The Rock 'N Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - a Spike Berenger Anthology (5 page)

Patterson answered, “Nineteen eighty-seven. But they remained friends. She was already a partner in the business. It was part of the settlement that she be made a Vice President.”

“You think she’ll inherit Flame’s estate?” Berenger asked.

“Either she will or Joshua will. Or they both will.”

“He sure isn’t going to leave anything to me or Adrian, that’s for damn sure,” Gina muttered.

There was an awkward moment of silence. Berenger shrugged. “Is that everything?” he asked.

Patterson cleared his throat. “There is, uhm, one other thing.”

Gina frowned and nodded, preferring to let the lawyer explain it.

“What’s that?” Berenger asked.

“Adrian was selling drugs,” Patterson said, “for the Jimmys.”

“Oh shit,” Berenger said. “What was he doing associating with the Jimmys?”

“Dealing drugs!” Patterson answered. “He hasn’t admitted as such, though. The police found a bunch of evidence in Adrian’s apartment that indicated he was selling for the Jimmys. That’s a big strike against him.”

“Sorry, but as I live in California, I don’t know a lot about them,” Gina said. “Just what’s been reported in the news.”

Berenger shook his head. “The Jimmys are only the most ruthless and violent gang operating in the New York area,” he explained. “Unless you want to count the Cuzzins. They’re probably just as bad.”

“They’re rock bands, too,” Rudy added.

“I guess you can call them that. The Jimmys play Death Metal Punk to the extreme—really angry stuff. They incite riots and always cause a lot of destruction whenever they play somewhere. As a gang, they allegedly supply drugs to a mostly very wealthy clientele—Manhattan’s rich and famous. Not a lot is known about their organization other than it might have originated in the Caribbean and immigrated to America sometime in the nineties. Legend has it that they send a package full of broken guitar strings to the people they plan to knock off. A very nasty bunch.”

“There’s an on-going war between them and the Cuzzins,” Rudy said.

“At least I like the Cuzzins’ music better,” Berenger added. “It’s mostly fifties-era rock ‘n’ roll. Needless to say, both gangs have gone a long way toward giving rock ‘n’ roll a bad name in this town.”

This information caused Gina’s eyes to cast downward. “I see,” she said. “Why haven’t they been arrested?”

“By the time the cops arrive at one of their concerts—which always occur unannounced—they’re already speeding away, leaving a mess in their wake. They like to start fires, things like that. It’s what you might call ‘guerilla punk.’”

“Unfortunately, the kids in New York love them,” Rudy said. “The gangs have become underground heroes. The word gets out, usually over the Internet, that the Jimmys or the Cuzzins are going to play somewhere and magically the high-schoolers and college-aged kids show up. Both camps sell homemade CDs through various dubious distribution centers that do
very
well. In fact, you can probably buy them at any of the indie shops in the East Village.”

“Wow, that’s totally bizarre,” Gina said. “I had no idea.”

Berenger looked at Rudy and asked, “You’ve already discussed terms and stuff?”

Rudy nodded. “The case is ours if you want it.”

Berenger looked at Gina.

“Please, Spike? We need you,” she said.

He gazed into the green eyes that had once exhibited a great passion for him. He didn’t want to go back there but he couldn’t help it. Gina Tipton was a beautiful, intelligent woman. He still liked her. And he believed her.

“Okay.”

“Great,” Patterson said. “I’ll arrange a meeting with Detective McTiernan tomorrow morning and then we’ll try to get into Rikers by lunchtime. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure.”

“Tomorrow afternoon is the reading of the will and we’ll be attending that,” Patterson said.

“Flame’s will? Really?”

Gina nodded. “Carol didn’t want me there but I insisted. I have certain rights, too, you know.”

“Can you get me in to that?” Berenger asked. “It would be very helpful.”

Patterson replied, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Everyone stood and shook hands. Gina held on to his a little longer.

“You know, I had one of my premonitions that I’d see you today,” she said.

“Well, if I remember correctly, you were usually right on those things,” Berenger said.

“So I’ll see you soon?” she asked. Her eyes sparkled with promise.

“Sure,” he said.

B
erenger gave the team three hours to get up to speed on the case and then they gathered in the Rockin’ Security conference room. Suzanne happened to get to the sound system first, so Tori Amos was singing her way through the
Little Earthquakes
album on the overhead speakers, replacing Danny Lewis’ earlier pick,
Licensed to Ill
by the Beastie Boys. Berenger liked Tori Amos and thought that her first album was still the best one. At any rate her music was more conducive to a planning meeting.

“Good afternoon,” Berenger said.

“Hi,” replied Melanie Starkey, the office assistant. She never went by Melanie—she preferred Mel—but most of the time everyone called her “Ringo” because of her last name. Anyone interested in the Beatles knew that Ringo Starr was a stage name for Richard Starkey. Mel didn’t seem to mind the nickname. She happened to wear several rings, too.

Berenger poured a cup of coffee from the freshly brewed pot on the hot plate. Besides being a damned good office assistant, Mel made a superb pot of coffee. And she looked great today, as usual. She was a twenty-eight year old feisty redheaded babe. Berenger didn’t know if she was Scottish or Irish by heritage—she was most likely a mutt. It didn’t matter, really, because she spoke with a thick New Jersey accent.

Danny Lewis was a smart-aleck kid from Harlem that was perhaps the brainiest hacker he had ever known. He was nineteen, half-Caucasian, half African-American, and had no loyalties to either race. He called himself a “mix,” hence the nickname “Remix.” Lewis could probably write his own ticket into any major corporation as a systems manager but most employers would likely resist hiring someone so young for such an important position. The dreadlocks and nose piercing didn’t do much to inspire confidence in a white-collar human resources executive either. Berenger had recognized Lewis’ talents when the teenager came in one day to repair a Roland 64-voice synthesizer module. Danny had taken it apart, fixed it, and had it back together within twenty minutes. The “kid” was a genius.

Tommy Briggs was Berenger’s contemporary. At age forty-nine, he had made the most cracks the other night about Berenger turning fifty. Briggs used to be a field agent for the FBI and had held the job for nearly twenty years until he decided to give it up one day and work for Rockin’ Security. Briggs maintained a good relationship with the Bureau and had pals on the inside. He could usually get any information he wanted from the organization. Outside of Berenger’s musician friends, like Charlie Potts, Briggs was the closest thing to a best friend that Berenger had.

Last and certainly not least was Suzanne Prescott, Berenger’s second-in-command and personal sidekick. At least he liked to think of her that way. Originally from California, Suzanne was thirty-eight, had short dark hair and brown eyes, and was just the type of woman that Berenger found attractive. Berenger couldn’t imagine how she might have looked back in the late eighties when she was a Goth devotee, sporting the classic black clothes, dark makeup and pale white skin. After doing a bit of maturing she had gone to the Far East for a few years and come back a student of eastern philosophy and martial arts. After the love of her life overdosed in the mid-nineties, Berenger and Suzanne had a brief love affair. He had always felt it was merely a rebound for Suzanne—no one could replace drummer Elvin Blake—but it was nice while it lasted. Several months later he had asked her to work for him. It was one of the wisest moves he’d ever made. These days Suzanne was certainly a beauty with brains.

“We waiting for Rudy?” Briggs asked.

“Appears so,” Berenger replied.

Remix piped up. “Did you hear about the gang fight last night?”

“Nope.”

“The Jimmys and the Cuzzins got into it down at Astor Place. The Cuzzins were playing and were into their second song when the Jimmys showed up. They actually beat the police there. It got pretty nasty.”

“Anyone hurt?” Berenger asked.

“I heard two Cuzzins were messed up pretty bad and are in the hospital.”

Rudy hurried in at last, poured a cup of Mel’s coffee and sipped it as he sat down. “Did you wait on me? You shouldn’t have,” he said.

“It’s all right, Rudy,” Berenger said. “We’ve only been here an hour.”

“Funny. Hey, why didn’t you tell me you and Gina Tipton were an item?”

Suzanne raised her eyebrows. “What? Is that true, Spike?” The others in the room were equally surprised.

“All right, all right,” Berenger said. “Yeah, we dated for a few months. It was a long time ago.”

“Is she as weird as people say?” Tommy Briggs asked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I heard she can read fortunes and shit like that.”

“No, not really,” Berenger replied. “That’s all a myth. She has some kind of heightened intuition, that’s all.”

“Man, don’t they call her ‘Gina the Gypsy?’” Remix interjected.

“Yes, they did call her that. A long time ago.”

Suzanne smiled at Berenger. “Gee, Spike, you really did get around in the old days, huh?”

“Hush. Let’s get started. Remix, suppose you begin and give us the quick and dirty lowdown on Flame.”

Danny Lewis sat upright in his chair, a big change from his usual near-horizontal position, cleared his throat, and spoke as he looked at notes.

“Okay, folks, here’s the skinny on Flame, AKA Peter Flame, AKA Peter Donald Duncan,” he announced.

“Peter Donald Duncan!” Suzanne gasped.

“Yep, that’s the name he was given when he was born on November 24, 1952,” Remix explained. “Which is why his sons are named Adrian
Duncan
and Joshua
Duncan
. May I continue?”

“Go ahead, Remix,” Berenger said and then spoke to the others. “Let’s keep comments and questions until the end of the presentation, shall we?”

“Anyways, as we
all
know, Flame grew up in New York City and played with a number of amateur bands before he hit the big time with a little outfit called Hay Fever.”

Tommy Briggs let out a whispered, “Yeaaaa!”

“Hay Fever consisted of Flame—he changed his name and dropped the “Peter” when he was a teenager—Flame on guitar and vocals, Dave Bristol on drums and vocals, and Greg Patterson on bass and vocals. The power trio’s self-titled first record was released in 1971 on a do-it-yourself label called Liquid Metal Records and was produced by none other than the big, bald-headed Al Patton. Within six months, the band had two hit singles from the album and it had gone gold. The follow-up LP,
Sneeze
, came out at the end of the year and was another big one. By 1975, the band had made five albums and presented their adoring public with seven number one hit singles. But things were not very rosy in Denmark. Flame and Dave Bristol, as we
all
know, were the best of friends and the worst of enemies. Due to that age-old excuse, ‘artistic differences,’ Hay Fever broke up. Millions of people cried themselves to sleep that night. The suicide rate jumped 150 per cent. The stock market plummeted to an all-time low. Women and children—”

“Okay, okay, Remix, we get the picture,” Berenger said.

“Sorry. Anyway, the fans weren’t too happy. Flame went on to try a solo career, simply as… Flame. By now, Liquid Metal Records was a goddamned
industry
and Al Patton was one of the demigods of the music business. Thanks to Flame and Hay Fever. Now as we
all
know, Flame’s solo career was very successful from a financial standpoint, but not necessarily from a critical one. It was hit and miss. His first solo album, released in 1977, was called, simply,
Flame
. That was probably his biggest solo album, wouldn’t you say, Spike?”