17. Lucas
17
LUCAS
SPOTTED CAT INCIDENT REPORT Filed by: Officer M. Johnson
Multiple casualties reported. Witnesses describe:
Federal agents without leadership
Professional hit team
Jazz band providing cover fire (???)
Woman matching “Ghost” description
Man in lab coat “giggling while shooting”
Note: All security footage mysteriously corrupted
The last notes of my trumpet fade into the smoky air of the Spotted Cat, bleeding into the usual mix of applause and clinking glasses. From my spot on stage, I scan the crowd out of habit. Regular faces, a few tourists, and—there at the back—two suits trying too hard to look casual. Feds, but not their leader. Ethan’s absence from his own operation sets off warning bells in my head.
“Great set, Jazz.” Marcus, my bassist, claps my shoulder. “You okay, man? Seemed distracted during that last number.”
Before I can answer, Melody bursts through the side door, her face tight with an urgency I’ve never seen before. My heart kicks against my ribs—I know that look. That’s the look of someone with shadows on their tail.
“We need to go.” She grabs my arm, her fingers ice-cold. “Now.”
“Sugar, what?—”
“Alex is coming.” The name means nothing to me, but the fear in her eyes means everything. “He knows about us, about Lucas. He’s going to?—”
The side door opens again. A tall man in an expensive suit enters, followed by two others built like brick walls. The temperature in the club seems to drop ten degrees.
“Stay behind me,” I murmur to Melody, stepping between her and the newcomers.
“Jazz Reynaud.” The tall man’s voice is smooth as top-shelf bourbon. “Your reputation precedes you. That last piece was particularly moving. What was it called?”
“ Midnight in New Orleans. ” I keep my tone easy, though my hand tightens on my trumpet. Eight years on these streets taught me a good instrument makes a decent weapon in a pinch. “Written it for someone special.”
“Ah yes.” His eyes slide past me to Melody. “Our mutual friend. Though I knew her by a different name. Several, actually.”
Movement at the main entrance catches my eye. Lucas slips in, looking wild-eyed and more disheveled than usual, that brilliant madness of his focused to a dangerous point. Through the window, I spot Ethan’s team getting into position, but their boss is nowhere to be seen. Something about that feels wrong, but there’s no time to analyze it now.
Well, shit.
“Club’s closing early tonight,” I announce, loud enough for the regulars to hear the warning in my voice. They know the drill—when Jazz says go, you go.
The crowd starts thinning, but Alex’s men position themselves near the exits. The suits at the back tense, hands moving toward concealed weapons. The feds seem unsure without their leader, exchanging glances like they’re waiting for orders that aren’t coming.
“Now, now.” Alex’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “No need to end the party early. I just want to have a chat with my old protégé.”
“That’s not happening.” My voice comes out harder than I mean it to.
Melody’s hand touches my arm. “Jazz, don’t?—”
“Listen to her, musician.” Alex steps closer. “This is far above your pay grade. Walk away now, keep those talented fingers intact.”
The threat hangs in the air like stale smoke. I feel Melody tense behind me, ready to move. Lucas has worked his way closer, something almost gleeful in his manic energy. His eyes keep darting to his phone, checking messages with poorly contained excitement. Whatever’s got him so wound up, it’s not just the current situation.
“You know what I love about jazz?” I spin my trumpet casually, like I’m just making conversation. “It’s all about improvisation. Reading the room, feeling the flow, knowing exactly when to...”
I bring the trumpet up hard, catching one of the brick walls under the chin. “Change the tune!”
Chaos erupts. Alex’s men surge forward as Lucas grabs Melody’s arm, trying to pull her toward the back exit. His usual unhinged brilliance has an extra edge tonight, like he’s riding the high of some particularly fascinating experiment. The feds burst in, shouting contradictory commands without their leader’s steady presence. Someone fires a shot, shattering the mirror behind the bar.
“This way!” I grab Melody’s other hand, yanking her toward the secret entrance behind the stage—a relic from Prohibition days that’s served me well over the years.
Lucas stumbles after us, giggling about multiple concurrent experiments under his breath.
“The organization will find you!” Alex’s voice carries over the mayhem. “You can’t protect them forever, little shadow!”
We emerge into the alley behind the club. The feds’ confusion without their leader works in our favor—their coordination is sloppy, orders conflicting. Through the chaos, I catch Lucas checking his phone again, that unsettling grin spreading wider.
“The warehouse district,” Lucas pants as we run, his eyes fever-bright with more than just adrenaline. “I have a lab there. Off the books. Though perhaps not my most... active facility at the moment.”
“No.” Melody pulls us to a stop. “I won’t drag you both deeper into this. Alex will?—”
“Shut up.” I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my eyes. “You ain’t dragging us anywhere, sugar. We’re running with you ‘cause we choose to.”
“He’s right.” Lucas’s laugh holds a slightly hysterical edge. “Though perhaps we should continue this touching moment somewhere less exposed? I have several rather delicate experiments in progress that require attention.”
I catch something in his tone, a secret delight that seems out of place given our situation. Melody must hear it too—her eyes narrow slightly at his choice of words. But sirens are wailing closer, and we don’t have time to unpack Lucas’s particular brand of madness right now.
I lead them through a maze of back alleys, calling in favors from street vendors and doormen who owe me. By the time we reach Lucas’s hidden lab, we’ve picked up no tails. Though from the way Lucas keeps checking his phone and muttering about chemical evolution, I get the feeling this isn’t his only operation running tonight.
“What now?” Lucas asks, bolting the door behind us, his manic energy barely contained. “Though I must say, the timing of all this is really quite... perfect.”
I look at Melody—my beautiful, dangerous Melody, caught between a corrupt organization and an obsessed fed who’s mysteriously absent from his own operation, with a mad scientist who’s clearly up to something and a jazz musician as her only allies.
“Now,” I say, pulling her close, “we make them dance to our tune.”
She laughs, the sound half sob. “When did you get so brave, Jazz?”
“Probably around the time I fell in love with a ghost.” The words slip out before I can stop them, raw and honest as a blues solo at midnight.
Her eyes widen. Behind us, Lucas makes a strangled sound that shifts into that unsettling giggle of his. “Oh, this is perfect! Multiple experiments reaching critical mass simultaneously. The symmetry is absolutely exquisite.”
I ignore his cryptic rambling, keeping my focus on Melody. “I know what I’m signing up for, sugar. The danger, the secrets, even sharing you with a brilliantly unhinged chemist who’s clearly got something cooking besides this escape plan.”
Lucas’s giggle turns sharper. “If you only knew, my musical friend. If you only knew.”
“Jazz,” Melody starts, but I press a finger to her lips.
“Let me finish. I’ve watched you move through my world like smoke, wearing different faces, playing different tunes. But the melody underneath? That’s always been you. And I’m tired of pretending I’m not in love with every version of your song.”
Something buzzes—Lucas’s phone again. His face lights up like Christmas came early. “Speaking of versions and evolution...”
“Lucas,” Melody warns, but there’s a question in her voice. She’s picking up on something too, some undertone to his manic delight that doesn’t quite fit our current crisis.
“Sorry, sorry,” he waves dismissively, though that gleam in his eyes suggests he’s anything but sorry. “Please, continue with your touching confession. Though perhaps we should consider relocating to my other facility? The one where I’m conducting my most fascinating experiment to date?”
The way he emphasizes fascinating experiment makes me pause. There’s something we’re missing here, some piece of the puzzle that would explain Lucas’s extra dose of crazy tonight.
But before I can dig deeper, another explosion rocks the night. Closer this time.
“Alex,” Melody breathes.
“Or Ethan’s increasingly disorganized team,” Lucas muses, looking far too pleased for someone whose lab might be under siege. “Though their leader seems to be... otherwise occupied at the moment.”
Well, triple shit. Whatever game Lucas is really playing tonight, we’re all dancers in his chaos now. And from the way Melody’s grip tightens on my hand, I’m not the only one starting to wonder exactly what kind of experiment has him so delighted.
“So,” I say, forcing a grin, “who’s ready to start a war?”
“Oh darling,” Lucas purrs, checking his phone one last time, “the war’s already begun. And you won’t believe who’s about to join our side.”