This story is a first for me, a collaboration with Mostera1, a well known fellow author. It came about at his suggestion and it was his idea that I fleshed out as the designated wordsmith. My partner provided plot direction and a good deal of detail input, so it truly was a joint project. We also had some useful feedback from PostScriptor as well. Any errors or omissions are mine alone.
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Street Find
Prologue
I hate winter. I hate it with a passion. All the rotten things in my life have happened in winter. I lost my parents in winter. My one and only girlfriend dumped me during the winter. Except for the contrived joviality at Christmas, most people I know are miserable during winter. And today, the final indignity. My car quit working. Perfect! I'm on my way to a job and it dies. Lovely!
I was born in Sacramento, California. We didn't do winter in Sacramento. But when my parents got sideswiped by a drunk and piled into a power pole back on New Year's Eve, 1993, I was orphaned at age six and had to go live with my grandparents... in Spokane, Washington. Grampa and Grams were great to me. They treated me like a son and not like a burden. I got a lot of love from them and that got me through some tough times between when I went to their home and when I finished school at eighteen.
My name is Edward Murchie, but almost everyone knows me as Ed. When I graduated from high school, there wasn't enough money to send me to state college, so I had to look for a job. I found it working in a music store. Thanks to my grandmother, I could play the piano and guitar and read music, so I was hired. The store wasn't overwhelmed with customers, but it was a job and they kept me on and I made a reasonable living as a sales clerk and music teacher. I earned enough that I could afford a place of my own. My grandparents weren't pleased with me moving out, but they were in their seventies now and I couldn't continue to be a burden to them.
I'm the first to admit I'm a loner. I'm used to being by myself a lot. That's what led me to music. My grandmother played the piano and she taught me most of what I know, including how to read music. Learning the guitar was fairly difficult for me, but I persevered and while I'm no Mark Knopfler or Eric Clapton, I can play. I picked up a few dollars during my school days giving kids lessons at their home, but that was no fun, mostly because the kids I taught didn't want to be there in the first place. When I moved out, I quit home teaching unless I was approached by someone who was genuinely interested ... preferably female.
My apartment, if you could call it that, was a loft over a general store. The entrance was up a long set of stairs along the side of the building. The place was bigger than I needed, being the full size of the store below. However, with two bedrooms and a large living room, a single bathroom and a decent size kitchen, it was far larger and better than anything I had looked at previously. Not only that, it was cheap, easy to maintain, and gave me privacy. I used the second bedroom for my music room. I bought an old Roland keyboard/synthesizer from the store for a hundred dollars, a trade-in on a newer fancier one. The store had some amplifiers and equipment that they couldn't sell, so they gave me a deal on that as well. I also had a used Gibson electric guitar that was a Christmas gift from my grandparents.
For a couple of years I did without a car. I could walk to work, or take the bus if the weather was bad. I saved my money and bought a used car, a 2003 Saturn. It had 88,000 miles and was fairly clean. I figured with the plastic body, I wouldn't have to worry about rust. I was right. However, there were other things I should have worried about.
Chapter 1 An Unexpected Twist Of Fate
It was common that among the people who came into the store were professional musicians. They would work solo or in groups at various places for money. I would hear them talk about their life playing music, the problems they had and the struggle to find any amount of fame that would give them a crack at "the big time." I knew some of them were quite talented and deserved a break, but here in Spokane, that wasn't very likely.
One afternoon, I was approached by a regular in the store, Stan Foxwell, who I knew fronted a band. They played middle-of-the-road music at clubs and private parties.
"Hey, Fox, how can I help you?"
"You know anyone who can play keyboards? Rollie is sick and I need a fill-in."
"What's the gig?" I asked.
"Starlight Club, Friday and Saturday night."
"I can do that," I said, not sure it was the smartest thing I could say.
"You can? Great. You read music?"
"Yeah ... can you give me a play list and sheets beforehand?"
"Sure. We can supply the board. Rollie leaves it with us."
"Perfect. Otherwise I'd have to bring mine."
"Thanks, Ed. That's great. You really got me out of a hole."
"See you Friday. What time?"
"Seven at the Starlight is plenty early."
We shook hands and I watched him head out in a much better mood than when he had arrived. Stan Foxwell was a good guy and a loyal customer. His band consisted of Stan on drums, two guitar players, one of whom was very good, the aforementioned keyboard player, and a fifth man who played both bass and fiddle. The music was mostly middle-of-the-road tunes from the past; ones that people would easily recognize. Bud and Al, the two guitar players, were the voices. They were capable enough, but stuck to tunes they could handle. It was pretty much a prototypical tavern/club band.
This wasn't something new for me. I wasn't into heavy metal or hard rock, but the rest I could manage. Even country, if necessary ... and in Spokane, it was often necessary. I'd pick up a few bucks that would go unreported, and have something to do on the weekend. I'd once thought about a regular gig (they were available) but so far I'd decided I liked my freedom and didn't want to get tied down.
Friday night got cold in a hurry. The temperature was in the low twenties and still dropping while the wind had picked up. As I drove toward the Starlight Lounge, the engine began coughing. I checked the gas gauge and saw I had at least half a tank. The cough and engine miss got worse and finally I had to pull over to the curb and park it. I was no mechanic and had no idea what had caused the problem. Resigned to walking the six or seven blocks to the lounge, I locked the car and began my trek.
This part of town wasn't the best area of Spokane by any means. Older buildings, many abandoned businesses, and generally a less-than-desirable neighborhood. I pulled up my collar, pulled my hat down over my forehead and started to march towards my destination.
About three blocks from the Starlight was a group of old brick apartments, and as I approached them I saw a figure sitting on the steps of one of the buildings. From a distance I couldn't tell who it was, but it was hunched over, almost into an upright fetal position. I guessed it was to ward off the cold and as I got closer, I was pretty sure I was right. I could almost hear the person shivering.
A few steps further and I was sure it was a woman and she was hardly dressed for this weather. I considered walking by, but the words of my grandmother rang in my head: "Don't you dare."
"Miss ... can I help you?" I asked as I stood at the bottom of the steps.
"Ddddooo yyyyuh haaaaf anyyy muhney? I hhhaaaaf nnnnun."
"Sure, but where do you live? You can't stay out here dressed like that."
"Nooowhere. Nooo hooome," she answered, still not looking up at me.
"Look, I'm on my way to work. Why don't you come with me and you can warm up there. When I'm done, we'll find a place for you to stay. You can't stay outside tonight. You'll freeze to death."
She didn't answer right away, but slowly, achingly slowly, she began to rise. I walked to her and took her arm. She attempted to pull away from me, but when she almost stumbled down the three steps to the sidewalk, she decided I was the safer option.
"Let's go. It's getting colder. Here ... take my gloves and scarf. We haven't got far to go and we need to hurry."
