Rock & Roll Homicide (12 page)

“Nice to meet you, young man,” Bernie said “My condolences on Terry’s passing. He used to play here with Caliber 9 a few years ago.”

“Thanks, man,” GI Jo-Jo said. “Can we check out access and electrical?”

Over the next ten minutes Bernie took us through the back-stage tour and how he wanted the cabling to run from the stage to the soundboard. Then, Bernie excused himself and I walked with Jo-Jo to the bar, which was now almost full. We ordered beers, and took them to a table away from the crowd.

“Let’s get this over with so I can get the fuck out of here,” GI Jo-Jo said.

“Fine,” I replied. “Let’s start with the day Terry died. I was told you carried his stuff in from the Ferrari while he chewed out Ian for moving the partitions. Is that correct?”

“I do almost all of the carrying, so what,” he said flatly.

“So that means you were the last person to be alone with his headphones before they exploded,” I said.

“I didn’t do anything to the headphones. In fact, I didn’t even see the headphones. They were probably in one of the bags,” he said.

“I understand you were an ordnance technician in Iraq. Did the police ask you about your qualifications to build the device that killed Terry?” I asked.

“Why don’t you ask them?” he asked.

“I’m asking you,” I said.

“A twelve year old could have built it,” he said. “Maybe that’s why the cops didn’t bother to ask.”

“What are you going to tell them when they ask about the allegation that you fragged your boss in Iraq?” I asked.

“Who the fuck told you about that?” GI Jo-Jo asked with alarm.

“If I know about it, you can bet the cops know, too,” I said.

“Then why aren’t they coming after me?” he asked.

“Terry wasn’t exactly Mr. Congeniality. You’re just one of several suspects. But, eventually they’ll get around to you. Why don’t you tell me what happened so I can stop thinking it was you?” I said.

“Why should I tell you anything?” he said

“I thought we went over this on the phone. Do you need to hear it again?” I asked.

GI Jo-Jo said, “I was an ordnance tech in Iraq. My unit cleared land mines and unexploded ordnance. My C.O. was a prick and a chicken-shit. When there was dangerous duty he had no problem putting a new guy on it, even if he got blown up. But he would never go near anything dangerous himself. One day he assigned a very tricky procedure to a fresh recruit. The kid said the job was done, then went to the latrine to throw up. A bunch of us techs were standing about 40 yards away from the ordnance when this dickless captain came up to me and asked if the job was done. I told him the kid said it was. He told me to go check it out. I asked him if he left his balls in the states. We went at it a few more minutes, then he decided to show everybody he was a man. Instead, he showed everybody what an incompetent jerk he was. I never touched the ordnance. Once the brass got their facts straight I was cleared.”

“Then why did you get run out of the Middle East?” I asked.

“Because dead captains have friends with pull. I made the mistake of going on record about what a shithead this guy was and his buddies decided to teach me a lesson,” he said.

“That’s it for now, Jo-Jo. If I need anything else I’ll ask Nigel to get in touch,” I said.

“I’ll hold my breath,” he said, then stood up and left the club.

I walked back to Bernie’s office, knocked twice, then entered. “Any luck with the homemade karaoke set-up?” I asked.

“Check this out,” Bernie said as he stood up and walked from his desk to a worktable on the far wall. “Are you definitely going to perform the songs in the order that you gave to me?” he asked.

“Yeah. I told Nigel what we were doing and he said the order they appear on the CD works fine,” I said.

Bernie handed me a small remote control. “Just have your assistant hit ‘On’ to get the first screen of the first song on the monitor. Then he just has to hit ‘Page Down’ when you’re ready for the next screen. I saw you looking at the monitor when I was giving Jo-Jo the tour. What do you think?”

“I think you saved my butt again, Bernie,” I said. “Hey, I’ve got a couple of old friends coming on Saturday that you’ll be glad to see.”

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“Calvin Dawson and Justin Emerson,” I said.

“If I ever decide to retire, Justin will be the first person I’ll call,” he said.

“I know he thinks of you as a role model. How long has it been?” I asked.

“Too long,” he said. “I did see Calvin a few months ago. He was in town for a show and stopped by the club afterwards. I could talk to him non-stop for a week. He knows more inside information about this business than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll bet we get a few old regulars out to see their favorite band, too,” I said.

“I was thinking about that yesterday. Most rock & roll fans connect with bands they enjoyed during a significant time in their lives. I’m betting you’ll bring out some people who haven’t been to a club all year. But they’ll see the ad in the paper and say, ‘hey honey, guess who’s back at the old Dali Lama?’ It’s going to be a fun night,” Bernie said.

After briefly explaining my behavior around Jo-Jo I said, “Bernie, I gotta go. You have my cell phone number. Call me if you need anything,” and departed.

When I re-entered the club I saw Kelly sitting at a table by herself. I walked up behind her, disguised my voice and said, “Hey blondie, ya lookin’ for a good time?”

Without a glance she replied, “Hey sailor, I thought you’d never ask.” She then stood up and gave me a hug. “Do you really think it’s necessary to get out of town tonight?”

“Better to be safe than sorry,” I said. Then threw in, “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”

“We’ve been going to too many ballgames. You’re starting to talk in cliché-speak,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“Let me introduce you to the band,” I said. I led her to the Tsunami table where intros were given and it was decided to hit the road right away. Jeannine had arrived by cab while I was meeting with Bernie and was seated with the boys. We managed to maintain a two-vehicle caravan across Interstate 8. At her request, Jeannine rode with the band in Derek’s SUV. We reached the last exit for El Cajon by 7:15 PM and decided to look for a place to eat and watch
California Confidential
.

At 7:25 PM we bribed a bartender at T.G.I. Friday’s to change the channel and got a drink order in before the show opened:

“
Tonight on California Confidential
…
Could California be in for another recall
election
? …
Is one of California’s top
pro baseball players ready to come out
of the closet
…
And our top story
–
Was Doberman’s Stub front
-
man
,
Terry
Tucker
,
killed by a Southern California
branch of the Russian Mafia
?
You’ll find
out after these messages
.”

We managed to get our food orders in during the first two stories. I wasn’t sure I would want to eat after the report.

“
The music industry and rock
fans of Doberman’s Stub were devastated
three weeks ago when singer
/
guitarist
Terry Tucker was brutally murdered during
a recording session
.
While the police
remain baffled
,
California Confidential has come
to learn that the band’s record company
,
Cerise Records
,
is owned by a man
who has strong ties to the Russian
Mafia
.
Here we see photos of the
owner
,
John Koflanovich
.
But California Confidential
has learned that John Koflanovich is really
Ivan Chofsky of the Ukraine
.
You can
change your name
,
Mr
.
Koflanovich
,
but
you can’t hide from California Confidential
.”

“
Less than two weeks ago
the agency of San Diego detective Jason
Duffy
,
began taking a close look at
Cerise’s operations
.
Since then Duffy’s office
has been invaded by armed thugs on
two occasions
.
The last time
,
Duffy’s
administrative assistant
,
Jeannine Joshlin
,
was
bound and gagged while the Russians stole
company computers and photos related to
the case
.
A few days later
,
former
National Geographic photographer
,
Cory Pafford
,
who captured these photos
,
was assaulted
and hospitalized by men Pafford recognized
as employees of Cerise Records
.
He has
identified those men as Vladimir Torhan
and Boris Melsin
.
Torhan was a former
Ukrainian amateur boxing champion
.”

“
It is believed that Cerise
Records is funded by the owners of
California sweatshop Yuliya
,
Inc
.,
that has
made its money on the backs of
immigrants of questionable green card status
,
for many years
.
It is run by Peter
Chofsky
,
and has been in California since
the early 1900’s
.
But
,
they shifted their
way of doing business when the Soviet
Union broke up and the Mafia gained
a stronghold
.”

“
But
,
what about California
?
Are
we going to sit back while this
world renowned
,
ruthless bunch of cutthroats
infests our beloved state
?
Not if California
Confidential has anything to say about
it
.
We salute Jason Duffy and his
efforts to do what Interpol has not
been able to achieve
.
Keep up the
good work
,
Jason
.
California Confidential has
got your back
.”

“Oh my God,” Kelly said slowly.

“What’s the big deal?” asked Kyle. “This will probably be a huge boon to your business. We should be celebrating.”

“It’s a little hard to cash those big checks from the cemetery,” said Michael. “Take it from a full-blooded Italian, the Mafia hates publicity. Nobody wants to be the point-man in a Mafia probe even if the FBI has your back,”

I said, “My big problem is that I’m not sure Cerise Records is affiliated with the Mafia. When Chofsky’s daughter was kidnapped there was no evidence that he had any ties with them. I think it’s just as possible that Chofsky is running from the Mafia as it is that he cut a deal with them to save his daughter.”

Jeannine asked, “Then why would they use all those strong-arm tactics with you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that’s what they think they need to do to survive. If he’s running from the Russian Mafia there will be no mistaking where he’s hiding after tonight’s broadcast,” I said.

Derek said, “I can’t believe that anybody in his right mind would actually watch that crap. I saw a teaser for it last week and they were interviewing people who said they were abducted by aliens on Mission Bay. I don’t know how they stay on the air.”

Jeannine said, “Our new security guard once saved a child from being abducted by aliens. But I don’t think it was on Mission Bay.”

“Sounds more like Ocean Beach to me,” said Kyle.

We finished our meal in relative silence. Traffic had thinned considerably, so the trip to Alpine was mercifully quick. We arrived at the country home of Derek’s Aunt Esther at about 9:00 PM. Esther has always been very cool about supporting the band. She is also a bit on the old fashioned side, so I was curious about how she would establish the rules for the girls’ sleepover. True to her image as a cool septuagenarian, Esther announced she was spending the night with her friend and would be back at 7:00 AM to cook breakfast. She also bought us a case of beer.

After a couple of beers we were ready to rock. Over the next half-hour we were absolutely terrible. I couldn’t stop thinking about the Russians and how I had put everybody I cared about in jeopardy. Derek was trying to flirt with Jeannine, and Michael was pissed that we were about to destroy his reputation. As we argued, Kelly walked out of the four-car attached garage where we practiced and into the house. Five minutes later she returned to an even louder argument wearing a skimpy pair of baby-doll pajamas. Everyone went silent.