enough for me to follow. You’re barely important enough to talk to,” I snapped. “There’s a talented musician living here in squalor and your buddy Judith has appointed herself spokeswoman. I want to ask if she wants medical attention—”
“And me, I am wanting to know how she learned the song ‘Savage,’” Bernie interrupted.
“And neither of you has any right to disturb her. We look after her!” Coop cried.
“You’re doing a heck of a job,” I said. “For starters, she needs food, clothes, a bath, and a proper bed. She also deserves access to a proper piano: only a real artist could get sound like that from a dinky plastic job.”
“And that’s your business because of what? You’re some music talent scout?” Coop jeered.
Judith said, “The city seems to be filled with social workers who think they know what’s best for people without asking them. Whenever anyone forces this woman into a shelter or a hospital, she runs away.”
“Does she have a name?” I asked.
“If she does, that’s none of your business. All you need to know is that she’s allergic to most people, especially to strangers. She lets Coop bring her food, she trusts Bear. Sometimes she trusts me, as well. You can set your mind at rest and go help people who want your assistance.”
Presumably Bear was the dog.
“We are not social workers,” Bernie bristled. “Me, I am a hockey player and a soccer coach and Vic, she is a detective. If the police—”
“Detective?” Coop shouted. “Then Mona Borsa did cross a big red line! She knew the police couldn’t arrest me for speaking up in the meeting, so she hired you to be a provocateur—”
“Enough!” I cried. “You can ask me any question about who I am and what I’m doing here, but don’t jump down my throat without facts. I’m not that inexperienced kid you attacked in the SLICK meeting, so back off.”
Bear, the dog, was looking from Coop to me, not sure whether he needed to intervene. He got to his feet and stood between us. I took a few steps back.
“You weren’t arrested?” Bernie said to Coop. “Why not?”
“First Amendment,” I said tersely. “He only spoke, even if he was yelling: he didn’t touch anyone.”
“At least you’re a cop who knows the law, but what the fuck were you doing at that meeting, if Mona Borsa didn’t hire you to bird-dog me?”
“Guess what? My world doesn’t revolve around you. But your anger is disturbing the one person you claim to be protecting.”
Although some passersby were keeping well clear of us, we were attracting a crowd. Whether it was Coop’s and my argument, or the people staring at her, the pianist had backed as far into the wall as she could, clutching her piano and whimpering.
“Yes, and she knows important music,” Bernie said. “Which is the only reason I want to talk to her.”
“Don’t.” The woman Judith had been silent while Coop and I were arguing, but she turned now to Bernie. “She’s been badly wounded and she can’t tell the difference between a stranger who wants to support her and a stranger who wants to hurt her.”
Her tone was still arrogant, but her words made sense; I put my arm across Bernie’s shoulders. “It’s a good point, piccola. Too many people are here, and we’re all getting in each other’s hair. Let’s get up to the Glow.”
Bernie let me escort her through the underpass, but her feet dragged. She paused on the far side to look back. Coop and Bear were squatting next to the pianist, who slowly returned to her nest of blankets and crates.
Judith waited on the sidelines while the woman adjusted her piano’s legs until it seemed stable. When the woman began to play again, Judith resumed her ride; the rest of the crowd dissolved. Bernie was listening intently to the playing.
“That song I also know!” she finally said. “At least, I think so.”
She began singing in her tuneless way,
“The art of loving
is the art of death
Love’s opposite isn’t hate, not hate
Love’s opposite is lonesome
One lone swan.”
“That song is beautiful, but so—so mélancolique, Vic, is it not?”
“Very,” I agreed, but I was listening to the piano: mixed in with the banging in the bottom octave, the pianist was weaving the melody from Grieg’s “Swan,” one of the lieder my mother used to sing.
3
Trader’s Folly
Bernie left me outside the Glow. She’d brooded over the episode all during the drive, not so much over the homeless singer, but over Judith and Coop’s high-handedness.
“And you—why