The Rock 'N Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - a Spike Berenger Anthology (45 page)

No one saw what happened to Charles Nance. He was shot outside his home in Chicago and his body was discovered the next morning by the newspaper delivery boy. Again, police chalked it up to a possible robbery attempt. There was no mention of the previous murders.

“I don’t get it,” Bishop said. “Isn’t it obvious that these shootings are related?”

“Maybe the police are keeping the evidence close to the vest. They’re not going to release some information if it can help catch the killer… or killers.”

“So what do you think?”

Berenger shrugged. “It’s intriguing. I have to admit that I’m interested more because I’m a fan of the music.”

“How well do you know all these musicians?”

“Not well. I know Zach the best. I’ve met all the guys in Windy City Engine. Joe Nance and I are fairly friendly. I knew some of the crew in Red Skyez.”

“What about Stuart Clayton?”

Berenger made a face. “Met him once. A long time ago. I think it must’ve been when his first solo album came out. Nineteen-seventy nine? He’s a strange duck.”

“I’ll say. Didn’t he spend time in a mental hospital or something?”

“I don’t know about that. He had a stroke or a heart attack, I forget which. That was in the early seventies. Withdrew from everyone, became a recluse. No one thought he would continue in music, but then he put out that solo album. And he put out another one, what, ten years or so later? I guess I’ll have to talk to him, too.”

“Is he, like, coherent?”

“I have no idea.”

After a pause, Bishop shrugged and said, “It’s up to you, Spike. You don’t have to ask me. If you want the case, we can do it.”

“I think I do. We don’t have anything pressing right now, do we?”

Bishop shook his head. “Just Rod Stewart’s alleged blackmail attempt, which I think is bogus, and that business with Iggy Pop’s dogs. Oh, and Willie Nelson says that some very expensive herb was stolen from his ranch in Texas, but I don’t think we should get involved in that.”

“I’ll bet it’s not stolen. He probably just forgot where he stashed it. What happened with Debbie Harry and her landlord?”

“Lawsuit was settled.”

“That’s good. I didn’t particularly relish the thought of her hiring me to go through the guy’s garbage just to find a stinking receipt.”

“We also have a couple of tours coming up. Need security teams and all that. But you can organize those in your sleep.”

“Who’s touring?”

“Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young are doing another protest show.”

“What are they mad about now?”

“Beats me. That’s their shtick.”

“They beat you with a shtick?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Sorry.”

“And Penn and Teller want to tour the Middle East.”

“Penn and Teller? Since when are they a rock ‘n’ roll act? One of ‘em can’t even talk, much less sing.”

Bishop threw his hands in the air. “Hey, they called us and we took the job, all right?”

“Fine. So you can spare Suzanne and me for a few days?”

“I guess so. But what’s all this about a ghost being the shooter?”

“I don’t know. I’m gonna call him back.” He picked up the phone and dialed the third floor again. “Tommy? Get ready for a team meeting in a half hour. Tell everyone to pull up all the background info on these Chicago killings, the victims, and the history of the Chicagoprog bands. I’ll be up in a bit.”

Berenger hung up and redialed Garriott with the speaker phone on. “Zach?”

“Yeah?”

“Spike again. Rudy’s here, too.”

“Hi.”

“Listen, I think Suzanne and I will come out to Chicago tomorrow and check this out. Are you the one hiring us?”

“Yeah. The other guys can’t really afford it. I’ll foot the bill.”

“Fine. I’ll have Rudy fax you a contract and we’ll get started. I’d like you to let the other members of Windy City Engine know I’m coming and that I want to talk to them. North Side is still around, aren’t they?”

“Yep. Bud Callahan and his crew are still gigging.”

“Okay, I’ll want to talk to them, too. But I gotta warn you, Zach. If the police aren’t cooperative with me, there may not be a lot I can do. I can sniff around and do what I do best as an investigator, but without having some hard facts about the three killings at my fingertips I don’t know how successful I’ll be.”

“I understand.”

“Is there something you hope to accomplish other than finding out who killed Charles and the others?”

“Yeah. I want to make sure the rest of us—including yours truly—aren’t targets!”

“Zach, why do you say this is the work of a dead person? Do you have information that you’re not telling us?”

“I can fill you in on that when you get here, Spike. Maybe we’re just too freaked out. I know, it doesn’t make sense, but the other guys believe it, too. I think it’s best if Joe tells you about it.”

“Okay. Keep calm and keep your eyes open. I’ll call you as soon as we hit town.”

“Thanks, Spike.”

Berenger hung up and sighed. It was then that he and Bishop noticed the sound of pounding coming from down the hall.

“Oh, shit, the IRS guy!”

Berenger jumped up and ran to the conference room.

“Let me out of here! Can anyone hear me?” Morgan yelled from behind the door.

Berenger fumbled with his keys and finally got the door unlocked. Morgan burst out, his face a mask of sheer terror. “Where’s the washroom?” he demanded. Berenger pointed the way and the man ran as if his trousers were on fire.

Melanie exchanged looks with Berenger and she stifled a laugh. After a few minutes, they heard the toilet flush and the washroom door opened. The man’s face was pale and damp.

“Are you all right?” Berenger asked him.

Morgan shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess.” He rubbed his stomach. “Tummy ache.”

“Sorry about that. I have no idea how that door got locked.” Berenger held out his hand. “I’m Spike Berenger.”

Morgan shook it. “Milton Morgan.”

“Do you feel like having the meeting?”

“Sure, I’m here. We might as well. I think I’m all right.”

“Okay. Rudy and I will join you in the conference room. Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks.”

“More coffee?”

“Uhm,
no
thanks.”

Morgan returned to the conference room. A minute later, Berenger and Bishop entered carrying stacks of manila folders, accordion files, and ledgers. Bishop introduced himself and then indicated the piles of paper. “I think this is everything. Were you planning to go through all of this stuff now?”

The IRS agent took one look at the massive amount of paper and his pallor went from white to green. As soon as Berenger and Bishop sat at the table, the man’s bowels rumbled loudly. His eyes grew wide and he stood. “Uhm, excuse me again. Sorry!” He ran back down the hall and slammed the washroom door closed behind him.

Bishop looked at Spike, shook his head, and whispered, “What was it? Laxative?”

Berenger neither nodded nor shook his head.

“You guys are terrible!”

“Don’t look at me!”

Five minutes later, the taxman returned, looking even paler than before.

“Gentlemen, I think I do need to cancel our meeting today. We’ll have to postpone it. Is that all right?”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Bishop said. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well.”

“I don’t know what’s come over me. Must have been what I had for lunch.”

“I understand.” Bishop indicated the piles of paperwork. “And I was really looking forward to going through all this stuff. But if you need to postpone—”

“I think that’d be best. I’ll just call—” The man clutched his belly again and ran back to the washroom.

Berenger stood and Bishop whispered, “Tell Remix to
never
do that again or he’ll be fired, and then give him a high five for me, will you?”

T
he team was already assembled in the Operations room when Berenger walked in. Remix had put on the latest CD by System of a Down at a very high volume.

“Remix, turn that down or put on something else,” Berenger ordered.

“Hey, I thought you liked this prog shit!”

“I don’t really consider that prog.”

“Sure it is! It’s got complex time signatures, weird lyrics, and virtuoso musicianship. All Music Dot Com calls it prog, and they should know!”

Prescott piped in. “But it’s loud, raucous, and almost heavy metal.”

“What do you call Dream Theater, then?”

“That’s progressive metal,” she answered.

“What’s the diff, babe? These guys are progressive metal, too.”

Berenger sat and said, “Remix, you may be right and we may be wrong, but it’s still too loud for a team meeting.”

“Okay, boss.” Remix reached over to the tuner and turned the volume down by a hair.

“A little more, Remix.”

“Aw, hell.” He shut the CD off. He quickly opened the player, removed the disk, and popped in a different one. A few seconds later, the New Age strains of Enya floated through the room.

“Now I’m gonna puke,” Briggs noted.

“Hey, I like Enya,” Prescott said. “Good choice, Remix.”

“Whatever,” Berenger said. “Let’s get started.”

Bishop rushed in and sat. “Am I late?”

Briggs answered, “For once, you’re right on the money, Rudy.”

Berenger nodded at Remix. “Okay. What’ve you got?”

Remix picked up his notes and cleared his throat. “Hear ye, hear ye! Herewith commences the history of the forgotten, neglected, obscure, and underground school of rock music known as Chicagoprog! Lend me your ears! Gather around and—”

“
Remix!
”

“Sorry, boss. I was just bein’ pretentious, like the
music
.” He cleared his throat again. “In the year of our Lord, nineteen-sixty-seven, a group of young musicians just out of high school gathered in Chicago, Illinois and formed a band. They were Stuart Clayton on keyboards and vocals, Joe Nance on guitar and vocals, his younger brother Charles Nance on drums, Harrison Brill on second guitar, and Manny Rodriguez on bass. The band was called The Loop, named after the downtown area in Chicago where all the big buildings are. They kicked around the city for a couple of years, playing clubs and developing a small following. Their music is described as Chicago Blues-meets-the early
Moody
Blues. It wasn’t really what we call progressive rock today. Mind you, Chicago was never a center for prog rock. It’s probably why the band never caught on big in this incarnation or the future ones after the ‘big split.’”

“I thought Jim Axelrod and Dave Monaco were members of The Loop,” Briggs ventured.

“Those guys showed up in nineteen-sixty-nine,” Remix explained. “Axelrod was a dynamite guitarist and Monaco was an awesome bass player. But as I understand it, these positions were fluid. Brill and Rodriguez still played some shows with the band, and sometimes Axelrod and Monaco played. So, in essence, The Loop had seven members during their four-year stint.”

“They never recorded?” Prescott asked.

“Not that we know of. At least nothing released commercially. There are some concert bootlegs floating around and maybe some studio demos.”

“I’d like to hear what they sounded like,” she commented. “I like Chicago Blues. That town is famous for the blues.”

“It was pretty much a hybrid of styles,” Berenger added. “Not the kind of Chicago Blues you’re thinking of. Go on, Remix.”