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?”
4
We Are Family
(performed by Sister Sledge)
The 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?” Presco
tt 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.”
“Anyway, due to the age-old excuse ‘creative differences,’ The Loop split into two separate bands in nineteen-seventy. Apparently Stuart Clayton, Jim Axelrod, and Dave Monaco wanted to get out of Chicago and move to Los Angeles, where all the exciting stuff was happening. I also understand that Stuart Clayton and Joe Nance were constantly at each other’s throats as to who was the official leader of the band. Clayton was an accomplished songwriter and front man, even though he played keys. And Nance was also a damned fine songwriter and front man. So, there was a rift and a ‘big split.’”
“Red Skyez and Windy City Engine,” Briggs said.
“Right. Clayton, Axelrod, and Monaco moved to L.A. with a new drummer named Hank Palmer. They formed Red Skyez—spelled S, K, Y, E, Z—how pretentious can you get?—and started doing the kind of stuff we associate with prog rock today. Sort of Moody Blues-meets-Pink Floyd-meets, well, Chicago Blues. They recorded two albums between nineteen-seventy-one and seventy-three. The first was critically acclaimed but didn’t sell too well. The second one was barely noticed, but it kept Red Skyez on the boards.”
“And what happened in nineteen-seventy-three?” Berenger prompted.
“Stuart Clayton had a heart attack. Or a stroke. We’re not too sure. Maybe both. There wasn’t a lot of press about it. Red Skyez was not a big name and they had only two records. But something happened to Clayton and he dropped out of sight. There was some speculation that he was doing too many drugs, just like all of them nutty rock stars did in those days. But Clayton was especially interested in the psychedelic stuff. LSD, peyote, psilocybin mushrooms, and this weird herb called salvia divinorum.”
“What’s that?” Bishop asked.
Prescott answered that one. “Salvia divinorum is an herb that, when smoked, produces very intense out-of-body experiences and hallucinations. The effects last only a minute or two but they’re heavy-duty. Supposedly it’s not dangerous unless you’re stupid enough to be driving a car while you do it. It renders you totally helpless and uncoordinated for those two minutes. There are people who use it for meditation purposes. It’s not a party drug. It can cause one to be very introspective. It’s a ‘see God’ type of drug. And believe it or not, it’s legal in most states.”
“Really?” Bishop asked.
“Yeah, you buy it in head shops or online,” she replied.
“You sound like you’ve tried it,” Briggs commented.
“I have. I was in India at the time. Early nineties. I was experimenting with all kinds of stuff—eastern religions, Transcendental Meditation, and, yes, mind-altering drugs. Didn’t last long. I didn’t like salvia. It wasn’t a pleasant experience for me. In fact, it scared the shit out of me. I thought my body had split into a thousand pieces and they were running around the floor with minds of their own. The second time I tried it, I became the chair I was sitting in. Not my idea of fun.”
“The point is, I think,” Berenger noted, “is that Stuart Clayton screwed up his mind and body in a major way. Combining all those different kinds of hallucinogens must have had a detrimental effect on him, even though taken individually those things aren’t all that dangerous. He may have had a mental illness to begin with, too. If that were the case—say he had a tendency toward schizophrenia, like Syd Barrett—the drugs could have really messed him up.”
“Syd Barrett was that guy in the original Pink Floyd, right?” Bishop asked.
“Yeah. He was one of the founders of the band. He was an early LSD casualty. Dropped out of Pink Floyd after their first album and was in and out of mental hospitals until he died a few years ago. Sad. Brilliant musician. The band’s Wish You Were Here album was a tribute to him.”
“He sort of took his own trip to the dark side of the moon, didn’t he?” Briggs muttered.
“Yeah. You have more on Clayton, Remix?”
“Only that no one heard from him much during the rest of the seventies. Then, an independently-produced solo album came out in nineteen-seventy-nine. The record was called Trrrrans. That’s four Rs in Trrrrans. Sheesh. It wasn’t well received and it tanked. The reviews I found said it was very strange. What a surprise! After that, Clayton went to Europe. We don’t know where he went. His name didn’t pop up in the music press until nineteen-ninety-two, when suddenly he was back in Chicago and he put out another solo album. This one was even more obscure and hard-to-find than the first one. But oddly enough, he has fans. There’s a Stuart Clayton fan website that has about twenty people on its message boards.”
“What’s he done since nineteen-ninety-two?”
“Nothing that we know of. Lives in Chicago like a hermit. I don’t know how he makes a living, but I know his family had money. Of all these Chicagoprog guys, Clayton’s got the most mystique.”
“Okay. Go on, Remix.”
“Anyway, Red Skyez tried to continue without Clayton. They brought in Lew Krige, a talented songwriter from Chicago who was also in L.A. He played keyboards and was a vocalist, like Clayton. Then, in nineteen-seventy-five, Dave Monaco left the band. Lew Krige’s wife Sarah was a decent bass player, so she was brought in to replace him. So you had a husband and wife team kind of fronting the band with Axelrod and Palmer still in the group. This lineup recorded one album. Then, in nineteen-seventy-six, Jim Axelrod quit the band. And his replacement was none other than...”
Remix dramatically made a drum roll with his hands on the table top.
“…Zach Garriott! The wunderkind guitarist from Chicago who was desperately trying to find a foothold in Los Angeles.”
“The guy is great,” Briggs said.
“I’ll say. Anyway, this final lineup of Red Skyez recorded one album, did a tour, and then called it quits in nineteen-seventy-eight. Just about everyone moved back to Chicago over the next few years.”
Berenger said, “But the Kriges formed their own band.”
“Right. It was called—you guessed it—Krige! They kept Hank Palmer on drums and brought in another Chicago guitarist named Paul Trinidad, who had been in a little band in Chicago called South Side. Krige existed and gigged fairly regularly until the mid-nineties or so.”
“Okay, whoa,” Berenger said. “Let’s back up before you get into that branch of the family tree. Let’s hear about Windy City Engine—the other half of The Loop that remained in Chicago when the rest of them moved to L.A.”
Remix shuffled pages and continued. “Okay, when The Loop broke up in nineteen-seventy, the other half of the band—namely Joe Nance, Charles Nance, Harrison Brill, and Manny Rodriguez—formed Windy City Engine. They stayed in Chicago throughout their long career and were still together until the untimely death of Charles a few days ago. Whether or not they’ll stay together remains a question. Over the four decades they’ve been together, they released a total of ten records and toured a lot. But mostly they stayed close to home and entertained a small but loyal following in Chicago. Joe Nance made a couple of solo albums in the eighties. Brill and Rodriguez did an album together in the eighties as well. Windy City Engine’s music could be called folk prog with some blues and country mixed in. Personally, I think it’s crap but I know there are some people here who like it.”
“I always liked Windy City Engine,” Berenger admitted. “It’s not crap at all. They deserved more success than they got.”
Remix turned a page and said, “Now, another branch of the Chicagoprog sound developed in nineteen-seventy-two. The band was called Rattlesnake. It consisted of a guy named Bud Callahan on keyboards and vocals, Rick Tittle on drums, and an Italian fellow named Sandro Ponti on bass. You know hi
m, right, Spike?”
“Yeah, he’s a good friend. I didn’t know him then, though. We met in Italy much later. But keep going.”
“Rattlesnake made one album and split up in nineteen-seventy-five. Ponti left Chicago and went back to Italy. The other two guys formed a band called South Side. Rounding out the band with Callahan and Tittle were none other than Dave Monaco from Red Skyez on bass, and the aforementioned Paul Trinidad on guitar. Bud Callahan’s wife Sharon sometimes contributed vocals. They made one album. Then, in nineteen-seventy-eight, there was some shuffling. Monaco and Trinidad left, so Sharon picked up the bass—just as Sarah Krige did for Red Skyez—and they hired none other than Zach Garriott on guitar. How they managed to woo him away from Red Skyez is a mystery, because Red Skyez was doing much better out in L.A. Maybe Garriott just wanted to go back home to Chicago, I don’t know. Anyway, they changed the name of the band to North Side. And they made one album.”
“This is getting complicated,” Prescott said.
“Tell me about it. It’s about as bad as that Canterbury thing they have over in England,” Briggs said. “You know—Soft Machine, Caravan, Hatfield and the North, and all those guys.”
“Don’t start knocking them or I’ll punch you,” Berenger said. “Please continue, Remix.”
Remix took a sip of water out of a bottle and read on. “Zach Garriott didn’t stay long. He left in nineteen-eighty, and he was replaced by a guy named Greg Cross. And believe it or not, North Side still exists today with that lineup—Tittle, Cross, and Bud and Sharon Callahan.”
“So Zach Garriott’s the only one who really became famous?” Bishop asked.
“Yep. Formed his own band after leaving North Side and never looked back. He occasionally did sessions or played a gig or two with former Chicagoprog members. But mostly he went his own way and developed a sound that couldn’t be called prog at all.”
‘Thanks, Remix,” Berenger said. “I think that puts it all in perspective.”
The Rock 'n Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - A Spike Berenger Anthology Page 31
