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“Whoa, girl, slow your roll.” The smile is stronger now, and a tiny bit indulgent. The steam has been blown off; thus thinking can recommence. “Sista Bessie’s not the Beatles, but she’s a big deal. The woman hasn’t performed a full-on concert in ten or twelve years, let alone done a tour. She’s a legend. Also, she happens to be Black. We got some good press after that bitch scared you—”
“She did more than scare me. Thathurt!”
“I’m sure it did, and I’m sure I’m being crass, but ask yourself what happens if I enforce my contract, lawyers and all, against Sista Bessie. In a city that’s forty per cent Black. How do I look if she says, ‘I’m sorry we had to cancel. White lady enforced her contract and took our date.’ How will that look? How will itsound?”
Corrie thinks it over, and her conclusion makes her angrier than ever. “He knows that, right? This Donald Gibson person knows that.”
“You bet. He fucked us at the drive-thru, honey.”
He also fucked the people hoping to see you, Corrie thinks, but doesn’t say. “So what do we do?”
“Rearrange.”
Corrie’s heart sinks. She worked hard to fine-tune the schedule, and now Kate wants to trash it. Not that it’s Kate’s fault.
Putting her hands on Corrie’s shoulders, Kate says, “You can fix this. I have total confidence in you.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Nevertheless, Corrieisflattered.
“The event coordinators in most cities will go along, Cor. It would be different if the summer concert season had started, but it hasn’t. Most of those halls are standing empty except on weekends. Also… we have three days off after Cincinnati, right?”
“Yes.”
“Suppose we take those off days in Not-Cleveland instead. We can go see Sista Bessie. How does that sound?”
“It actually sounds pretty cool. Listen, Kate, you’ve got that presser at five. What if you were to say that, in solidarity with your Black sisters and because you love Sista Bessie’s music, you’re giving up your date at the Mingo so the Sista can play?”
“If Donald Gibson says that wasn’t my idea—”
Corrie is smiling. “Do you think he’d dare?”
Kate kisses Corrie first on one cheek, then the other. “You’re good, Anderson. Very good indeed. And I think our new friend Donald will be happy to provide us with house seats for Sista’s first show. Do you concur?”
Corrie, smiling more widely than ever, says she absolutely does.
“Plus backstage passes. He better add those.” And then, with great satisfaction: “That scumbag.”
2
Thirteen hundred miles east of Denver, Izzy and Holly are once more having lunch in Dingley Park. As promised, Izzy buys.
Holly doesn’t waste time. “What’s up with Bill Wilson?” She adds: “Absolutely on the downlow.”
“It’s the jurors, for sure,” Izzy says. “Targeting them by proxy. Those murdered men behind the laundromat… you know about those two?”
“Of course,” Holly says, and chomps into her fish taco. “Dov Epstein and Frank Mitborough.”
“You reallyhavebeen keeping tabs.”
“Buckeye Brandon had the names.”
“That busybody piece of shit,” Izzy says.
Holly wouldn’t exactly put it that way, but understands Izzy’s frustration. Whatever sources Buckeye Brandon has in the city PD, they’re good. And there was his scoop about Alan Duffrey, of course. “Have you gotten the names of the other jurors?”
“Six of the twelve so far, thanks to what Letitia Overton, Philip Jacoby, and Turner Kelly remember.”
“Those three names were…”