Free My Boogie Woogie Bugle Guy by D.L. Jackson

 
     
    Chapter One
     
     
    Grace lay on her belly, her cheek pressed into the lush grass, staring at a shot-glass of liquid. It sat at the base of her brother’s tombstone, as if someone waited for him to take a drink.
    George Daniels, born June 18, 1987, Died August 8, 2011. Hero, Son, Brother .
    Whoever left the whiskey had set it on an ace of spades. Probably one of the Green Berets Geordie had served with. They’d liked to play that game. She smiled, remembering the stories her brother had told her about his downtime while deployed, the heated spades matches, the stomach churning dares to eat creepy crawlers, the roach races, anything to keep them entertained between patrols.
    “I miss you.” She sniffed and wiped a tear from her cheek. It had been a year since she’d lost him, and the hole still gaped open, raw, unbearable.
    She wouldn’t be off shift for another thirty minutes, but on the anniversary of his death, she hadn’t been able to stay away. She’d needed to talk to him. So, she’d sprawled over his grave in her uniform, getting grass stains on her elbows from the freshly cut lawn, telling him about how much her life sucked without him.
    “For my next number, I’m gonna play something a little more laid back.” A slurry voice rang out over the headstones, echoing through what was supposed to be a closed graveyard. A trumpet began to play. Dah, dah, dum. Dah, dah, squawk .
    She bolted up. “What the hell?” Believing she was alone, she’d bared her soul to her brother. She certainly wouldn’t have had that conversation if she’d known someone lingered nearby. She turned around three hundred and sixty degrees, until her gaze landed on a mausoleum backlit by the moon. A man stood on the roof with brass to his lips, butchering Taps . In his other hand, he held a bottle of what was probably in the glass on Geordie’s grave.
    Grace swatted the debris from her pants and stomped toward the mausoleum, irritation prickling over the back of her neck. She stopped at the base of the stone structure and glared at the man on the roof. “What are you doing here at three in the morning? The cemetery is closed.”
    “Whoa, hot chick in the audience.” He swayed, threatening to fall off the roof. “Feel free to toss your panties onto the stage in appreciation.”
    She clicked her flashlight on and cast the beam at him. “I suggest you get down from there before you fall or I have to arrest you for public intoxication.”
    He gave her a shit-eating grin. “You got handcuffs?”
    “Oh, God,” she groaned under her breath. “Of course I’ve got handcuffs. I’m the police.”
    He rocked and blinked his eyes. “You’re hot for a cop.”
    “Thank you, I think. Now get down.”
    “Okay.” He jumped, hit the edge of the roof, rolled off, and dropped like a stone at her feet, doing it with all the grace of a bag of potatoes. Yet he’d managed to keep hold of the bottle and not spill a drop. He put the horn to his lips and blew, but nothing more than a raspberry came from the mouthpiece. “For my next number, I’m going to play….” He looked up at her. “Any requests?”
    “Yeah, tell me where you’re staying, so I can take you to your room.”
    “Easy, girl. What kind of guy do you think I am?”
    “Drunk, cocky, and full of shit.” She reached down. “Come on. You either tell me where you’re staying or I take you to the drunk tank.”
    “Are you a meter maid?”
    Grace sighed. “I’m an officer. You obviously knew my brother, so I’m going to cut you a break. Come on, soldier, you need to sleep that booze off.”
    He gave her his trumpet. She tucked it under her arm and extended her hand to him again. After several attempts, his palm made contact with hers, and she pulled him to his feet.
    “So you’re Geo’s sister.”
    “Geordie’s, yes.”
    “Did I tell you, you are so fuckin’ hot?”
    “I think we covered that.” Grace frowned. Usually she’d blush to her roots, but the