The Rock 'N Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - a Spike Berenger Anthology (39 page)

“Mmm. And he says he’s giving up dealing drugs. I hope that’s true.”

“Me too.”

There was another awkward silence. Finally, Gina said, “Well, hell, I guess I have to go.”

“Gina.”

“What?”

“Take care of yourself.”

“We probably won’t see each other again for a while, will we?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Gina. It’s hard to say.”

“Yeah. I know. You take care, too, Spike.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

After she hung up, Berenger felt a slight pang in his chest. He knew, though, that it would be gone in an hour. Gina was a great woman but she wasn’t what he needed or wanted for any kind of serious entanglement.

She probably felt the same way about him.

Berenger went back into Ann Berkowitz’s room and found Carl had returned with the patient’s requested delicacy. Their mother was greedily slurping on a spoon that contained samples of the oversized banana, the ice cream, and the three toppings the kitchen staff had put on it.

“That’s a really big banana,” Berenger commented.

“It’s huge,” Carl agreed. He winked at Berenger again, which is a habit he had developed when they were kids in Texas.

“So what time is
your
flight?” Berenger asked.

Carl looked at his watch and said, “Too soon. I have to go, kiddies. Sorry, but that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.” He leaned over to his mother and gave her a hug and kiss. “You take care of yourself, mom. I’ll be back out to see you in a couple of months, okay?”

She kissed him back but immediately continued to work on her dessert.

Berenger gave his brother a big bear hug and said, “Give one of those to Sarah and the kids, okay?”

“You bet,” Carl said. “You’re doing a great job with her, Spike.” They looked at their mother, who was enjoying the treat so much that she was oblivious to what they were saying. “I’ll send you that check we talked about.”

“Thanks, bro’.”

They slapped each other on the back and Carl finally left the room. Berenger sat in the chair closest to his mother’s bed and watched her eat. He suddenly felt that it was too quiet in the room, so he reached over to her dresser and turned on the radio. The station was playing a Beatles song.

“Hey, mom, listen—it’s ‘A Hard Day’s Night,’” Berenger said.

Ann Berkowitz looked up and smiled. “I remember that song.” She began to rock back and forth a little in her bed as she mouthed some of the lyrics. Berenger knew that a person’s love of and familiarity with music was one of the last things to go in an Alzheimer’s patient. He was glad to see that his mother could still rock ‘n’ roll.

“Hey, mom, do you remember when we sat in front of the television and saw the Beatles when they were first on
Ed Sullivan
?” he asked.

She stopped singing and looked at her son with a gleam in her eye.

“You silly boy,” she said. “How could anyone forget when the Beatles first came to America?” She shook her head and made a “tsk tsk” sound. “Even
I
remember that!”

A Spike Berenger Rock ‘n’ Roll Hit Single

SIDE A

T
he gunman finished stuffing the compact .40 caliber Glock 23 in the shoulder holster, the weapon snug against his armpit. He then looked at himself in the mirror.

Not bad, he thought. The jacket would hide the fact that his tux wasn’t a perfect fit. As long as no one frisked him, he’d be fine. And since he was officially a part of the VIP entourage, he’d be able to enter with the other VIPs and avoid the security checkpoint.

Wasn’t life grand?

Too bad it had to end in a few hours.

T
he strains of The Moody Blues’ “Never Comes the Day,” from their seminal album
On the Threshold of a Dream
, bombarded Spike Berenger as he stepped into the special exhibit on the museum’s top level. It was the building’s smallest gallery, usually reserved for a tribute to a particular act. In this case the music provided a soundtrack to the Hall’s tribute to the symphonic rock pioneers whose repertoire also included Berenger’s personal favorite, “I’m Just a Singer (in a Rock ‘n’ Roll Band).”

Berenger had been to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum in Cleveland, Ohio, numerous times and it never failed to fill him with a kind of pride. Even though he was a freelance private investigator and one of the two co-founders of Rockin’ Security, the most-respected rock ‘n’ roll security firm in the world, he was still a musician at heart. But at age fifty-one, being a rock ‘n’ roll star was a long-forgotten dream.

“Spike, where are you?”

It was Suzanne’s voice. The In-Ear device not only worked well for musicians to monitor themselves while performing on stage, but it was also a great communication tool for a security team.

He spoke into the lapel microphone. “I’m at the top of the pyramid, Suzanne. It checks out, all clear.”

“Well, get down here. The senator’s advance team is here and they want to talk to you.”

“Be right down. What’s Cramer’s demeanor? Is he scared?”

“He just looks angry.”

“That’s understandable, I suppose.”

“Hey, if I were the press secretary for Senator Perkins, I think I’d be a little upset, too. I still can’t believe they went ahead with this thing.”

Ain’t that the truth
, Berenger thought. The evening was supposed to have been a star-studded fundraising cocktail party for the senator, complete with a performance by hot newcomers Chicago Green. But the news of the last forty-eight hours had changed everything. For a while it was unclear whether or not the event would be cancelled, but Spike and his team learned earlier in the day that the party would go ahead as planned. He was amazed, for already the streets outside the building were clogged with a couple hundred protestors.

He glanced at his watch and noted that it was six o’clock; the museum was now closing to the public. Time to ride the several escalators that connected the museum’s levels down to the main lobby.

“Hey, Spike.” Suzanne again.

“Yeah?”

“Didn’t you say that Senator Perkins went to high school with you?”

“That’s right. He was also in my first rock band during high school.”

“What made him go into politics? He had a pretty successful solo career in the late seventies, didn’t he?”

“I’ll say. I remember when my band The Fixers opened up for Joe Perkins once—and it was right here, in Cleveland!”

“No shit.”

“I kid you not. But I have no idea why he hung up his guitar. It was a move I never understood. It was in the eighties—he relocated to Ohio and got into politics. They called him the ‘rock ‘n’ roll candidate’ and did pretty well for himself. How he white washed the ‘sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll’ image, I’ll never know. He was a bit of a wild card when we were teenagers. When did he become a U.S. Senator?”

“Uh, nineteen-ninety-something?”

“Yeah. We kept in touch a little over the years. I was happy he called us to act as head security team for this little shmoozefest.”

Until Senator Joe Perkins was accused of partying with and supplying an overdose of drugs to a young girl in a Chicago hotel room two days ago
…

Berenger shook his head and sighed. If the allegations ended up being true, Senator Perkins’ career in politics was over and he could possibly face jail time. Un
believable
.

Berenger reached the first floor and joined the rest of his team. Suzanne Prescott was his number two, an attractive thirty-nine year-old brunette with whom he had had a bit of romantic history—but all that was years behind them.

“You’ve been to the museum before, right?” he asked her.

“Uh huh. Pretty amazing,” she answered. “I personally like the Jimi Hendrix section. You’d look good in some of those clothes of his.”

Berenger chuckled. “I’d look pretty
god-awful
in those frilly things. That guy was doing Prince before Prince was.”

“Yeah, but the boas are cool as hell.” She nodded toward the back of the lobby, near the escalator that descended to the ground level. Two men in tuxes and a woman in an evening gown stood in a huddle, examining a floor plan. One of them was Press Secretary Wally Cramer.

“I’ll go talk to them.” Berenger turned to the third member of Rockin’ Security, a fifty-year-old man sitting at a makeshift command station that was set up just inside the gift shop. Tommy Briggs was former FBI but had joined Rockin’ Security after he retired. He was also the closest thing to a best friend that Berenger had.

“How’s it going, Tommy?”

Briggs stood and patted the top of one of the three laptop computers on the table. “We’re plugged into the museum’s security system and can monitor all of their cameras from here.”

“Good work. That was fast.”

“They don’t call me Lightnin’ Tom for nothing.”

“Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“They
don’t
call you Lightnin’ Tom.”

He grinned. “I know. I just made it up.”

Berenger winced.

“And the rest of our people are all present and accounted for.”

“Cool.” Rockin’ Security had access to the best and the brightest security firms all around the country whenever they needed to hire bodies, and this was one of those nights. The place was crawling with highly qualified freelance security guards.

Berenger strode toward the new arrivals. Wally Cramer looked up and scowled. Cramer was in his mid-forties, short, and bald. Berenger had never seen him smile. Cramer indicated the attractive thirty-something Lois Lane-type and the handsome thirty-something Clark Kent-type.

“Mister Berenger,” Cramer said. “These are my associates, Miss Wilcox and Mister Trainer. This is Spike Berenger from Rockin’ Security.”

Berenger shook hands all around. “For a while I was wondering if we were really going to do this.”

Cramer rolled his eyes. “For the record, it’s against my judgment.” Berenger noticed that the man’s bald spot was red and sweaty. “But Joe insisted we act as if nothing was wrong,” Cramer continued. “Yeah, right. Have you seen the mob outside?”

“Uh huh. At least the Cleveland police are helping us out.”

“Every protest group in the world is behind the blockades around the museum. It’s ugly. Can you hear them chanting?”

“No. It’s pretty soundproof in here, Mister Cramer. All you can hear in the museum is the music.”

Cramer looked up and around. “I guess you’re right. Anyway, they’re all chanting
‘Arrest Perkins, arrest Perkins!’
It’s a regular lynch mob. To tell the truth, I’d like to hang him myself.”

“Is the number of guests still in the five-hundred range?”

“Yeah, but a lot of the RSVPs were made before the big news was announced. Only a few have called with regrets. You never know who’s
not
going to show up without telling us, though.”

“Do you think the allegations are true?”

Cramer grunted and whispered. “Today a witness came forward and placed the senator outside the woman’s hotel room on the night of the incident. And, yes, the senator was indeed at the hotel that night.”

“How’s the woman, Miss… uhm… what’s her name again?”

“Miss Penebaker,” the Lois Lane-type ventured. “Rosemary Penebaker. She’s still in a coma. Last we heard.”

Berenger shook his head. After a brief awkward pause, he said, “All right, Mister Cramer. Let’s just try to have a good time tonight. Leave everything to us. Let me know when the senator arrives.”

T
he man with the gun looked at his watch and was surprised that the entourage made it to the fundraiser on time. As expected, the senator’s group was ushered in through the loading dock in the back of the building, foregoing the X-ray machine and security check.