Love Songs: The Wrong Note - A Collection of Short Stories

5

I knew the layout of the house. It was easy enough to gain entry. I also knew Savannah's secrets.

Hadn't I been present when Judge Budge and Savannah had discussed the exorbitant sums she was charging the royals of Hollywood.

Seven thousand dollars.

More money than I would see in a hundred thousand lifetimes. And hadn't both of them laughed and bragged that millionaires such as they were the chosen of God?

They were too drunk to care what they were saying. Besides, I was like the parents of all those stolen kids – poor, therefore, invisible.

But tonight, I relished my cloak of invisibility.

***

"Where is she?" I asked.

Savannah was still recovering from the exhaustion of another one her journeys to the West Coast. Another client was a sure Oscar winner.

I'd heard she was sick. I never knew whether or not to believe the whispered gossip of the rumor mill. I was inclined to believe it was just another of Savannah's ploys for sympathy.

Although I didn't know it then, the Baby Bandit was nearing the end, and the Home for Orphaned and Unwanted Children's days were numbered, too.

She looked thirty years older than the last time I'd seen her. Her complexion was sallow, and she was as thin as a reed.

"She's gone," she said, simply. "To a better home. To somebody who can provide for her in a manner that will keep her from starving or dying from filth and disease."

There was no remorse in her words. She'd stated this to me as blandly as if she were discussing the price of eggs with the grocer.

"Get your coat," I said. "You're coming with me."

She laughed in my face.

"Do you think you can scare me or threaten me with anything that will make me tell you what you want to know?"

I knew then all hope was lost.

I made my move, charging her, pinning her frail bag of bones body to the wall. I grabbed her neck, squeezing slowly but steadily.

Savannah did not struggle.

In fact, she smiled.

Something in her eyes begged me to finish what the disease was doing to her.

I knew she'd never tell me what I wanted to know.

And I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing her death had sent me to the electric chair.

I let her go.

She fell to the floor.

As I passed through her bedroom door, I heard her mirthless laughter.

"I knew you'd chicken out, cretin," she yelled. "You don't have it in you."