The Dead and the Dreamer

"I don't know why she would even need a manager. From what I've heard, she already has the singing contract in Nashville."

"You mentioned something about that. Wasn't Michael Gallager her manager or something like that?"

Brad turned on the spigot to the little sink under the bar and clanked together three small glasses with one hand. "Not so much her manager."

John gave his friend a confused look.

"He's not really a manager. He owns recording studios and a record company, but he doesn't really manage anyone. He's probably better than a manager actually because he is his own deal. He can do it all."

John tossed his hands up in the air, "I'm sick of thinking for the day."

"I've got a new song to show you. I couldn't sleep when I got home last night. I guess I was too pumped up from playing to settle right down and go to bed."

"Is it country? You love country."

"You'll have to be the judge," Brad told the private eye.

"Almost anything passes for country nowadays."

"Mutt can't make it tonight, so we're not going to play. I went ahead and booked Crazy Dave."

John shrugged. "I need to do a little work, anyway."

"How's it going? You ever find out who might have shot at you the other day?"

John never pictured anyone ever asking him such a question. It seemed so foreign and odd. "No. I'll tell you one thing. I get a little shaky every time I leave my office now. I'm always looking around, trying to catch a glimpse of somebody ducking behind a building. Just nerves, I guess."

"You tell the police?"

"I called a friend of mine in the department. He's since made lieutenant. He came by and checked it out."

The stained wood bar was long and followed the wall around to the stage. Brad was wiping it down with a dirty looking dishtowel. "I don't know who would want to kill you. That's got me stumped," Brad said.

"I can't see it having anything to do with the Tammy case because who would have known that I was accepting her case at that point? I doubt that my office is bugged by the FBI."

"CIA maybe," Brad added.

A woman came in with a little boy close to her side. Brad dropped his rag and walked over to greet them. He told them to have a seat and he'd be right back with a menu. The woman asked if they were serving lunch.