Rock & Roll Homicide (16 page)

At precisely 8:30 Bernie took the stage and said, “After a three year absence from the San Diego club scene, the Dali Lama Yo Mama is thrilled to bring you the reunion of,” then in a loud, enthusiastic voice, “Tsunami Rush!”

We jogged onstage, and launched into a power metal set that immediately brought about twenty people to the dance floor. Calvin and Justin arrived shortly after we started and I saw Jasmine lead them to Bernie’s table. By 9:00 all of the tables were occupied and the dance floor was rocking.

About fifteen minutes before the end of our first set I noticed Nigel standing in the wings checking us out. He watched for the remainder of the set and appeared to be getting into our music. When we finished I announced, “Thanks for coming out tonight. I see a lot of familiar faces and we’re having a great time playing for you again.” This got a rousing applause. “We’re going to take a break. Be sure to stick around for the next set. We have some very special friends joining us that are going to blow you away.”

As we exited Nigel said to me, “They love you guys. That was quite a performance for a group that hasn’t played in three years.”

Michael, Kyle and Derek headed for Bernie’s table after being introduced to Nigel. “Ask Kelly to knock on the dressing room door in fifteen minutes,” I said to Michael, then I slapped his hand.

“Was it good for you?” he asked.

“Better than foreplay,” I replied and he laughed.

In the dressing room I tuned my guitar to Nigel’s while Jack did some kind of Zen mantra. Ian looked like GI Jo-Jo had already gotten him tweaked. Both of his feet were tapping a mile a minute and he was licking his lips continually. “How are you doing with the new songs?” Nigel asked.

“Between the afternoon session and Bernie’s karaoke monitor, I should be fine,” I said. “It looks like we’ve got a decent size crowd.”

“Perfect,” Nigel replied. “Thanks again for setting it up. I’d like you to look at me in between songs. If I spread my hand in front of my strings like this,” he said and performed the gesture, “I want you to give me a few seconds. I’ll have a note pad on my amp and I’ll jot a few notes if I see something we may want to change.”

“Just give me a little head bob when you’re ready to go,” I said.

Ian chimed in, “I could go for a little head bob after the show.” This seemed to rouse Jack from the Land of Om. Before he could speak there was a knock at the door. It was Kelly letting me know she was heading to the computer, and the monitor would have the first song ready to go.

Then Bernie knocked on the door and asked if the band was ready to be introduced. Three minutes later we were standing in the wings as Bernie walked to center stage and said, “May I have your attention.” He waited about a minute for the crowd to settle down, then he said, “At the Dali Lama we get a chance to see a lot of bands on their way up, and sometimes we see a few on their way down. But it’s a very rare pleasure when we get to see a band as it’s hitting its peak of success. But, tonight we have a very special treat. You are going to be the first live audience to see and hear the new CD of such a band. Tsunami’s Rush’s Jason Duffy is going to be helping them out since they recently lost a band member. Please help me welcome Doberman’s Stub!”

The crowd went crazy. When I walked out onto the stage I had a flashback of old footage of the Beatles being drowned out by screaming fans. But, instead of launching into a song that would ride the tide of their intensity, Nigel gave me the spread fingers and we all waited until they settled down. Then Nigel stepped up to his microphone and said, “Thank you for that warm reception. As Bernie said, we tragically lost our lead singer and guitarist, Terry Tucker, just a few weeks ago. We’re trying to decide if we should press on without him and look for a replacement, or just call it the end of an era.”

“No!” shouted the crowd. “Doberman rocks!”

“When Terry died we were just finishing a CD. It was our habit to play the new CD for a live club audience before releasing it, so that’s why we’re here tonight. We’d like to dedicate this performance to Terry Tucker,” he said and gave the head bob. We opened with a cut that was expected to be one of the lead tracks and make an appearance on Billboard’s charts.

The crowd cheered wildly as we finished our first song. Shortly after they quieted down for the second song, I heard a commotion toward the main entrance. I glanced over and saw Vlad Torhan lifting a cell phone-clutching fan off of his feet. I’m sure Vlad thought he was protecting Cerise from some kind of copyright infringement. The fan was probably just letting a friend hear that Doberman’s Stub was performing at the local club.

Between glances at the karaoke monitor I saw Bernie’s bouncer come up behind Torhan and get him in a bear hug. Vlad threw an elbow and broke free long enough to knock the bouncer unconscious with one mighty uppercut to the chin. The fan managed to crawl away. Since the band was still playing there was no shortage of cell phones in the air. He grabbed a tall, thin, surfer dude and crushed his cell phone while it was still in the dude’s hand. We finished our song and waited for the cops to arrive, expecting a long delay.

Instead, I saw Jasmine, carrying a tray full of drinks, walk right up to Torhan. As she was squeezing past him she pulled a Taser out from under her serving tray and zapped him on the arm. Vlad the Impaler turned into a spazz briefly before collapsing to the floor. Jasmine held her Taser in the air and received a tremendous ovation.

I moved back to the microphone and said, “This next one’s for our favorite server, Jasmine.” This got another ovation. I then added, “Don’t forget to tip her generously – or else.” The abundance of cell phone wielding fans resulted in a steady stream of people pouring through the door. I looked at Bernie and saw a nervous smile on his face as Justin left the table and stationed his 250 pounds of rippling muscles at the front door.

We were into our fifth song when the cops arrived and led Torhan out in handcuffs. At that point the Dali Lama was probably just above the Fire Marshall limit, but it looked like the police were satisfied that Justin had things under control. I’m sure he used his wit and charm to ease any of their concerns.

On three occasions Nigel gave me the spread fingers and made notes. Once it took him about two minutes, which seems like an eternity when almost everyone in the crowd was giving their undivided attention. At the end of the set Nigel asked the audience, “What do you think? Should Doberman’s Stub try to carry on without Terry Tucker?”

      The audience response would have broken a decibel meter. Nigel then added, “I’d like to give a special thanks to Tsunami Rush’s Jason Duffy for filling in on vocals and rhythm guitar. If you enjoyed Jason, stick around. Tsunami Rush will be back after a little break. Goodnight San Diego.”

The crowd went crazy and did not let up. The chant of “More, more, more!!!” grew louder and louder. In the dressing room Jack said, “We better give them one more or they might come in here after us.”

Nigel suggested a fan favorite from the second CD, I knew the words but didn’t know the guitar part. “Why don’t I show you how to play it.”

I replied, “I have a better idea. Our lead guitarist knows that whole CD. Let’s call him to the stage and let him do it.”

“Brilliant!” exclaimed Nigel, “let’s go.”

When we walked back onstage the crowd erupted. After about 30 seconds I held up my hand and they quieted down. “Will Michael Marinangeli come to the stage?” I looked at Michael, who was still seated at Bernie’s table. He put his hand on his chest and gave me a
Who me
? look. I nodded and he made his way to the stage. I pointed for him to talk to Nigel while I explained to the crowd that we only knew one more song and needed the help of another Tsunami Rush band member to do that. Hopefully this prepped them for the fact that it would be the only encore.

GI Jo-Jo moved Michael’s amp back into place and two minutes later we were delighting the crowd with the only known Doberman tune of the evening. When we finished Nigel confirmed what I had told the crowd earlier and they seemed to accept that it was the end of the Doberman set.

I made my way to Bernie’s table, which was no easy task at a reunion show, and sat next to Kelly. Calvin left his seat next to Bernie and sat down next to me. “You rocked, brother,” he said. “Nigel might be asking for a bio on you after that performance.”

“Stop yanking my chain. What do you think of the new material?” I asked.

“I think it’s going to be even bigger than the second CD. They sounded surprisingly tight, especially since they were playing with you for the first time,” Calvin said.

“What about Ian?” I asked. “Between reading the monitor and watching the Russian get stunned, I didn’t get much of a chance to focus in on his performance.”

“He seemed OK. Personally, I think he looked a little rough around the edges, but professionally he was on his game tonight,” he said.

“Any word on possible replacements for Terry?” I asked.

“I heard a couple of rumors, but it certainly seems Nigel is very actively pursuing two of the top managers in the business. I’m liking Doberman’s chances of surviving a whole lot more today than when we talked last weekend,” he said.

Jasmine walked over to our table and I gave her a wave. She asked, “Hey rock star can I get you a drink?” She then put her hand on Kelly’s arm, smiled at her and said, “Don’t let him get a big head.”

“I don’t need a drink, but I can use a little information,” I said.

“He’s serious about this detective gig,” she said to Kelly; then to me she added, “What can I do for you?”

“Have you had any customers with Russian accents tonight?” I asked.

“As a matter of fact, I have a table of four drinking triple Stoly’s,” she said. “They have a different pronunciation for Stolichnaya. One of them insisted I learn the correct way to say it. He was serious,” she said.

“Where are they?” I asked, and Jasmine pointed them out. “Thanks Jasmine, you’ve been a big help.”

I then nudged Calvin, who was listening to Bernie talk to a group of three friends. Calvin had brought his camera along to record my moment in the spotlight. “Calvin, can you take a few pictures for me?”

“I’ve got plenty of you already, but sure, why not?” he said.

“Not of me. There are four men sitting right over there,” I said and pointed once I was sure they weren’t looking in my direction. “Can you get some close-ups from here?”

“I can do better than that. I’ll just walk over and tell them I’m with Rolling Stone doing a piece on the California club scene,” he said and started to stand up.

I put my hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down, “I think these guys are in the Russian Mafia. If you walk over there and take their picture they may shoot you on the spot,” I said.

Calvin looked at his camera and said, “I hear this model has a really good close-up lens. I’ll bet we can get some great shots from right here.”

Calvin looked a little tipsy, so I asked, “Mind if I give it a try?”

“Be my guest,” he replied and slid the camera in front of me. As I adjusted the lens for a close-up I recognized one of the men from Dad’s mug book.

I turned to Kelly and said, “I don’t want to alarm you but one of the Russian Mafia guys from Dad’s book is at a table with three friends. I’d like you to keep everybody together after the show and we’ll do a designated driver caravan out of here.”

“Where are they?” she asked.

I pointed them out and told her to be discreet. We didn’t want them seeing anyone point at them and we didn’t want one of our more inebriated group members getting brave. I had every confidence Kelly could handle the assignment. She said, “Don’t worry. With all of my experience handling drunks and seven-year-olds I’ll have no trouble with this group.”

The final Tsunami set rocked the house. The crowd was still very excited, I was pumped and Michael was floating about three feet above the stage. As expected, the crowd peaked during the Doberman set. We managed to maintain a near full house, although Justin was able to return to Bernie’s table about half way through the set. By that point the Union-Tribune reporter, who had been sitting next to Bernie, had departed and Calvin took his place. I would love to have a recording of that conversation.

I had a hard time keeping my eyes off of the Russian’s table. At first glance they appeared drunk, but minding their own business. The more I watched the more it seemed they had their eyes on a couple, three tables to their left. The man looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. I tried to recall as many of Cory’s photos as possible, but I came up empty. Just before our last song it hit me. He was a front door guard at Ivana Chofsky’s birthday party. He was probably one of the guys who took a shot at me.

The Russian Mafiosos are probably following anybody and everybody who leaves Cerise Records in hopes that it leads them to Ivan Chofsky. If that’s the case then I may not be in imminent danger, but since both of these groups sent gunmen after me recently, I wasn’t intending to take any chances.

When we finished our last set I thanked the crowd and called the band together, “We have Cerise Records and the Russian Mafia in the house. Let’s stay together and get out of here as quickly as possible.”

I had hoped to have a candid conversation with GI Jo-Jo as he packed up the equipment, but, under the circumstances, opted to just let him know to leave our stuff on the stage for pick-up tomorrow.

We said goodbye to Bernie and arranged to swing by in the late afternoon tomorrow. We left a few minutes before closing. The door guard and his date were still at their table, and the Mafia members stayed put as we made our exit.

Chapter 16

I gave Kelly a kiss goodbye at 6:15 AM and headed for my office. I met briefly with Uri’s contact, Igor Shmalko, and by 7:10 we were on a conference call with Odessa Police Lieutenant Victor Sanchenko. Igor had a brief exchange with the lieutenant, then said to me, “Go ahead with your questions.”

“I’m a detective in San Diego, California. Recently, a man was murdered who was under contract to Ivan Chofsky. I began investigating Chofsky and, since then, have been shot at, had subordinates tied up and beaten, and my office was burglarized by his cousin’s men. It appears that he’s connected to the Russian Mafia. Do you think this is possible?”

Igor translated his response, “No. Ivan Chofsky could never join the Mafia?”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Chofsky has a contract on his head. I know from informants that the contract is still in force,” he said.

“Chofsky now owns a record company. The murdered man was a star performer who was about to leave Chofsky’s company for another. So far, Chofsky has refused to cooperate with the police and is using strong-arm tactics. Why would he do this?” I asked.

“Chofsky doesn’t trust the police anymore. But, he will never trust the Mafia. I tell you that with absolute certainty,” he said.

“I read the Tass articles leading up to the recovery of Ivana, but there were no accounts of how she was returned. Can you fill me in?” I asked.

Lt. Sanchenko paused, “As one detective to another I will tell you if Mr. Shmalko agrees to keep this information completely confidential.” Igor agreed. “Chofsky cooperated with me and consented to arrange an exchange of the money for his daughter. We set up an ambush, using 25 officers. It turned into a massacre. Twelve police officers were killed and another six were wounded. Eighteen Mafia men were killed and twelve were wounded. It is not the kind of news that gets reported.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“There are still people who feel we were better off under the USSR. Bad news like this makes it look like we aren’t able to maintain order,” he said.

“How did the Mafia know you were waiting for them?” I asked.

“They had an informant at police headquarters,” he said.

“Is it possible that Chofsky might have been working with both sides to give his daughter the best chance for survival?” I asked.

“None at all. I made it very clear to him that they had no choice but to kill his daughter. As long as she was alive she could testify against her captors. When they mailed her finger to him he knew we were right,” Sanchenko said.

“Then why would he now resort to Mafia tactics himself?” I asked.

“I assume he fears the Mafia will catch up to him. He probably surrounds himself with tough men who will stand up to them. We Russians are suspicious by nature. Anyone born after the Russian Revolution into the USSR lived with the prospect of a neighbor or even an occasional family member turning him in for minor crimes against the state. I would not be at all surprised if Ivan suspects you of being part of the Mafia,” he said.

“Last week a television station reported that they thought Ivan was connected with the Russian Mafia. They showed his picture and told everyone he owns Cerise Records. Do you think the Mafia will be coming after him soon?” I asked.

“If they mentioned the Russian Mafia and showed his picture, I’m sure assassins are on their way if they aren’t already there,” he said.

“Last night I photographed four men who I think are Russian Mafia. One is definitely living in San Diego, but I’m not sure about the others. Can I email you their pictures to see if you can identify any of them,” I asked. Sanchenko agreed and gave me his email address. I attached the clearest of the pictures.

“Lt. Sanchenko, while we wait for the picture to reach you, can you tell me anything about how organized the Russian Mafia is in the United States?” I asked.

“The Russian Mafia is located throughout the world. Wherever there is money to be made you will find them. The United States has been a major target since your economy is so affluent,” he said.

“Do they have their own local Mafia dons?” I asked. Igor had a problem interpreting dons, but they finally figured it out.

“Each cell has considerable autonomy, but each is beholding to Mother Russia. If a cell fails to pay its share to the home country, men like the ones you described from last night, pay a visit and collect in blood,” he said with an ominous tone. As I was formulating my next question he said, “Your email just arrived.”

“Do you recognize any of the men?” I asked.

He replied, “The man in the middle, with the striped shirt, is Boris Schmelnikov. He is a professional killer based here in the Ukraine. The man on his left is Dimitri Nazaroff. He finds people who don’t want to be found.”

“Thank you very much for your time,” I said.

“You can thank me by putting a bullet in Schmelnikov and Nazaroff,” he replied and hung up. I thanked Igor and impressed on him the need for confidentiality.