Painted Black (20 page)

“Ha! A Cadbury bar! I thought you Stones boys only loved Mars bars!” The cop sprayed the window with spittle as he laughed. “Get it?”

“Very funny.”

“Tell me, Mr. Jones, did she really have a candy bar in her pussy?”

“I wouldn't know. I wasn't there, remember?”

“Oh yeah, otherwise they'd have gotten you, too.”

“Right. Is this a friendly antidrug warning?”

Sparse late-night traffic swirled around them. The cops smiled at each other.

“You know what it's about. Where's the money?”

“I don't have it on me.”

“Well, you better get it. The next time I pull you over, I'm taking you in.”

Brian frowned. “Are you blackmailing me?”

“You really have to ask that question? I think it's obvious.”

“But I don't even have any drugs on me.”

One of the cops reached in his pocket, pulled out a baggie of marijuana, and held it up. “I don't care. I can always plant this on you and take you downtown.”

Brian frowned. “That shitty brown dirt weed? I wouldn't be caught dead with that garbage. You know I only smoke the best.”

“Get the money, Brian.”

“Why do you guys always pick on me?”

“You know the game.”

The cops withdrew from Brian's Rolls and faded back into the light in the rearview mirror. Clovis carefully put the car in gear and drove away.

“What was that all about?” Clovis asked.

“It's a shakedown. They want a thousand quid a month.”

“That's outrageous! We should turn them in.”

“That's what I have to put up with. Now the cop on the beat wants a pay-off or he'll bust me, too.”

“So, now we have this connection between Spangler, Silverman, Renee, and Skully. The un-Fab Four.”

Clovis was sipping some iced tea and making notes.

“What do we know about them?”

Bobby said, “We know that they're all Americans. And they all seem to have some connections to the rock and roll underground. I saw Renee with Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Brian, of course. What do Hendrix, Joplin, and Brian Jones have in common?”

“They were all at Monterey.”

“Good! Yes, they were all at Monterey.”

Clovis wrote it all down.

Brian had been so paranoid about getting busted that he was afraid to return to Courtfield Road. He bounced around from place to place trying to stay one step ahead of the cops.

He rented a flat in Belgravia where he could stay in town after recording late. But even that became too hot for Brian. He took to staying in hotels.

He sent Clovis to Courtfield Road to collect some items. While Clovis was inside, Linda Keith, Brian's part-time girlfriend, went into the Belgravia flat and took an overdose of sleeping pills. She stripped off all her clothes, lay down on his bed, and called everybody she knew to tell everyone what she'd done.

Eventually, an ambulance arrived and took her to the hospital. The newspapers went crazy with the story. stone girl naked in drug drama! screamed the headlines. Brian was shocked when he found out. Why would Linda do that? It seemed that everywhere Brian turned now was madness and chaos. His life was spinning out of control.

Bobby suggested that Brian get out of town for a while. He knew Brian loved the Moroccan musicians Brion Gysin had introduced him to. He'd already made some rough field recordings. He suggested going to Morocco to record an album with the Master Musicians of Joujouka. It was a project Gysin had started with William Burroughs in the fifties. It seemed like a perfect idea to Brian, and he was anxious to get out of London before something else happened.

He had taken refuge in another hideaway he'd rented in the Royal Avenue House on the King's Road. One morning, he was rudely awakened by a loud and persistent pounding on his door at 7:20 a.m. Brian ignored it for as long as he could. It grew even more insistent. He dragged himself out of bed and looked through the peephole to see several uniformed cops outside his door.

Oh no! This can't be happening again!

Brian sat on the living room floor and called Clovis. “They're coming through the windows, Clovis!”

Clovis knew the drill. He called the Stones office and alerted Les Perrin, the official Stones publicist. Les began damage control even before the solicitors had responded. Brian swore that he had nothing in his flat, that there would nothing for the cops to find.

But Brian was cursed. The police searched his flat and found a ball of blue yarn in a dresser drawer. He'd been careful to keep all his places clean.

“Is this your yarn?' they asked.

“I don't knit. I don't darn socks. I don't have a girlfriend who does, either.”

They unraveled it to find a sizable lump of hashish. Brian's heart sank. His probation was blown. His legal status would collapse like a house of cards now.

Once again, Brian was trundled down to the police station, booked, and fingerprinted. He couldn't help but fall into a deep depression.

Bobby and Clovis arrived within minutes. The TV cameras were already there. It was obvious from the press turnout that they had been alerted ahead of time yet again. Among the cops, Clovis spotted Spangler and pointed him out to Bobby.

Les Perrin showed up to deal with the reporters. The Stones legal team swung into action. This was becoming routine for them.

And Brian continued to sink.

Chapter Sixteen

The Pipes of Pan

Preston Washington picked up the phone at the Hi-Dee-Ho Soul Shack in Baltimore. He could hear the crackle of the transatlantic phone connection before anyone said a word. He knew who it was.

“What the hell happened?” Bobby said. “I thought your guy was supposed to make him back off? Brian just got busted again. This time, it's serious because he's violating his probation. He won't be able to tour in places like the America and Japan. He's facing jail time.”

“I don't know what to say. If Arnello says he's taking care of it, it's taken care of. Maybe Spangler is a hardhead.”

“Nobody's head is that hard. He must have thought he could get away with it.”

The door to Preston's shop opened, and Arnello came in with two bodyguards. He didn't look happy.

Preston told Bobby, “Hold on, he just walked in right now.”

Arnello took the phone from Preston's hand.

“Who is this?”

“It's Bobby Dingle, sir. I work with Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones.”

“Oh, yeah. Robby the Limey. Okay, here's the deal. I don't know what kind of shit Spangler was tryin' to pull, but it ain't gonna work. It makes me look bad. So you tell your boss, the rock star with all the hair, I'm taking care of Spangler personally. Got that? I guarantee it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now hang up while I talk business with Mr. Washington.”

“Yes, s—”

Arnello hung up before Bobby could say good-bye. Preston took the phone.

Arnello was unhappy. His face seemed more comfortable scowling then smiling. He never looked happy.

“This asshole Spangler has pushed me too far. It's time for some payback.”

Preston said, “Is he so thick that he thinks he can cross you and get away with it? Or is he so dumb he doesn't realize what he's doing?”

“I think he's ahead of his time. He's a new breed of troublemaker from the future. He's stupid dangerous. Soon it's gonna be like this all over unless we nip it in the bud.”

Arnello turned to his bodyguards. “Let's pick him up, Carmine.”

“You got it, Boss.”

Spangler had just returned from England the day before Arnello intercepted him in front of his house. He was about to go to the grocery store for some hamburger. The barbecue was already smoking. His wife and kids were getting hungry. He stood next to his big red Chevy Bel Air station wagon, not knowing whether to duck, run, or be cool. Since there would be no running from Arnello, he tried to stay cool and kept his jittery hands in view.

Arnello's Lincoln Towncar slid into Spangler's driveway, blocking the way. The window opened and a puff of blue cigar smoke wafted out.

“Hello, Narc.”

“Mr. Arnello? What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

“So … talk.”

“Not here. I need some privacy. Get in the car.”

Spangler got in the car.

“We're going to the airport.”

“Why?”

“I got a real estate deal I want to show you, but you can only see it from the air.”

“Real estate? But, why include me?”

“We feel we owe you one. I'm pulling a couple of people together to throw down a million each to develop a strip of land we just bought. Houses, condos, golf courses, retail space, the works. There's a lot of money to be made. We thought you might be interested.”

“But my wife and kids are waiting for their hamburgers. Couldn't we do this some other time?”

“Forget about them. We got things to talk about.”

Spangler suddenly became very nervous.

Brian's hands were shaky as he tried to light a cigarette. He sat at the dinner table with Clovis and Dust Bin Bob in Bob's London apartment.

“What else did he say?”

“He said he's taking care of it personally,” Bobby said.

“What does that mean?” asked Clovis.

Brian's voice had an emotional edge to it. He sounded whiney and petulant. “It probably means he's going to kill him. Then I'll have blood on my hands.”

His face had aged ten years. The bags beneath his eyes quivered. His skin sagged. He had four months of freedom left before his most current bust went to trial, and he was still out on probation with court-ordered regular psychiatric care. In the house of cards that had become Brian's life, the first card had fallen, and soon the entire structure would come tumbling down.

“I have to get out of here,” Brian said. “I have to get out of London.”

“Where can you go where they won't bug you?”

Brian sighed.

“Morocco. I can go to Morocco and record the Master Musicians of Joujouka.”

“The Master Musicians of your hookah?”

Brian was somber.

“No, man. The Master Musicians of Joujouka. I've always wanted to record them.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Brian said. “That's the cover story. We're off to make a record, and we'll be gone awhile. It will keep the reporters at bay. We can get some rest and record some great music.”

“Won't the reporters follow us?”

“Where we're going, they won't be able to. It's too remote.”

Clovis and Bobby stood with their mouths open.

“We can't go to Morocco, we're married. Our wives would worry about us.”

“Let's call 'em right now.” Brian looked at his watch. “It's not too late over there.”

Clovis and Bobby exchanged worried glances. Brian called the international operator and placed a call to Baltimore. A minute later, Cricket answered.

“Oh my God! This is so weird! We were just talking about you guys.”

“This is Brian. Bobby and Clovis are right here. I just got busted again, and I have to get out of London as soon as possible. Can Dust Bin Bob and Clovis come with me? We're going to the Rif Mountains to record the Master Musicians of Joujouka.”

“Where is that?”

“Morocco, North Africa.”

“Um … Can I talk to Bobby?”

“Yes, of course.”

He handed the phone to Bobby.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hello, honey. Brian wants to take you to Morocco. Is it safe there?”

“Yeah, it's okay.”

“He says he wants to record the master magicians of something or other?”

“Yes, I know.”

“I really don't want you to go. It seems dangerous. I know nothing about Morocco. Erlene insists as long as you stay with Brian, nothing bad will happen. Erlene says you two are the key. You have to stick together.”

“I really don't need this.”

“How do you think I feel? I want my husband to come home as soon as possible. You couldn't be any farther away; you're on the other side of the world.”

“A few months ago, you would have never let me go on a trip like this. Why the change of heart?”

Cricket's breathing was so full of frustration and anxiety that Bobby could feel it three thousand miles away.

“Erlene says she's been communicating with Eleanor Rigby.”

“Oh, shit. I don't want to hear this.”

“She's trying to warn Brian about something.”

“Maybe we shouldn't go to Morocco at all.”

Erlene took the phone from Cricket's hand. “No! You have to go! You have to stay together! That's the key.”

“For how long?”

“Until this is over.”

“When's that going to be?”

“I don't know.”

“Forget it,” Bobby said.

Cricket and Erlene began talking at the same time. Cricket had great trepidation about the trip, but Erlene kept trying to reassure her that everything would be all right as long as they stayed together. She was insistent. In a weird way, they canceled each other out. Bobby was in the middle.

Eventually, Cricket came back on the phone alone.

“Bobby? As much as I don't like it, I guess you're going to have to go with Brian and Clovis to Morocco. Oh God. This is such a nightmare. I'm scared for you. Please be careful.”

“I will. Brian wants me to photograph the trip. I am going to do some buying for the shop as well. Moroccan stuff is very popular now.”

“Don't get into any trouble over there.”

“Of course not.”

Bruce Spangler was nauseous. Angelo and Carmine had put him in a private plane despite his most fervent protestations, nearly forcing him into the cabin. Carmine's suit jacket came open while they struggled, and his gun flashed momentarily in its shoulder holster. Spangler stopped resisting.

They took off from a small airfield in Maryland with Angelo at the controls and circled the airport. Angelo flew the plane for about twenty minutes until they were over some rugged terrain in a remote region.

“Where's the real estate?” Spangler asked innocently.

He hadn't said a word since they took off.

Carmine said, “There ain't no real estate. We're gonna throw your ass outta the plane, chump.”

Carmine frisked Spangler from behind and took a .38 Special snub-nose revolver out of his pocket.

“What?”

Angelo laughed. “He's joking. Relax.”

Carmine finished his inspection of Spangler and found a two-shot Derringer in an ankle holster. He held it up. “Cute little gun. I'll just take that.” He slipped it his coat pocket.

“You know, you really pissed me off,” Angelo said. “You made me look bad. Why?”

“I thought everybody wanted those dirty Rolling Stones behind bars.”

“You think I forget this shit? You gotta be crazy. I told you specifically to lay off Brian Jones and the Rolling Stones, and you went ahead and busted him anyway. Why is that?”

“I didn't bust him. Scotland Yard already had it planned. They were hot to trot. I couldn't stop 'em.”

“What? You have no influence over these guys? Your fuckin' buddies? That's weak.”

Spangler tried to sound convincing. “They have a thing for Brian Jones. They want to bring him down.”

“I don't care. When I told not to bust Brian Jones, I meant it. He's under my protection now. Remember, I got the goods on you twenty times over. Now you're gonna have to pay for your mistake. Open the door, Carmine.”

“No! Please! Don't throw me out!”

Carmine unlocked the door to the small aircraft. Wind came howling through the crack. Carmine pushed the door open.

“Stop!” Spangler yelled, “I learned my lesson.”

“No, you didn't. Get ready, Carmine.”

Carmine unlocked Spangler's seat belt. Spangler held on to anything he could. His fingers gripped the lip of the door like iron clamps.

“When you cross Angelo Arnello, it shows disrespect. I can't let you get away with that. Gotta set an example every once in a while. Besides, my kids like the music.”

“That first step is a bitch, so watch it,” Carmine joked.

Spangler begged. “Please, Mr. Arnello, just listen to me! I know a lot more about these rock stars than you think!”

“Yeah, like what?”

Spangler began to weep. “They're being set up! The real heat ain't drug busts; it's getting rid of them!”

“That's nuts. They make money for people.”

The wind howled through the cockpit. Spangler had to shout to be heard.

“No! I swear! They're gonna start rubbing them out. I got nothing to do with it. It's a secret group. It might even be the government.”

“What do you mean?”

“They're gonna get rid of these rock stars. They got some kind of mission. It's in their blood. These men control the world; they own the companies that owns the companies.”

“You lie!”

“No I don't! They got a hit list! I've seen it!”

Arnello signals for Carmine to shut the door. Without the wind whipping through the cabin, the atmosphere got a lot less frantic. Spangler had a chance to catch his breath. His heart was hammering.

“All right, who's on the list?”

“Brian Jones, Hendrix, Morrison, Joplin …”

“How do you know this shit?”

“I worked with a guy, he was part of the drug bust team, but he didn't work for any known agency. He was just there. He said Brian Jones had a price on his head. He was working for that secret group I told you about.”

“What's his name?”

“I think it was Skully.”

“Skully what?”

“Just Skully. He had a chick with him.”

“Jimi Hendrix? Jim Morrison? Janis Joplin? These people are rebels. I like rebels. I'm a rebel myself. I live outside the law. I take offense if somebody whacks one of my friends.”

Spangler looked hopeful.

Arnello paused and let his voice drop to a low and threatening level. Spangler concentrated so he could hear every word.

Arnello said, “Okay, here's what I want you to do. I want you to guarantee Brian's life, got that, asshole? His life! If any harm should befall Mr. Jones, if he should get hit by a truck or fall off a bridge, I would be extremely upset and I would come after you. Do you understand that? He dies; you die.”

“But, it's already too late! They're already coming!”

“That's not my problem.”

Spangler rubbed his forehead.

“Aw shit …”

“Let's get this over with so I can be back in time for dinner. You want to live, Spangler? I'll give you one chance. You just saved your life.”

Without warning, Angelo banked the plane sharply to the right, and Spangler's unlocked door flew open and hung down at the ground, slapping back and forth. His seat belt was still unhooked and dangled in the wind. He held on for dear life.

“Gravity is a powerful thing,” Angelo said. “It has the ability to make all men speak the truth.”

Spangler screamed. He was terrified. He looked down and saw the treetops far below.

Arnello shouted above the din. He pointed down. “If I find out you're lyin' to me, that's where you're gonna end up!”