Summer Daze

Alex Eames pulled her car to the curb in front of her partner’s apartment building and waited. She looked into the rearview mirror applied a smear of dark burgundy lipstick. She turned as the passenger door opened and watched Bobby fold himself into the shotgun seat of the compact car.



“Hey,” she greeted him, “Wow…you look…um…”



“I know.” Goren answered turning the mirror to look at himself and running a hand through his graying curls. “Do you think one of your nieces or nephews might have some of that colored hairspray left over from Halloween?”



Eames shook her head and stated flatly, “I don’t think it would make any difference, Bobby, you’re still going to look like the creepy old guy at the bar.”



Bobby looked at his partner with a half-smile, “Ouch.”



“I’m sorry,” she responded, “It’s just, these people are kids and…”



“I know.” He interrupted, “You’re right. That’s the angle I’ll play.”



“So, we’ll separate.” She agreed, “You go in first. I’ll park the car and come in a few minutes later.”



With a plan of action in place, Eames pulled the car into traffic and headed for the East Village to join the American Counterculture.



Maurice’s Tavern was very simple compared to other bars in the city. A long bar stretched the length of one wall, bare concrete floors, Formica topped tables with stackable vinyl cushioned chairs, and walls papered with flyers for the hundreds of bands that had performed there throughout the years. There was a stage at the back with a dance floor/mosh pit in front of it surrounded by padded railing.



It was nine o’clock, and the place was already swarming with exotic-looking kids in their twenties. The band, a group called Succubus Blush, was just starting their first set. Goren made his way to a table on the far side of the mosh pit and ordered a beer.



Bobby usually liked going undercover, but here in this bar…This punk haven filled with young people covered in tattoos and body piercing…He felt out of place. He was surprised, however, to find that he enjoyed the music.



Succubus Blush; a band consisting of four bare-chested-tattoo-sporting-nipple-pierced young men and a girl with multi-colored pigtails, was playing hard rocking covers of old songs he’d loved as a kid. Their banter was amusing, the way the petite female singer kept announcing to the crowd how much she hated the mountain of a drummer and threatening him with all manner of violent acts.



During an interesting rendition of “Louie, Louie”, the bassist pushed her off the front of the stage into the mosh pit. Bobby was about to jump to her rescue when he saw her come up swinging and proceed to butt-stomp her way back to the stage, all without missing a single note in the song. Back onstage and still singing, she marched up to the bassist and kicked him in the shin. Goren had to laugh. The act was so little-girlish, made more so by her pigtails and plaid schoolgirl skirt. However, with the knee high combat style boots she was wearing, the kick looked pretty painful. The bassist’s staccato shriek confirmed his suspicion.



Bobby scanned the crowd, looking for his partner. Eames looked good. It was an amazing transformation. Her hair hanging limply from her scalp, torn t-shirt, tight black pants, and too much eyeliner…She didn’t look much older than the kids around her at the bar. She fit right in. Bobby, on the other hand; even in his ripped jeans and Ramones t-shirt; stuck out like a sore thumb. He watched as Eames showed Esther Morgan’s business card to a couple and hoped she would have better luck getting the information they needed. Even though the band had stopped playing and people had begun to mingle, the local patrons were avoiding him like the plague.



“So, what’s it like being a cop?”



The melodic voice at his shoulder startled him from his reverie. He turned to see the girl from the band smiling at him.



“What?” he asked, feigning ignorance.



“Oh! Come on!” the girl laughed in reply and flopped into the chair next to him, “Look at you…there’s a smell of bacon floating around everything about you!”



He got made. He knew it was inevitable and he might as well use it to his advantage.



“Does that make you nervous?” He cocked an eyebrow at her and put a little menace into his voice, hoping that he sounded suitably tough and unyielding to fit a punk girl’s perceptions of the NYPD without scaring her off. Astonishingly, she laughed even harder.



“Is it supposed to?” she challenged, her green eyes sparkling.



“You got any warrants?” he threatened.



Bobby expected her to curse or spit at him for the remark, but the look on her face when he said it told him he was about to receive more humor-laced impertinence.



Before she could give her retort, the guitarist interrupted the conversation by banging on the table and shouting good naturedly.



“Break’s over, pig-fuck, let’s get back to work.”



The girl rose to follow him and turned back to Bobby with a smart-assed grin, “Summer Davis, license number 2027543, look it up.”



He couldn’t help but chuckle at the impudence of the unexpected young lady as he watched her flounce away. He didn’t know if there would be any connection to his case, but it was the only information he’d managed to gather. So, he jotted her name and license information on a napkin and stuffed it in his pocket.



He almost made it through the next set before the beer he’d been nursing made its way through his kidneys. As he emerged from the men’s room he felt a hand grasp his arm and turned sharply.



“Hey,” his partner whispered loudly, “Everyone here has you made.”



“I know.” He replied dismally.



“Well, they haven’t connected us yet. I think it’s better if we split up. I’ve got a group of them ready to go out for waffles after the show. Can you get yourself home?” Eames asked, constantly scanning the area to make sure no one saw them together.



“Yeah, it’s fine.” He answered, “Have a good time.”



Alex threw a dirty look at him over her shoulder as she walked away, “Ha-ha.”



Bobby returned to his table and ordered another beer. Alone in a crowd, as usual, he listened to the music, sipped his beer, and hoped Eames was finding something, anything that would give them a solid lead.



The band wrapped up their final set with the most violent interpretation of “Dance to the Music” by Sly and the Family Stone that Goren had ever witnessed. It began with the girl, Summer, ordering the crowd to the dance floor.



“Get on up and dance to the music…I SAID, Get on up and dance to the fuckin’ music!”



Followed by the entire band singing a modified chorus, “Dance to the music. Slam-dance to the fuckin’ music.”



Then, similar to the original song, there was an exchange in which they introduced each other and their various instruments.



Summer yelled, “Hey, Andrew!”



“WHAT?!?” The drummer screamed so fiercely that Bobby thought he might jump over the drum kit and rip her face off.



Summer sang, “All we need is a drummer, who only likes to beat his meat.”



Andrew started a lively rhythm and the bassist sang out, “Jarv’s gonna add a little guitar to make it easy to move your feet.”



The guitarist played his solo and added, “Kai’s gonna add some bottom, so the dancers just won’t hide.”



A solid bass riff began and the, as yet unnamed, keyboardist jumped in with, “You might wanna sit on my organ…Uh-huh, ride Sally ride!”



“You might like to see this bitch blow…Summer on my horn, yeah!” the drummer shouted tunefully.



There was no trumpet, or brass instrument of any kind on the stage and Summer had a look of pure malice as she grabbed a beer bottle from the edge of the stage and hurled it toward his head.



Meanwhile, the rest of the band continued into the chorus. “Dance to the music. Mosh to the fuckin’ music!”



Summer jumped about onstage as they continued to sing, introducing a large number of instruments that didn’t actually appear either in the original song or on the stage. About halfway through the verse, she bumped into Kai, the bassist, who was caught off balance and crashed into the keyboard, knocking it to the floor. The keyboardist punched him in the face.



“Jesus, Johnny!” Kai screeched, “She did it.” He reached out and smacked Summer.



The guitarist, Jarv, threw down his Fender and tackled the bassist. “Never hit my sister!” he screamed, and the brawl was on.



Bobby considered breaking it up, but the crowd was cheering and the bartender and wait-staff seemed completely unconcerned. He decided it would be best not to get involved. The drummer played a fifteen minute solo while his band mates beat the crap out of each other, shook hands, made up, and began taking down the equipment. When the stage was empty of all but the drum kit, Andrew stopped mid-beat, stood up and shouted, ‘Thank you! Goodnight!”



From the reaction of the patrons, Bobby deduced that this must be the way the band always finished their show. The bartender announced last call and he decided to have one more drink before heading home. While he was paying the waiter, the singer reappeared at his side, grabbed his beer and took a huge swallow.



“Get him another, Toby.” She instructed the waiter.



Bobby looked at her for a second, considering how to respond. His cop routine had done nothing to gain him access to any real case-related information. He finally decided to match her playful approach.



“If you wanted me to buy you a drink…” he began with a smile.



Her musical laughter delighted his ears as she again took up a chair next to his. “Mine are free. Toby’ll be back in a minute.”



They waited in silence for the waiter to return. He couldn’t understand why, but he suddenly felt like a tongue-tied high school kid sitting next to this bold young woman who was so casually drinking his beer. Sure, she was pretty in an unconventional way and funny, and there was something appealing in her flippant personality. That she was flirting with him was not in question.



‘But she’s just a kid.’ He criticized himself silently for even considering the possibility.



Toby returned with a fresh beer and Bobby tipped him for his trouble.



Summer heaved a sigh; she couldn’t understand why he didn’t just ask her, already. He wasn’t here to watch drug traffic, Maurice kept the place clean. There was only one reason a cop, even a good-looking one with a Ramones t-shirt, would sit there through the entire show without hassling anybody or making an arrest.



“So, you’re here to find out who killed Star, right?” she finally blurted.



Bobby was taken aback, “Um…Star?”



“Esther Morgan…we called her Star.”



“Of course,” he nodded, flipping the encyclopedia in his brain to the page on names, “Esther is Hebrew for star…”



Summer smiled, clearly impressed. “That’s right.”



Goren’s mind immediately switched modes from thinking about how to respond to sassy, flirtatious, pretty punk singers without sounding awkward, old, or ridiculous to the open case on his desk, “How did you know Star?”



Summer jumped out of her seat, “Chug that down,” she said, indicating his beer bottle, “I’ll get my gear.”



“What?” Bobby was usually very good at reading people, but this chick was all over the map.



“They’re closing up.” She explained, “There’s an after-hours place just down the block. You can buy me that drink and we’ll talk.”





Summer Davis turned out to be a fountain of information. But that information came at a price. Summer liked to drink after a show and she expected the detective to drink with her. When the barmaid arrived to take their order he asked her to bring “Whatever the lady would like.”



“Whaler’s and diet” Summer gave her order and asked, “What about you?”



“No,” Bobby shook his head politely, “I…”



“Bullshit.” She interrupted, “What are you, some kind of lightweight?...A big guy like you?”



He couldn’t help blushing at the implied compliment in her voice, “Uh…Well…I, um, I’m…”



She rolled her eyes and said, “Don’t give me some crap about being on duty. You were drinking at Maurice’s.”



“I-I know…it’s just…now” he was getting angry with himself for struggling with his words. ‘She’s just a little girl, why can’t I figure her out?’ he thought.



“Never mind.” Summer huffed and started to rise.



“Wait.” Bobby said sharply, “Okay…” he turned to the waiting barmaid, “Scotch and soda, please.”



Bobby’s massive intellect could not conceive how someone so tiny could drink so much. He was having trouble keeping up with her. He tried to write everything down, but his vision was beginning to get blurry from the late hour and too much alcohol. Not to mention that her resistance to the idea of sticking to one subject had him considering the possibility that she may be bi-polar. The rowdiness of her band mates at a nearby table was not helping his concentration, either.



Goren ordered drink after drink while Summer wound her way through endless changes of subject and emotion. One moment she would talk about her friend, Star, with misty tears that glistened in impossibly green eyes but never fell. The next, she would be laughing; flirting and teasing him about his cop-like behavior. An instant later, she would be shouting angry threats and obscenities at her band mates.



Every time she started to speak, they would scream “pig-fuck” and laugh like lunatics. Finally, Summer had enough. She excused herself and walked over to their table. She kicked the keyboardist; Johnny Napalm Bobby had learned his stage name was; to the floor, chair and all. While the young man picked himself up, she made some very specific, violently obscene threats to the group. That was the last thing Bobby knew.