Jazz Funeral

along.”
    She’d guessed right. He couldn’t stand being called unprofessional. She said, “What’s it like, playing with Melody?”
    She’d hoped for Joel, but she got Doug. “She’s as good at the keyboard as any guy.”
    “Pardon me while I puke.”
    He gave her a puzzled look, apparently having no idea what he’d said wrong. “Joel brought her in when Gary graduated—he was our keyboard player before. I didn’t want to play with a chick. But she’s okay, man. She’s okay. Thinks she’s Janis Joplin, though.”
    “What?”
    “Oh, you know. That’s her favorite singer, and not only that, she identifies with her. Thinks Janis was some sort of misunderstood artist instead of a drugged-out mediocre musician who was really nothin’ but a bigmouth Texas redneck.”
    Joel said, “She was a great singer, though.”
    “Yeah, if you like screeching.”
    Joel grinned at Skip. “Doug’s really the misunderstood artist—you can tell ‘cause he puts down anybody who makes it. And some people who just have more talent than he does—like Melody.”
    “I said she was okay.”
    “Yeah, but you’re always knocking her singing.”
    “She’s not that good, man. I can’t help it—she’s nothin’ special.”
    “She’s the best you’ll ever play with.”
    Skip was getting tired of the bickering. “Did she ever talk to you guys about her brother?”
    “Yeah. Thought he walked on water.”
    “She didn’t do it, man,” said Doug. “I mean, Melody’s got a temper, she’s a perfectionist, she can be a pain in the ass, but no way she’d kill Jesus H-for-Hamson Christ.”
    Joel said, “Hey, what’s police work like? What’s it like being … out there?”
    She couldn’t tell if he was trying to distract her or what. “Why do you ask?”
    “Well, I mean, it’s kind of unusual. For a woman and all. I was just wondering why you went into it.”
    Skip laughed. “Cause I’m a big broad and I can beat people up.”
    “Come on. Really.” He looked so serious, so quizzical, she was sorry she’d teased him.
    “Really? Well, really, I thought I might be good at it. I used to live in San Francisco, and while I was there I caught a mugger— just on the street. I saw him get an old lady’s purse and I got him.” She shrugged. “I guess I got hooked.”
    “How do you go about—you know—working on something like this?”
    “Finding Melody?”
    “Yeah, finding Melody.”
    “Well, I’m kind of just asking her friends what they think.” She could have said she was asking if they knew where Melody was, but some instinct made the sentence come out like it had.
    Joel lit up. “That’s what I’d do. That’s exactly what I’d do. You think I’d be a good cop?”
    “You might. But I hear you’re a good musician.”
    “Annh.” It was an unenthusiastic sound, a shrugging off. Probably people had told him all his life he was a good musician; hearing it was like getting a cheek pinched by a distant aunt.
    “So what about it, guys? You know where she is?”
    Doug said, “Hell, no.” And I wouldn’t tell you if I did, his manner said.
    “Joel?”
    “Not really.” But he hesitated.
    “You’ve got an idea, haven’t you?”
    “Well, I know what I’d do if I were her.”
    Doug said, “If you were her, and what, man? You killed your brother? You got kidnapped? Get real, man. You don’t know where the hell she is.”
    Joel ignored him. “See, I’ve been thinking about it. Her boyfriend … like, dumped her, is what I think. For her best friend.”
    Doug said, “How the hell do you know that?”
    “Well, they been together for two days. It’s kind of a clue.” He turned back to Skip. “So I think it got too much for her and she ran away. I mean, she couldn’t take it. So she split.”
    “Good. That could be it.”
    “The only question is, where’d she go?”
    “Well, she’d need money, right? So she’d go where she could make it.”
    Doug said, “She’s probably peddling her skinny ass right now.”
    “Would you can it, please?” said Nicolai.
    “Think about it,” said Joel. “She’s got a talent. She could use that. What can she do that she wouldn’t have to get hired for, wouldn’t have to prove who she is, wouldn’t have to take any shit of any description? Excuse my French.”
    Doug said, “Holy shit! She’s a street musician. She always used to talk about Ti-Belle doing that. That’s what it is. But wait a minute —why hasn’t she contacted us? She