I briefly considered skipping the show that night, but in the end I put on the blonde wig and accompanied Emmy when she left to do the sound check.
“If everything is still set up from yesterday, why do you have to do a sound check again today?” I asked as we got ready to go.
“We do not leave everything set up,” Emmy corrected me. “Yes, the stage and the amps remain in place, but all the instruments are packed away for safe-keeping and so are all the electronics. Everything must be re-wired and tested again because of that, but also, our sound man takes notes on our first night and incorporates what he learns into the sound design for the next night.”
“So you’re saying the second night has better sound than the first?”
“Usually that is true, but not always. Weather can affect the sound and light show, for example,” Emmy said as we stepped out into the hallway and were immediately surrounded by the four bodyguards.
The sound check was just as crushingly boring as ever, but I’d known to expect that. I’d brought my laptop, planning on spending some time on work while the band did all the necessary routine of getting things ready for the show.
Jen had other ideas, though.
“You know, Leah, you and me, we’ve hardly said three words to each other on this leg of the tour, much less since, you know, Atlanta,” she said, sitting down on the shabby old couch in the dressing room with me after everybody else had left.
She handed me a can of sparkling water, and I took it, not understanding why she’d given it to me. She indicated I should open it, as she popped the top on hers.
“To Angela,” Jen said gravely, raising her La Croix in a toast. “To an unbelievably sweet girl, taken far too soon.”
“To Angela,” I agreed, and we clunked the two cans together.
“You know, I tried to get Lee to go to the funeral down there in Colombia, but he said that he didn’t think it was appropriate and he’d feel uncomfortable. I should’ve gone by myself,” she said.
“The service was in Spanish,” I told her.
“Wouldn’t have mattered,” Jen said dismissively. “The words aren’t really all that important. It’s being there that counts.”
“I guess I didn’t know you and Angela were that good friends,” I said.
“We weren’t all that close, honestly, but we always got along, and when we did hang out it was always a good time. She had a great sense of humor and was always so nice to everyone,” Jen said. “Then, to see her get straight-up murdered like that…” she added. “It was unreal.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“That whole thing… It was like a bad dream,” Jen continued. “Like a nightmare where you see something happening, but you just can’t move or do anything to stop what was going on.” She took a steadying sip of her lime-flavored sparkling water, then said, “I always knew you were a badass. We all did, you know? I mean, I had no doubts after that chick went after you with a broken bottle in Austin, but seeing you fucking demolishing those fuckers… That was intense. I mean, really intense. Leah, don’t take this wrong- I mean, like, well, I’m telling you this as a friend, O.K.?”
“O.K…” I said, wondering where she was going.
“I got a really good look at your face when you twisted that one guy’s head nearly off. I mean, you were only about ten feet away, right? So you grabbed that guy and spun him around, reached your arm around and broke his fucking neck like it was nothing, right? But what struck me the most, and again, don’t take this wrong- but what struck me in that moment was the look on your face. You were, like, still in the process of killing that dude, but you were already looking around for your next, um, target. You’d already mentally dismissed that guy whose life you were taking while he was still trying to get your arm off him. Leah, he was terrified and fighting for his life- which he knew was just about to end- and you were like a… a bored cashier or something, calling out, ‘Next!’”
Jen looked carefully to make sure she hadn’t offended me, so I just gave her a shrug. “I get task-focused,” I said. “Like you said, all that was left to do was finish the guy off, so planning my next move made sense.”
“I get that, I do,” Jen said, visibly relaxing. “I mean, I got that at that very instant.”
“So why bring it up now?”
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to you alone since that night,” Jen replied. “I’ve been wanting to, you know, just get some things out, but…”
“What does Lee say about all this?” I asked. “Or Jax?”
“Well, I think I told you a long time ago that they’re both terrified of you, right? Well, seeing you mow through a bunch of armed attackers like that didn’t alleviate any of that, that’s for sure,” Jen said.
“We had a talk the next day, you know, there in Atlanta, when Emmy said that she wanted to continue the tour,” I told her. “Just Steph, Jax, Lee, Emmy, and me. Lee said that everybody knew I had a tiger inside, but then he said something funny. He said that the tiger isn’t an asshole- it only comes out when needed.”
“That sounds like him,” Jen admitted. “But yeah, that tiger… But that really wasn’t my point, I guess. I guess what I was trying to say that in that moment, you were looking around for your next target while just, like, casually snapping a guy’s neck. Like the actual killing part was just something you had to wrap up before moving on. I don’t know if I’m making any sense,” Jen said, leaning back.
“What did you take away from that?” I asked.
“Well, it was pretty fucking obvious this was not your first rodeo, if you know what I mean.”
“Not my second rodeo, for that matter,” I replied.
“No, I didn’t think it was,” Jen agreed. “It takes a lot of rodeos to get to that level. I mean, I thought about the time in Austin, you know? That drunk chick came at you with that broken bottle, and the look on your face was more, like, ‘Seriously?’ than ‘Oh, shit!’ You grabbed her and sucker-punched her with no more, um, no more emotional investment in it than you did when you signaled the waitress to bring us the check, you know?” Jen said.
“I’ve been told that kind of thing before,” I admitted.
“I gotta tell you, in a way it’s pretty terrifying that you’re so casual about violence.”
“Are you terrified of me?” I asked, curious.
“Um, kinda? It’s not like I think you’re going to go apeshit and start killing people at random or anything, so in that sense I’m not afraid of you, per se,” Jen said. “But just knowing that you have this ability- I guess that makes me, um…"
“No, I’m not going to go apeshit, as you put it,” I said. “I’m not that person.”
“No, I know you aren’t,” Jen assured me. “I’m pretty clear on that, actually. We’ve known each other for years now, and I’ve never even really seen you raise your voice at anybody. You’re about the most even-tempered person I’ve ever known. That’s part of why it’s so surreal when you do, um, resort to violence. It’s like it comes from out of nowhere.”
“I’ve been told that’s a rare ability,” I told her.
“Thank Christ for that,” Jen said shaking her head.
The Downfall set the tone for the night with the first song after the intro. It was the same ZZ Top song they’d covered years ago in their beginning days on Youtube.
“Here’s a bit of trivia for y’all,” Jackson said when the applause had died down. “That was the very first song we ever recorded in any form as The Downfall, back when we started. We had no idea how things were going to go- no idea it’d take off the way it has. But here we are, on this beautiful night here in Houston, and here y’all are, too.” Turning to Emmy, he said, “Thanks for getting this whole thing rollin’, Em. It’s been amazin’.”
“Thank you, Jackson, and you, Lee, for making this band complete. I may be the face of The Downfall, but Lee is the brains and you are the heart. I cannot imagine that we would ever have gotten here without the three of us bringing our various talents to the mix.”
“Heck- I’m just the bass player,” Jackson protested, getting a laugh from Emmy.
“Do not sell yourself short,” Emmy replied. “You are the one who gives this band its soul.”
With that, she started in on the guitar intro to ‘I Will Die For You’ from The Downfall’s second album, but infusing it with a bit of slinky blues it didn’t have on the recording.
“You know, I asked Lee why they changed the playlist every night,” Jen said, leaning in to be heard. “Like this song- this is the first time they’ve played it this entire tour, you know?”
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He said it’s so they don’t get bored,” she replied with a laugh. “And also so that fans watching the live stream will watch more than just one show. He also said that, since every night is different, a lot of fans buy tickets for both nights in places where they play multiple shows. But mostly so the three of them don’t get bored.”
“Makes sense,” I admitted. “Every night is a new and exciting thing, right?”
“Exactly.”
The highlight of the show for me was the slow, slide blues rendition of Janis Joplin’s song ‘Take A Piece Of My Heart’. Emmy didn’t try to imitate Janis’ raspy vocals, but did somehow capture the original’s bittersweet, resigned tone.
Jackson sang the last song of the night, a slow slide blues song about having twenty-five lighters on his dresser and needing to get paid. I didn’t recognize the song, but the crowd there in Houston sure did, and they went crazy when he sang the first line. Which I guess was good, since that was pretty much all the song was- just repeating those lines over and over.
To my surprise, Emmy said after the show backstage that she wanted to go to the unofficial afterparty, which was going to be held at a blues club not too far away.
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“It’s just going to be us- no outsiders,” Emmy said. “Jackson said there is a band playing tonight that he has always wanted to see.”
“Sure, if you’re up for it,” I said. “Please, please let me know if you start to get sore or tired or anything. Don’t overdo it and set your recovery back.”
Emmy gave me a smile and said that she had been feeling better, but would be careful.
We got to the club, which was on a side street in a crappy little strip mall (if you could even call it that). It shared a parking lot with a nail salon and a mini mart that had plywood replacing the broken glass in its front door.
On the one hand, the neighborhood in general was crummy and the place looked like a dump from the outside. On the other, though, that seemed like the kind of place a really authentic Houston blues bar would be, right?
I figured that we would have already missed the band since we got there after eleven, but Jackson assured me that their second set would start at midnight.
Our group nearly doubled the number of patrons in the place, and when he recognized who it was that had come in, the owner himself came out to make sure we were set up right. The place was just a bar- no food on the menu. Drinks only, but plenty of salty snacks for each of our tables. By ‘salty snacks’ I mean unshelled roasted peanuts in good-sized bowls. Wondering where to put the shells, I noticed other patrons simply dumping them on the ancient linoleum floor. Another point for authenticity, I thought.
The band that Jackson had wanted to see was an up-tempo country band with a heavyset lady who must have been pushing sixty years old singing and playing the accordion. It took me a while to realize that she was singing in some sort of heavily accented French. I could understand a word here or there, but that was it.
“What is she saying?” I asked Emmy at one point, but she just shrugged.
“I can barely understand any of it. Her creole accent is far too strong,” she said. “But it does not matter. I love the sound, even if I cannot understand much of it at all.”
A handful of folks had started dancing in the open area near the stage, doing some sort of fast-stepping waltz or something. Jackson wanted to dance, but couldn’t talk anybody into it except Emmy.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” I cautioned her as she got up.
“I will be careful,” Emmy agreed. It took the two of them barely any time to find their feet, so to speak, and integrate with the rest of the people on the dance floor. I kept a close eye on Emmy, but she seemed to be doing fine, so I told myself to stop worrying.
I will admit the music was infectious and I did find my toe tapping to the rhythm on more than one occasion, but Emmy really seemed to be enjoying herself. During one long saxophone solo she and Jackson really took their dance up a notch, looking as if they’d practiced together for a long time, they flowed through the two-step so smoothly.
By the mid point of the band’s set the whole bar had become a party. People were either dancing, clapping along with the music (and calling out “C’est toi!” every now and then) or at the very least bopping in their seats. I will admit I fit into both of those last two categories, letting the music lift my spirits. It helped that I could see that Emmy was letting go of all of her sorrow and hurt and just feeling free and loose, dancing with Jackson without another thought besides enjoying herself.
Even our four stoic bodyguards were smiling and moving with the music. That didn’t mean they weren’t keeping very watchful eyes out, but at least for one night they could let their figurative hair down.
“If ya feelin’ hot, show us what ya got!” the band’s singer called out between songs, encouraging people to dance. It certainly was hot in that little bar, but again, it only added to the authenticity.
“That was very much fun,” Emmy said, dropping back into her seat and taking a big drink of her water, then a sip of the house white that she’d proclaimed was terrible earlier. “But I think that is enough for me tonight.”
“You looked like you were having a great time,” I agreed.
“I was,” Emmy said with a broad smile. “I am very glad we came.”
“I am, too,” I said, really meaning it.
When the band finished up, Jackson and Emmy went to the stage to talk to the musicians- a conversation that lasted for quite a while. While they did that, I looked for the bar’s owner.
“We had a great time here tonight,” I told the old guy. “Is it like this every night?”
“Nah,” he said, dismissively, waving his hand. “We on’y get Zydeco bands mebbe once a month, but when we do, yeah, it’s a party. Mos’ of de time we get local blues and day don’ draw de same crowd.”
“Well, I think it’s a fair bet that we’ll be back next time we come to Houston,” I said.
“Ya more den welcome,” he said, his smile showing off his missing tooth.
I left a really healthy tip for the overworked waitress as we were ushered out at closing time, which was just a very few short hours before I was due back at that boxing gym.
After helping Emmy with her bath and settling her down to sleep, I simply stayed up. The most I could have slept would have been an hour or so nap, so what was the point? I could sleep on the plane.
I was there waiting when they opened the gym at five, ready to put in some work. Yeah, I was dragging a little bit, but as Jody had pointed out a while back, it’s when you’re at your lowest that you need to make yourself rise to the occasion.
“I gotta admit,” Kenny said as he led me in, “I wasn’t actually expectin’ you this mornin’.”
“I’d be in bed now if I hadn’t committed to being here,” I admitted. “We were out late last night.”
“How late?” Kenny asked.
“Until just a couple of hours ago,” I said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Closing time was two AM, but they had a hard time kicking us out.”
“How much sleep ya get?”
“None since I’ve seen you last,” I said with a shrug.
Shaking his head, Ken said, “Don’t think I’m gonna go easy an ya.”
“I wouldn’t want you to,” I replied, heading to the shabby locker room to dress down.
A few minutes later we were into the session, working on my technique.
“Back in LA- d’ya ever spar with other fighters?” Kenny asked when we stopped for a water break
“All the time,” I said.
“What exactly do ya mean by all the time?” he asked for clarification.
“Once or twice a week, depending on how I’m feeling, and if I can talk any of the guys into it.”
“Guys?”
“I’ve never sparred against any other women,” I said.
“Yeah, you’re way too big,” he agreed. “Ain’t no weight class your size for women.”
“There is that,” I agreed.
“So when ya fight these guys, what wouldja say is your biggest weakness?”
“Well, wrestling, but since we’re talking boxing here, I’d say it’s the fact that these guys are all much stronger than me, so they hit harder,” I replied.
“But with your speed, you hit ‘em a lot more, right?” Kenny asked.
“A lot more,” I agreed. “That’s why a lot of them won’t fight me anymore.”
“Yeah…” Kenny agreed thoughtfully. “It’s gonna be a problem, keepin’ that speed but adding a lot of strength.” Thinking about it for a while, he finally admitted that it was probably a bad tradeoff.
“Whatever you been doin’ for strength training, keep doin’ just like you been doin’. Work on your delivery like we been working yesterday and today. ‘Member, a punch starts with your legs, goes up through your hips, then your shoulders and finally your arms. You’ll never deliver a really heavy blow with just your shoulders and arms. Ya gotta lean into it.”
Checking my phone while waiting for my Uber after my workout, I saw that I’d gotten a text from Mr Han, wanting to meet for lunch. Hoping he was planning on agreeing to help train my hitters, I shot him a response saying that I was looking forward to having lunch with him.
Emmy was meeting with Lee, Jackson and Stephanie when I got back to the hotel suite, so I just leaned down and gave her a kiss hello, then went to take a shower and get dressed in normal clothes for the day, since I’d skipped using the gym’s nasty facilities again.
The meeting was over by the time I finished. I asked Emmy if she’d had breakfast yet and she said no, so we went downstairs to grab a bite. She asked me about my workout that morning, and I told that I’d found value in working with this guy Kenny and focusing on boxing, but I wasn’t sure how applicable it’d really be in the wild.
“It’s a different approach, physically,” I explained. “I can see the advantage of what he taught me in a boxing ring, but it means committing to merely punching and defending against punches. That’s just too limiting.”
“That makes sense,” Emmy admitted.
Our conversation turned to the bar last night. Emmy admitted that she felt a bit sore, but at the same time felt better than she had in a while.
“It was good to see you having fun,” I told her. “I loved watching you dance.”
“I think I needed that very much,” Emmy said. “I did not have to think about anything but the music and the movement of our feet. That woman- the singer? Her French was so terrible!” Emmy said with a laugh. “She could understand me, but when she spoke to me I could barely understand any of what she said.”
“What did you talk about?”
“We introduced ourselves, but she knew who we were already. We told her that we enjoyed her music very much and told her that we would be sure to see her perform the next time we ever got a chance. Jackson said that he owned several of her records, and she was very pleased to hear that,” Emmy said, her voice light, carrying none of the stress and sorrow I’d been hearing ever since Angela was killed.
“I’m glad we went,” I told her.
“I did not realize that you had planned on such an early workout- I would not have asked to go if I had known,” Emmy said. “Why did you schedule it so early on a Sunday morning?”
“We’re flying to Denver this afternoon, babe,” I reminded her. “I wanted to get it done early. That reminds me- I have a lunch meeting with Mr Han today.”
“Can you trust him?” Emmy asked, concerned. “Are you giving away too many secrets?”
“I think I can,” I told her. “I’m pretty sure he’ll use whatever he learns to his advantage, but I really don’t think it’d ever be to our disadvantage, if that makes sense. I think he’s a solid ally.”
“Allies are important,” Emmy said.
Mr Han and I had lunch at a Mexican restaurant a couple of blocks away from the hotel. The food was alright, but it was far from authentic. It wasn’t even Tex-Mex- it was more along the lines of the big casual dining chains like El Torito or Chevy’s or something like that- food that vaguely resembled actual Mexican food, but sanitized for mainstream tastes.
“I went to the concert last night,” Mr Han said when we sat down. “Your wife is undeniably talented.”
“She is, but to be fair, so are Lee and Jackson,” I replied.
“True,” Mr Han agreed. After a moment’s pause, he asked, “Do they know?”
“They might be vague on some details, but yeah, in general,” I confirmed.
“How many people outside of your organization know?” he pressed.
“A few- a handful, really. Not that many, but I suspect that American and British intelligence services might be interested in me. I have no idea how much or how little they know- not much, I think, but I can’t be too sure,” I told him.
“What makes you think that?” he asked, but just then the waitress came by to take out orders, so I didn’t respond.
Once she’d come back with our drinks and left again, I told Mr Han about the Very Interesting Man in Colombia and Colonel Bridger in London.
“This man Suárez, he may or may not be, but this Bridger- he is without a doubt part of the UK’s apparatus,” Mr Han agreed after I’d told him the tale.
“He as much as said so,” I said. “He hinted that he wanted to recruit me as an asset.”
“To what end?”
I shrugged. “That part was left unsaid. But… That brings us back to us- you and me. I’ve been very clear on what I want from you- that is, other than your advice and guidance. You’ve told me that you want my help in working with your guys, and I’ve already pointed you in the right direction for recruiting, um, other assets, but what else can I do for you? To be completely blunt, I’d like to count you as an ally. If our goals are not exactly unitary, at the very least they aren’t in any sort of conflict, right? Besides the obvious, I’m not sure what else I can offer you, but I’d like to know what it is you’d like from me. All this cloak and dagger stuff simply isn’t my style. I’d much prefer to lay it all out on the table,” I told him.
Smiling, Mr Han was about to reply but just then the waitress returned with our meals.
After she’d left again, he said, “No, subtlety is not your strength,” he said, smiling again at the thought. “You’re more of a precision-guided missile. You come in at high speed and destroy your target with no hesitation. This is what I admire most about you. You’re as direct as they come.” Taking a moment to take a bite of his chile relleno, he went on. “As you say, our interests may not have much, if any, overlap. Certainly no foreseeable conflict. This means that I can’t picture a circumstance where my duties would compel me to go against your interests, or yours against mine. This is a fine basis for cooperation.” Taking another bite, he said, “This food is unlike any I have ever had, but I don’t dislike it.”
“When you come to Los Angeles I’ll take you to a real Mexican restaurant,” I told him. “It’s truly among the world’s finest cuisines.”
Returning to the subject, Mr Han said, “Yes, I still would like your help training my men. I will train yours in exchange, and of course, personally train you when you come back to Singapore. This is easy. As far as what may go beyond that, I don’t know yet, but if something comes up that I believe you can help with, I’ll reach out. I’ll expect your discretion, of course.”
“Of course,” I agreed. “In return, I’ll call on you if something develops that I think will be in your wheelhouse. Other than those vague promises, I agree to continued training programs. You and I will work together, of course, but we’ll also train each others’ men.”
Mr Han reached across the table and we shook hands somewhat ritualistically. “I think this will have positive long-term ramifications,” he said. “Don’t bother booking a hotel when you come to Singapore. I have a place for you to stay.”
“I’ll probably come alone,” I said. “I don’t want to involve Emmy in any more of this than absolutely necessary.”
“I find that fascinating,” Mr Han said, leaning forward. “You’re doing all this for her and her people, yes?”
“For her and our people,” I corrected.
“Ah, yes. You are the famous demon queen,” Mr Han said, smiling again. “Known worldwide.”
“Hopefully not recognized worldwide quite so much,” I said, indicating my short brown hair.
“That is a very different look for you,” he agreed.