The Rock 'N Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - a Spike Berenger Anthology (23 page)

Brenda took a breath and said, “All right. After the concert I went backstage to the Meet ‘n’ Greet.”

S
he was holding on to Flame’s left arm as he greeted the other Messengers and signed autographs. Then, Al Patton approached the couple and asked if he could have a word with Flame before the rock star retired to his dressing room with Brenda. She could hear everything they said.

“I heard that Bristol and the boys came to see you,” Patton said.

“Yeah. I sent ‘em away,” Flame replied.

“Why?”

Flame gestured helplessly. “I just didn’t want ‘em around. They make me uncomfortable.”

“It would have been a real kick for you guys to get onstage together again. One number wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“Yeah it would have. I don’t want to play with those guys again.”

“Why does there have to be such bad blood between you and Dave? You guys were the best of friends for a helluva long time. Not to mention the creative energy you two produced together.”

Flame looked pained. “Drop it, Al. I don’t want to talk about it. Tonight was stressful enough. Sheesh, my former band was here, my ex-wives were here, my sons were here…”

Patton nodded. “I saw them. What’s with Adrian? He looked pissed off about something.”

“Oh, we had another one of our usual fights before the show,” Flame said. “Rotten brat. His mother raised him to be a lazy, good-for-nothing—”

“All right, all right,” Patton interrupted. Best to change the subject. “The European tour is all but set,” he said. “Kenny was able to book you into some decent-sized venues, more like the old days. You’ve got a month to unwind and relax and then I’d like you and your band to work up a little more of the older material. I think it’s wise that we treat it like a nostalgia tour.”

Flame looked at his manager as if the man were mad. “I didn’t agree to anything like that, Al,” he said.

Patton held up his hands defensively. “Wait, Peter, before you get all riled up—”

“No,
you
wait,” Flame said. “You don’t tell me what material I perform on my tours. I’m not playing old stuff anymore, you know that. I’m promoting my newer material and that’s that.”

Patton was a man with a short fuse. “You think you’re going to maintain an audience with this religious garbage?” he spat, loud enough for some of the Messengers to overhear him. Brenda looked up in shock.

“Keep your voice down, damn it,” Flame said.

“And another thing,” Patton continued. “Why is your SWAG man hawking Messenger merchandise? I went out to the concession and saw crucifixes and shit next to your CDs and Tshirts.”

“I made a deal with Reverend Theo,” Flame explained. “It’s my decision what to sell at concerts, not yours, Al.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, yeah.”

“You know, Peter, your record contract is up with the next album. We can talk about what you sell and don’t sell after you deliver it.”

“Is that a threat, Al? You gonna drop the guy who put Liquid Metal Records on the map?”

Patton took a deep breath and looked around. Everyone was staring at him. He did his best to quiet down. “Okay, we’ll talk about it later. Congratulations on finishing the tour. You feel all right? Everything okay?”

Flame affectionately put his hand on his manager’s shoulder and said, “Yeah, I’m just tired. Look, Al, I love you. We’ll work it all out. I just gotta do what I gotta do these days, okay?” He lightly slapped Patton’s cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

Flame held out his hand to Brenda, who glided across the floor to him. He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her on the forehead. “Come on, baby, let’s blow,” he said.

Patton shrugged and said, “I’m gonna go find Kenny. Later, Peter.”

As the record mogul walked away, Brenda asked, “How come he’s the only one that’s allowed to call you Peter?”

Flame shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t give him permission or nothin’. He just always has.”

“Can I call you Peter?”

“Absolutely not!” He kissed her again. “Come on, I gotta get some stuff from the dressing room.”

“Well, actually, I was going with Reverend Theo back to HQ to help him set up for tomorrow,” she said.

“What? Honey, this is the last night of the tour. Don’t you feel like partying a little?”

“I thought you were tired.”

“I am, but I can still party a little.”

“No, I promised Reverend that I’d help him prepare for tomorrow’s service. We didn’t get a chance to do it before the show. How about I meet you at home in a couple of hours? That’ll give you time to unwind a bit.”

She had him under her thumb. “All right,” he said. He looked around. “Where’s Ron?”

“Over here.”

Ron Black, Flame’s personal driver, stood at the back of the room. He waved a hand at his boss.

“Bring the car around to the stage door,” Flame called to him. “I’ll be there in five minutes. I want to avoid the fans tonight.”

Black nodded and walked away. Flame kissed Brenda long and hard and then said, “Don’t be long.”

Brenda blushed and said, “I won’t.” She turned and ran toward Reverend Theo, his black face beaming with delight at the sight of his two “children” in love.

B
erenger and Suzanne listened to the story as Brenda wound it up. “So I came back to the church with Reverend Theo. I was helping him with the sermon for the next morning. I often do that. I’ve been his sounding board for several years. We were stuck on some points and I promised him I’d help him work them out that night. We didn’t want to save it until the morning, that would have been pushing it.”

“Yet, it was Flame’s last concert of the tour,” Berenger said.

“That’s right. But I came to the show. I was with him before and after. I went to the Meet ‘n’ Greet. And I had planned to join him at home in a couple of hours. Flame said he’d go on and wait for me. When I arrived, the police were there and he was dead. That’s all there is to it.”

“I assume the police checked your alibi?” Suzanne asked.

“Of course they did,” Brenda replied. “I’m sure you can check with them if you have to make sure for yourselves.”

“So you came back here with the reverend to work on his sermon… after midnight?” she asked again.

“The Lord’s work has no timetable,” the young woman replied as if she were quoting scripture.

Berenger looked at Suzanne and said, “Okay, I suppose that’s all for now. Thank you, Miss Twist.”

“You’re welcome.” She stood and came around the desk to show them out. “Oh, one more thing,” Berenger said. “You must be happy to receive such a generous bequest from Flame. Were you surprised?”

“It was a gift from God,” Brenda replied. “I never expected it.”

“Yet you attended the reading of the will. Surely you expected something?”

“Mister Berenger, Flame was my companion. I had an interest in how he was dividing his estate. Is that too much to comprehend?”

“No, I suppose it isn’t.” He led Suzanne out and down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, Berenger glanced up and saw the young woman still standing at the top. Instead of the usual saintly and innocent aura she normally expressed, Brenda Twist stared at them with calculating coldness.

She was hiding
something
.

T
he big event was at the Music Box, a 1000-seat capacity theatre located on West 45
^th
Street between Broadway and Eighth Avenue. With a major network televising the show, Flame’s Memorial Service and Concert was the hottest ticket in town even at $5000 per seat. Proceeds, after expenses paid to the Union stagehands and promotional firms, were to be donated to a number of charities that Carol Merryman had designated. The celebrity acts agreed to perform for free.

Spike Berenger found the two tickets delivered to Rockin’ Security that afternoon. Carol’s graciousness was admirable, considering he was working for the defense, and it was a good thing she had sent them before he had confronted her about the tax evasion. Now Berenger’s dilemma was whether he should ask Rudy or Suzanne to accompany him to the black tie event—and it was a no-brainer. Suzanne nearly fell out of her chair when he made the offer.

Security was tight around the theatre. The street itself was blocked off from all traffic except for screened limousines and private cars delivering attendees to the front of the building. Barriers kept pedestrians a hundred yards away but close enough to scream at their favorite star. The network’s trucks were parked across the street and several cameras covered the happening from many angles, both inside the theatre and out.

Berenger and Suzanne took a cab to Broadway and 44
^th
then walked down to the Music Box. He was dressed in the tux he wore at least two or three times a year—it was one of the smartest investments he had ever made—and Suzanne looked stunning in a gown that might have come off a Hollywood actress en route to the Oscars. Berenger flashed his tickets at the security men and allowed one of them to wave a metal-detector wand around him before they went inside. Rudy was dismayed that Rockin’ Security hadn’t been hired to oversee the concert but Berenger figured Carol might not have considered it a good political move. Supplying a couple of tickets on the sly to an old friend was one thing, but publicly flaunting the firm representing the accused murderer of the night’s honoree would not have flown.

“Wow, will you look at this,” Suzanne whispered as they stepped into the theatre. At first glance they could count twenty or thirty famous faces from rock stars to film actors and actresses. Wealthy record executives and other industry types may have dominated the audience but Berenger commented that there was at least one celebrity for every three unknown rich patrons. Right off the bat, Berenger recognized Yoko Ono and her son Sean, David Bowie, Mick Jagger, Sir Paul McCartney, Peter Townshend, Jimmy Page, Ian Anderson, Jack Nicholson, Dustin Hoffman, Robert De Niro, Donald Trump, Madonna, Pamela Anderson, Meryl Streep, Kevin Kline, Tom Hanks, Steven Spielberg and his wife Kate Capshaw, and Martin Scorsese.

The seat locations were also a surprise—on the aisle, fourteen rows from the stage.

“Wow,” Suzanne said. “I think that’s going to be the operative word tonight. Wow.”

“I guess I owe Carol one, even if she might be an embezzler,” Berenger said. They sat and looked around the room, unable to resist gawking.

“I really appreciate this, Spike.”

“Hey, the next time
you
get a free extra five-grand ticket to something, you can take me.”

“Being in a room with this many celebrities must be old hat to you,” she commented as she turned around in her seat to watch the people coming in.

“Not really. I went to the Grammys a couple of times and it was like this, only bigger. But I think there are more heavyweights here tonight than I’ve ever seen in one place.”

“Are we going to any parties afterwards?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“I’m afraid not, Suzanne. I made plans with Charlie. We’re going to get together and jam at the studio tonight. Do you mind?”

“Oh, I guess not. Hey, look there.”

She pointed to the two rows near the stage taken up by the Messengers. Reverend Theo was all smiles as he waved to people and took a seat next to his wife. Brenda Twist sat demurely as if she were the only person truly in mourning. Ron Black stood in the aisle, acting more like a bodyguard rather than a chauffeur.

A familiar feminine voice interrupted his inspection of the crowd. “Hello there.”

Berenger turned to find Gina Tipton standing in the aisle. She looked ravishing in a black dress that accentuated her blonde hair. It was impossible to view her as a grieving woman. Berenger stood and said, “Hello, Gina. How are you?”

They kissed on the cheeks and he said, “Do you know my assistant, Suzanne Prescott?”

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” Gina asked her.

“Yes, once,” Suzanne said. They shook hands.

“This is quite a crowd, isn’t it?” Gina said, wide-eyed.