For a rising star on the music scene, A.J. Garcia’s condo was pretty modest. It did have at least four bedrooms, but the living room seemed small and dark—maybe because the blinds were closed against the eastern sky. No TV, but the room did have a nice sectional couch and lava lights in the corners.
A.J. looked sick. She laid on the couch in a T-shirt and underwear, wrapped in a blanket, her face pale, her scalp sweaty. She had a guitar in her lap, though, and she was strumming the strings softly, eyes closed behind her dark glasses, as Rachel and I sat down.
“Coffee?” Monica asked. “Tea? Water?”
“Monster.” Cans of the energy drink were scattered across the carpet. A.J. plucked one guitar string. “More.”
Monica sighed. “Okay. I really think you should drink something else, but—okay.” She disappeared into the kitchen and brought back another can, along with coffee for Rachel and me. She sank down in a chair, looking exhausted, as if she’d been up all night with A.J. “Thank you for coming.”
I nodded. “How can we help you?”
“Dominick.” A.J.’s voice was flat and faint. “You have to find him. You just have to.”
“What’s wrong?” Rachel. Asked. “Are you sick?”
A.J. gave a soft bitter laugh. “I ain’t doing great.” She looked down. “Don’t worry, it’s not COVID. It’s not contagious. It’s—something else.”
“Do you want me to explain it to them?” Monica asked her.
“No.” She rubbed her face. “I have to tell this. They ought to hear it from me.” She looked down at her feet, away from us.
I waited. Rachel watched her closely.
A.J. sighed. “About two years ago, I was starting to do really good. More people coming to see me sing, more money, more fun. Then I got new management. Phil Chapin.” She took a swallow of her drink. “Things were going okay. Better than before. Then Phil said he had a way to really get me going, start getting really big, make lots more money. He knew this guy. Dominick.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Dominick said—he could do something. It would be kind of, uh, magic, and it would make people want to hear me, more people, all over the world. All I had to do was—give him something. Just one little thing, he said.”
“Your soul,” Rachel said.
I saw A.J. blink through her purple lenses. “Yeah. How do you . . . “
“I’m psychic,” Rachel said. “At least a little. When I met you yesterday, I could feel there was something—missing. I didn’t know what it was. Until just now, listening to you. I’ve never run across anyone who lost their soul before, but I can feel it now. Something essential, a basic part of you. It’s gone.”
A.J. looked at the floor. “Yeah.”
“So Dominick took your soul,” I said slowly, “and in exchange, you started becoming a bigger star?”
“I guess. Bigger shows, more money.” She scratched her almost bare scalp. “I don’t know how it worked, but it was fun at first. Playing my music, and everybody loving me. Phil was happy, everyone was happy. But after a while . . .” A.J. sighed again. “I tried to write some new songs. And they were—I couldn’t. Nothing came out. I took a break from writing for a while, but singing wasn’t fun anymore. Something was gone. I didn’t have any inspiration. It was all gone. And now . . .”
She took a deep breath. “A few weeks ago, I started having seizures. They couldn’t find anything wrong. I couldn’t get out of bed some days. I couldn’t eat, or keep anything down. I feel like I’m always hung over. I feel like everything’s shutting down inside me. And I realized I can’t go on like this.”
Rachel and I looked at each other. “So you contacted Dominick to get your soul back?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. He told me to go fuck myself. We went back and forth a couple times. He got pretty vile, but when I had enough emails, I went to Phil and said he was harassing me.”
“But Chapin knew about the deal.”
“Yeah, but if I could make it look like Dominick was making trouble, I figured he’d do something about it. He said he didn’t know where Dominick was, so he ended up hiring you to find him.”
I looked at Monica. “How much of this did you know?”
She stiffened, defensive. “I do PR. I’m not upper level. I didn’t know what was going on until A.J. started talking about getting emails from him. But she said—” She looked at the singer. “You didn’t tell me you emailed him first.”
“I didn’t trust anybody.” A.J. took off her glasses. Her eyes were deep blue, but cloudy. She wiped the lenses on her shirt. “I sold myself, all right? I knew what I was doing. I made the deal. Like any whore.”
“That’s not what you did,” Monica snapped. “They lied to you—"
“I would have done it anyway,” A.J. adjusted the glasses on her nose. Her voice was still quiet, without emotion. “Back then, I would have done anything for all this.” She lifted her arms to the room, then let them drop. “Okay, I sold myself too cheap. But I right then I wanted it so bad would have signed up even if the Devil himself was standing right behind Dominick’s shoulder.”
I glanced at Rachel. She took a breath. “I’m not exactly looking for patients, but if you want to talk to somebody—”
“I don‘t need a goddamn shrink!” A.J.’s eyes blazed for a second, and then her voice faded, as if her outburst had burned up too much energy. She shook her head. “Sorry. Nothing personal. That’s not the problem right now. I feel like I’m dying. Without it, I’m just—fading away. Inside.”
“I don’t understand something.” Actually I didn’t understand a lot of things, but this one came first. “Usually, doesn’t selling your soul work the other way around? Seven years or whatever of good times, and then it’s gone?”
“I don’t know.” A.J. shook her head. “I mean, yeah, I kind of thought about that for a minute, maybe. But I didn’t think too long.”
“This doesn’t sound like the actual Devil was involved,” Rachel said. “Maybe just a demon.”
“And Chapin didn’t know where to find him? He brought him to you in the first place.”
“He said he hadn’t seen him in years. I had to throw a fit to get him to hire you.”
Given her general lack of emotion, I wondered what that would have looked like. But I looked at Monica. “Did you give Phil the address I left when I called you yesterday?”
She blinked, thinking back. “Yeah. He just said he’d take care of it. Nothing else.”
“So why’d he send the lawyer there?” I asked.
“Along with, why did Dominick kill him?” Rachel said.
“Unfortunately, another excellent question.” I looked at A.J. “Do you have any idea what Dominick wants with your soul? Is he holding it on layaway for Satan or something?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t ask any questions. Not the right questions. Stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” Monica said quickly. “People lie in this business. Someone should have—”
“I knew that. I didn’t care.” She squeezed her mostly-empty can silently, spilling some energy drink on the carpet. “I just wanted to be a star.”
I looked at Rachel. She checked the time. She’d have to leave for work soon.
“So what do you want me to do now?” I asked, dreading the most likely answer.
“Get my soul back, you know?” A.J.’s voice was soft, but I could hear a whisper of something desperate from deep within it. “I can’t go on like this. Nothing feels good anymore. Nothing feels bad, either. I just don’t feel anything. I remember—” Her voice faded. “I just can’t do this anymore.” She closed her eyes, dozing.
Again I looked at Rachel. She frowned at me. I knew what she was thinking, even without being psychic.
Finally she nodded. “Do what you have to do,” she whispered. Then she stood up. “I have to go. A,J., Tom will help you. Just don’t get him killed.” She punched my shoulder. “See you tonight. Jerk.” She left.
A.J.’s eyes fluttered open. “Sorry. I just—Mon, will you get me some tea?”
“Sure.” Monica stood up. “Is there anything you need?” she asked me.
“I’m going to have to talk to Phil Chapin. Is that going to be a problem for either of you?”
Monica bit her lip. “He won’t like that I’m here for this. I could get fired.”
“I’ll give you a job.” A.J. turned her head to me. “And I’ll hire you too. How much do you charge?”
“I probably should send my invoice to Chapin Jacobs before we talk about that.”
“Actually, untangling your money from the firm could be complicated,” Monica said. “I mean, I don’t know how your finances are set up—”
“Just get me a lawyer. We’ll figure it out. I don’t care about the money.” Her eyes flickered and faded. “I just want my soul back.” She closed her eyes again and fell asleep.
Monica looked at her, then at me. “Hurry.”
Three hours later I was still waiting to see Phillip Chapin.
No, I’d told Sabrina, his gatekeeper and administrative assistant, I didn’t have an appointment. She suggested I make one, and I suggested I wait. She suggested I suit myself.
Since then Sabrina hadn’t taken a peek in my direction. She was young and sexy in boots and a scarf over her blond hair, and I wouldn’t have minded an occasional glance or smile my way—though I’d never admit that to Rachel. But she ignored me as completely as if I were a dead bug.
I played games on my phone, wishing I’d brought a book to read—one of these days I’ll finally finish Gravity’s Rainbow. Sabrina answered the phone with a friendly voice, tapped quietly on her keyboard, and sipped water from a bottle, all without paying me any attention at all.
Finally, when I was starting to wonder how Sabrina would react if I ordered a sandwich from DoorDash, her phone buzzed. She answered, sighed, and nodded grudgingly. “Mr. Chapin will see you now.”
“Thank you.” I try to always be polite to the help. It sometimes pays off later.
A guitar hung on one wall of office behind a sheet of glass, above a brass plate embossed with “Nils Lofgren, E Street Band.” Around it hung other pieces of memorabilia from other musicians with Chicago connections: a blues harmonica from Buddy Guy, an autographed photo of Chance the Rapper, handwritten lyrics from a Warren Zevon song in a frame, and trophies from other artists I’d never heard of. Who or what was Poi Dog Pondering?
Chapin sat behind a sleek metal desk, his necktie loose, looking frustrated and irritable. “Mr. Jurgen. Please don’t waste my time. It’s tragic about Josh, but—it’s been a very long day and I don’t have any patience for bullshit. I’ve had the police giving me enough already.”
I wondered if I knew any of the police he’d talked to. I’ve met a lot of cops. Most of them think I’m crazy because I insist on telling them about the vampires or demons I run into all too frequently. “What did you tell them?”
He frowned. “That’s none of your business.”
“What about Dominick Slipko?”
He leaned forward, gripping the arms of his chair. “What about him?”
“You sent your lawyer to meet with him, didn’t you? Do they know about Dominick?”
I was taking the risk that he’d throw me out, but it was the only lead I had. I watched Chapin peer down his nose at me, his mind working through the angles. “What are you talking about?” There was no confusion in his voice, or denial. He knew exactly what my question meant.
“I found Dominick yesterday and reported to Monica Welles. She told me she spoke to you and you’d handle it. Later Dominick left his apartment, went to the parking structure, and argued with Heider. Then he shot him.”
A vein in Chapin’s neck throbbed. “What do you want, Jurgen? Money? You’re blackmailing me? It won’t work. I’ve got lawyers on speed dial, all of them who’ve got cheap P.I.s like you ready to dig up every ounce of dirt on you that’s out there. Your wife, too. Yeah.” He nodded, confident in his menace. “We will go there.”
I held his gaze. I’ve been threatened a lot, by people and monsters scarier than him, but I still have a healthy instinct to run from danger when it rears up. But I didn’t like him threatening Rachel.
“The only money I want from you is on my invoice,” I told him. “I saw Dominick shoot Heider. I was told not to do anything about it, but I only agreed to 24 hours. Maybe the cops will find Dominick on their own. But I can still testify that you sent him there. What for? To make another deal with Dominick for A.J.’s soul?”
Chapin’s face abruptly turned ashen. He sank back in his chair, his neck pulsing some more. “I have a—a heart condition.” His voice was a whisper. As if someone might be listening.
“I’m sorry to hear that. But what about—”
“I can’t tell you anything about that.” He clenched his jaw. “I just can’t.”
I hesitated. He wasn’t just being defiant. For a big-time music mogul—at least big-time in Chicago—Chapin actually looked scared. “Okay. Why not?”
He leaned forward over his desk. “I think I can tell you this.” His eyes were blinking furiously, as if he was trying to signal me in code. “Don’t talk to Josh’s ex-wife. Jackie. Just don’t ask her any questions. Got it?”
What the hell? But he looked serious, like a mobster wearing a wire. I nodded. “I think so.”
“Now get out.” He sat back and closed his eyes. “Don’t come back.”
I stood. “I’ll be sending my invoice.” It wasn’t a very dramatic exit line, but it was the best I could do. I winked at Sabrina on my way out. I don’t think she even noticed.
I found Jackie Heider, now Jackie Murphy, online in about 10 minutes, and arranged to meet her in her real estate office an hour later. That gave me time for lunch and to send a few texts to Rachel. She only texted back once: She better not be pretty. Rachel can still get territorial where I’m concerned. It’s kind of nice.
Jackie Murphy was indeed pretty, a woman in her middle 40s like me, her blond hair streaked with a little gray, She wore a sharp suit that reinforced her image as a serious pro. She had a full office, not just a cubicle facing a store window, and she offered me coffee before sitting down and looking me over. “This is about Josh?”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said automatically.
She shrugged. “We’ve been divorced for three years. I’m sorry he’s dead—especially like that—but it’s not really my loss anymore. I don’t know if he’s seeing anyone or—anything like that. I’ve had to move on.” She pointed to the wall of her office, where her awards and photos with celebrities were displayed. “I’m doing pretty good. Now what do you want?” She had her own coffee, thick with cream.
“It’s about A.J. Garcia. Do you know anything about your husband’s—sorry, ex-husband’s dealings with her?”
Jackie frowned. “Who told you to come to me?”
“Nobody. Actually, Phillip Chapin explicitly told me not to ask you. I think he was telling me the opposite.”
“Phil.” She said the name with distaste. “If anyone interfered in our relationship, it was Phil.”
“How so?”
Jackie’s lips tightened. “He kept Josh on a leash like a miniature poodle. You’d get arrested for animal cruelty if you did what he did to a dog. And I have two dogs.” She pointed the shelf behind her, where I spotted a photo of her with a Sheltie and a Yorkshire Terrier. “It was 24/7, always there, never say no, no matter what else was going on. One Sunday afternoon we were literally in the middle of—well, never mind.” She looked away from me, embarrassed. “You get the idea. I have to work a lot to stay on top—” She gestured toward the rest of the office behind her door. “But nothing like what Phil did to him.”
“What about A.J. Garcia?”
“That singer?” Jacki’s eyes flickered, as if she was fighting off an intruding memory. Then she shook her head. “Yeah, I know her. I hear her on Spotify sometimes.”
“You don’t like her music?”
“Not especially.” She stared down at her coffee. “Josh had some kind of a thing for her.”
“Like what? A crush?”
“Not like that. I can’t really—you never know with men, am I right?” She cocked her head at me, accusingly.
“Speaking as a man myself, yeah.” It seemed wise to change up the subject. “What about a man named Dominick Slipko? Ever heard of him?”
Her upper lip curled. “Josh talked about him. I only met him once. It was enough.”
“Why? What bothered you about him?”
“It was at a party. I had to go, Josh insisted, and then he ignored me all night, doing things for Phil and hitting on every folk singer and wannabe rock star near the bar. I asked someone who the creepy guy in the corner was, and they said, ‘Dominick Slipko, steer clear of his ass.’ I didn’t need much warning. He looked like he’d borrowed his older brother’s leather jacket and was hoping one of the older kids would buy him beer at the liquor store.” She leaned back and opened a drawer. “I’m going to have a cigarette.”
“It’s your office.”
“Yes, it is.” She lit up. “Is this helping you at all?”
“I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure out why he sent me to talk to you.”
“Well, I did sleep with him. One time. That was a mistake.” She inhaled. “Don’t get me wrong, we both cheated, but Josh had the winning score.”
“Did he cheat with A.J. Garcia?”
Jackie was silent for a long time. “Not really. But—there was something.” She looked out the window, tapping her cigarette on the ashtray.
“What do you mean?”
She blew smoke. “I’ve never told anyone this. Not my lawyer, our daughter, my therapist. Oh, wait—yeah, I hinted at it to Phil. Right before—you know.” She sighed. “I’m not sure what it was, really. Sometimes I think it was a bad dream. You’ll think I’m crazy.”
“I’ve heard a lot of wild stories. I have a high tolerance for crazy.”
“Okay.” She set her cigarette down in an ashtray. “I walked into his office one night, three in the morning, because I thought I heard something. I don’t know what. And this girl was there, tied up, hanging from the ceiling somehow, and he was—doing things to her. I can’t even . . .” She closed her eyes. “It wasn’t really her, but it was, sort of, her. I didn’t realize who it was until later, maybe the next morning. Her face was all red and she was crying, and bleeding from the ropes around her wrists, and she saw me but Josh was too busy—doing it. I was watching it, watching her, and she sort of flickered in and out, like she wasn’t really there all the time. In, out, gone, back.”
She lit another cigarette. “I don’t know how long I stood there. I don’t even remember going back to bed. That’s why I think it was a dream sometimes. But then I remember the look on her face, and—I don’t know.”
“Is that when you left?”
Jackie laughed without humor. “No. I wish. No, it was six months later. I just got sick of him one day. Our daughter’s in college, and she knows almost everything about her father, so I just realized one day there was no point in staying. One morning I called my lawyer while he was at work and moved out. Just two suitcases. And, okay, the checkbook and all the cash we had in the house. I’m not stupid.” She slowly inhaled more smoke.
“Did you ever ask him about what you saw?”
“Of course not.” She exhaled. “But I think he knew. Everything was different after that. I don’t know how much he did it, but I could tell he was into some weird shit. And he knew I knew, but he wasn’t going to ask me about it. There was a lot we never talked about it. It’s why I didn’t leave sooner.”
“How long ago was the, uh, the incident?”
“About a year ago. The divorce was final this January.” She picked up her coffee. “Is there anything else, Mr. Jurgen?”
I was being dismissed, and I couldn’t exactly blame her. But I had to take one last shot. “Do you have any idea where Dominick Slipko might be? I really need to locate him.”
“Well, I certainly don’t know where he lives.” She frowned, irritated that I was still bothering her. “Josh didn’t like him. He called him a slimy cockroach, and then he said that was an insult to slimy cockroaches. But he went out to meet with him at night more than once. There was a place . . .” She sighed, thinking. “I think it was called Amber. Up on Belmont or somewhere. It was some kind of a music club, you know, dancing, DJs, drugs. It sounded pretty sleazy.”
I could tell I was reaching the end of her patience. “All right, thank you. I’m sorry to bother you with all this.”
Jackie sighed. “It’s funny. I didn’t want him dead. I just wanted—I don’t know.” She picked up her cigarette. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
I spent a few minutes out in my car, thinking. Before I could decide on anything more constructive than finding a restroom, my phone buzzed. Monica. “Something’s wrong with A.J. I had to take her to the E.R.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. I mean—she had a seizure, and she came out of it, but ever since she’s just been sort of floating in and out. She doesn’t really talk or say anything I can understand. She’s weak and they say her blood pressure is way down. They let us go home, and all she wants to do is watch TV. Something’s wrong. It’s like she doesn’t want to be alive anymore.”
I felt a twist in my gut. How long can someone live without a soul? It had been years for A.J., but nothing lasts forever. And it felt like the end was coming soon.
I used my phone to search for the club Jackie had told me about. Amber. A.J. had been photographed there, with Dominick, several years ago. It had closed more than 12 months ago, which wasn’t surprising. But when I looked into the company that owned it, 21Music, D. Slipko as listed as one of its three owners. The company currently owned a new club, Neoplasm, on Milwaukee, and identified that location as its HQ. I called the number.
“Hi, I’m trying to reach Dominick Slipko?”
The woman sounded suspicious. “Uh, he’s not with the company anymore. I can’t—”
“That’s okay. How about, uh—” I switched phone screens for a moment. “Mr. Loreham? Or is it Ms. Loreham?” All the owners’ first name were just initials.
“Just a minute.” I heard a click, then another click. “Yes? This is Earl Loreham, who’s this?”
“My name is Tom Jurgen. I’m a private detective, and I’m trying to locate Dominick Slipko, your business partner. Or former business partner, I guess. Can you tell me how I could get in contact with him?”
Loreham’s laugh was a humorless bark. “Former is right. I don’t know why I can’t get that changed anywhere, we haven’t been in business together for two years, but his name is still attached to everything I do. Who are you again? I already talked to the police once.”
The police? Maybe they were more on top of Heider’s murder than I realized. “I’m a private detective, not the police. When did you talk to them?”
“This morning sometime. Look, I don’t know where Dominick is. And I don’t care.”
He was about to hang up. I managed to give him my phone number and email. Just in case he heard from his ex-partner. I hoped he was really taking them down.
I used the restroom in a nearby Starbucks, bought a coffee, and sat in the car for a few minutes. I was about to start up and head home when my phone buzzed. Unknown number. “Tom Jurgen speaking.”
“Jurgen? This is Dominick Slipko.”
His voice was low and hoarse, as if he’d been whispering for so long he’d forgotten to speak normally. I tensed. “You got my number.”
“Yeah, Earl just wants to get rid of me any way he can. I know you’re working for A.J. You probably know what’s going on.”
“I know you killed Josh Heider.” I remembered the sound of the gunshot.
“And you know I’ve got something A.J. wants. We can make a deal.”
“What kind of a deal?” A plane ticket to a country without an extradition treaty?
“Just a minute.” I waited while I heard him doing something with his phone. Then another phone buzzed. Two buzzes. “Hello?” Monica’s voice.
“Monica? This is Dominick. I’ve got your friend Tom Jurgen on the line. Is A.J. there?”
“Dominick.” Her voice was steely. “She’s sleeping. She was in the hospital today. What do you want?”
“There’s some song lyrics on the wall in Phil Chapin’s office. By Warren Zevon. Either of you ever heard of him?”
I rolled my eyes, feeling old. “I know his work. Why do you want it?”
“Never mind that. Get them. I’ll call you in four hours. If you don’t have it, A.J. never gets back what she wants.”
“She’ll die without it,” Monica said, her voice trembling. “Is that what you want? After all this time?”
“Help me and I’ll help her, and we’ll all be happy. Four hours.”
He hung up, leaving me on the line with Monica.
“He’s scared,” I said. “The cops are after him. That’s why he wants to make a deal.”
“But we can get A.J.’s soul back,” she said, as if she’d given up hope.
I thought about what Heider had been doing with that soul. Would she even want it back? It wasn’t my decision, but A.J. deserved a warning, at least. But first things first. “Okay. Meet me at Chapin’s office. But I’m not sure how easy it’ll be getting him to hand the thing over.”
“We’ve got to try. If the cops catch him, we might never get it back.” She paused, taking a breath. “A.J. has been my responsibility for a long time. I’m more of her personal assistant than a PR hack. I can’t just let her go like this.”
I couldn’t argue. We hung up, and I texted Rachel. Maybe getting AJ’s soul back. Wish me luck. A moment later she replied, I’m free in an hour. Don’t do anything more stupid than usual.
I texted her a heart and started the car.
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