The Rock 'N Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - a Spike Berenger Anthology (24 page)

“I’ll say. Where are you sitting?”

She looked at her ticket. “It looks like I’m right in front of you! How nice.” Gina and Berenger sat and then she turned around to continue talking. “I guess I have Al Patton to thank for this. Carol didn’t want me here.”

“Well, that’s not right,” Berenger said. “You have as much claim to be here as anyone. Are you one of the speakers?”

“No. Again, Carol wouldn’t have me on the stage. Allowing me to attend was one thing. Letting me speak?—no way!”

“That’s too bad,” Berenger said.

“Speaking of Carol, there she is,” Suzanne mentioned. They saw the grand widow with Joshua Duncan on the far side of the house, near the stage. She appeared to be chewing out her son about something.

“I need to talk to her for a moment,” Berenger said. “Please excuse me, ladies?”

“Of course,” Gina said. “Give her a kiss for me, will you?”

“No sarcasm, Gina,” Berenger said, smiling. “Not tonight.”

“Sorry.”

He made his way through the mingling million-dollar fashions and was nearly five or six feet away from Carol and Joshua when he heard bits of their argument.

“You can’t just
fire
Al, mom. I need him,” Joshua said.

“Quiet!” Carol said, shushing him. “This isn’t the time or the place.” Her eyes caught Berenger’s and she gave him a broad but insincere smile. “Look who’s here. Hello, Spike!”

“Carol, Joshua,” Berenger said as he stepped up to them. “Thank you so much for the two tickets. That was mighty generous of you.”

“What are friends for?” She gave him a compulsory hug and Berenger shook hands with Joshua. “Now stop working for Adrian Duncan and help us prove what a guilty slimeball he really is!”

“Now, Carol,” Berenger said.

“Forget it. I need to keep such thoughts to myself tonight. I’m just stressed out. It’s been a hectic day, to say the least. Was it this morning when you were at my apartment? My God, it seems like I’ve been through a complete lifetime since then.”

“How was your meeting with Patton?”

“That bastard. We had a huge fight over some of Flame’s business affairs, just as I expected we would. He obviously can’t wait until my son is in charge ‘cause he thinks he can push Joshua around. I’ve got news for Al Patton—Joshua’s going to be just as tough as me, right Josh?”

“Mom…” Joshua turned red and looked away.

“Look, Spike, I have to get backstage. Have a good time.”

“Thanks, you too, Carol. Bye, Joshua.”

They hurried away and Berenger headed back to his seat. Along the way he noticed Dave Bristol, Brick Bentley, and Moe Jenkins talking to Al Patton. Kenny Franklin and the boys from Flame’s recent touring band were farther back. Apparently they didn’t rate as highly. Berenger glanced up at the balcony and immediately noticed Lt. Detective Billy McTiernan standing behind the rail, looking down on the crowd. Berenger figured it made sense that McTiernan had been invited.

The lights began to dim as he sat down. “Find out anything interesting?” Suzanne asked.

“Not really.”

Gina turned around and said, “Here we go. I hope I can control my emotions.” Berenger reached up and squeezed her shoulder. She patted his hand.

The crowd roared when the lights extinguished completely and the grand opening guitar chords of one of Flame’s solo hits, “Burning Rubber,” blasted through the house speakers. The curtains parted to reveal a still image of Peter Flame projected onto a movie screen. He was in his famous “David” pose, one as iconic as that of Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson standing on one leg and playing the flute. Right on the beat, the image became a live action film as Flame burst out of his tableau to play his guitar. In sync with the soundtrack, Flame sang along with the words to the song and the entire house was rocking.

Berenger didn’t remember getting to his feet. The excitement in the packed theatre was contagious—not a single person was unaffected by the powerful opening. It was going to be more of a high-energy rock concert rather than a memorial service.

When the song and film finished a spotlight hit none other than Al Patton, who approached a microphone stand that appeared out of nowhere. The crowd was not ready to settle in their seats—the cheers and whistles went on for a couple of minutes. Patton mistakenly thought the response was for him as he smiled and waved. Finally, an announcer’s voice boomed through the house, “Ladies and gentlemen, Liquid Metal Records’ CEO and the producer of some of the world’s greatest musical acts, Al Patton.”

Berenger noted that the applause tapered off and there were even a few boos in the background. Patton didn’t notice, though. He spoke into the microphone with confidence. “Welcome everyone. It’s great to be here, even though it’s on such a sobering occasion as this. After all, we’re here to pay tribute to one of the world’s legends. If the tears flow tonight, it’s with good reason. But I don’t think that’s what Flame would have wanted. He once told me he wanted a big party thrown when he departed this earth, so that’s what I, as his manager, and Carol Merryman, his former wife and the current Vice President of Flame Productions, set out to do. Tonight you’re going to hear from some of Flame’s friends and family, we’re going to allow ourselves to get a little emotional for a bit, and then we’re going to bring on the music.”

A swell of cheers followed that announcement. Patton waved his hands to silence the crowd.

“That’s right, yes, thank you. Some of the biggest names in rock ‘n’ roll are here tonight. We’re being taped for a prime time broadcast and Warner Brothers is filming the entire evening for a future feature film. It’s all a testament to the status that Peter Flame held. He was a legend in his own time, if you’ll pardon the cliché. Words can’t express what Flame was to all of us. The world has lost a giant whom we’ll never forget.” Patton looked up and said, “Flame, wherever you are, this night’s for you.”

Patton walked off the stage. Music segued into the beginning of a short film that Martin Scorsese had put together chronicling Flame’s career. There were the obligatory childhood stories, his first breaks in the music business, and the meteoric rise to fame as a member of Hay Fever. Cheers from the crowd accompanied every milestone, especially when the timeline reached the days of Flame’s Heat.

When the film was over, David Bowie took the stage. He received a standing ovation, of course, and then spoke humbly into the mike with his distinctive British eloquence.

“Good evening. I first met Flame in 1974, which was a particularly chaotic time in my life,” the rock star said. “I had just come out of the
Diamond Dogs
tour, which was something of a financial disaster, and I was battling with the demons conjured up by that expensive white powder we all loved so much in those days.”

More cheers.

Bowie laughed and continued. “One night in Los Angeles, I happened to get together with Flame and John Lennon for a night of debauchery, for lack of a better word. We were pretty tanked up and out of our minds, but we ended up in a recording studio around midnight and started to lay down some tracks.”

Another response from the audience.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “The rumors are true! John and Flame had some songs they’d been working on and also wrote some songs on the spot—I think I was too out of it to contribute much—but the three of us, and Dave Bristol and Harry Nilsson, we slapped together an album’s worth of stuff that’s never seen the light of day. It was a fantastic nine hours of high-energy, drug-induced euphoria that I was happy to be a part of. At the time I thought it was some of the most brilliant music ever recorded. Of course we were so stoned you’ll have to take that statement with a grain of salt. I never heard the tapes after that night so I can’t be entirely too sure of the quality. At any rate, Flame and I ran into each other a few times over the years after that. I’m happy to say he was a friend, a man with unlimited talent and fortitude.” He went on to describe the man the public knew as an extroverted and innovative pioneer of rock ‘n’ roll. Bowie said he was particularly inspired by Flame and never lost his admiration for the man. He ended his short speech with, “You were the real rebel. Here’s to you, Flame.”

Suzanne whispered to Berenger, “Boy, I wish they’d release that album!”

Berenger nodded but his attention was focused on Carol Merryman, who was next to take the stage. She began by thanking Al Patton, Martin Scorsese, and Bowie, and then went into an overlong appreciation of her former husband. Even Berenger was beginning to get bored until she made intimations of what was going to happen with Flame Productions.

“I’m looking forward to handing the company over to my son Joshua, per Flame’s wishes,” she said. “In the meantime, I’ll be making some very important business decisions with regard to how we’re going to deal with past and future contracts, as well as what’s going to happen to some of those unreleased recordings that Flame had in his vault.”

More cheers.

The testimonials took up nearly an hour of time. Sir Paul McCartney gave an eloquent speech about how Flame’s music inspired even
him
, Eric Clapton put in his two cents’ worth, and Bonnie Raitt—who was once linked romantically to Flame—presented a heartfelt tribute to the man.

Finally, the all-star jam began. Blister Pack took the stage and Dave Bristol received a standing ovation. They launched into one of the better-known Flame’s Heat songs and the crowd went wild. David Bowie came on, picked up a microphone, and provided vocals in lieu of Flame. When it was time for the guitar solo, Eric Clapton appeared and did his best imitation of Flame’s chops.

Over the course of the next two hours, a nonstop progression of rock stars joined the growing supergroup on stage. McCartney played and sang a couple of tunes. The Who’s Pete Townshend showed up with his power-chords. Bonnie Raitt traded licks with none other than Jimmy Page. Ian Anderson, the front man from Jethro Tull, stood on one leg and blasted away on his instrument during two numbers. Berenger had completely forgotten that Anderson had supplied a flute riff on one of Flame’s solo albums in the days before Flame’s Heat.

During the show Berenger could see that Gina was crying. She dabbed her face with a handkerchief, especially when some of the earlier numbers were performed. He figured they must have struck a nerve since that was the time she had been married to Flame. Once again he squeezed her shoulder and Gina held his hand there. Berenger glanced at Suzanne and his partner gave him a nod of approval. He wondered how the other wife was taking it, so he scanned the crowd for a glimpse of Carol. He found her sitting with Joshua in one of the boxes high on the side of the theatre. She, too, appeared to be crying. Joshua, on the other hand, seemed curiously emotionless. He sat with his arms folded, eyes focused in his lap, unmoved by the music. For a fleeting moment, Berenger thought he was looking at the young man’s half-brother, Adrian.

Adrian Duncan. The son who wasn’t there. The man accused of killing the rock legend to whom they were paying tribute. Did Adrian regret not being there?

A thought suddenly popped into Berenger’s head. If Adrian wasn’t guilty of the heinous crime then it was quite conceivable the real killer was somewhere in the theatre at that very moment, listening to the sounds of Flame’s legacy.

If so, what could that person possibly be thinking?

A
s the lucky and enlightened audience poured out of the Music Box, Suzanne told Berenger that he didn’t have to take her home. She had picked up on what wasn’t said between him and Gina Tipton and gracefully bowed out. “Take her for a drink,” she whispered to Berenger and left him on the street with Flame’s first wife.

“Where’s she going?” Gina asked.

“She, uhm, had another engagement. Say, listen, I’m meeting up with Charlie Potts in a little bit. You remember Charlie?”
“Sure! How is he?”

“He’s doing good. Anyway, we get together and jam every now and then at our office studio. Would you like to come and listen? We could have a drink or something before he shows.”

“I’d love to. Lord knows I won’t be invited to any of the after-parties.”

They walked to Eighth Avenue to catch a taxi going uptown and within fifteen minutes they were on the Upper East Side in front of Rockin’ Security. Berenger unlocked the door and held it open for Gina. They went upstairs to the recording studio and Berenger flicked on the lights. He went to the makeshift bar to inspect what they had in stock as he removed his tuxedo jacket and tie.

“Gina, what can I make you?”