Broken Symphony

Broken Symphony Alan Lee Broken Symphony by Alan Lee All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2023 Alan Lee Janney First Edition Printed in USA Formatting by Vellum Paperback ISBN: Sparkle Press Created with Vellum Contents The Abolition of Man Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 The Abolition of Man In a sort of ghastly simplicity, we remove the organ and demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honor and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful. - CS Lewis 1 A former prostitute named Lynsey stepped into my office and said, “Wow.” “I know.” She cocked her head. “You look ready for the stuff I used to do.” “I couldn’t afford you.” I was laying on the floor on my back, legs raised, knees bent at ninety degrees, Saucony sneakers resting on my client chair. Lesser private detectives would look silly. “Yes you could. Miss Veronica’s rich.” “I was trying to let you down easy,” I said. “What’re you doing?” “Battling sciatica.” “That something penicillin fixes?” “No,” I said. “‘Cause I still got loads.” “Yesterday I deadlifted a weight I hadn’t since my twenties and now my back hurts.” Lynsey wore flannel pajamas, blue and black checkered. Her mousey hair was held up with a cheap headband. Once upon a time she’d been an in-demand call girl in Roanoke City. Thanks to Ronnie’s rehabilitation efforts, however, Lynsey’d given it up and now tended bar at Outback, working on a nursing degree. Hope bloomed. Prostitution, though, like the cocaine she’d been snorting, was rampant with recidivism. Lynsey worked at a ring on her left hand, a nervous habit. “It’s like you’re in stirrups at the gyno.” “It is not.” “You’re so strong, I didn’t think nothing could hurt you.” “Do you want to know how much I lifted?” “Are you too hurt to fix my bathroom sink?” she said. “What about the super?” “Billy can’t fix anything. Please can you come?” I could. None of my cases were urgent. I rolled to my feet and stood. “Tada.” “Thanks, I really appreciate this, Mr. Mackenzie.” “I didn’t use any hands,” I said. “What?” “I stood without grunting or using my hands to help, even though it hurt. Tada.” “So what?” she said. “I’m forty, that’s what.” “Is this about your spaghetti back?” “Sciatica. Do you want to know how much I lifted?” I said. “Too much, I guess, ‘cause now your back hurts? Do you need me to rub it? Can we hurry? I’ll rub it after, free of charge.” I grabbed the North Face jacket off my desk. “Not necessary. Let’s go.” “Thanks for this.” “It was a lot,” I said. “What was a lot?” Lynsey still twisted the ring. “Oh, that weight-lifting thing? Does it matter?” “Apparently not.” I closed the door after us. 2 Ronnie Summers, the starlet of my daydreams, owned a three-story building downtown. Purchased two years ago, she sprang for renovations, rented out the main floor to two CPAs and a photographer, housed women on the middle floor, and kept the third floor mostly empty. Empty because she’d forgotten about it. Like most beautiful and successful persons, she assumed she could do anything. She excelled at jurisprudence, so why would not with real estate? Besides, she had a soft spot for women attempting a life correction. Trouble was, the gals kept boinking guys, despite vowing not to. They started strong, attending support groups for recovering addicts, and Ronnie landed them upstanding jobs. Two of her tenants, Lynsey and Simple, remained committed to the cause. The rest we bailed out of jail a couple times before Ronnie asked them to move, making room for new tenants. That’s us human beings. We do what we don’t want to do, and we don’t do what we should. Like a reluctant swain, April was warming slowly. The breeze held a chill that tomorrow might strengthen or wane without reason. Today’s wind held needles, a kind of sharp cold hard on the lungs. Dots of color like tulips and hyacinths swayed in planters, out of place, as indignant as the pedestrians. Lynsey scurried ahead on Campbell Avenue, holding herself against the chill, and she waited for me inside the warm stairwell. The bell above the door jingled when I opened it. I could hear Billy Tom the quasi-superintendent holding forth on the second floor. “I had a shot at playing professionally. Not many goalies out there like me. Strong, I mean. You see how strong I am. Most goalies, they’re thin little nerds. Long arms, which is good, I guess, but they break. Look at me, does it look like I’d break? No got’damn way am I breaking. I’m not saying they’d invite me to the World Cup or anything. I mean, maybe they would, I don’t know. But I could have played for one of the MLS teams, there’s no doubt in my mind. Like DC United, some team like that. They need guys like me, big and strong. You remember how I moved the fridge? You think little guys can do that? There’s no got’damn way. I’m a gym rat. I