“Wait!” I said in a surprised tone. “A safe house? You mean like witness protection? What about my work? My apartment? What am I supposed to do with my stuff?”

“Slow down,” he said while holding his hands up to emphasize things. “We don’t know how long it’ll be, but I wouldn’t expect it to take too long. For now, anything you don’t have to have with you should stay here. I’ll have a uniform posted here as a guard, okay?”

“Will there be room for my upright?” I asked.

“I don’t know why not,” he responded before adding, “Which one is that?”

I rolled my eyes in as exaggerated a look as I could manage before finally pointing toward my baby and saying, “That one.”

He cracked a smile before saying, “I knew that.”

“Uh-huh,” I grinned as I packed some clothes to take with me. “So what happens if you can’t find Joey?”

“That’s not going to happen,” he said smugly.

Obviously I wasn’t going to get anywhere with the detective at this rate, so I shut up and finished packing. That task done, he helped me pack my things into my truck, since I pointed out that there was no way we were fitting in his car with my bass.

We waited for more officers to arrive, one of which he left guarding my apartment while another drove the Detective’s car behind mine. At first I began to wonder if he had any idea where we were going, as we seemed to be randomly turning every which way en route to my temporary abode.

However random our route seemed to me, it turned out there was a method to his madness, as he explained. “We’re making sure no one is following us so we can keep this location secret.”

“Oh, that’s why?” I asked, rather surprised for some reason.

Eventually we did reach our destination; a fairly plain looking house, surrounded by other plain looking houses in a typical lower middle income neighborhood. My truck was hidden in the garage and then my belongings were brought inside the house.

Once installed, Detective Johnson started to leave when I stopped him, “You’re not leaving me here, are you?”

“Well that was sort of the plan,” he retorted. “The whole idea here is to keep you safe while I track down this Joey character.”

I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course he was leaving. Otherwise, there wasn’t much sense in protecting me, was there?

Leaving me in the care of a young man who was introduced to me as Officer Sanchez, Detective Johnson set out in search of a killer while I had little to do other than practice and watch television. Given those options, I chose to practice…a lot.

With the exception of the Detective’s daily visit, which amounted to little more than him stopping by to see if we needed any supplies, my only companions for days were my bass and the collection of police officers who had been assigned to protect me.

I found that my constant practice time was having an impact on a couple of things. First, I was playing better than I could ever remember. And second, it seemed that all that alone time was allowing my mind time to wander back into the past…

…As I entered the house, I was overwhelmed by the emotions of the day. I looked at the ancient Grandmother clock that sat on the side table in my parents’ entryway and found myself overwhelmed by the sadness of having just come from their funeral.

As I re-read the letter I thought about just exactly what my true path was. I began to realize that my mother must have known all along what that path was. I don’t think she knew that her name was Hannah, but she knew the direction my life should take…

…That was the moment when my whole life finally came into focus for me. It was like in some way, my mother was giving me permission to become her daughter. Maybe she didn’t know that’s what would eventually happen, but then again, maybe she did.

My days began to take on this similar routine; practice and reflect, reflect and practice. It seemed that even when I tried to change the pattern, I was drawn back to my instrument and my memories.

I found myself thinking about that old clock as well. Most of my parents’ possessions I had donated to charity, but that clock and the table it sat on found their way into the entryway of my apartment. I couldn’t begin to explain it, but there was just something about it that made me feel closer to my parents when I looked at it. I hoped I’d be able to look at it again soon.

On Friday morning I managed to broach the subject of my work with the good detective. “I’m supposed to be working tonight,” I stated before he could leave again.

Turning back toward me as he started out the door, Detective Johnson asked, “What would happen if you didn’t show up?”

“Well, let’s see,” I began. “The band would be fired, I’d likely be let go by the band, the group’s reputation would be soiled making it more difficult for both them and me to get work, and I might find myself blackballed in the local music scene. Did I leave anything out?”

“No, that sounds like a fairly complete scenario,” he responded. “Do you need anything from your apartment? And where are you working next?”

“My electric bass, gear bag, and amp from the spare bedroom in my apartment,” I listed off my requirements. “And oh yes, I’m supposed to be playing tonight from nine to one at Kelsey’s on Elm.”

“I’ll have the equipment brought over from your apartment and will arrange for at least one officer to serve as escort tonight. Will that do?”

I looked at him, trying to put my gratitude into words but failing miserably. Eventually I did the expected ‘girlie’ thing, walking over to where he was standing and giving him a small kiss on his cheek. “Thanks,” I said after thoroughly embarrassing the poor guy.

The needed equipment arrived around three that afternoon, after which I decided to relax in the bath for a while. Once out, I dressed again and got in a couple of hours practice before time for dinner.

I’m not much in the kitchen department but I had nonetheless taken to inviting my guards to join me for dinner most evenings, for which the mostly young and obviously single officers seemed quite thankful. That evening, by the time I’d straightened up after dinner I noticed that it was time to get ready for the gig, which was when I discovered what I considered to be a major problem.

I hadn’t remembered to pack any of my guy clothes, which I ordinarily would wear when I played. Since it was already after Seven, there wouldn’t be time to have a change of clothes brought over from the apartment and I was fairly certain there was no way I’d be allowed to go back by there myself. I stewed on that dilemma for longer than I probably should have before I finally reached the conclusion that I had no choice but to go as Hannah.

I picked my least girlie things; a nice pair of jeans, a polo top and loafers, and on a whim decided to add some small hoop earrings and some very light makeup. I fussed with my hair until it was almost too late, then joined my escort in my truck for the journey to the club.

I suppose I might have been a little less conspicuous had Officer Reynolds not insisted on helping me bring in my equipment, but I wasn’t about to turn down help schlepping my stuff into the bar. This drew the guys’ attention, which led to them noticing the changes in my appearance.

“What’s goin’ on here?” asked Bob as he stared at me, trying to figure out what was different.

I looked at him and fear washed over me. He knew! “This is Officer Reynolds, my bodyguard for the night.”

“Bodyguard?”

“Yeah, they’ve had me locked up in ‘protective custody’ most of the week until they can manage to actually catch Joey,” I responded, hoping the questioning would go no further.

“You look different,” he pondered aloud.

I’m fairly sure I went pale as I asked, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he started, before his eyes grew wide in surprise then narrowed as he said, “I always thought you were kinda the sensitive type, but I didn’t take ya for one of those pervs.” The venom in his voice wasn’t disguised in the least.

“Bob…” I started.

“Guys,” called the bartender from beside the stage. “It’s time.”

Bob nodded to him before returning his attention to me and saying, “This is not over.” He then counted us in and we began our usual first set selection of two steps and line dances, with the occasional buckle polisher thrown in for a change of pace.

I found that for some reason I was feeling a heightened sense of connection with the music, which to my ear at least was obvious. However, when the set came to an end none of my band mates made mention of me playing particularly well.

Bob indicated that we should all step outside, so I followed them out the back door to the overflow parking, which we had all used to load in. We’d barely made it out the door when Bob fired toward me, “What’s goin’ on here, Harry?”

“What…” I began before being cut off.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he interjected. “The whole girl thing you got goin’ tonight?”

Jack the guitar player added, “Yeah, I mean you ain’t never been no macho guy, but this is way too far fer even you.”

“What is it you’re trying to tell me here?” I asked, although I had a fair idea where they were headed.

Bob was the only one who seemed to have the guts to actually come right out and say, “We don’t want to work with no weirdo. We’ll finish the night with ya, but unless I can’t find somebody to fill in for ya tomorrow night this’ll be your last one with us.”

That was it? I wasn’t exactly surprised by their reaction. I knew the kinds of attitudes they all harbored on various topics and at some level expected the reaction I’d gotten from them. That didn’t, however, lighten my reaction to the delivery of the news that I was being let go.

All that and yet if they couldn’t find a replacement they expected me to play the next night? That struck me as rather galling, but in the end I held my tongue.

The longer I thought about it, the more tempting it was to simply walk off the job on the spot. However, in the end I felt some professional obligation to at least finish out the night, so when the time came for us to return for our second set I dutifully followed the others in and took my place on stage.

Our second hour followed a similar game plan musically, though my heart simply wasn’t in it, which meant that my performance lacked some of the soul that had been present earlier. I doubt anyone in the club, my band mates included, noticed anything different about the way I played but I certainly did.

When the time came for our second break I chose not to accompany the others outside and decided instead to take a seat off in the corner, quietly sipping at my diet coke. It was almost time for us to return for the third set when I noticed a commotion over by the bar, which I tried to ignore until it reached a level I could no longer block out.

That moment came when I heard a gunshot coming from the front of the establishment. I had just managed to look in that direction when my ‘escort’ grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to my feet, dragging me at some speed toward the nearest exit. He pushed me out the door and turned to deal with the source of the disturbance when there was another gunshot, followed by Officer Reynolds falling toward me.

Panicked, I searched for the reason he had fallen as the door closed separating us from the inside of the club. I could here lots more commotion going on inside as I found the officer’s injuries, which consisted of a single bullet wound to his stomach from which blood seemed to be pouring out.

I reached for my cell phone to call 911 but found that I must have left it in my purse, which at that exact moment was still sitting inside the building on the table where I’d been sitting. Since there was nothing else I could do at that moment, I held Officer Reynolds’ hands trying to help him remain calm while we waited for the cavalry to arrive.

By the time I could hear the approaching sirens, I feared that my companion might not make it until he could be taken to the hospital. Beyond that, I feared that this might also be the handiwork of Joey and that I had been the intended target. Fortunately he hadn’t come in my direction after the last of the shots were fired, because with each passing second I became more certain that if he had I too would be lying here bleeding to death.

Police officers were the first to reach us, asking, “What’s happened here?”

“Some lunatic started shooting inside the bar. Officer Reynolds here was my guard and was shot when he got between me and the shooter.”

“And you are?”

“Sorry, Hannah,” I paused and corrected myself. “I mean Harry Dawson.”

“Oh,” he said blankly. A moment later, his demeanor changed and he said, “Oh, yeah. I think I’m supposed to be assigned as your guard tomorrow.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. Despite the circumstances,” I said as I looked at the dying figure of my protector.

“You think it was the same guy from before?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t get a good look at him,” I said. “It was rather dark and I was in a bit of a hurry to get out of the building when it all started.”

“Understandable,” he said quietly.

Just then the ambulance pulled up and immediately went to work on Officer Reynolds. Moments later, Detective Johnson arrived.

He ran toward me and, after pausing a moment to catch his breath, took my arm and began leading me away from Officer Reynolds as he said, “We need to get you out of here pronto!”

He quickly led me to his car and sat me in the front passenger seat, then climbed in on the other side. As soon as the door was closed, he started the engine and turned to me, “I knew it was a mistake, letting you come tonight.”

“Was it Joey?” I asked.

“If the eyewitness reports are correct,” he said as he pulled the car out of the parking lot, “Yes.”

We drove for a minute or two before I could bring myself to ask, “Was anyone else hurt?”

He kept his eyes glued to the road as he said more calmly than I suspected he felt, “Yes.”

“Do you think…?” I started to ask, unable to complete the question.

Again, with his eyes firmly locked on the road he replied, “Yes.” He took a deep breath as we pulled up to a stoplight and turned toward me, saying, “I’m pretty sure he was there to take care of you.”