The Blue Note

by Marvin Perkins

The Blue Note

  by

  Marvin K. Perkins

  Copyright 2012 by Marvin K. Perkins

  Chapter One

  The night fell, darkness covered the city in inky blackness. A slinky red ribbon of light slithered through the peep hole of my favorite night spot, “The Blue Note.” The cool sounds of Jazz permeated the atmosphere with delightful melodic tones, laughter and the sound of clinking glasses joined in to complete the ensemble. It was a sweltering August night, sweat soaked through my cotton dress shirt, meeting the river that poured from my tortured face. That was the first time I saw her, but it wouldn’t be the last.

  I was in Memphis, Tennessee hiding out from the mob. A particularly scary individual named Vinnie “the pick” Demucci from Los Angeles had some unfinished business with me and I had no plans on letting him finish, if you know what I mean.

  Oh by the way, my name is Dirk Bogart, former private eye from the “city of angels” currently working as a bouncer at an after hours joint on Main Street near Beale. In the winter of 1952, I had witnessed a murder by the same aforementioned Vinnie “the pick” and was the star witness at his murder trial where he got life without parole. Needless to say he was a little pissed and vowed, “You’re a dead man, Bogart.” I believed him for some reason which explains why I was hiding in Memphis working at this dive joint.

  I’ve seen a lot of dames coming and going but this one caught my eye. She was a real looker, but as good as she looked, you could tell she spelled trouble with a capital “T.” But I’m a sucker for a pretty face, voluptuous full breasts, and beautiful gams, and believe me she had the full package. I’m a man, right, so what can I tell you.

  Inside the club the joint was jumping with the sound of the one and only Sam “T-bone” Phillips and his quartet. Sam was the piano player at the club, and I’m proud to say a personal friend of mine. He was a huge Negro with a thick beard that made him look like a big grizzly bear stuffed into a suit, straining its threads almost to the breaking point if he took too deep a breath. He had the stub of a cigar hanging from his lips that he chewed to the rhythm of the bumping music. But man could he tickle those eighty eights.

  I had taken a much needed break from my post at the door to dig the cool sounds for a few minutes and suck down a bottle of brew. The club was massive and luxurious with tables, private booths, secret meeting rooms, a fully stocked bar with padded stools, and the stage where the band played seven nights a week. The smoke was so thick you could cut it with a knife, the air was stale with the smell of beer and body odor, mingled with the sweet stench of perfume applied a little too heavily. The crowd was mostly the elite of Memphis, politicians, police officials, and even the mayor himself was known to frequent the club, cruising the tables for loose women. He was married but unhappily, and it sure as hell didn’t stop him from trying to make it with every sweet young thing in the place.

  Sam and the band was hot as the weather that August night and I stood there enjoying my beer and checking out the crowd. The band finished a rousing number, followed by wild applause, and I was just about to return to my post outside, when Sam got on the microphone and said the Blue Note had a brand new attraction, a blues singer all the way from New Orleans.

  And then there she was, the girl I had seen at the door earlier. I was mesmerized once again by her beauty, my eyes were glued to the stage as T-Bone introduced Michele Dubois, all the way from New Orleans. The crowd burst into riotous applause as she took the microphone, gently caressing it, making love to it, as the band started playing. Then it was time for her to sing, filling the club with a voice so pure and sweet, I’m sure the angels were jealous. “Them that’s got shall give, them that’s not shall lose, so the Bible said, but it still is news.” She sang an old Billie Holiday classic, that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck, every nerve in my body erect and pulsating to the beat of the music, desire filled my very being as I listened. My eyes were transfixed on the stage as if I were in a trance or was in the midst of an out of body experience enveloped in the sweet sound of her voice and the enchanting allure of her very presence. That moment seemed like it lasted an eternity, a moment I wished would never end as I was transcended into another dimension, time and place.

  So intent was I on the beauty on the stage, I didn’t notice, at first, the arrival of the mayor, Richard Dennison and his henchmen, including Pauli Salvatore. They had taken a secluded booth over in the corner, ordered a couple of drinks and were checking out the entertainment with great interest. I thought I smelled something rotten and just happened to notice them out of the corner of my eye with great displeasure I must admit.

  The mayor was a tall slender man, with salt and pepper hair, an imposing presence and that look of success. He was a somewhat unscrupulous character, with an eye for the ladies and known to be in bed with the mob, if you know what I mean. He was reported to be in the pocket of every crooked racketeer in town, along with union bosses or anyone else he thought he could make a profit from.

  Pauli Salvatore was a straight up gangster, heavy set but not fat, with piercing blue beady eyes and a head that seemed too small for his body. He was president of the local teamsters union, who were involved in every crooked deal that went on in the transportation and shipping business. High jacking, payoffs, extortion, and even murder were a part of his repertoire. Dennison was in on all his crooked dealings, but of course none of them could be linked back to the mayor’s office, go figure.

  A hand reached up and tapped me on my shoulder, bringing me back to reality, a place I really wasn’t interested in returning to quite yet. “Get your sorry ass back to work Bogart. I don’t pay you to sip suds and watch the band.” It was the voice of my grumpy boss and manager of the Blue Note, Ralph Smithson. He walked away muttering obscenities under his breath, entering his office and slamming the door with a bang.

  I reluctantly headed back out to my post on the door just as Michele Dubois was finishing up her number to the riotous applause of the overflow crowd. I happened to glance back at the mayor’s table just in time to catch him giving the lovely singer a standing ovation. I was insanely jealous for some reason at that very moment. What the hell? How could I be jealous of a man who showed interest in a woman, I didn’t even know, nor have ever met in life? But I was, it perplexed me and gave me food for thought as I made my way back outside the club.

  A fight had broken out in front of the club and a fist to my face greeted me as I stepped through the door knocking me on my rear. Two mugs were throwing punches right outside the door about some skirt, isn’t it always. It always comes down to some dame, nine out of ten times. When will men ever learn? I got up as quick as I could shaking my head to clear the cobwebs and proceeded to separate the two idiots involved in the pugilistic activity. “Get the hell out of here, We don’t allow no fighting at the Blue Note. You guys come back when you sober up,” I said motioning them to move along.

  The club closed around four o’clock in the morning. The end of another long evening on the job, but this night would be the beginning of something, a situation that would develop first as a dream but would soon turn into a nightmare.

  Chapter Two

  I dragged my tired butt into my little shabby one room flat, sat down on my one and only comfortable chair, and poured myself three fingers of cheap bourbon. As bone tired as I was, I still needed to wind down a little before heading off to dreamland in my solitary little bed. I smiled to myself, thinking about a certain beautiful lady, Michele Dubois. Her voice played in my head like she was singing to me right there in my room, haunting the wee hours of the morning, drawing me strangely into her secret world. Sweat poured from my face, I let it roll seemingly enjoying its wetness as it streamed down my face onto my already
soaked cotton shirt. What a magnetic hold she had on me, drawing me to her, I was consumed by her beauty, helpless not to succumb to her charms.

  Finishing my drink I decided a shower was in order. I stripped off my soggy clothes and threw them in a corner that was already piled with several days of similarly dirty clothes. The water in the shower started off hot but soon turned to cold, feeling like tiny ice cubes pelting my tired body, but I seemed oblivious to the onslaught. Still in a trance, deep in thought, I continued my shower until my skin wrinkled up like a prune and turned a similar color. I grabbed my cleanest dirty towel, wrapped it around my waist, not bothering to dry off, and walked to my makeshift bar and poured myself another three fingers.

  The bourbon was going down smooth, and I was just starting to relax, when suddenly there was a terrible ruckus at my door. I finally figured out someone was knocking, although I had not a clue who would be disturbing me at this ungodly hour. Not wanting to get up from the comfort of my chair and my glass of bourbon I yelled, “Who the hell is that? It better be important.”

  A deep bass voice grumbled from the other side of my battered door, “It’s T-Bone man, open up Bogart.” He followed his request with some more loud knocks that seemed were going to go on forever.

  “Okay, okay, I’m coming,” I said finally realizing he wasn’t going to go away, ever. I got up reluctantly, dragged myself to the door, still dripping , still dressed only in a bath towel and opened the door slightly and peered out. Sure enough it was T-Bone. “Come on in,” I said, but not really meaning it. He stood in the door blocking any light that might have desired to enter my joint and turned sideways in order to gain access.

  “What’s shaking Bogart?” He said with his signature cigar butt dangling from his lips, dropping a few ashes on my floor as he spoke.

  “What’s shaking? I should be asking you, since you’re the one beating on my door at five in the morning,” I said taking a sip out of my glass of bourbon. “What the hell is so important, T-Bone? I mean c’mon, can’t a guy get some rest?”

  “Have a seat Bogart, you’re gonna want to hear this, trust me brother.” T-Bone said as he waved his big ham-hock of a hand in my direction. I took a seat in my comfortable chair and he pulled up a chair and sat across from me staring at me like I was the one that had the revelation instead of him.

  “Well, c’mon spill it, T-Bone,” I said impatiently, downing the remainder of my drink. “Wait a minute let me get myself another three fingers, you want a drink?” He did so I poured myself and him one, handed it to him and sat back down hoping to hear the big news at last.

  He took a big gulp of his drink, almost killing the whole glass, slammed it down on the end table and wiped his mouth. “You’re not going to believe it, man,” dropping more ashes on my floor.

  “Damn it T-Bone, if you don’t get on with you story, I swear,” I yelled, getting visibly pissed by this point.

  “Okay, okay man, calm down, I’m gonna tell you. You ain’t gonna believe it.” He said one more time.

  "You said that already.”

  "Okay. You know that fine new singer that started tonight, Michele Dubois?” He asked as if I wouldn’t have noticed her or knew who she was, he just didn’t know. “You’ll never believe who she left the club with tonight?”

  I stared vacantly, trying to make him believe I was unconcerned but inside I was frantic, not wanting to know the answer. “Michele Dubois?” I said like I could care less.

  “You’ll never guess. Go on guess,” He said almost playfully.

  “God damn it, T-Bone, spit it out. I don’t have time for this crap.” I said really pissed now.

  “The mayor, Dennison. She left with Richard Dennison, can you believe that? I warned her about him, but she did it anyway.” T-Bone looked at me like it was my time to speak but I didn’t know what to say.

  “So?” I said still trying to act unconcerned. “Why do you think I would care?”

  “Man I saw you looking at that girl all the way from the stage, man. You were digging her cool, don’t say you weren’t. You were hoping to leave with her yourself, Bogart, I know you man.” He said and I couldn’t deny it wasn’t true but didn’t know it had been so obvious. “I’m worried about her Dirk, that mayor and his boys are bad news.”

  I was worried about her too, but I was more worried that I had lost my one and only chance at a once and a lifetime thing, with the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I finished my drink and asked T-Bone if he wanted another but he said he had to go home and get some rest before rehearsal at four. He shook my hand and patted me on my back, hoping to make me feel better, but I didn’t. And then he was gone leaving me alone with my thoughts and a half a bottle of bourbon.

  I needed to get some rest as well but I needed another drink even worst, so I poured myself a full glass this time, sat back in my easy chair and let it do its magic. I needed something to dull the pain, a pain I couldn’t explain but very real nonetheless. “She left with the mayor,” I said out loud and took a large gulp of bourbon almost killing the entire contents of the glass. “The mayor of all people, damn.”

  I fell asleep sitting right there in that comfortable chair, a glass of cheap bourbon in my hand, it spilled on my floor as I slipped off into never never land, waking two hours later with a start. Hoping T-Bone’s visit was some kind of sick perverted dream, I got up and drug myself to bed. I dreamed of Michele Dubois and me making love in a cloud, drifting through time and space, I was in Heaven. But be careful what you wish for and dream of, it just might come true.

  Chapter Three

  Eight o’clock in the evening and I was back at the door of the Blue Note, making sure the mugs didn’t tear up the joint one more time. I had an uneasy feeling, but I couldn’t figure out why, something was wrong but for the life of me I didn’t know what. Call it a premonition, or intuition or any number of things, but whatever it was it had me standing uneasy at my post that night. That broad Michele had something to so with it, of that I was certain, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I was pondering about these things when the source of my thoughts showed up and to my chagrin with none other than Mayor Dennison himself.

  My jaw dropped to the steaming hot pavement as I saw them approaching the club, arm and arm like a couple of for real love birds. Made me sick to my stomach, a beautiful dame like her with a chump like that, but powerful, rich men always get their choice of dames, while stiffs like me get the left overs. I tipped my hat, nodded, and said, “Evening, Mayor, ma’am.” I smiled at her, and kind of glared at the Mayor, hoping he wouldn’t notice the obvious disdain and contempt I had for him.

  T-Bone and the band were playing hot as usual, the melodic sounds of their jazz covered me as the door opened letting in the happy couple. I was jealous as hell, but had no right to be, after all who was I, just some washed up private dick from La La land, working as a bouncer at some after hours night spot. I was just the hired help, a nobody, a nobody that didn‘t stand a chance with a dish like Michele Dubois, so I might as well stop thinking and dreaming about her.

  But I’m not the type of individual who is easily dissuaded from trying to obtain something I want, so quite naturally I didn’t put her out of my mind. I was determined to at least get one date with the beautiful lady, that was my goal, not asking too much I didn’t think. I’d dated beautiful women before, well a couple at any rate, but this Michele Dubois, she was something different. Besides her beauty she had an enchanting quality I couldn’t quite put my finger on, nevertheless I was quite smitten with her to put it mildly. Oh hell I might as well say it, I was in love with her. Head over heels, down deep and dirty, full blown in love with that woman. But I was afraid I was like a dog who chased cars, if they ever caught one, they wouldn’t know what to do with it. What would the likes of me do with a stunningly gorgeous woman like her? I would only make a fool of myself. Well her fool I’d be if only she would let me.

  Nine o’clock rolled around, I was taki
ng a short break from my duties on the door, when it was time for Michele to take the stage for her first number of the evening. All eyes were on her as she glided onto the stage like a dream come true. T-Bone and the band started a sultry cool number, she again, like the night before caressed the microphone. God I wished I was that microphone. Her sweet voice filled the club, I found that I couldn’t take my eyes off of her and the strange thing was she seemed to be looking at me, our eyes locked in some kind of strange game, feeding off of each other’s passion. She sang her song only to me, I was the only one in the room, that spun around and around making me dizzy and intoxicated all in the same instant.

  I decided right then and there that I had to have her, nothing was going to stop me, not even the mayor and his goons. I would die in my quest to conquer her land of love if that’s what it took to win her. The song finally ended and I snapped back to reality. About that time once again a big hand grabbed me on the shoulder, my boss, Ralph Smithson, telling me to get my butt back on the door, I reluctantly complied.

  I was still shaky on my legs from the trance I had been in, almost falling over a few tables on the way back out to my post, once again outside of the Blue Note. The night was hot and the sweat ran down my face, I wiped it with a handkerchief I kept in my back pocket. My heart beat rapidly in my chest, my breathing was heavy, I felt like I might pass out anytime, hitting the hot pavement below my wobbly legs, that felt like two sticks of wood.

  The music stopped inside, I could hear it as well as feel the absence of the music, leaving the club with a sort of empty sound, filled only with the sound of voices and the clinking of glasses. It was break time for the band, which means it was midnight, the witching hour as it’s sometimes called. I lit up a Camel and took a long drag blowing the smoke out forcefully like I was angry at it for some reason.

  “Got another one?” A deep voice belonging to T-Bone inquired. I pulled one out and lit it for him, he took a big drag. “Thanks, Dirk, you the man. I been wanting one of these for the past two hours.”