Tommy pulled into the Jake’s parking lot just after eight o’clock and backed into a spot next to the dumpster, away from the overhead lights. The bar was a one-story stucco building that was originally a residential home built back in the fifties. It sat on Central Avenue in downtown Phoenix, where it looked out of place among the twenty-story office buildings and fast-food restaurants.
Tommy shut off the car and looked at Cara, as if noticing her attire for the first time.
“You do know this is a dive bar, right?” he asked.
Cara smoothed the fabric of her short dress and crossed her legs to let a high heel dangle from her foot. “I felt like dressing up tonight.”
Tommy cocked his head. “You’re up to something, but I’m just too dense to figure it out.”
Cara opened her door and Tommy followed her across the parking lot, the thumping of a rhythmic bass line was pulsing out the open door.
“No one ever accused you of being dense,” Cara quipped as they strode toward the back entrance.
“You should’ve heard what my high school teachers called me.”
A thick Asian man wearing a skin-tight black T-shirt stood next to the back door and said, “Ten dollar cover,” with a practiced monotone voice.
“Ten bucks?” Tommy said, fishing for his wallet. “Is Bob Dylan doing a set tonight?”
The guy frowned as Tommy handed him a twenty-dollar bill.
They walked single file down a narrow hallway with a low ceiling until they entered the main room. Against the far wall was a long bar with a female bartender hustling back and forth between customers who were packed two deep across from her. To their right was a small stage with a three-piece band. A bass player, a drummer, and a skinny kid with a long ponytail playing guitar and singing lead. The room was crowded, but well designed. The main floor was sunken so people could stand and yet the customers sitting at the bar and booths surrounding the room could easily see the stage. The acoustics weren’t bad either. The music wasn’t bouncing off the walls and causing reverb.
As Tommy approached the bar, a twenty-something guy saw him and gestured for Tommy to take his seats. He and his lady friend were leaving the bar and Tommy gratefully accepted the gesture by maneuvering Cara onto a stool and sat next to her.
Cara leaned close to Tommy and yelled, “I’ll have a Bud Light,” into his ear.
Tommy held up two fingers to the bartender and shouted, “Bud Light.”
They watched the band play a pop-rock song with an REM slant. The singer was emotional, squeezing his eyes shut as he sang about a broken relationship. It was heartfelt and moving, and he had the crowd’s attention. Very few people were looking at their phones. There was something special about the way the kid was reaching his audience.
“I like this,” Cara said into his ear.
Tommy nodded. The bass drum had an image of a huge doorknob in the middle of it, representing the name of the band. The Doorknobs. Something about the image was pecking at the back of Tommy’s mind. Something he’d remembered years earlier giving him an idea about the origins of the band’s name.
The bartender dropped two Bud Lights in front of them and Cara and Tommy clinked their bottles.
The place was packed and it seemed most of the customers were there for the entertainment.
“Now I know why the cover charge was so steep,” Tommy said, leaning toward Cara. “These guys are really good.”
At some point Tommy noticed Cara twisted in her seat to face a guy sitting alone in a booth along the wall behind them. Tommy didn’t pay much attention to it until she nuzzled up to him, then nibbled on his earlobe for a second and said, “I’ll be right back.”
Tommy watched her slide into the booth next to the guy and engage him in a pleasant conversation.
He knew she was up to something.
* * *
Cara sat next to Nev Simons and said, “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”
Nev was a thin, skittish kid with a 5 o’clock shadow and Van Halen T-shirt. He also wore noise cancelling headphones and nodded his greeting. He could read lips, so he didn’t need to remove the headphones. Nev was on the autism spectrum, a highly functioning Asperger’s guy who avoided loud noise, so this was especially hard for him to negotiate.
“You wanted to talk to me about Khasi Zelman?” Nev shouted, almost too loud even for that room.
Cara put a finger to her lips and Nev’s eyes opened wide, afraid of being socially awkward. A constant fear in his life. She put her hand on his arm to console him, but realized by his reaction that this too was making him uncomfortable. She held up her hands and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
The band finished their song, and Nev scrunched his face up tight when the crowd erupted into a giant applause. Cara sat there hoping for a reprieve and she got one. The lead singer announced a twenty-minute break between sets and the room immediately became a low buzz of casual conversation. A welcome show of relief washed over Nev’s face as he removed his headphones and placed them on the table.
“I just had a few questions for you,” Cara said in a normal voice.
Nev’s eyes darted around, never landing on one thing for very long. “Sure, okay.”
“Well, I know—”
“Is this for an article?” Nev asked. “Like the last time?”
“No,” Cara said. “This is about the security system you installed in Zelman’s office.”
Nev had to digest that one. “Um, that’s not something I’m allowed to talk about.”
“Yes, that’s true. Normally I would say that you should never divulge private information about someone’s computer.”
“That’s right,” Nev said, rubbing his hands together for something to do.
Cara saw Tommy walk over to the stage and introduce himself to the lead singer. Tommy being Tommy.
“Nev,” Cara said trying to make eye contact as best she could. “Did you know that my father died last week?”
Nev’s eyes temporarily locked onto hers. “Seriously?”
Cara nodded.
“How?”
“He was killed.”
“How?”
“He was sitting in church praying when someone came up behind him and um . . . killed him.”
“Didn’t someone stop the person?”
“My dad was alone.”
Nev’s eyes returned to their roaming nature, landing on Tommy who was now in deep conversation with the lead singer, the guy smiling at something Tommy was saying.
“Isn’t that your friend?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know your dad?”
“Yes, he knew him very well.”
Nev glimpsed up at Cara and said, “I’m sorry.”
Cara was tempted to touch Nev’s hand, but stopped herself. “Thank you.”
With the timing of the band’s break, the interior lighting increased, and Cara could see Nev more clearly. His cheeks were sunken, and he looked like he had lost weight since the last time she’d seen him.
“Are you okay?” Cara asked. “You seem a little more distracted than normal.”
“Yeah, I’m okay, I guess.”
“Can I tell you something about my dad’s murder?”
“Yeah.”
“We know who did it.”
Nev’s eyebrows raised. “Really? Who?”
“Khasi Zelman.”
Nev did some computations inside his special brain and came up with, “That’s why you need my help?”
“Yes.”
Nev nibbled on one of his cuticles, then said, “You’re sure he really did that?”
Cara nodded, waiting for Nev to connect all the dots completely. She glanced over at Tommy and saw him hugging the lead singer. It seemed like a scene from a Martin Scorsese film.
“Why did Mr. Zelman kill your dad?” Nev asked.
“I’m not sure. Something about refusing to use Zelman’s credit cards we think.”
Nev nodded. It seemed to be the right answer, since he knew exactly the type of business Zelman conducted. “Well, I’m not sure I could really help you much, it’s been a couple of years since I set it up.”
“But you’re the one who programmed his system, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So you can navigate through his programs remotely?”
“Remotely? How? And why?”
Cara thought about her answer to his questions. “Listen, Nev, he uses a cryptocurrency to transfer funds back and forth. He uses it to launder money . . .”
Nev was nodding his head before Cara even had a chance to finish. “Yes, I know.”
“So, I need to find something, anything that we could use to put him in jail.”
“Because you can’t put him in jail for killing your father? Because you don’t have enough evidence for that?”
Cara smiled, happy to see Nev come full circle with her. “Yes, that’s exactly right. We just want justice. That’s all.”
Nev looked around the room and spotted Tommy shaking hands with the drummer in the band.
“Is your friend like the mayor or something?”
“Or something,” Cara said, wondering what he was up to. Then she turned to Nev and said, “Will you help?”
Nev studied his headphones sitting on the table in front of him. “I’m really sorry about your dad,” he said. “You were always nice to me.”
Cara waited, not wanting to scare him away.
“Sure,” he finally said. “I’ll do what I can.”