Downbeat

By Douglas Browning

The relationship between Shydra, the wife of private investigator Hock Hocken, and police officer Alais Snchez comes to an abrupt end when Shydra discovers Alaiss bullet-ridden body inside the entrance of her and Hocks home. Two days later Shydra disappears. Though the police begin to focus on her as a suspect for the murder, Hock is convinced of her innocence. He sets out on a lengthy and frustrating search for her. Downbeat recounts the details of both his search and his involvement with a woman from his past who supports him during his efforts. Will he find Shydra? And what will it mean if he does?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462875009

Douglas Browning

Douglas Browning, retired university professor of philosophy, lives outside Georgetown, Texas, where he labors at length over poems and novels, stays up throughout the night reading, writing, and listening to jazz, and enjoys life in his countryside hacienda with his talented and beautiful wife.

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Copyright © 2011 by Douglas Browning.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011908138

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4628-7499-6

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4628-7498-9

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4628-7500-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

The poem Communication is quoted in its entirety by permission of its author and is from the book Poems and Visions, Copyright © 1968 by Douglas Browning and included in the book Poems: 1950-2009, Copyright © 2010 by Douglas Browning.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are strictly coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

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Contents

Rehearsal

SONG

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

KEY CHANGE

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

DISCORD

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

PRELUDES

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

SHARPS AND FLATS

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

REHARMONIZATION

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

FUGUE

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

CODA

APPENDIX

Little Sister

And Mamma Doesn’t Have a Clue

Juice Machine

Cream of the Crop

Dance With Me, Daddy

This book is for

Becky Browning

Wife

Lover

Friend

Valentine

To give is remnant less of the hand

than the running whole of the flesh.

The ends that tie are less of a bond

than the downbeat flash.

My woman knows how symmetries

performed in a bedside naught

at last are the several hundred tries

to say the last goodnight.

We know. Indeed. We cannot lie

that long triangular whim.

The very last that in us lay

an everlasting thrum.

On Monday, January 17, 2011, at 4:30 PM, Shydra Hocken, returning home from an afternoon of shopping, found the blood-drenched body of Police Officer Alessandra Alais Sánchez just inside the closed but unlocked front door of her home. She had been shot three times, approximately four hours earlier.

Rehearsal

When Deirdre Cash was informed by Lieutenant Felix Arbut in September of 2010 that her husband Detective Artie Cash had been shot in the line of duty and was in critical condition at Brackenridge Hospital, Officer Alessandra Alais Sánchez accompanied him to break the news. Officer Sánchez, who had worked with Artie on several occasions, subsequently visited Artie in the hospital, twice in fact, during which she met fellow visitor Shydra Hocken, wife of private investigator Hock Hocken, Deirdre’s partner in the firm of Hocken and Cash Investigations and a close friend of Artie’s. Alais, as male-oriented as a woman could be, yet found herself drawn to Shydra to a point where it became obvious, surprising as it was to her, that the more she saw her the more obsessed she became with the prospect of physical intimacy with her.

As a self-reliant woman who had achieved her goal of becoming a respected police officer by dint of determination, hard work, and confidence in her own abilities and sensitivities, Alais was not given to doubting herself or disregarding those cravings when they forced themselves on her. In keeping with her training she decided to test her improbable desire by visiting Shydra at her home. As it became clearer and clearer to her during these visits that her desire was persistent and growing in intensity, she sought to determine Shydra’s receptivity to a more intimate relationship. Her announced purpose for these frequent visits was, at least at the beginning, that of keeping abreast of the developments in Artie’s recovery and exhibiting, as well, her concern for Shydra’s own well being. But after a while, it became obvious to her that Shydra hadn’t been taken in by these excuses and, in fact, seemed amused by Alais’s naiveté in offering them. There was nothing for it, so Alais confessed her fascination with Shydra and her desire for more than welcoming kisses and hugs. Shydra responded that she had recognized Alais’s fancies almost from the first and hadn’t seen the point in discouraging them since she enjoyed the adulation, having experienced such attentions often, although, she added, they were especially meaningful coming from someone for whom she also felt an attraction. Alais was elated, even though the desired intimacies remained tantalizingly just out of reach.

You’re tormenting me, Shydra. It’s gotten so I can’t think of anything else.

Good. Being in torment about me is good. It’s encouraging. I tend to respond to torment.

And so it went. Faced with such agonizing hunger and relishing it, Shydra felt more and more aroused by Alais with each visit she made. It took her over. The time came when she too could think of little than the excitement of allowing Alais the victory she sought. She knew it was fated, but she kept holding herself back, indulging herself with the intense pleasure to which she was becoming addicted at each display of Alais’s mounting frustration and her stumbling recital of her fantasies. The sweetness Shydra felt from Alais’s agony finally became too precious to bear. The agony became her own. She tossed in bed at night, fingers busy, picturing in vivid colors the consummation of their hunger for each other.

It came about in mid October. Shydra invited Alais to a party at the home of Crystal January in celebration of the twenty-first birthday of a young lovely, Fury Fontaine by name, professional courtesan who now served on assignment as secretary at Hocken and Cash Investigations. Finding herself suddenly overcome by a ungovernable passion for Alais’s body, Shydra shocked everyone by abandoning all restraint and, without any hint of her intentions to any of the attendees, hustled a surprised Alais off to one of the guest bedrooms. It was that kind of gathering, attended by a number of bisexual women and no men, when such sexual license was not only allowed but encouraged. What was shocking was that no one present expected such an uncontrollable passion on Shydra’s part, particularly for Police Officer Alessandra Sánchez and, of all things, in the presence of Shydra’s faithful and long-time lover.

Carlyle Goosen, twenty-six-year-old adopted daughter and heir apparent of a local crime boss known by the name of Papa D, had been Shydra’s devoted lover for almost four years and, being present at the affair when Shydra ignored her and took Alais to bed for the first time, was outraged by the betrayal. Subsequently, as Alais continued to visit Shydra and their sexual intimacy, now obsessive for both women, blazed into a consuming conflagration, Carlyle decided to take steps to halt it.

As a managing member of Papa D’s syndicate, her warning to Alais to stay away from Shydra was forceful and threatening but, in the long run, ineffective.

Carlyle’s demand occurred in late October as she waited beside Alais’s little blue hardtop Miata in the police department parking lot after she got off duty. Alais strode up to her without apparent concern.

You waiting for me, Carlyle?

Carlyle said, I’m here to make it crystal clear to you that your seeing Shydra is over. Done. Do you understand me?

Alais looked at her as though she were crazy. I understand what you said alright. But my seeing Shydra is none of your business.

I’m making it my business. I am not asking you. I’m telling you. As of now, you and Shydra are history.

That’s up to Shydra. I’ll tell her what you said. I don’t think she’ll accept it for a minute. I’m sorry if it disturbs you, but things between us have gone much too far to be tossed aside like that.

No. Talking to her is out. It ends right now, right this minute.

And if it doesn’t?

You’ll not enjoy the consequences.

That’s a threat.

You’re catching on. You’d better think hard about your situation.

You don’t scare me, Carlyle. You may be big in the crime world, but I’m an officer of the law.

Carlyle shook her head and laughed. Get serious, girl. Your badge won’t help you. You know it and I know it. Just keep it in mind. I’ll be watching you.

She gave Alais a condescending smile and turned her back and walked away.

Carlyle’s warning had an effect. For almost a month Alais refrained from seeing or talking to Shydra. Shydra’s frantic attempts to contact her went begging. Phone calls went to voice mail and were not returned.

On a Friday, in late November, Alais drove up to Shydra’s home, parked down the street, walked up to the front door, and rang the bell. Shydra was there. Alais was admitted. Two hours and ten minutes later Alais walked back to her car flushed with success. She felt on top of the world.

Carlyle knew about it almost as soon as it took place. She had indeed been keeping an eye on Alais. It was a direct and willful act of defiance of Carlyle and the threat she had made, like a slap in the face.

On a Thursday, the ninth day of December, Alais’s blue Miata disappeared from the police department lot while Alais was on duty. The police were stymied; there were no clues as to the perpetrator.

The next morning before dawn the car was found ablaze on the median in the middle of the overpass over the railroad tracks on Seventh Street just east of Pleasant Valley Road. Morning traffic was stacked up in long lines as several police units, two fire trucks, and an ambulance blocked off the overpass. The blaze, obviously fueled by accelerants, was extinguished by a cannonade of water from hoses held at some distance from it. The possibility of an explosion from the car’s gas tank necessitated the delay in approaching the auto. As soon as it could be assumed that such an eventuality was unlikely, police and medics stormed the wreck. To their relief they found it empty of human remains.

The automobile was of course a total loss. The staged spectacle made one thing clear. It was intended as a statement.

The police went into action but Alais, enraged to the point of apoplexy, remained unhelpful. She knew what the statement was but she didn’t know what to do about it. Fear of Carlyle and the thugs at her command no doubt contributed to her silence. More substantial, however, was her awareness of her utter helplessness. There was no single thread of evidence that led to Carlyle or anyone in her employ. Her encounter with Carlyle in the parking lot and the warning she had received was not a matter of record and, in fact, no one other than the two of them even knew about it. Except Shydra. Shydra heard the story when Alais gave her the reason for her lengthy absence. But what she said to Shydra was of no consequence. Hearsay counts for nothing and, even were it not so, knowledge of her sexual relationship with another woman was, because of her position among the police, to be avoided at all costs.

When Alais returned to her apartment the evening after the car was torched, there was a message on her phone. A male voice with three words: You were warned. Of course it was untraceable. And of course Alais wouldn’t request a trace. She wouldn’t even make it known.

Alais was a strong woman, an officer of the law, and no one to fool with. She hadn’t cried since she was a teen. But that night she thought of Shydra and what she had achieved with her and how difficult it would now be to see her again and she wept. The loss of her car entered her mind only fleetingly. It was a car. Shydra had become her life.

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So it was that from Alais’s first sight of Shydra beside Artie’s hospital bed a series of fateful events regarding those two women began to unfold. Surprising as it seems in retrospect, another series of events, initiated in that same hospital room, began an equally fateful development. It also involved two women, in this case Deirdre Cash and Fury Fontaine.

Even before the shooting sent him to the hospital Artie had withdrawn from any sort of tender intimacy with Deirdre, adopting instead the uncharacteristic attitude of being rough and demanding. He was hurting and unsure of himself because of her disclosure that she had taken a lover for the first time in their marriage. The thought that he had a rival for her affections was difficult for him to handle. The fact that Deirdre’s lover was a woman of all things and Crystal January on top of it made him doubly uneasy. Artie knew Crystal; she struck him from the first time he met her as a commanding presence, impossible to ignore, elegant, seductively beautiful, and wealthy to the point of indecency. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that during his stay in the hospital, overcome with anxiety about regaining enough of his physical abilities to return to his position as a homicide detective, he found encouragement and comfort, not from his wife, but from Fury’s daily visits, as well as from her warmth, sparkle, physical allure, and humor. Released to Deirdre’s care in their home, he eagerly awaited Fury’s continuing visits while pointedly ignoring the needed care he received from Deirdre. The strain between husband and wife grew into a coldness that seemed impossible to bridge, while the attraction between Fury and Artie grew. The day came when he packed up much of his goods, loaded them into Fury’s waiting car, and let her drive him to her apartment.

They lived together for a couple of months, but it couldn’t last. Carlyle saw to that. During those months with Fury, Artie sufficiently recovered his physical and mental abilities to be able to return to police work, while Fury, continuing her work at Hocken and Cash Investigation, remained on leave from her position in the stable of exceedingly desirable and outrageously expensive courtesans that was now managed by Carlyle with a thoroughness and attention to detail that could be ignored only to one’s peril. Returning to that exalted position under Carlyle’s supervision, a position that she had sought from her teens and, once attained, had filled with special talent and charm, was Fury’s avowed intention and one she looked forward to with eagerness. Carlyle drew the contrast between Artie’s and Fury’s professional interests and made her decision. Whatever the closeness Artie and Fury had achieved, police work and criminal employment, like oil and water, didn’t mix.

Fury had cherished her time with Artie, but the fact was that from the start she had been more attracted to his wife than to him. Nor was the attraction one-sided; Deirdre had been bewitched by Fury from the first day she entered their office and lit up the dreariness with her smile. But the circumstance of Artie’s hospital stay had sent Fury, as it had Alais, down an unforeseen path. When she and Artie parted, she tried her wiles on Deirdre and found her receptive.

As seems the case in so many twists and turns of destiny, the mutual desires of Deirdre and Fury reached the point of critical mass on the very same occasion as that which saw Shydra and Alais engage upon their first sexual meltdown. That fission point came at the close of the party given for her twenty-first birthday when Fury found herself alone with Deirdre, an eventuality no doubt arranged with some mystical slight of hand by Crystal, their host. They found themselves alone together when the other women paired off for sex and left them looking at each other and laughing with joy at the serendipity. Alais was with Shydra and, gloriously, Fury was now with Deirdre.

Two remarkable events at the same gathering.

Thus it was that the axis of the world shifted and it spun on its altered track into a future that none of those women could ever have predicted.

SONG

Deirdre

Chapter One

It was a little after eight on a Monday morning in mid December when I arrived at the office. Fury was seated at her desk. She looked up at me as usual and, as usual, said Morning with a smile. I stopped in my tracks and regarded her.

If there was anyone I knew to the depths, it was Fury and I could tell right away there was something missing in her smile.

She looked up at me. I’m sorry, it’s . . .

What?"

Nothing really, it’s just . . .

I stepped over to her desk. You have that Mastreban compilation for me? You did get Hock’s and Duke’s figures didn’t you?

Oh yes. I’m just about done with it. Have it for you in a few minutes.

I didn’t move. I kept looking at her.

Come with me now. Let’s talk.

Okay, give me a minute to save my work here. She started tapping on the keyboard.

I went into my office and tossed my case on my desk. I didn’t close the door behind me and I didn’t sit. I stood in front of my desk and leaned my butt against it and waited.

She came in and closed the door behind her. She grimaced.

I said, Come here, Petal. I held out my arms. She hurried into them and I gave her a big squeeze and we kissed.

So tell me, my love. What’s bothering you?

It’s just . . . Yesterday with the others, just Carlyle and Coral actually, Shydra wasn’t there, Carlyle told me that I could take my place again in the shop if I wanted to.

That’s a surprise. You must have been happy at that. It’s what you’ve wanted, isn’t it?

Yes. It was a surprise. I was under the impression—she had actually made it clear to me earlier—that I would be here for several more months at least, maybe longer. It’s always been that way with those who are sent into the field, as we call it. I guess it’s because I’m a Princess now and have that status. I don’t know. Anyhow, I thanked her and asked her to give me a day or two to think about it.

It wasn’t an ultimatum then. Not a case of make-your-choice-now.

No no. She said I could resume my position at any time I chose. She just wanted to let me know it was open for me whenever I wanted it.

I didn’t let on how terrified I was. Fury was my darling. Her presence in the office and at night in my bed whenever we could work it out seemed such a part of me I couldn’t quite picture it coming to an abrupt halt. Though I was nineteen years older than her twenty-one, we constantly confessed our love for each other. I knew that it would end sometime, but I had hoped twenty years would be about right. But her chosen profession as one of the favored courtesans in Papa D’s organization and now under Carlyle’s management was dear to her; it had been her ambition from the time she was in high school. In keeping with Papa’s concern for his so-called escorts, a misnomer if there ever was one for the women in his stable of celebrated and impossibly expensive prostitutes, he required a period of field work for each of them in a more mundane setting just to provide them with the self-confidence and skill that might serve them in later life. So Fury Fontaine, as she called herself when she took the position in the trade, was loaned out to our establishment as a receptionist/secretary. Carlyle supplemented Fury’s salary—I never knew how much, afraid to ask—and she was supplied with medical insurance, a fancy apartment, and a nice new automobile. Such a loan was also a test. If a woman under Papa’s care came to prefer her work outside the trade, she had the option to remain in it and leave her higher calling behind. Papa claimed it was something he learned from Plato’s Republic and I, for one, never questioned it.

So, I said, when are you going to leave us?

She hesitated, then murmured into my shoulder. I have a problem.

A problem? What is it?

You.

I held my breath. I didn’t say anything.

"I want to be with you. Being with others, providing sex for others, is fine, very good, and I love it, but it’s not enough. I’ve found something else that’s more important to me. Since you and I have . . . I can’t stand the idea of losing what I have with you. It’s not just making love with you, it’s you, being with you. If I could go back and do what I want at the shop but live with you, nothing would make me happier, nothing."

You want to live with me?

I do, but I also want the other too. Why can’t I have both?

Is that a rhetorical question or do you want a real answer?

Both I guess. Have you no advice for me?

I’m not your mother, Petal.

Oh, God. I wish you were.

No you don’t. If . . . we’d be engaging in incest.

My sister then.

Still incest.

She forced a gurgle of something like a laugh. Deirdre! You don’t have a hang-up about incest, do you?

Not really. Not at all so long as we could be lovers.

Can we though? I told you, I want the other too. Why can’t I live with you and work at the shop too?

It seems unlikely, darling. You don’t have to live with me in order to spend time with me. You can visit whenever you feel like it. You can take your days off at the shop, just like you always did, and spend those nights with me. I’d love that. In fact, I demand it. Damn it! I need you just as much as you need me, probably more if you want to know the truth. But besides the impossibility of simply living with me, there’s Crystal.

I would never come between you and Crystal. You know that. But I’m not unaware of the tangle I’m in. I know I want too much.

What can I do to help?

You can turn your back on me, refuse me, tell me I don’t matter to you and never really did. Then it would make my decision easier.

"Yes, that’s probably what I should do, but I don’t have the strength for it. I could never pull it off. You’d look at me like you do and I’d turn to jelly."

Well then, you could ask me to move in with you. You have a big house, too big for just you. I could talk to Carlyle, make her see.

She wouldn’t allow it, Petal. You know that. You have a choice. If you go back to the trade—and you will, I know that and so do you—your home will be there in those fancy rooms provided for you.

I know. I’ll go back. I know that. I’m a destiny darling to my bones. It’s just that I can’t bear the thought of seeing you just occasionally. I’m in love with you, can’t you see that? I don’t know how it happened, it just did.

Destiny darling? Where’d that come from?

Oh, you didn’t know? It’s brand new. Carlyle decided for some reason we should have a name, so she came up with that name and laid it on us. Destiny Darlings. I know, it’s kinda icky. Corny. But that’s what she calls it now and therefore that’s what it is. She’s the boss. I have no real problem with it. The problem I have . . .

She clung to me for dear life but she wasn’t in tears. I was close.

Petal, listen to me. You’re right that my house is too big for me, but I’m committed to putting it up for sale. Artie insisted on giving the title to me in our divorce settlement, but he deserves half of what I sell it for and I’ve promised myself to see that he gets it. I won’t feel completely free until I do that. But wherever I move, I’ll set aside a place for you, a place in my home to be your real home if you want. You can come there whenever you wish, often I hope, and I’ll wait impatiently for you. There may be times I won’t be there, you know. Sometimes I’ll be with Crystal or even with someone else, just like you will be, but you can come and go as you like. I think you could adjust to that. I’m sure of it. You would be living with me in a way and I think you would find it a joy to get away from the shop from time to time and come to your own place.

My own place? Mine? A place we would share? Right now that sounds just beautiful. And Crystal, maybe I could go with you sometimes when you visit Crystal. Do you think she would allow that?

Maybe, if you would have sex with her. I know she’s a little envious of me with you. Not jealous I think, but I know she wonders how it can be that I have the privilege of access to your body when she doesn’t. That’s Crystal alright. You know it as well as I do. Do you want to have sex with Crystal?

Of course.

Well then, we can see how that goes. If anyone would be jealous, it would be me.

Would you be jealous of the ones I would entertain at the shop?

A bit, but that’s different. Crystal and I . . . Well, you know about that.

I’m not jealous of her, Deirdre. But I am jealous of the time you spend with her and not with me. Does that make sense?

It’s that way with me too. I have a problem something like yours. I want you around me twenty-four-seven, but I also want to be with Crystal just as much. I can’t have both. I also want a man now and then, maybe even a little more than now and then. But you know what’s nice? Though I can’t have everything I want all the time, I’m lucky enough to have some of it whenever I want it bad enough. At least I can if you stay in my life and take me up on my proposal. It excites me to think of it. Will you?

Yes. Yes, yes, and yes. Can I please give up my present digs and move in with you right away? We could at least be together every day until I go back.

Why not? You can start bringing your stuff over tonight if you wish.

"I do wish. But I have to clear this with Carlyle, you know, to avoid feelings. I’ll come over soon, I promise. Please don’t send me away if I come over and start crying. You know, don’t you, you’re the only one I ever start crying with happiness over."

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And that’s what happened. Fury came over to my home about ten that very night. She was loaded with two suitcases, a box of shoes, and a dress bag.

There’s more, she said breathlessly. I’ll box all of it up tomorrow after work and load it in the car.

I was ecstatic. Pick your room, whichever one you want and I’ll help you carry your stuff to it. The biggest guest room, the one on the corner in the back with the windows maybe. Tomorrow I’ll go with you after we get off and help you get the rest of your stuff together and boxed. If that’s alright.

Would you? I accept. Now, can I dump my stuff and take a shower—I’m a little grimy right now—and climb in bed with you. In celebration.

"I have a couple of bottles of the best California sparkly in the fridge. Schramsberg, I know you like it.î

For seconds. I want the taste of you first, pure and holy and better than all the champagne in the world.

And I yours. And I agree with you. More intoxicating than Crystal’s crystal or, at least, just as intoxicating and in a more exciting way.

Oh Deirdre, you know that’s not true.

It is, oh yes it is. Not to deny Crystal her due, but yours, my darling, has a special and unmatched wildness that makes me wild. You can’t deny me that.

Deny you! I never will, my Deirdre. Never, never, never.

‘The sooner you get settled, the sooner you can show me you mean it.

Abruptly she grinned and reached into her waist and dug below it. Somewhere around her crotch she found what she was looking for and came out with a folded square of paper. I almost forgot. Here, I wrote a little ditty for you.

I took the paper and held it to my nose. Nicely impregnated with my favorite perfume.

Just read it.

I unfolded the paper and read what was written there and almost broke down.

You are my mother.

You are my sister.

You are my lover.

You are the blood

that courses through me.

You are my way to be.

She held me with her eyes, waiting, breathless with hope. I stepped away. I was touched too deeply to say anything right away without breaking down in tears.

I closed my eyes and controlled myself long enough to mutter, Give me a minute or two, my love. I wanted to reply to her message in kind and I struggled for words. She kept looking at me, a small frown beginning to crease her brow. I surprised myself. I took a breath and came out with it.

You are my daughter,

my friend and lover,

my wings,

the warm spring rain,

a breeze that fills me,

my song’s refrain.

Her face was transformed into sudden radiance. I couldn’t hold back. I grabbed her and smothered