“I heard that Bristol and the boys came to see you,” Patton said.
“Yeah. I sent ‘em away,” Flame replied.
“Why?”
Flame gestured helplessly. “I just didn’t want ‘em around. They make me uncomfortable.”
“It would have been a real kick for you guys to get onstage together again. One number wouldn’t have hurt you.”
“Yeah it would have. I don’t want to play with those guys again.”
“Why does there have to be such bad blood between you and Dave? You guys were the best of friends for a helluva long time. Not to mention the creative energy you two produced together.”
Flame looked pained. “Drop it, Al. I don’t want to talk about it. Tonight was stressful enough. Sheesh, my former band was here, my ex-wives were here, my sons were here…”
Patton nodded. “I saw them. What’s with Adrian? He looked pissed off about something.”
“Oh, we had another one of our usual fights before the show,” Flame said. “Rotten brat. His mother raised him to be a lazy, good-for-nothing—”
“All right, all right,” Patton interrupted. Best to change the subject. “The European tour is all but set,” he said. “Kenny was able to book you into some decent-sized venues, more like the old days. You’ve got a month to unwind and relax and then I’d like you and your band to work up a little more of the older material. I think it’s wise that we treat it like a nostalgia tour.”
Flame looked at his manager as if the man were mad. “I didn’t agree to anything like that, Al,” he said.
Patton held up his hands defensively. “Wait, Peter, before you get all riled up—”
“No, you wait,” Flame said. “You don’t tell me what material I perform on my tours. I’m not playing old stuff anymore, you know that. I’m promoting my newer material and that’s that.”
Patton was a man with a short fuse. “You think you’re going to maintain an audience with this religious garbage?” he spat, loud enough for some of the Messengers to overhear him. Brenda looked up in shock.
“Keep your voice down, damn it,” Flame said.
“And another thing,” Patton continued. “Why is your SWAG man hawking Messenger merchandise? I went out to the concession and saw crucifixes and shit next to your CDs and T-shirts.”
“I made a deal with Reverend Theo,” Flame explained. “It’s my decision what to sell at concerts, not yours, Al.”
“Is that so?”
“Well, yeah.”
“You know, Peter, your record contract is up with the next album. We can talk about what you sell and don’t sell after you deliver it.”
“Is that a threat, Al? You gonna drop the guy who put Liquid Metal Records on the map?”
Patton took a deep breath and looked around. Everyone was staring at him. He did his best to quiet down. “Okay, we’ll talk about it later. Congratulations on finishing the tour. You feel all right? Everything okay?”
Flame affectionately put his hand on his manager’s shoulder and said, “Yeah, I’m just tired. Look, Al, I love you. We’ll work it all out. I just gotta do what I gotta do these days, okay?” He lightly slapped Patton’s cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
Flame held out his hand to Brenda, who glided across the floor to him. He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her on the forehead. “Come on, baby, let’s blow,” he said.
Patton shrugged and said, “I’m gonna go find Kenny. Later, Peter.”
As the record mogul walked away, Brenda asked, “How come he’s the only one that’s allowed to call you Peter?”
Flame shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t give him permission or nothin’. He just always has.”
“Can I call you Peter?”
“Absolutely not!” He kissed her again. “Come on, I gotta get some stuff from the dressing room.”
“Well, actually, I was going with Reverend Theo back to HQ to help him set up for tomorrow,” she said.
“What? Honey, this is the last night of the tour. Don’t you feel like partying a little?”
“I thought you were tired.”
“I am, but I can still party a little.”
“No, I promised Reverend that I’d help him prepare for tomorrow’s service. We didn’t get a chance to do it before the show. How about I meet you at home in a couple of hours? That’ll give you time to unwind a bit.”
She had him under her thumb. “All right,” he said. He looked around. “Where’s Ron?”
“Over here.”
Ron Black, Flame’s personal driver, stood at the back of the room. He waved a hand at his boss.
“Bring the car around to the stage door,” Flame called to him. “I’ll be there in five minutes. I want to avoid the fans tonight.”
Black nodded and walked away. Flame kissed Brenda long and hard and then said, “Don’t be long.”
Brenda blushed and said, “I won’t.” She turned and ran toward Reverend Theo, his black face beaming with delight at the sight of his two “children” in love.
Berenger and Suzanne listened to the story as Brenda wound it up. “So I came back to the church with Reverend Theo. I was helping him with the sermon for the next morning. I often do that. I’ve been his sounding board for several years. We were stuck on some points and I promised him I’d help him work them out that night. We didn’t want to save it until the morning, that would have been pushing it.”
“Yet, it was Flame’s last concert of the tour,” Berenger said.
“That’s right. But I came to the show. I was with him before and after. I went to the Meet ‘n’ Greet. And I had planned to join him at home in a couple of hours. Flame said he’d go on and wait for me. When I arrived, the police were there and he was dead. That’s all there is to it.”
“I assume the police checked your alibi?” Suzanne asked.
“Of course they did,” Brenda replied. “I’m sure you can check with them if you have to make sure for yourselves.”
“So you came back here with the reverend to work on his sermon… after midnight?” she asked again.
“The Lord’s work has no timetable,” the young woman replied as if she were quoting scripture.
Berenger looked at Suzanne and said, “Okay, I suppose that’s all for now. Thank you, Miss Twist.”
“You’re welcome.” She stood and came around the desk to show them out. “Oh, one more thing,” Berenger said. “You must be happy to receive such a generous bequest from Flame. Were you surprised?”
“It was a gift from God,” Brenda replied. “I never expected it.”
“Yet you attended the reading of the will. Surely you expected something?”
“Mister Berenger, Flame was my companion. I had an interest in how he was dividing his estate. Is that too much to comprehend?”
“No, I suppose it isn’t.” He led Suzanne out and down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, Berenger glanced up and saw the young woman still standing at the top. Instead of the usual saintly and innocent aura she normally expressed, Brenda Twist stared at them with calculating coldness.
She was hiding something.
18
Legend in Your Own Time
(performed by Carly Simon)
The big event was at the Music Box, a 1000-seat capacity theatre located on West 45th Street between Broadway and Eighth Avenue. With a major network televising the show, Flame’s Memorial Service and Concert was the hottest ticket in town even at $5000 per seat. Proceeds, after expenses paid to the Union stagehands and promotional firms, were to be donated to a number of charities that Carol Merryman had designated. The celebrity acts agreed to perform for free.
Spike Berenger found the two tickets delivered to Rockin’ Security that afternoon. Carol’s graciousness was admirable, considering he was working for the defense, and it was a good thing she had sent them before he had confronted her about the tax evasion. Now Berenger’s dilemma was whether he should ask Rudy or Suzanne to accompany him to the black ti
e event—and it was a no-brainer. Suzanne nearly fell out of her chair when he made the offer.
Security was tight around the theatre. The street itself was blocked off from all traffic except for screened limousines and private cars delivering attendees to the front of the building. Barriers kept pedestrians a hundred yards away but close enough to scream at their favorite star. The network’s trucks were parked across the street and several cameras covered the happening from many angles, both inside the theatre and out.
Berenger and Suzanne took a cab to Broadway and 44th then walked down to the Music Box. He was dressed in the tux he wore at least two or three times a year—it was one of the smartest investments he had ever made—and Suzanne looked stunning in a gown that might have come off a Hollywood actress en route to the Oscars. Berenger flashed his tickets at the security men and allowed one of them to wave a metal-detector wand around him before they went inside. Rudy was dismayed that Rockin’ Security hadn’t been hired to oversee the concert but Berenger figured Carol might not have considered it a good political move. Supplying a couple of tickets on the sly to an old friend was one thing, but publicly flaunting the firm representing the accused murderer of the night’s honoree would not have flown.
“Wow, will you look at this,” Suzanne whispered as they stepped into the theatre. At first glance they could count twenty or thirty famous faces from rock stars to film actors and actresses. Wealthy record executives and other industry types may have dominated the audience but Berenger commented that there was at least one celebrity for every three unknown rich patrons. Right off the bat, Berenger recognized Yoko Ono and her son Sean, David Bowie, Mick Jagger, Sir Paul McCartney, Peter Townshend, Jimmy Page, Ian Anderson, Jack Nicholson, Dustin Hoffman, Robert De Niro, Donald Trump, Madonna, Pamela Anderson, Meryl Streep, Kevin Kline, Tom Hanks, Steven Spielberg and his wife Kate Capshaw, and Martin Scorsese.
The seat locations were also a surprise—on the aisle, fourteen rows from the stage.
“Wow,” Suzanne said. “I think that’s going to be the operative word tonight. Wow.”
“I guess I owe Carol one, even if she might be an embezzler,” Berenger said. They sat and looked around the room, unable to resist gawking.
“I really appreciate this, Spike.”
“Hey, the next time you get a free extra five-grand ticket to something, you can take me.”
“Being in a room with this many celebrities must be old hat to you,” she commented as she turned around in her seat to watch the people coming in.
“Not really. I went to the Grammys a couple of times and it was like this, only bigger. But I think there are more heavyweights here tonight than I’ve ever seen in one place.”
“Are we going to any parties afterwards?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
“I’m afraid not, Suzanne. I made plans with Charlie. We’re going to get together and jam at the studio tonight. Do you mind?”
“Oh, I guess not. Hey, look there.”
She pointed to the two rows near the stage taken up by the Messengers. Reverend Theo was all smiles as he waved to people and took a seat next to his wife. Brenda Twist sat demurely as if she were the only person truly in mourning. Ron Black stood in the aisle, acting more like a bodyguard rather than a chauffeur.
A familiar feminine voice interrupted his inspection of the crowd. “Hello there.”
Berenger turned to find Gina Tipton standing in the aisle. She looked ravishing in a black dress that accentuated her blonde hair. It was impossible to view her as a grieving woman. Berenger stood and said, “Hello, Gina. How are you?”
They kissed on the cheeks and he said, “Do you know my assistant, Suzanne Prescott?”
“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” Gina asked her.
“Yes, once,” Suzanne said. They shook hands.
“This is quite a crowd, isn’t it?” Gina said, wide-eyed.
“I’ll say. Where are you sitting?”
She looked at her ticket. “It looks like I’m right in front of you! How nice.” Gina and Berenger sat and then she turned around to continue talking. “I guess I have Al Patton to thank for this. Carol didn’t want me here.”
“Well, that’s not right,” Berenger said. “You have as much claim to be here as anyone. Are you one of the speakers?”
“No. Again, Carol wouldn’t have me on the stage. Allowing me to attend was one thing. Letting me speak?—no way!”
“That’s too bad,” Berenger said.
“Speaking of Carol, there she is,” Suzanne mentioned. They saw the grand widow with Joshua Duncan on the far side of the house, near the stage. She appeared to be chewing out her son about something.
“I need to talk to her for a moment,” Berenger said. “Please excuse me, ladies?”
“Of course,” Gina said. “Give her a kiss for me, will you?”
“No sarcasm, Gina,” Berenger said, smiling. “Not tonight.”
“Sorry.”
He made his way through the mingling million-dollar fashions and was nearly five or six feet away from Carol and Joshua when he heard bits of their argument.
“You can’t just fire Al, mom. I need him,” Joshua said.
“Quiet!” Carol said, shushing him. “This isn’t the time or the place.” Her eyes caught Berenger’s and she gave him a broad but insincere smile. “Look who’s here. Hello, Spike!”
“Carol, Joshua,” Berenger said as he stepped up to them. “Thank you so much for the two tickets. That was mighty generous of you.”
“What are friends for?” She gave him a compulsory hug and Berenger shook hands with Joshua. “Now stop working for Adrian Duncan and help us prove what a guilty slimeball he really is!”
“Now, Carol,” Berenger said.
“Forget it. I need to keep such thoughts to myself tonight. I’m just stressed out. It’s been a hectic day, to say the least. Was it this morning when you were at my apartment? My God, it seems like I’ve been through a complete lifetime since then.”
“How was your meeting with Patton?”
“That bastard. We had a huge fight over some of Flame’s business affairs, just as I expected we would. He obviously can’t wait until my son is in charge ‘cause he thinks he can push Joshua around. I’ve got news for Al Patton—Joshua’s going to be just as tough as me, right Josh?”
“Mom…” Joshua turned red and looked away.
“Look, Spike, I have to get backstage. Have a good time.”
“Thanks, you too, Carol. Bye, Joshua.”
They hurried away and Berenger headed back to his seat. Along the way he noticed Dave Bristol, Brick Bentley, and Moe Jenkins talking to Al Patton. Kenny Franklin and the boys from Flame’s recent touring band were farther back. Apparently they didn’t rate as highly. Berenger glanced up at the balcony and immediately noticed Lt. Detective Billy McTiernan standing behind the rail, looking down on the crowd. Berenger figured it made sense that McTiernan had been invited.
The lights began to dim as he sat down. “Find out anything interesting?” Suzanne asked.
“Not really.”
Gina turned around and said, “Here we go. I hope I can control my emotions.” Berenger reached up and squeezed her shoulder. She patted his hand.
The crowd roared when the lights extinguished completely and the grand opening guitar chords of one of Flame’s solo hits, “Burning Rubber,” blasted through the house speakers. The curtains parted to reveal a still image of Peter Flame projected onto a movie screen. He was in his famous “David” pose, one as iconic as that of Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson standing on one leg and playing the flute. Right on the beat, the image became a live action film as Flame burst out of his tableau to play his guitar. In sync with the soundtrack, Flame sang along with the words to the song and the entire house was rocking.
Berenger didn’t remember getting to his feet. The excitement in the packed theatre was contagious—not a single person was unaffected by the powerful opening. It was going to be more of a
high-energy rock concert rather than a memorial service.
When the song and film finished a spotlight hit none other than Al Patton, who approached a microphone stand that appeared out of nowhere. The crowd was not ready to settle in their seats—the cheers and whistles went on for a couple of minutes. Patton mistakenly thought the response was for him as he smiled and waved. Finally, an announcer’s voice boomed through the house, “Ladies and gentlemen, Liquid Metal Records’ CEO and the producer of some of the world’s greatest musical acts, Al Patton.”
Berenger noted that the applause tapered off and there were even a few boos in the background. Patton didn’t notice, though. He spoke into the microphone with confidence. “Welcome everyone. It’s great to be here, even though it’s on such a sobering occasion as this. After all, we’re here to pay tribute to one of the world’s legends. If the tears flow tonight, it’s with good reason. But I don’t think that’s what Flame would have wanted. He once told me he wanted a big party thrown when he departed this earth, so that’s what I, as his manager, and Carol Merryman, his former wife and the current Vice President of Flame Productions, set out to do. Tonight you’re going to hear from some of Flame’s friends and family, we’re going to allow ourselves to get a little emotional for a bit, and then we’re going to bring on the music.”
A swell of cheers followed that announcement. Patton waved his hands to silence the crowd.
“That’s right, yes, thank you. Some of the biggest names in rock ‘n’ roll are here tonight. We’re being taped for a prime time broadcast and Warner Brothers is filming the entire evening for a future feature film. It’s all a testament to the status that Peter Flame held. He was a legend in his own time, if you’ll pardon the cliché. Words can’t express what Flame was to all of us. The world has lost a giant whom we’ll never forget.” Patton looked up and said, “Flame, wherever you are, this night’s for you.”
The Rock 'n Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - A Spike Berenger Anthology Page 16
