A Song to Die For (50 page)

“The dead, on the side of the Mafia gunmen, are one Joshua Gold, a.k.a. ‘Goldie,' a longtime associate of the Martini family crime ring.

“Also dead, the two leaders of the Martini crime ring: Paulo Martini, a.k.a. “Papa” Martini; and his son, Franco Martini. A forth mob associate was also killed. He is still unidentified.”

Now Hooley removed his hat and bit his lip. “Also, unfortunately, hit by a bullet while using his body as a shield to protect his band members, was the great country-western music singer-songwriter, musician, band leader, and entertainer, the legendary Luster Burnett. He's gone.”

 

55

CHAPTER

Creed banked his new Harley into the gravel driveway through the open gate, rattling over the cattle guard as he accelerated toward the pecan orchard and the ranch house that had once belonged to Luster, and was now the home of Mr. and Mrs. Creed Mason. Creed had explained to Kat that Luster had left him the ranch in his will.

The dog days of summer had passed with band rehearsals and studio sessions. The Pounders had recorded the kind of album Creed had always dreamed of making. Even now, he was returning from a final marketing meeting with the record company executives. His bride, Kat Mason, had brokered an enormously sweet deal for the band. The lead single, a Luster Burnett composition called “You Don't Know How Much I Love You,” was already up to number ten on the charts, after just three weeks, and the nationwide tour was going to start in New York City next week.

Trusty Joe Crooke had tried to quit the band, but The Pounders had talked him out of it. The record company was providing tight security, and the F.B.I. had deemed the Martini family crime ring now defunct, as all the Martinis were dead, their underlings and flunkies having found nefarious employment elsewhere.

Life had taken on the characteristics of one big blur since the announcement of Luster's death. Creed had been hounded by reporters to the point that he just had to go into hiding, with Kat by his side, of course. Luster would be known ever more as the man who took a bullet for his band, and Creed was honored as the war veteran who took the same bullet to protect the same band. Grassroots tributes to Luster had sprung up nationwide.
Life
magazine had photographed the spreading of Luster's ashes along Onion Creek on his ranch.

All this was accompanied by the fallout over Dixie losing her record deal due to her association with the late Franco Martini, which didn't sit well with country music fans. The live album—
Luster Burnet and The Pounders—Raw
—had gone double platinum faster than any country album in history.

Then there was the wedding, and the secret honeymoon in Hawaii. Then, back to work in the studio, photo shoots, meetings, preparations for the twelve-week-long tour. Given the big-money nature of the deal, Sid Larue had convinced the I.R.S. to settle for a reasonable cut of future royalties, so Luster's estate—which basically amounted to the ranch—was safe. Creed was looking forward to a weekend off with his beloved bride before flying to the East Coast to kick off the tour.

As he approached his ranch home, he caught sight of Luster's new grave marker next to Virginia's headstone. He grinned as he motored into the garage. He looked at his watch. Perfect timing.

“Honey!” he said, entering through the kitchen door. “Kat?”

“I'm on the patio!” she said.

Stepping out, he found Kat catching some rays in her bikini on a chaise lounge. She smiled as she got up to kiss him. “Last chance to tan before the tour.”

Damn, she looked good. He thought back to their first kiss, in the I.C.U. Their first night together, after two weeks of healing in the hospital. She was the perfect blend of everything he had ever desired in a woman—looks, smarts, energy, sweetness, and just enough hardheadedness to keep his sorry ass in line. He slid his hand around her naked, slightly sweaty back and pressed his lips on hers.

“How'd it go?” she asked, reaching into the icebox for a cold Schlitz, which she handed to Creed.

“Great. The marketing department is going all out. Shows are selling out. It'll be great.” He sat in a patio chair and smiled at her as he opened the beer. “But you know what worries me. I mean, what
really
worries me.”

“Not a cotton-pickin' thing,” she replied.

He chuckled.

“Hey, I know you just got home, and you've been busy … but you promised me you'd find someone to look after the ranch while we were gone on the tour.”

“I know.” He felt his smile widen.

“What are you grinning at?” she said.

“Your gorgeous body.”

“You saw me naked just this morning.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “I need to talk to you about something.”

She shot a puzzled look at him, lowering her shades to meet him eye-to-eye. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I just need to talk to you about that night. That night that Luster … died.” He couldn't hold back a smile.

“What is it, Creed, you're creeping me out.”

“What I'm about to tell you, only a handful of people know, so I've got to swear you to secrecy.”

“Do I
want
to know?”

“Yes. Trust me. You're going to want to know this. I've actually been itchin' to tell you this all along, but I was ordered to wait until now—until things settled down in the aftermath of Luster's … passing.”

“Okay. I promise. I'll never tell. What is it?”

Creed faintly heard the crunch of tires out front and saw that Kat apparently hadn't noticed, as she was intent on what he had to say, and a breeze was blowing in the treetops. “So, I come to in I.C.U., and I look over, and Luster's in the bed next to me.”

“Yeah. Tell me something I don't know.”

“I'm gettin' there. Luster says, ‘Hey, Hoss, pick up that pen and that notepad. I want you to write down my last words.'”

“Yeah. I know that part. So…”

“I'm a little groggy from the pain medicine, but I pick it up and say, ‘Go ahead, Boss.' Luster says, ‘I played my best show ever tonight. This is a good time to die. My final verse is sung.'”

“I know. That's so sweet, but…”

“Just be patient, Kat! So, I'm scribbling for a while, and he says, ‘Did you get that?' And I say, ‘Well, yeah, but now,
did you get that,
will be your last words.

“He says, ‘No, I want that other quote I said to be my last words!'

“I say, ‘Well, then, say it again, then shut up and die!'

“He says, ‘No, Hoss, I ain't really dyin'!'”

“Aw,” Kathy moaned. “He fought it right up to the very end, didn't he, baby?”

“No, he didn't die.”

She sat on his lap and embraced him. “He lives on in his music, Creed. He always will. But you've got to let him go.”

“Actually, he doesn't,” Luster's voice said, coming from the living room door.

Creed felt Kathy's body jolt as if shot full of electricity. Then she screamed as if she had seen a ghost and sprang to her feet.

“Good Lord, Boss, I was trying to break it to her gently!” Creed scolded.

“Sorry. I got thirsty.” He pointed at Creed's beer. “Do those come one to a box, like a dead man, or do you have one with my name on it.”

“If you're name is Luster Schlitz,” Creed replied, getting up from the patio chair to reach into the icebox.

“What in the hell is going on!” Kat screamed.

“I ain't dead.”

“I can see that!”

“We faked it,” Creed admitted.

“Who's
we
?”

Creed started counting on his fingers. “Me and Luster … the Texas Ranger … The F.B.I. agent…”

Luster opened the beer Creed had tossed to him. “We figured it would be better this way, Kat. The I.R.S. doesn't get a kick out of hassling dead people. But they'll be making plenty of revenue off my old tunes through Creed. In my will, I granted my royalties for the live album to my band members. Except for you and Creed, of course, and I wanted you to have the ranch.”

“The only catch is, we have to share the ranch with the dead guy,” Creed explained, jutting his thumb toward Luster, who took a huge swig of beer from his can.

“Oh, you piece of shit!” Kathy screamed. “I thought you were dead!”

She started to cry, then rushed him, beat him a few times on the unwounded side of his chest with her fist, and then sobbed into his shirt, wrapping her arms around him, and hugging him so hard that Creed saw him wince.

Creed and Luster looked at each other for a while, a little nervous, until they realized that Kat's sobs were gradually evolving into laughter. She pulled away from Luster and glared at both of them, only now thinking to reach for her silk pool robe.

“You sons-of-bitches,” she said, unable to hold back her grin, as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “You are two rotten peas in a pod.”

Creed shrugged. “I told you I'd find somebody to look after the ranch while we were on tour.”

“But why?” She turned to Luster. “Why did you have to die? Why not continue with the comeback?”

“I gave it everything I had that last night in Vegas. Man, what a show we put on! After that, I couldn't disappoint my band with anything less. I knew I could never top that show. Especially not after that bullet I took in the lung. Here is where I belong. On this ranch. With my wife.” He looked out at Virginia's grave site, and his fake headstone beside hers.

“Me, too. On this ranch, with
my
wife,” Creed echoed.

Luster grabbed a spare beer out of the cooler. “I'm goin' for a walk,” he announced, turning away.

“This is so weird,” Kat said.

“Welcome to our life,” Creed replied.

A breeze whipped through the cypress tops as a mockingbird scolded Luster for staying away so long. Onion Creek sang an endless chantey over the limestone falls and a bobwhite quail called out in the pasture.

Creed took Kat under his arm and they watched the living legend stroll out to his own grave.

 

 

BY MIKE BLAKELY

from Tom Doherty Associates

Comanche Dawn

Come Sundown

Dead Reckoning

The Last Chance

Moon Medicine

Shortgrass Song

The Snowy Range Gang

Spanish Blood

Summer of Pearls

Too Long at the Dance

Vendetta Gold

What Are the Chances
(with Kenny Rogers)

 

 

About the Author

MIKE BLAKELY is the author of several novels of the West, including
Comanche Dawn
and
Moon Medicine
. His novel
Summer of Pearls
won the Spur Award for the Western Novel in 2001. Blakely makes his home in Marble Falls, Texas.

 

 

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

 

A SONG TO DIE FOR

 

Copyright © 2014 by Mike Blakely

 

All rights reserved.

 

Cover art by Shane Rebenschied

 

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