Berenger looked at his watch. It was way too early for Patton to be at the recording studio with Blister Pack but maybe he was at his office. He picked up the phone and dialed the Liquid Metal office. When Patton’s personal assistant answered, Berenger said, “This is Spike Berenger. I need to talk to Al as soon as possible. Is he anywhere around?”
“No, sir,” she said. “He’s on vacation.”
“Vacation? I thought he was producing today.”
“No, sir, he’s away. Out of town.”
So who was lying? Patton, his assistant, or Bristol?
“Well, can I call him, wherever he is? This is really important.”
“I’m not allowed to give out his cell number. I can get a message to him, though, and ask him to call you.”
“Please do.” Berenger gave her his number and hung up.
Nothing was easy in this business. Berenger stood and paced his office a couple of times and then made a call to Derek Patterson. He needed a visitors pass to Rikers Island.
Adrian Duncan looked better than he had the last couple of times Berenger had seen him. The black eye had diminished in intensity somewhat and there were no other visible signs of prison abuse.
“I guess Patterson’s complaint did some good,” Berenger said.
Duncan shrugged. “I guess. The guard who hit me ignores me now. He gives me dirty looks but they assign other guys to me.”
“You’re looking better.”
“I’m getting used to this place, I’m sorry to say,” Duncan said. He actually managed to smile.
“Listen, things are moving along nicely,” Berenger said. “I need to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“Would Al Patton have any reason to kill Flame?”
“Al Patton?” Duncan was genuinely surprised by the question. “I don’t think so. Geez, Patton was my dad’s friend and manager for, like, forever.”
“I know he was not happy about Flame’s conversion to fundamentalist religion and becoming a Messenger.”
Duncan shrugged again. “Nobody was happy about that. Dad’s music changed and didn’t make the kind of money it used to. You think that might be it?”
“I don’t know. Patton makes plenty of money. He’s got other acts and he still makes a fortune from Flame’s earlier recordings. It shouldn’t matter that much, not enough to commit murder for, anyway.”
“Well, one thing that’s always impressed me about Al Patton was that he sure loves his money,” Duncan said. “I mean, he’ll do anything to make another buck.”
“So how does making another buck translate into killing one of his biggest stars?”
“You got me. I don’t know.”
Berenger drummed his fingers on the table and mulled over the puzzle pieces before him. “Was Flame holding back anything that could have made Patton a lot of money?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t taken into my dad’s confidence very much, if you remember. You’d have to talk to Carol Merr—oh. I forgot. She’s dead.”
“Doesn’t Liquid Metal Records own Flame’s recordings?”
“Yeah, I think so. Everything he recorded for Liquid Metal Records.”
“You mean there’s stuff that he didn’t record for Liquid Metal?”
“Sure. There’s some stuff. I told you about that album I wanted to produce and release. Remember? Dad wouldn’t let me.”
“What was that?”
“That crazy recording he did with John Lennon. And David Bowie. Back in the seventies.”
Berenger rubbed his chin. “Bowie mentioned that at the memorial service. Tell me more about that.”
“Let’s see, it was in 1974. Lennon was in LA at the time. Bowie was passing through after one of his big tours was a financial bust.”
“That would have been Diamond Dogs.”
“Yeah. One night the three of them got together in some studio. They were smashed out of their heads but they turned on the recorders and made some incredible music. Dave Bristol was there. Harry Nilsson was there. I forget who else. The material was all by my dad and Lennon. Bowie sang some backup vocals. It’s really great stuff. I heard it when I was pretty young but I remember it being phenomenal.”
“Why wasn’t it ever released?”
“Dad and Lennon didn’t want it released. For some strange reason, they thought it was crap. That very night they signed a pact agreeing they would hold on to the tapes until after they were dead and buried. They had this idea that the tapes would be unearthed like some archeological relic.”
“Who’s got the master tapes?”
“Dad always hung on to them. They’re in his vault. I wanted to take them and do some remixing because, as you can imagine, some of it is pretty rough. After all, they were jamming and were real stoned. Still, it’s about nine hours of fantastic stuff. It would make a great box set.”
“And quite a lucrative one for whoever released it.”
“You can say that again.”
Berenger stood and held out his hand. “Thanks, Adrian. Hang tight. This ain’t over yet.” They shook hands and Berenger said, “Oh, by the way. The Jimmys don’t expect you to continue dealing for them. When you get out, I hope you’ll consider leaving them alone.”
“How do you know that?”
Berenger winked at him and pointed at his temple. “I know things.” He then signaled the guard that they were done.
Berenger left Rikers Island and drove back to Rockin’ Security in record time. He had two phone calls to make—the first one to David Bowie, a man he had met a couple of times but didn’t know well.
The second, more difficult call would go to Yoko Ono.
29
Danger Zone
(performed by Kenny Loggins)
At noon, Mel received word that Suzanne was alert and had asked for Berenger. He dropped everything and rushed over to see her. Dr. Chang met him in the ICU waiting area and cautioned him to keep the conversation short.
“She’s drifting in and out,” the doctor said. “She already had one visitor today—the detective working her case. I would have preferred that we wait another day before you talk to her but she’s very persistent. She insisted on talking to you today.”
“Suzanne’s very stubborn,” Berenger said.
Chang smiled. “It’s the stubborn ones who survive. Go ahead but please try not to upset her.”
Berenger entered the little room and saw his partner and long-ago lover in the most vulnerable and heart-breaking condition he had thought possible. She was covered by a sheet and blanket, from under which several tubes ran to various machines positioned around the bed. A heart monitor, much like the one he had seen in his mother’s room, transmitted a steady, slow pulse. Suzanne’s neck and shoulders were in bandages but her arms lay on top of the blanket. A drip was attached to one hand and the heart monitor was clipped to one of her fingers.
Despite all of that, she was still Suzanne. Her face, though pale, hadn’t lost any of her natural beauty. Her eyelids drooped over her large brown eyes, but they retained the sparkle he had found so endearing ten years ago.
“Hey, sport,” he said softly.
She smiled weakly. “Hey there,” she whispered. Her voice was still hoarse from having a tube down her throat.
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay. I’m pretty doped up.”
“Any pain?”
“Not right now. I’m just real… groggy.”
“The doc says I can’t stay long anyway. You can get back to sleep in a minute.”
“I… I have to tell you…”
He put a hand on her arm and said, “Take it easy, Suzanne. Go slow, it’s all right.”
“Ron… Black. He shot me.”
“I thought so.”
“Did they get him?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. Detective Sharpe, he’s handling your case—”
“He was here… this morning.”
“You told him about B
lack?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess they’re looking for him.”
“I… I figured out… who he is,” she struggled to whisper.
“Oh?”
“In California. When I was arrested.” She closed her eyes and swallowed. Berenger handed her a cup of water from the bedside table and placed the straw between her dried lips. She sucked some liquid into her mouth and nodded. He put the cup back and she continued.
“When I was fifteen… you know… 1985… when I was arrested for drugs?”
“Yeah.”
“He was in one of the jail cells. When I spent the night there. He was in one of the holding cells all night. I remember him… looking at me. I remember being more scared… more scared of him than I was of the arrest.”
“You don’t know why he was in there, do you?”
“No. But I don’t think Ron Black is his real name.”
“It’s not. I learned pretty much the same thing in Jamaica. Does the name Paul Daniel ring a bell?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Never mind. This helps a lot, Suzanne. With this information it’ll be easier to find out who the hell this wacko is.”
“Another thing…” She winced and paused a moment. “I was tailing him… in the limo. He picked up Al Patton. Then… he picked up Joshua Duncan. They drove around Central Park for a half-hour… and then I lost them. Those three… the three of them…”
“Don’t say anymore, Suzanne,” Berenger said. “I get the idea.”
Dr. Chang stuck his head in the door. “I’m afraid I must interrupt you now, Mister Berenger. We don’t want to over-exert our patient.”
“We’re just finishing, doctor.” Berenger leaned and kissed Suzanne on the forehead. “Get some rest, honey. You’ll be back with us in no time. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Her eyes closed and she seemed to drift away as he stood there. Berenger nodded at the doctor and followed him out of the room.
Berenger sat on the front steps of the hospital and phoned Tommy Briggs. He relayed what Suzanne had said about Black. He then phoned Detective Sharpe but got voice mail. So instead he called McTiernan, who answered with his gratingly rough voice.
“Hey, it’s me,” Berenger said. “Suzanne has definitely ID’d Ron Black as her shooter.”
“I know. I spoke to Sharpe an hour ago. They’re out looking for the goddamned guy now. The thing is, he’s disappeared. The limo’s at the Messengers’ place but no one’s seen Black since yesterday. I hope to fuck he hasn’t skipped town.”
“Where does Black live?”
“He has a small apartment in Queens. They raided the place just a little while ago. No sign of him.”
“Crap. If he’s flown the coop…”
“He’ll be found, Berenger.”
“What about Joshua Duncan? Did you find him?”
“Yeah, I spoke to him. He’s fine, he’s going to his classes. Nothing seems amiss there. Listen, I gotta run.”
“Right. Talk to you.”
“Yeah.”
Berenger hung up and wondered what his next move should be. If Ron Black had run away and Al Patton was supposedly indisposed all day—either on “vacation” or at Blister Pack’s afternoon recording session—what else could he do? He didn’t really have anything on Patton… yet. Should he interrupt the recording session and have a talk with him? That probably wouldn’t sit well with the producer and he’d be uncooperative.
Berenger stood and began the walk back to Rockin’ Security. It wasn’t far and the air would help clear his head. He detested the smell of hospitals. It was painful to see Suzanne in that condition but he was confident that she’d be out of there sooner than the doctors predicted. She was a fighter.
As he walked he placed a call to Gina Tipton. He hadn’t spoken to her since returning from Jamaica. He got her cell’s voice mail, left a short and sweet message, and asked her to call him.
He was nearing First Avenue and 68th Street when his phone rang. It was Tommy Briggs.
“Spike, I got it.”
“What?”
“Ron Black. I got the scoop. Suzanne’s info made it easy.”
“Talk to me.”
“Okay, you were right. The name he was using before Ron Black was Paul Daniel. In the seventies he worked for a casino in Vegas, but you know what that means. He worked for the mob, probably as a hit man. In 1974 there was a murder in Los Angeles—a mobster named Charlie Spinoza was found in his hotel room, hanging by the neck. The police wrote it off as a suicide, but whispers in the underworld told a different story. Paul Daniel allegedly killed Spinoza and staged the suicide. He was arrested for murder in LA but was convicted of manslaughter—they couldn’t get the murder charge to stick. So he served eight years in a California prison, between 1975 and 1983. Got paroled. He was arrested again in LA in March of 1985 for racketeering and suspicion of murder, but he was released two days later. That was when Suzanne saw the guy in a holding cell. Then, get this—he skipped parole and left the country. He went to Jamaica. Not sure how he got there. Probably some kind of passport creativity going on with that. Anyway, he’s there in Jamaica and gets arrested again in 1986 for drug-related charges and assaulting a police officer. He was trying to smuggle a ton of marijuana to the States and got caught. He was sent to the same prison where Reverend Theo was residing, and that’s where they met. Theo got out in 1987 but Daniel was there until 1990. He apparently got in contact with Theo upon his release and was supposedly a changed man. Found religion and all that shit. That’s when he changed his name to Ron Black. Next thing you know, Theo and his wife move to America and Black follows them. He’s the first permanent employee of the Messengers in New York. I’m having Black’s files with all the details sent to me overnight. Should provide some interesting reading.”
“Great work, Tommy,” Berenger said.
“Wait, wait, that’s not all.”
“What?”
“Well, after I found out all that, I talked to Plaskett at the Bureau, who then talked to his guy in Vegas. I wanted to find out a little more about Paul Daniel, and it turns out they have quite a file on the guy. Paul and Daniel are just his first and middle names. You know what his real surname is?”
“Do tell!”
“Paul Daniel Patton.”
Berenger stopped in his tracks. “Get out of town!”
“I kid you not. Paul Daniel Patton is Al Patton’s big brother.”
Of course. The two bald heads. They did resemble each other.
“Spike? You there?”
“I’m here, Tommy. I just thought of something.”
“What?”
“If Ron Black, AKA Paul Daniel Patton, has disappeared, then he could just be hiding out somewhere. He shot Suzanne because he realized she was about to figure out who he was. Damn, I’ll bet the farm that he’s the guy who was shooting at me! He was impersonating a Jimmy and had the means to do it because of the connection between the Jimmys and the Messengers. That means he’s possibly bumping off anyone who might know things about him or know what he’s done. Tommy, now I think I know why he killed Flame. And I know why he killed Carol, too.”
“And?”
“Joshua Duncan has to be next,” Berenger said. “I think the kid’s in a shitload of danger.”
30
Barrel of a Gun
(performed by Depeche Mode)
Joshua Duncan left his Corporate Law class early and decided to cut the rest. The events of the past few days had left him weakened and upset. With his father’s death, followed within a month by his mother’s, he simply didn’t know how to handle himself. He couldn’t concentrate on his schoolwork and had no desire to be in public.
It had all gone so terribly wrong. None of it was supposed to happen the way it did. They had lied to him and used him. And things just kept getting worse. Now with that private detective’s partner being shot and all, the heat was surely
going to come down hard and fast.
Duncan considered leaving the city. But where would he go? He knew no one outside of New York. And wouldn’t it seem suspicious if he left? No, he had to stick it out. So far, he was safe. He had to carry on with his normal life, as depressing as that was. He couldn’t do anything that might attract unnecessary attention.
Damn it to hell, he thought. Why did he have to be the son of a famous rock star?
Duncan walked down West End Avenue and entered his 14-story building between 103rd and 104th Street. Freddie, the doorman, gave him a smile and a wave. Duncan often wondered why the building management bothered to employ a doorman. He was supposedly there for security purposes but all the guy ever did was sit and read magazines. Duncan didn’t think Freddie could stop a criminal even if he was armed, which he wasn’t.
The elevator reached the 12th floor and Duncan got off. He walked down the hall past the stairwell to his apartment, fumbled with his keys, and unlocked the door. If he had been quick enough, he might have noticed the movement behind him as he swung open the door. Perhaps he could have done something to prevent the attack, even though Joshua Duncan was ill prepared to handle a self-defense situation.
Ron Black body-slammed Duncan, knocking the young man into his apartment and onto the wood floor. Black followed quickly, slammed the door shut behind him, and turned the dead bolt.
“What the—?” Duncan stammered. “Hey, that hurt!” He rubbed his arm and then stared up at the bald man in fright. Black’s face was contorted as if he was possessed by some kind of demon. His eyes were red and he was practically frothing at the mouth.
The Rock 'n Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - A Spike Berenger Anthology Page 24
