Rhapsody (Butcher and Violinist 1)
“Love it.” Laughing, I stretched my arms.
“But, anyway. Great job last night. I actually recognized some of the songs.” She guided me off the stage. “And you did excellent this evening.”
“But you weren’t in here. You didn’t hear me.”
“I did. Your music was being broadcasted in the other rooms.” She pointed to the walls where I spotted several microphones. “Guests can switch their room’s TV to the Candy Shop’s channel to hear it.”
“They can’t see me, right?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But it is a nice change.”
I twisted my wrists back and forth and wiggled my fingers.
She lowered her voice. “I canceled you for tomorrow night and explained it to Celina. I told her you were feeling sick and exhausted.”
“What?” I cracked my fingers. “Why?”
“I brokered the deal for Jean-Pierre and you. He wants you to play tomorrow night. And there’s no way you’ll make the money down here that you’ll make with him.”
“Down here?” My heart beat faster. “He wants me to play in his room? On the fourth level?”
“Don’t say it with so much fear. The fourth level is not that bad.”
“But there’s no cameras up there.”
“Not everyone wants to be watched.”
I grabbed my case and rose. “I’m not complaining. I’m nervous.”
“You should be.” She walked with me off the stage. “They call him, Le Boucher.”
“The Butcher?” I stopped and stared at her. “Now, you tell me?”
“I thought I did.”
“No, you said he was an accountant for scary people.”
“Scary people hire scary accountants, and it’s not like he carries around a calculator. He’s the sort of accountant that. . .I don’t know. . .kills you if you’re low on your pay.”
“What?”
She laughed.
“I don’t think that’s funny.”
“Okay. I’m playing with you.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if he’s ever killed anyone.”
Well, I do. He definitely killed his ex-wife’s lover, although it wasn’t intentional. And his ex-wife is dead, so. . .there’s that.
She checked her watch. “We should get you to him and talk about this more later.”
“To him?”
Instead of leading me to the exit, she gestured for me to go to the back. “He’s going to pay a high amount for you to play for a private party tomorrow in his suite upstairs.”
I followed her. “Okay, but can we get back to you being certain he doesn’t kill people?”
“I’m sure he has killed someone, but I don’t know anyone he’s killed.”
“What about why Aunt Celina forbade him—”
“That’s something else.” She waved that comment away. “You won’t have that problem.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“No disrespect, but I don’t think you’re his type.”
“Because?”
She opened the door and stared at me. “Do you want to be his type?”
“What? I mean. . .no.” I rushed to switch the topic. “What’s the deal? How much is he paying?”
“Ten thousand for three hours.”
I almost dropped the case. “Say what?”
I was about to make more money than I knew what to do with. It took a few moments for the meaning of her words to sink in. Ten thousand dollars? For one night of work? There was a catch of some sort—I was sure of it.
“What kind of party?”
Shalimar pressed her lips together. “He typically brings a handful of men in. Big names. They discuss deals. I wouldn’t listen in on them, if I were you. I’m sure they’re illegal.”
“So, they’re business meetings?”
“With adult entertainment. Usually there are women at the center of the room, touching each other. No one ever has sex with them.”
“Not even Jean-Pierre?”
“Not even him. It should be safe and not get me in trouble with your aunt.”
Relief hit me. It didn’t sound like too bad of a deal.
“So, he wants you to play for his business meeting tomorrow night. That’s nine thousand for you, after my ten percent commission.” She signaled for me to walk through. “There’s only two catches.”
I looked around. “Where are we going?”
“That’s where the first catch comes in. He wants to have dinner with you. He’s cerebral.”
“Meaning?”
“He’s into mind-fucking and opening up people’s heads. The dinner is a formality. He has trust issues.”
I’m sure he does.
“Should I take the mask off?” I asked.
“No, he wants to watch you take it off.”
O-kay.
We walked down a hallway but passed the elevator.
Good. We’re not going to the fourth level.
“I told him to make this a quick dinner,” Shalimar said. “You’re probably exhausted.”
I stopped. “The dinner is right now?”
“Yes.”
But I look like I’ve been playing a violin for eight hours. I could’ve freshened up, did a quick sniff-check of my arm pits. What kind of pimp are you?
“What are you doing?” Shalimar eyed me.
“I’m cursing you out in my mind.”
“It looks like that. Don’t worry. It’ll be quick. You don’t even have to eat.”
“And this is only dinner?”
She laughed. “Yes. Trust me. He is not trying to have sex with you, but just in case, I have a plan.”
“What’s the plan?”
“I’m going to send a little show in the room to distract him.”