Rock & Roll Homicide (13 page)

“Jason,” she said in a sweet voice, “will you sing a song for me like you did last night?”

I was immediately snapped out of my argumentative funk. Before I could decide how to respond, Michael launched into a sexy old Bush tune called “Glycerine.” I locked eyes with Kelly and gave a performance that came straight from the heart. It was amazing how the evening turned around. All of the emotions that were keeping us from being functional got channeled into an exciting, passionate interpretation of our favorite cover songs. If we could come anywhere near this vibe on Saturday night we would be just fine and we all knew it.

We called it a night at 1:00 AM. Kelly and I took Aunt Esther’s bed. I soon found that while I was getting a tremendous energy release playing with the band, Kelly was getting turned on to the extreme. There would be no insomnia bringing me back to the Russian dilemma tonight. By the time she finished with me I was as spent as a sailor’s paycheck on a wartime liberty.

Chapter 14

I awoke in a panic when I heard Michael open the bedroom door and yell, “Aunt Esther’s here!” I jumped out of bed naked and spun around to Kelly’s side of the bed only to see that she wasn’t there and her side of the bed was made. Michael was laughing with an abandon I hadn’t heard since Tsunami Rush broke up. “Would you like me to shut this?” he asked.

I picked up a lavender pillow and chucked it at the doorway as Michael ducked to avoid being hit. I took a shower and Derek lent me the extra clothes he packed when planning the office kidnapping. As I got to the kitchen Esther and the girls were putting the finishing touches on a hearty breakfast. The mood was refreshingly light. There was a confidence in the dining room that sent me off to battle traffic and the day’s upcoming travails with a sense of hope, instead of dread.

I was in my office no more than five minutes when Walter Shamansky blew in like a level-five hurricane. “What the hell is the matter with you?” he screamed. “I can’t believe you blindsided me in the press.”

“It wasn’t my idea. I can explain,” I said.

“This stunt of yours isn’t going to keep your client out of jail. If anything, it makes me believe you’re trying to blow smoke up my ass,” he said.

“I know you’re pissed and I don’t blame you. But I had nothing to do with giving that schlock show the story,” I said.

“Then how the hell did they get it,” he said angrily.

“My cameraman, Cory, got worked over by two of Cerise’s goons. They put him in the hospital with broken ribs and a concussion. When he regained consciousness he checked himself out and went into hiding. By the time he resurfaced he had given them the story. He thought he was protecting us and had no idea how badly this was going to mess things up,” I said.

“You’ve got to take responsibility for your people,” he said.

“You’ve got to stop closing your eyes to the fact that these guys are running amok and you’ve done nothing to even slow them down,” I said getting hot. “So far I’ve had a gunman break in on a Saturday afternoon, my secretary was assaulted at gunpoint, my place was robbed, I was shot at and my assistant was beaten senseless. And what have you done about it? Have you brought Koflanovich in for questioning? Have you searched Cerise for guns or stolen property? I don’t like that Cory went to the press, but I can certainly understand it, considering that the police have done absolutely nothing to stop them.”

“Can I expect to hear your little speech on tonight’s
California
Confidential
?” he asked.

“If you actually watch that crappy show, I just lost a lot of respect for you,” I replied.

“You’re right. That show isn’t taken seriously by anyone with half a brain. But, the legitimate press is going to want to talk with you now to get your take. This is where you can set things right, or totally fuck things up. What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I don’t know. These thugs from Cerise need to be stopped, even if they weren’t the ones who killed Terry,” I said.

“Sounds like you’re finally realizing Chelsea is dirty. What made you come around,” he asked.

“I don’t think Chelsea had anything to do with it, but I do have another suspect who’s looking like a strong possibility,” I said.

“Cripes almighty, who’s your suspect today?” he asked.

“I know this
California Confidential
thing is going to cost you a lot of time, so I’m gonna give you what I’ve got. Doberman’s Stub has a combination roadie and sound man named Joseph Martin, a.k.a. GI Jo-Jo. He was an ordnance technician in the Army and was accused of blowing up his commanding officer in Iraq. He’s dating a stripper/groupie that thought she was in love with Terry, and he was seen punching Terry not long before the murder.”

“Are you sure about these things?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “and, he was the last person to be alone with the headphones.” I spent the next ten minutes giving Shamansky the details, except for how I came by his service record. I also told him GI Jo-Jo’s explanation and the fact that he has been very uncooperative.

“You done good, Duffy. See if you can keep this info under your hat when you talk to the press,” he said.

“Now I have a question for you. Last time we talked you were going to be presenting your evidence on Chelsea to the DA. What did he say?” I asked.

“He likes her. Have you talked with her father? Terry made him look like shit in front of his business cronies and Chelsea was livid. I’m gonna take a close look at Joseph Martin, but I still have a gut feeling Chelsea got fed up. My boss is ready to ask for an indictment,” he said. “Keep me posted if you come up with anything new.”

After he left I called Glenda MacPhearson and discretely asked if she could check on the disposition of Jo-Jo’s case. I also asked if she and her main man would like to attend the club concert of the twenty-first century. “We’ll come, but only because I really don’t like talking on the phone,” she said and hung up.

The legitimate press was all over the
California Confidential
story. I responded by locking the door and call screening. I let all of them go to voice-mail until 10:30 AM when a caller with a Texas accent said, “My name is Billy Tyler. I’m a partner in Cerise Records. I’m the guy that got Doberman’s Stub signed to the Cerise Record deal.”

I picked up the receiver. “This is Jason Duffy.”

“Mr. Duffy, I would very much appreciate the chance to meet with you and talk about what’s been going on between you and Cerise Records,” he said.

I replied, “I’d like some answers myself, but so far everyone I’ve met from Cerise Records has carried a gun. So you’ll have to excuse me if I’m reluctant to schedule a get-together.”

“You name the time and place and I’ll be there. We can meet on the steps of police headquarters if you like,” he said.

“Will you be alone?” I asked.

“Yes. You can dictate the terms of the meeting,” he said.

I had him give me his cell phone number and told him to be on foot at an intersection two blocks from Larabee’s at 12:30 PM. I then called Beaver’s Mom and used my Kojak connection to get a 12:45 PM reservation for two. I arrived early and took a cruise through the neighborhood to make sure Billy hadn’t arranged for his partners to stake out the area. At 12:25 PM a tall guy in a white cowboy hat appeared with cell phone in hand. I watched him for five minutes to see if he would glance at any foot soldiers in hiding. At exactly 12:30 PM I called and instructed him to walk one block in the opposite direction of the restaurant. Again, there was no sign of an ambush. So, I called back and told him to meet me at Larabee’s. Enough with the cloak and dagger, I was getting hungry.

Beaver’s Mom got me seated before he arrived. As he entered the dining room I could see he was in his mid-fifties and appeared to be quite fit. When he arrived at my table I stood up, but did not offer to shake hands. “Thanks for agreeing to see me,” he said looking out the window at the multi-terraced alfresco dining area. “Quite a spread they have here.”

“Let’s get down to business, Tyler. Your partner has robbed me, shot at me and assaulted two of my staff members. I’m in no mood for small talk,” I said.

“First, I’d like to assure you that I had absolutely nothing to do with any of that. In fact, I never heard of you until a California buddy of mine got me out of bed last night after seeing that horrible show,” he said.

“How can you be partners with the Russian Mafia and not have a clue?” I asked.

At this point, our conversation was interrupted by a waitress I hadn’t seen before, who took our lunch orders.

“I know you’re not going to believe this, but John Koflanovich is not with the Russian Mafia. In fact, he lives his life in fear of them,” he said. “He moved to the United States to get away from them after they kidnapped his daughter.”

“I suppose he didn’t cut a deal with them to get her back,” I said.

“Actually, he led them into a trap set by the police. Unfortunately, they were smarter than the police anticipated and a dozen police officers were killed, along with eighteen Mafioso’s. The cops managed to rescue the girl, but at a terrible price. The Russian mob swore revenge, and John closed up shop and immigrated to the US where he has family,” Tyler said.

“If this is true, why does he have so many thugs with guns working for him?” I asked.

“John Koflanovich is sure the mob will eventually find him and his family. He believes the only way he can stop them is to fight fire with fire. He grew up with the paranoia that comes with living in a commie state. After what happened to his daughter, he’s suspicious of everyone,” he said.

“But I’m American. How could he think I’m with the Russian Mafia?” I inquired.

“I asked him the same question myself this morning. He was convinced you were with the American Mafia and you were helping your Russian comrades,” Tyler said.

“How the hell did he get that idea?” I inquired.

“He said it had to do with you sneaking into his back offices and knocking out his bodyguard. Is this true?” he asked.

“I knocked out his bodyguard after he stuck a gun in my face,” I said. “How did you get hooked up with this guy in the first place?” I asked.

“I own a semiconductor business outside of Fort Worth. One of my customers is Yuliya, Inc. Are you familiar with them?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, I found some of my stolen property in their possession in Tecate,” I replied.

“That’s disturbing,” he said. “I’ve known Peter Chofsky for over ten years. Anyway, I had dinner with Peter a while back and I happened to mention that I made a nice little profit investing in some musical acts out of Nashville. About six months later he came to me with a proposal to launch Cerise Records with his cousin, John, as the president. He showed me John’s resume and, frankly, it’s quite impressive.”

“I don’t suppose he had any music industry experience on the resume?” I asked.

“That was a concern. But, Peter invested double what I put in and sweetened the deal for me by substantially increasing his orders for semiconductor wafers. It looked like a no lose situation, until now,” he said.

“Is he coming after me?” I asked.

“No. In fact, he’s finally convinced you aren’t with the American Mafia, because you never would have gone to the press if you were. He has much bigger problems to deal with now. He’s sure it’s inevitable that the Russian mob will come after him and his family very soon. I just came from his place. If the Alamo had half the firepower he has, Santa Ana would have high-tailed it back across the Rio Grande so fast you’d think he was shot out of a canon,” he said.

“Why the meeting? What do you want from me?” I asked.

“To be perfectly honest, I was hoping that once you learned that Koflanovich isn’t associated with the Russian Mafia you’d help with damage control,” he said.

I replied, “After what he did to me and my staff, do you really expect me to help him?”

“Jason, he came after you because he was convinced you were a threat to his family. After what he went through, having his only child’s finger mailed to him, you can surely understand why he might err on the side of caution,” Tyler said.

“So you think he was justified in what he did?” I asked.

“Of course not. But I’m also willing to consider that John grew up in a culture that preached suspicion and taught paranoia. I’ve been an avid anticommunist all my life. My friends were shocked when I started doing business with Yuliya, but I did so when I learned that the Chofsky’s refused to return to Russia after the communist revolution. Peter Chofsky hates communism with a passion no American could ever understand. He assured me that his cousin felt the same way and I made damn sure that was the case before I agreed to the partnership,” he said.

As we finished lunch our server brought coffee and our bill. “Are you going to maintain your business relationship with these people now that you know they ordered the robbery and assault?” I asked.

“No. It will take a little time, because to pull out immediately would mean laying off a lot of good people in Texas, but you can be damn sure that within the year I’ll cut ties completely,” he said. “In the meantime, it seems to me that if Cerise Records gets shut down, all of its assets, including the new Doberman’s Stub CD, will be put in an escrow account until the legal system finishes litigating court cases and appeals.”

“In other words you’re saying that if Cerise Records goes down, so does Doberman’s Stub,” I said. Tyler paid our bill and we walked back down to the street in silence.

When I returned to my office I saw a TV camera crew and several reporters gathered outside of my building. I called Heather Gaines, a CPA who runs an accounting business in the suite next door to mine. “I need a favor,” I said.

“Just name it,” Heather said brightly. “I’ve gotten more free publicity today than ten years worth of Kiwanis Club, Toastmasters and Rotary meetings combined.”

“Any chance you could drive down the block, then come back five minutes later and tell the reporters you just saw me at Schlotsky’s Deli and that I won’t be coming back to the office today?” I asked.

“Can I tell them anything else that might get me a little more face time?” she asked.

“Tell them I got a new lead that could change everything, but that it will take me out of town for a couple of days,” I said.

Fifteen minutes later I was checking voice-mail in my office, a mere thirty messages. Uri asked that I call back as soon as possible. I reached him at his office and was told he could arrange a conference call with the Odessa police lieutenant at 7:00 AM Sunday morning on my office phone line. Uri’s acquaintance will serve as interpreter.

I spent the rest of the afternoon tying up loose ends, including a conversation with Chelsea about
California Confidential
. Considering her level of aggravation I opted not to tell her about the gig Saturday night.

I spent the 90 minutes it took to drive to Alpine listening to the Doberman’s Stub demo. When I arrived, the band was playing an old Blondie tune called, “Heart of Glass,” with Jeannine singing lead vocals and doing quite well for an amateur. She was wearing one of Aunt Esther’s vintage dresses, a string of pearls and the kind of hat one might wear to a speak-easy during Prohibition.