided eye contact with me. “Might be better for you to hide, Big Mack.”
“Men don’t hide, Billy. Write that down.”
“What?”
The voice from the hall. “Looking good, Simple. You want to make a fortune, you’re a fine thing, we’ll talk, okay. We talk, me and you. I don’t wait forever.”
I stepped into the hallway.
Two men stood at Simple’s doorway. The first man was shorter. Reddish gray hair, a hard face, mouth turned down at the corners, blue eyes so pale they looked white. He wore a trench coat like it was a tuxedo.
Behind him was a bigger guy with a fixed bored expression. Salt and pepper curly hair, strong jaw. He also wore a trench coat, over a hoodie.
The shorter guy with reddish hair was the box. The bigger guy was the muscle. Standard racketeering stuff.
Racketeering in my building.
In Ronnie’s building.
“This guy, who’s this guy?” The shorter man pointed at me. “You’re here early. It’s too early to screw. I know you.”
“I know you too,” I said.
“Oh shit, this guy says he knows me. Who’s been talking about me?”
“People talk about a short guy with a big mouth.”
Marcus Morgan, local cocaine trafficker; Manny Martinez, local heart throb; Detective Green, local cop on the take, each had mentioned Doyle. This was him. In my building.
“Short with a big mouth. That’s bang on. Who’s been talking about me?” he said.
“Everybody talks about Doyle. He’s like RuPaul or Madonna or Cher, one name only. You’re like them,” I said. “You should be flattered.”
Doyle half pivoted at the waist to look at the guy behind him. “I’m like RuPaul. This guy says I’m like RuPaul. Jokes on you, boyo, I think she used to be good looking. He used to be good looking, whatever, however you say it, I don’t care. Tell me, guy, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Debating the merits of firing Billy.”
“You’re gonna fire Billy Tom?” Doyle said it like, fyah Billy Tahm? “Nah, I like Billy. Who says you get to fire anybody?”
“He called a wrench a sink tool. C’mon, Doyle, that’s ridiculous. A sink tool.”
The tall guy beyond Doyle kinda laughed.
In Lynsey’s room, Billy Tom remained quiet. Out of sight, he hoped, out of mind.
The music down the hall stopped. Silence from Justine’s room. Everyone tensed around Doyle.
“Who are you? Huh, tell me that, who are you?” said Doyle. “Big ugly fecker, I know that much.”
