Nick was having a heart attack or a stroke. On my way to the bar, I decided to call 9-1-1 just in case. I relayed what had happened and the operator asked me if it was some kind of joke.
“Of course not! Why would I joke with you?”
“You wouldn’t believe the pranks we get, lady. I will send a unit to that address, but if this is a prank, you will find yourself in jail.”
“Look, I know what I heard. Just send help.”
I screeched to a stop in front of the bar. There were no police cars, no ambulances. Nothing. Not yet anyway. The bar wouldn’t open for another hour, but the back door was unlocked . . . not a good sign. I ran inside, through the kitchen, calling Nick’s name. No response. I scanned the booths. Nothing. I was just beginning to wonder if maybe he had called from home, when I stepped behind the bar. That’s where I finally found him.
Dead, in a pool of blood.
I backed away, nearly stumbling as a scream caught in my throat. I hit something behind me. The scream let loose when I realized it wasn’t something, but someone.
Chapter Nine
“HEY, EASY, EASY,” a man’s voice said. He turned me around, touching the bare skin of my arm, and I could just make out his LAPD uniform in the dim light.
I said something to him, but I don’t know what, exactly. I was hysterical and frantic. I caught a quick flash of the officer as a kid with his mother who was passed out on a couch—a bottle of booze next to her. I shut the vision out quickly. My friend was dead and it seemed pretty clear from all the blood on the floor he’d been murdered. Shattered glass was everywhere behind the bar. It looked like a fight had taken place.
“I’m Officer Harris. Wait here.” He sat me down in one of the booths.
My hands would not stop shaking. I wished I had Cass with me so I could bury my face in her fur.
I watched the officer walk around the bar and then disappear from sight as he knelt down behind it. Then I heard him on his radio, “I have a signal five at Fairfax and La Cienega. 527 La Cienega. Nick’s Bar. Repeat, I have a signal five.”
After Officer Harris called in the incident, he came back and sat with me. “Can you answer some questions, miss?”
“Is he . . . ?” I couldn’t make myself say the word.
“Yes, ma’am, he is.”
“Oh, my God! I can’t . . . I don’t understand. How?” I dropped my face into my hands as a fresh wave of tears threatened to overtake me.
Officer Harris nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry. It appears to be a bullet wound to his chest. I take it he was a friend?”
I nodded. “Yes. My boss, too. I sang here in the evenings.”
“Can you tell me his name?”
“Nick Gordin. He owns . . . owned . . . the bar. He, he . . .” I swallowed thickly, trying hard to keep from sobbing or throwing up. “He was a really good guy. He believed in me.”
“I am sorry. Uh, did you say Nick Gordin?”
I nodded.
“As in the actor?”
I nodded again.
He looked slightly pained. Another fan, I guessed. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” My eyes shot up to his face. “I found him like this . . . I must have arrived only seconds before you.” My hands still hadn’t stopped shaking and I could hear the quiver in my voice.
“I understand. But can you tell me how you found him? You said you play music here in the evenings, but it’s not quite ten o’clock in the morning. What were you doing here?”
I told him about the phone call from Nick.
“You were at work when you got the call?”
“Yes. I’m also a makeup artist.”
“As a matter of procedure, I will need to verify your story. Where do you work?”
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. Simone was not going to like this kind of publicity at all. “I work for Simone.”
“Simone who?” he asked.
“Simone, the pop star,” I mumbled.
“Excuse me?” he said.
“Simone. The singer.”
“Really?”
I nodded.
“Okay. I’ll need you to give me her
“Of course not! Why would I joke with you?”
“You wouldn’t believe the pranks we get, lady. I will send a unit to that address, but if this is a prank, you will find yourself in jail.”
“Look, I know what I heard. Just send help.”
I screeched to a stop in front of the bar. There were no police cars, no ambulances. Nothing. Not yet anyway. The bar wouldn’t open for another hour, but the back door was unlocked . . . not a good sign. I ran inside, through the kitchen, calling Nick’s name. No response. I scanned the booths. Nothing. I was just beginning to wonder if maybe he had called from home, when I stepped behind the bar. That’s where I finally found him.
Dead, in a pool of blood.
I backed away, nearly stumbling as a scream caught in my throat. I hit something behind me. The scream let loose when I realized it wasn’t something, but someone.
Chapter Nine
“HEY, EASY, EASY,” a man’s voice said. He turned me around, touching the bare skin of my arm, and I could just make out his LAPD uniform in the dim light.
I said something to him, but I don’t know what, exactly. I was hysterical and frantic. I caught a quick flash of the officer as a kid with his mother who was passed out on a couch—a bottle of booze next to her. I shut the vision out quickly. My friend was dead and it seemed pretty clear from all the blood on the floor he’d been murdered. Shattered glass was everywhere behind the bar. It looked like a fight had taken place.
“I’m Officer Harris. Wait here.” He sat me down in one of the booths.
My hands would not stop shaking. I wished I had Cass with me so I could bury my face in her fur.
I watched the officer walk around the bar and then disappear from sight as he knelt down behind it. Then I heard him on his radio, “I have a signal five at Fairfax and La Cienega. 527 La Cienega. Nick’s Bar. Repeat, I have a signal five.”
After Officer Harris called in the incident, he came back and sat with me. “Can you answer some questions, miss?”
“Is he . . . ?” I couldn’t make myself say the word.
“Yes, ma’am, he is.”
“Oh, my God! I can’t . . . I don’t understand. How?” I dropped my face into my hands as a fresh wave of tears threatened to overtake me.
Officer Harris nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry. It appears to be a bullet wound to his chest. I take it he was a friend?”
I nodded. “Yes. My boss, too. I sang here in the evenings.”
“Can you tell me his name?”
“Nick Gordin. He owns . . . owned . . . the bar. He, he . . .” I swallowed thickly, trying hard to keep from sobbing or throwing up. “He was a really good guy. He believed in me.”
“I am sorry. Uh, did you say Nick Gordin?”
I nodded.
“As in the actor?”
I nodded again.
He looked slightly pained. Another fan, I guessed. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” My eyes shot up to his face. “I found him like this . . . I must have arrived only seconds before you.” My hands still hadn’t stopped shaking and I could hear the quiver in my voice.
“I understand. But can you tell me how you found him? You said you play music here in the evenings, but it’s not quite ten o’clock in the morning. What were you doing here?”
I told him about the phone call from Nick.
“You were at work when you got the call?”
“Yes. I’m also a makeup artist.”
“As a matter of procedure, I will need to verify your story. Where do you work?”
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. Simone was not going to like this kind of publicity at all. “I work for Simone.”
“Simone who?” he asked.
“Simone, the pop star,” I mumbled.
“Excuse me?” he said.
“Simone. The singer.”
“Really?”
I nodded.
“Okay. I’ll need you to give me her
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