Okay, So I'm not as consistent with this project as I hoped to be. I kinda ran into an interesting personal time in my life so I just couldn't muster much juice for silhouette, but alas while i was at the Tech center with my boy Timmy I've gotten together an interesting little approach that I wanted to put together for this part. The goal is to keep the suspense alive and provide an enjoyable experience. Part 13 is shaping up to be a very meaningful part so I hope that you all enjoy this. And as always the full story can be found from start to current @
talesinmotion.blogspot.com
Now without any further ado I present Silhouette:
“That guy was seriously creeping on you.” The bartender whispers to the Asian member of the stool locked trio.
The pianist from the quartet scheduled to play at 8 but still hadn't started, helps the other musicians tune their instruments. The incomplete sound of C major continuously interrupts the smooth Jazz that plays over the internal speaker system. The incongruence of music drowns the increasing sound of sirens in the outside the club.
“I spoke to him, and told him to cut it down,” he reaffirms.
“I know, but I had it under control.”
Kathy sits at the bar thinking about the encounter with the man who called himself Jim, but wore a name tag that said Chris. She looked down the bar at the two black guys who watched the whole encounter. Their judgmental eyes are piercing. They smile over locally brewed foam like they know a secret about her that they read from a high school journal. A part of her wants to scream, I didn’t turn him down because he was black I turned him down because he was an asshole. She tries to believe this thought.
“He comes here often; sometimes he’s a bit too aggressive.” The bartender informs.
“You just have to put those sons of bitches in their place.” Eric states plainly from Kathy’s side. They look like a cute couple.
“Can you believe he said his name was Jim?” she chuckles.
“Yeah, I can.” Eric says drily. He pauses for a moment and begins the subject that he’d been waiting to talk about all night. “I can’t believe Maria, saw me with my pants down today” he chuckled hard.
“Did not.”
“I pulled them down as you walked in there’s no way you didn’t.”
“I turned around!” She giggles, Kathy glances somewhat suspiciously but decides to pursue the topic on the drive home. For now she just lets the situation on fold.
“You turned around after I shouted, Ah! Doesn’t anyone locked anymore.”
“Well who expects to go into an office and find a half naked man when they need questions answered about an affidavit?”
“You never know what to expect when you have to ask questions around here.”
Maria and Kathy look at each other knowingly and then burst with laughter.
“What?” Eric asks child like, his weathered hands gripping onto the half empty cup. “Waiter please another round of vodka.”
“Oh yes, and I want cherries in mine,” Maria bats her eye lashes at him lightly.
“What fruit do you have back there,” Kathy inquires half leaning over the bar.
“Everything, limes, lemons, oranges, cherries, everything.”
“I want one of all of them then! In a separate cup, with water…and ice.”
“Three straight vodkas, and a host of bushel of fruit coming right up.”
“Well are you girls going to laugh at me all night or are you going to tell me what s so funny ?”
“Nothing
“But,”
“But… you know, you’re dealing with interns Eric. I have no problems coming to ask you questions because when it comes down to it, I can stand up to you but that’s only because I’ve worked for you for what, 2 and half years now ? But most of the interns have only been at the firm for what, 3 or 4 months.”
“So?”
“You can be intimidating,” she says sipping her Vodka. She gags, “Oh waiter, can I have a little tonic in this.”
“Noooo,” he protests, his balding area glowing in the dim lighting.
“No?” Maria replies chiming in the conversation. Her Scottish accent cuts through her words even then.
“I’m not intimidated by you. If I need anything I ask, and its not to say some of them can’t take your criticism. But whenever anybody needs anything they go to Herman because they know he’s the easiest to talk to. But some of them feel they can talk to you.”
“You mean the ones that are good lawyers.”
“Just because you’re imposing, and curt, doesn’t make them bad lawyers.”
“Listen, I’m going to tell you like Roger told me when I made senior partner: You don’t get anywhere in this town by pussy-footing around.”
“Oh God, he’s coming back,” Maria points out, as the black man in the black kangol hat saunters through the club with an arrogant smile. He sports a brown suede coat and extremely shiny shoes. His beard is graying, a point that turned Kathy off previously. Something about being approached by a man in a grey beard that too blatantly pointed out the fact that she too herself was beyond her prime, but not that far beyond her prime.
Chris ‘s Jazz café was a well known establishment in Chicago. Musicians would come from all around the area to showcase, many working 4 hour sets for free, just for the exposure. It was fully wood furnished. The lighting was intimate and ambient. The stage was tucked into the back corner, far enough away from the bar that one could have a conversation. In between the stage and the bar were one two rows of tables that created a path from the door, passed the bar and straight to the stage. On the other side of the stage it was a similar set up that led back to the kitchen. In front of the bar there was ample stool room and another bar top divider that led to another smaller seating area focused around two flat-screen televisions.
The television plays the news. The newscaster mouth silence, as their words show up underneath them in black shaded white type that read:
Over 20 dead in what seems to be intrrlated crimes.
Live feeds flash across the screen that look like war clips. A building burning from the top down, as firefighters try to rescue people from the building. The words read:
What some think may be another terrorist attack.
The screen cuts to images of a bullet strewn side street filled with ambulances and an growing crowd.
Victim appears to be 35 year old Detective Nathan Ramone
Often after work Kathy, Eric, and Maria would come to Chris’ to relax, but not usually on a weekday. And not only that but Kathy wasn’t usually the one men went after; that was Maria’s’ forte.
“Alright now you have a good night now,” He says without a flinch, as if he wasn’t just rejected on his every advance for 15 minutes straight by this woman.
“You too,” Kathy replies with an awkward giggle.
He goes in for a kiss on the cheek but she scrunches her shoulders up.
“Don’t be like that baby,”
“Like what?”
He tries again. She rejects his lips with her sweater once more.
“Aw, you doggin me doll, you doggin, me.”
“And you would think you’d get the message by now.”
“I know you’re hard to get, I respect it.”
“No it’s not that I’m hard to get it’s that-“her words are interrupted by the smacking of his lips against her cheek. He smiles with approval.
“That wasn’t so hard.”
He moves down the line toward Maria.
“I got one for you too sugar.”
“Oh, no no no no, no thank you that won’t be necessary.”
They do an awkward dance that consists of him ducking down to smooch her cheek and her moving back and forth choppily like a running back trying desperately to avoid a tackle. This continues for 25 seconds, real time, before he lands one. No one seems to see the rapidly growing amount of glowing lights that are flashing red and blue on the outside window.
No one pays attention to the brightly illuminated HD television screen as it cuts to images of a blood and lights outside of a orange-glow lit, parking garage.
Flights control says that only moments ago a stolen helicopter was stolen and performed an unauthorized landing on top this complex…
“Okay, that’s enough buddy.” Eric says rising to his feet.
No one thinks to look at the boob tube as the street reporter holds the microphone up to the visibly shaken African American woman in a guard uniform as the words read:
“It was a terrorist attack I tell you! There was 25 of them, they came riding out in an all black Tahoe, shootin’ shit and killing cops.”
“What, what’s the problem?” Jim with the name tag that says Chris’ asks.
“You, asshole, you’re the fucking problem.”
“Hey man, there’s no need to curse,” the space between them is distancing with each lightly drunken step Eric makes towards him. He pushes Jim with the name tag that says Chris.
“Whoa, keep ya hands to yourself baby, you don’t want to do that.”
None sees the images of a blood and lights outside of a orange-glow lit, parking garage, that replay like a skipped recording of death’s love ballad promised to each man, a visual cacophony of gruesome and graphic images that shouldn’t be aired for all to see as the words read:
Suspects at large, citizens are cautioned to stay inside and be with their families, in this time of confusion. Authorities are taking every precaution to ensure the communities safety.
“I don’t?… “ Eric says pushing him again.
“You see the name on the outside of this place, huh?” Jim with the name tag that says Chris’ says pointing to the sign that says Chris’s Jazz Café on the wall.
“So this is your-“ Eric’s words are cut short as the front door of the café is kicked open by SWAT men dressed in riot gear barge in.
“Clear!” One shouts, as squadron of heavily armed beasts pummel into the room.
The music stops abruptly. Kathy nearly falls to the floor. With the door open the sirens blare makes life an inaudible shout of terrible anxiety.
“What’s going on?” The bartender asks timidly.
“We’re looking for Chris Tanner, the owner of this establishment!”
“Wait why?”
“Are you Chris?”
“No,”
“Then I recommend you SHUT THE FUCK UP!” The squad leader yells. “Chris Tanner?”
“I’m Chris Tanner.” Jim with the name tag that says Chris speaks fully.
George takes off his helmet and tackles him, knocking his Kangol over the bar.
“You son of a bitch,” George thrashes about tenaciously as the other SWAT officers restrain him.
“Calm down detective,”
“What I do,”
“I’m gonna kill this son of a bitch,”
“Whoa, that’s enough Detective,” they try to subdue him.
“Chris Tanner, “ The squad leader “ you’re under-arrest for the aiding and abetting of terrorist action,conspiracy, and the death of Detective Nathan Ramone.”
“What I don’t know nothing bout no terrorist? I didn’t do this y’all know that, I was here all night. Terrorists… I don’t know no terrorist. What kinda shit is this? Get out of my bar, I’m calling my lawyer” the squadron men throw him to the floor and cuff him.
“I got rights.” They pick him up forcefully and push him out the door.
“Read him his rights boys,”
“You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”
