To quote the great Juliette Barnes in Nashville, “Trouble is a guy with the guitar in the next bar.”
Or my bar.
(Sidenote: Amazing show, someone bring it back!)
Mick was never trouble, though. He was never one of “those” kinds of musicians. There was no ego there – just talent. High School for the Arts – yes, he was, for all intents and purposes, one of the Fame kids. That’s how talented, how special, how insightful the Mick I knew was.
That’s who I fell in love with.
Seeing him, just 20 minutes ago, in front of what is my new life had been nerve-wracking. Now, pouring him coffee over the bar, was even moreso – it suddenly felt a lot like my old one.
He pointed to the moose head above the pinball machine and sipped.
“I thought you hated hunting.”
“It was a gift, one of the regulars … her husband was into big game … so, when he died, she cleaned out his study and made a donation. She blesses herself every time she comes in here. It’s hilarious.”
“She blessing the dead husband or the dead moose?”
I laughed, in spite of myself.
“Unclear.”
Mick looked at the bar surface and rubbed it thoughtfully.
“Cass, I’m in some trouble … I …”
He continued staring at the bar, intently, not meeting my eyes.
I sat down and leaned in. I didn’t know what to expect, but I didn’t want him to think I was in attack mode. “You what?”
“I’m in a … a little deep.”
“Deep into what?”
He folded his hands on top of the bar and – finally – looked up.
“Armond wasn’t exactly what he … what he said he was …”
“What do you mean?”
“Armond is a … Armond is a crime boss.”
I laughed, again, in spite of myself.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. What the hell …?”
He inhaled deeply. I can only describe the smirk on his face as resigned, incredulous as his own bad luck. “I know.”
Stupid egotistical ass.
My mind raced ahead. “So … how did you … I mean, when did you …?”
“In Switzerland.”
Oh, in Switzerland. The trip I went on, only to be abandoned.
“You knew in Switzerland?”
Mick put his hands up in front of him as if to say “let me explain.”
“I knew … well, I had a feeling things weren’t entirely on the up-and-up, you know … hints. The way he talked to his guys, the looks … there were undertones of, well, stress and pressure. But he always waved them off … he’d call one or the other of them ‘stupid’ or ‘incompetent’ and the next day he’d call another one ‘stupid’ or ‘incompetent,’ like I was his confidant or something. I just … look, all I cared about was making music and he was giving me the chance to do it.”
“So the name … Righteous? That was all him?”
“God, yeah… come on, you really think I’d do something like that? Thing was, it sold … you know, you got a good chunk of it.”
He waved his hands in the air for illustration. He was right – it had paid for the building, the bar, the business.
Questions screamed in my head … I had to organize them. I mean, here before me is a broken man, right? One I used to love, spent five years with, took a boatload of money from …
Oh my God, the money ….
“So the money … the money you made, the money I have … the money that bought this bar came from criminals??”
Mick put a cigarette in his mouth and reached for the matches sitting atop the bar. I slapped his hand and snatched the smoke from his lips.
“There’s no smoking in here, my friend.”