He Sees You When You're Sleeping

Figure out how much in tips the guys are losing, and let’s make up half of it to them in their paychecks.”

“Nor, maybe you didn’t hear me. You’re losing money hand over fist as it is.”

“And maybe you didn’t hear me,” Nor flared. “I know the restaurant needs me to be there. But you and Al and the waiters and the kitchen help and the cleanup crew are all part of what make it work. It took me years to put together such a good team, and I’m not going to lose it now.”

“Take it easy, Nor, I’m just trying to help you keep your head above water with this place.”

“I’m sorry, Dennis,” Nor said contritely. “This whole business is grinding me down.”

“How’s Billy?”

“How do you think? He just called Marissa and the recording company. Marissa absolutely refuses to talk to him-or to me either for that matter-and the recording company told him that unless this is over soon, they’ll have to cancel his contract.”

There was silence, then Nor said, “Dennis, you know that impressionist painting near the fireplace in my living room?”

“The pain-by-numbers one?”

It was an old joke between them.

“Yes. You have power of attorney. Go to my safe-deposit box and get the papers on it. Take everything to the Reuben Gallery. I know they’ll make an offer on it. It should be worth at least sixty thousand dollars. That will help.”

“You love that painting, Nor.”

“Not as much as I love my restaurant. Okay, Dennis, I guess that’s all the good news I can handle at one time. I’ll talk to you in about two weeks.”

“Sure, Nor. Hang in there.”

Her next call was to Sean O’Brien to see if there was any word about the trial date. There wasn’t.

They left the motel room in silence, went down the steps to the parking area, and got into the SUV in which the man in dark glasses was sitting. He’s got to be the federal marshal who looks out for them, Sterling decided.

He rode in the backseat with Nor. Not a word was exchanged on the twenty-minute drive. He spotted a road sign that indicated Denver was thirty miles away. I know exactly where we are, he thought. The Air Force Academy is near here.

Billy and Nor were living in a run-of-the-mill bi-level house, the sole virtue of which, at least as far as Sterling could tell, was its location. It was set on a large piece of property, shaded by tall trees that afforded privacy.

When the car stopped, Billy turned to the marshal. “Frank, come inside please. I’ve got to talk to you.”

“Sure.”

The living room furniture looked as if it had been purchased at the auction of a bankrupt motel: Naugahyde sofa and chairs, mismatched Formica coffee and end tables, burnt-orange wall-to-wall carpeting. A groaning air conditioner labored to pump in cool air.

Sterling could pick out Nor’s attempts to make the room livable. Tasteful framed prints drew the eye away from the hideous furnishings. A vase of black-eyed susans and several large green plants helped alleviate the depressing atmosphere.

The living room opened into what was meant to be a dining area. Billy had turned it into a music room, furnishing it with a scarred upright piano piled with sheet music, a CD player, and shelves of CDs. His guitar rested on a club chair near the piano.

“What can I do for you, Billy?” the marshal asked.

“You can help us pack. I’m not staying here another night. I’ve had it.”

“Billy, this is not Frank’s fault,” Nor said, hoping to placate him.

“For all we know, this trial will never happen. Am I supposed to spend the rest of my life rotting in this house? Frank, let me explain something to you. I turned thirty years old last week. In the music business that’s old, you understand? It’s old. The ones who make it these days, start at seventeen, even younger.”

“Billy, calm down,” Nor begged.

“I can’t calm down, Mom. Marissa is growing up without us. She’s growing up hating me. Every time I talk to Denise she tells me how worried she is about Rissa, and she’s right. I’m taking my chances. If anything happens to me, at least it will happen while I’m living my own life.”

“Listen, Billy,” the marshal interrupted. “I know how frustrating this is for you and for your mother. You’re not the first one in this program who’s gone crazy. But you are in real danger. We have ways of finding out things. There was no reason to tell you this before, but there’s been a contract on you and your mother since January. And when the Badgetts’ personal goons couldn’t find you, they hired a hitman.”

Nor paled. “When did they hire him?”

“Three months ago. We know who he is and our men are looking for him. Now, do you still want me to help you pack?”

The fire went out of Billy. “I guess not.” He walked over and sat at the piano. “I guess I’ll just keep writing music that somebody else will have the chance to sing.”

The marshal nodded to Nor and left. After a few moments, Nor went over to Billy and put her hands on his shoulders. “This really won’t last forever, you know.”

“It’s hell on earth.”

“I agree.”

I do too, Sterling thought. But what do I do about it? The more he learned about the problem, the less he felt able to solve it.

With a sympathetic glance at Nor and Billy, he went outside. I’m used to the altitude in the heavens, but not in Colorado, he thought, feeling a little light-headed.

It’s hard to believe that Nor and Billy will still be here in December. I can only imagine the emotional state they’ll be in by then. Where else can I go? What can I do? Everything hinges on the trial. Maybe I should drop in on the Badgetts’ legal counselor. After all, he was the one who saw Billy and Nor coming out of Junior’s office.

I’ll be glad to get out of this heat, Sterling decided as he closed his eyes. Summer was always my least favorite season.

Once more he addressed the Heavenly Council. May I please be transported into the presence of Charlie Santoli, and may it please be in early December? Amen, he added.

“We should have put the lights up at least a week ago,” Marge commented as she unrolled another string of bulbs and handed them to Charlie, who was standing on a ladder outside their living room window.

“I’ve been too busy, Marge. I just couldn’t get to it.” Charlie managed to loop the string over the top of the evergreen, which had grown considerably taller since last year. “You know, there are people we can pay to do this. They have higher ladders, they’re younger, they’re stronger, and they could do a better job.”

“Oh, but then we’d miss out on all the fun, Charlie. We’ve been doing this together for forty years. The time will come when you really can’t do it, and then you’ll wish you could. Admit it. You love this ritual.”

Charlie smiled reluctantly. “If you say so.”

Sterling sat on the steps observing the couple. He really is enjoying himself. He’s a family man, he thought.

An hour later, chilled but pleased with themselves, Marge and Charlie went into the house, shed their coats and gloves, and gravitated to the kitchen for a cup of tea. When the teapot and freshly baked Christmas cookies were in front of them, Marge dropped her bombshell.