BLACK Is Back

by Russell Blake

  “Do you know how hard it was to get these venues for the tour? These things are booked years in advance. I had to beg to get most of them on six months’ notice. If he doesn’t do the shows, he won’t get another shot at those cities.”

  Genesis nodded. “That’s probably true. For now. But if the man doesn’t want to do the tour because he’s afraid of being killed, what can you do?”

  “If I could make a suggestion?” Black asked, cutting in. They both looked at him. “Hire a professional security team to work with him round the clock. Not his homies. Professionals. Bodyguards that do it for a living and are licensed to carry. I know groups that do that kind of work. They’re not cheap, but they’ll protect him like a visiting head of state. Some are ex-Secret Service. They don’t screw around.”

  “What would that cost, you think?” Genesis asked.

  “Couple hundred grand a month, at least.”

  “What? Are you insane?”

  “How much will you clear per show, Sam? What’s the box office likely to be? That’s a rounding error, and we both know it. It would be a bargain at twice the price. Which it might wind up being. I’m no expert on all the costs. But they’ll ensure he isn’t killed. Or will do the best anybody could to keep him safe, at least.”

  Sam rose and began to pace, clearly unhappy, thinking about what a couple million dollars a year, minimum, would do to his bottom line.

  “Maybe we could get the record company to chip in,” he started, already calculating. “And the venues. Put it into the rider – that B-Side needs special security.”

  “And we could play that up. Do interviews where he talks about the expense and the level of protection. It would be newsworthy. Drama. Real life,” Genesis agreed. “I could go a lot of miles on that one story. Nobody else has really done it, so it would be a first.”

  Sam pivoted and faced Black.

  “You said you know people who handle this sort of thing?”

  “I can put you in touch. I’ll make some calls and see what the interest level is. A lot of these groups are pretty booked up, and you don’t want the B-team on your B-Side.” Black paused, unable to resist making the joke. “And they might have a problem with some of the publicity. I don’t know. I’m spitballing here.”

  “Do it. I can pitch B-Side on it, get him to see reason. We put a professional team around him, they’ll be watching everything, and doing a hell of a lot more than his current muscle. I like it,” Sam said, nodding, already formulating how to convince his client to risk his life for the cause.

  The meeting ended there, and Black escorted Genesis to the elevator for the ride down to the lobby.

  “At least agents never change. Always trying to calculate how to wring out every dime from a deal. Same as ever,” he said as he stepped inside. Genesis followed him in and pushed the Lobby button.

  “Yeah. They’re kind of like pit bulls that way. Except way more vicious.” She considered his profile as the car descended to the ground floor. “You do know a lot about this business, don’t you?”

  “Too much. A long story.”

  “You should come over to my place sometime and tell it over champagne. Maybe help me take a bath or something.”

  Black swallowed hard. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were trying to flirt with me.”

  She moved toward him, and then the elevator slowed. The door chimed and slid wide, and the moment was over. He held it open for her as she stepped out, and then followed her.

  “We’ve got some serious unfinished business, you and me, Mr. Black,” she said, and then was gone, the staccato clicking of her heels like the hammering of coffin nails on his relationship with Sylvia if he allowed this to escalate any further.

  He wasn’t sure why she found him so irresistible. Maybe it was the fact he was taken. Or maybe it was just something different.

  Or…maybe she wanted something out of him besides his attention.

  He stopped at the men’s room in the lobby, the coffee having worked its magic on him, and then walked slowly to the Eldorado in the underground parking garage, the squeal of faraway tires marking the passage of vehicles in and out of the area. When he slid behind the wheel, he paused and looked at himself in the rear view mirror, then shook his head.

  He would never understand women, even if he lived to be ninety.

  The odds of which were getting longer the more he hung out with rappers, he thought grimly. He sighed, twisted the key, and made for the exit, the dark thoughts banished as he considered his next step. He’d contact his friends that owned the security company and arrange for a small commission for his trouble, which would keep him in gasoline for as long as the contract ran. Then, he’d keep digging to find something that would get him closer to figuring out who was behind B-Side’s sudden run of bad luck. Because right now, aside from suspecting everyone he’d met so far, he was no closer to having a breakthrough than he’d been when he took the case – which didn’t portend anything positive for B-Side in his possibly very short future.

  Chapter 23

  The next morning, Black climbed the stairs to his office, involuntarily contrasting Sam’s edifice to his own shabby building. He felt heavier with each step, like a Sherpa toting a client’s overloaded pack on a Himalayan trail. When he pushed his door open, a wistful gaze at the cat door a constant reminder of his failure to safeguard his charge, he stopped at the threshold and kicked himself for not bringing Roxie a chai. An easy opportunity to earn points, gone, as ephemeral as summer fog over the Pacific.

  Roxie was wearing a sleeveless black turtleneck sweater and white painter’s pants covered with multi-colored splotches, and looked on the high side of presentable, for her.

  “Good morning to yer, Roxie,” he said in a lame Irish accent that sounded patently fake.

  “Hey.” She glanced at him. “Nobody called. I hope you’re not angry about dinner.”

  “I know my Mom. It’s not your fault. Unless you knew about Nina, in which case you completely suck.”

  “I talked to her on the phone, but I had no idea she was coming. That must have been a last-minute thing. Hella awkward, though, huh?”

  “Wasn’t the best two hours of my life, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Ah, well. You’re only fifty once.”

  “Forty-three.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Did you read the L.A. Times today?” Black asked.

  “Why? Is there an article about B-Side?”

  “No. Just a quarter inch on page nine about a drive-by shooting at an Ethiopian shithole in San Pedro.”

  “Really? Bummer for the restaurant.”

  “Maybe it was some diners that didn’t like the hippo testicle stew.”

  “You said testicle.”

  “I also said drive-by. And hippo.”

  They stared at each other, and then her jaw actually fell open. Black had heard the expression, but had never seen someone do it spontaneously. Roxie was his first. For a moment, he felt a kind of kinship. Which fled faster than a looter in a riot.

  “Oh, my God. Were you involved in the drive-by?” she asked.

  “Either that or I’ve finally been reduced to clipping articles about every senseless act of violence in L.A.”

  “But you weren’t hurt?”

  “My new hat got the worst of it.”

  “Maybe God’s trying to tell you something about the hats,” Roxie said.

  “That’s one possible interpretation, I’ll grant you.”

  “Seriously, though. You got shot at on your birthday?”

  “I normally try to limit it to Christmas and New Year’s. But yes. I did.”

  “Wow. What are you going to do for an encore?”

  “I was thinking I’d do a 24 and have to dismantle a nuke with my teeth or something while performing an appendectomy on myself with a soup spoon.”

  “Is Sylvia okay?”

  “Yeah, although she’s reconsidering her choice of dating mater
ial.”

  “For good reason. Although she did buy you the hat, so maybe she doesn’t know any better. Europeans and all.”

  “They have a different word for everything.”

  Another pause.

  “I got more on your Todd guy,” Roxie said.

  Black hesitated. Todd? Then he remembered.

  “Right. Todd. Bobby’s boy.”

  “That sounds like one of those books nobody buys that wins a bunch of awards nobody cares about.”

  “Bobby’s Boy. Baaaahhbyyyy’s Boooooooy.”

  “It really does freak me out when you do that,” Roxie complained.

  “Sorry. Just having a little fun.”

  “Wheeee.”

  “I see you’re not amused.”

  “It’s because you’ve killed all my hopes for a future. Nothing personal.”

  “Really? I did that? Not L.A.?”

  “Maybe a little. But mostly you,” Roxie said.

  “The best example one can have is a bad one.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Cautionary tales have more impact. Baaahhbyy’s Boooooy.”

  “I’m going to leave if you do that again. I mean it. It’s really serial killer-y.”

  “Okay. So what do we have on Todd?”

  “It does look like he pled down on dealing charges. Oh, and he’s going to have a showing at a small gallery tonight.”

  “Is he?”

  “I see the wheels turning. I know that evil look. What are you thinking?” Roxie asked.

  Black studied her expression, and then sat down on the sofa across from her. “Do you have a show tonight?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  “You up for a little clandestine job?”

  “Is that sexual harassment again?”

  “No. I had something else in mind. A way to close the lid on Todd and see whether he’s a bad guy or not, once and for all.”

  “What do you need me for?”

  He eyed her full-sleeve tattoos and cutting-edge look. “Street cred. Didn’t you always say you wanted to get into the field on a case?”

  “Um, no, that would have been the voices in your head.”

  “They sound like you. I could have sworn you said that.”

  “Do they also tell you to kill hitchhikers or anything?”

  “Only the bad ones.”

  “Bad voices or bad hitchhikers?”

  The phone rang, startling them both. The business didn’t get a lot of calls; or more accurately, any calls, most of the time. Black stared at Roxie staring at him.

  “What’s that sound? Is it the fire alarm?”

  “I think it’s the phone,” Roxie said.

  “If only I paid someone to answer it.”

  She reached over and lifted the handset. “Black Investigations.” She listened, and then put the caller on hold. “Sam somebody or other. For you.”

  “I’ll take it in my office,” Black said. He hurried to his desk and composed himself before activating the blinking line.

  “This is Black.”

  “Black. I need you on deck this evening. B-Side agreed to do a small show we’d planned, mostly industry people and a bunch of winners from a radio station promo. But only if your security contacts are in place. Have you talked to them?”

  “Yes. I’ll give you the contact info in a minute. They can handle it, but you need to go through the fine print with them.” Black cleared his throat. “Why do you need me at the show?”

  “Because I’m paying you an arm and a leg, and apparently B-Side has faith in you, for whatever reason. He specifically made your attendance a condition of doing the performance, which will only be a half-hour set. Why? Have you got a better offer?”

  “No, I just wanted to understand what’s going on behind the scenes. What time does it start?”

  “He goes on at seven-thirty. So get there at seven. Shouldn’t take more than an hour and a half, max. He’ll be in and out of the building in no time.”

  “Hang on a second, Sam.” Black put him back on hold and called out to Roxie. “You have any interest in going to an exclusive industry party featuring B-Side before we go to the gallery to deal with Todd?”

  She appeared at the door. “Is he going to be performing?”

  “Yup. Very chi-chi. Invitation only.”

  “Wow. Yeah, I’d love to. His stuff kind of grows on you. If I was into rap, I’d definitely dig him.”

  Black stabbed the line back to life. “Sure thing, Sam. Put me on the guest list, plus one.”

  “Done. Now, what’s the security team’s info?”

  Black ended the call after getting the club details, which he jotted down on the back of a gasoline receipt and pocketed. Roxie was still standing in the doorway.

  “What?” Black asked innocently.

  “What? Where are we going, and what time?”

  “We have to be there at seven. On the strip. The Boiler Room.”

  “I’ve played there a bunch of times. Nice place. Intimate. A little bigger than the Troubadour.”

  “You know, I played the Troub years ago.”

  “I figured. Why do you think all my dreams are dead?”

  “Nice, Roxie. Especially given that I just got you into the most exclusive show of the year.”

  “This isn’t a date, right? No oil rub or anything, right?” Roxie asked.

  “Not even a small one?”

  She gave him a dark look. “What should I wear?”

  “What you’ve got on.”

  “I can’t go wearing this.”

  “Why not? Remember we’re doing the gallery after. I don’t want you looking freak of the week.”

  “You going to pay me extra for this? Longer hours. Plus, danger and deception.”

  “I still haven’t told you exactly what you’re going to do.”

  “I figure I’m going to set Todd up in some way, right?”

  “You can read me like a book, can’t you?”

  “A book with a hundred bucks in it.”

  “A hundred bucks! Are you kidding? Fifty. I got you into the show. That alone is worth the ride.”

  “Come on. I know what you’re billing B-Side. Don’t be a cheapskate.”

  “Fine. But I’m not being paid anything for Todd.”

  She disappeared back to her station, the negotiation concluded, and Black rose. He removed his jacket, and draped it over the back of his chair before sitting down and leaning back. All that remained was to think up a way to put Todd to the test and it would be a full day’s work. Fortunately Roxie looked about as far from a cop or investigator as possible, which would make things easier.

  He activated his computer, opened a browser, and checked his emails. Halfway through the second message, a light bulb went on in his head, and he knew exactly how to deal with Todd.

  Roxie was perfect for the role.

  Now he just needed to get her to go along with it.

  Chapter 24

  The Boiler Room was dark inside, the walls painted flat black, the seating red, the floor multi-colored stained concrete for an easy hose-down after shows. Black led Roxie into the depths of the club and got them both beers from one of the three bars that had been set up to accommodate the crowd. When they’d arrived, the warm-up act, a white rapper called UpTick, was almost finished with his act, which as far as Black could tell consisted mainly of dropping the F-bomb every other sentence and lamenting what cheating liars all his hoes were. Good wholesome fare for the kids, Black mused, as he waited to get backstage.

  The backstage barricade bouncers were the size of his Cadillac, and Black also noticed two hard-looking men with military-clipped hair standing just inside the corridor that led to the dressing area, with matching black leather jackets, hands in their pockets, tell-tale ear buds almost imperceptible. For all their casual wardrobe, they looked about as at home as saber-toothed tigers prowling the area. One of the muscle-bound club bouncers found Black’s name on the list and unhooked the red v
elvet rope that ran across the doorway, and Black subjected himself to a search by one of the hired security men before making his way to the dressing rooms.

  Genesis was standing outside of the furthermost one, a drink in hand, wearing an extremely short silver sequined dress that would have put most Hollywood starlets to shame, her long, sleek legs showcased to near miraculous effect by the way it clung to her body’s contours. She was talking to Sam, who was dressed in a blue blazer and khaki slacks, listening intently, a bottle of Perrier clutched in his hand. When Genesis caught sight of Black her eyes lit up, and Black felt his breath catch in his throat. She exuded a wild animal magnetism that was as different from Sylvia’s pensive, artistic allure as he could imagine. Sam detached from her and moved to Black, who nodded to the two additional hired guns that framed the dressing room door.

  “You made it. B-Side’s supposed to be here any minute. I gotta say that your buddies are beyond pro. Expensive, but wow. I just about peed my pants when I saw them. Definitely hard cases.”

  “They take their work seriously. Many are ex-Special Forces of some sort, either SEALS or Rangers, and like I said, some were Secret Service, and most have seen combat. Definitely would make me think twice about trying for B-Side with them around.”

  Genesis strutted toward him, her gait sultry, and favored him with a near-blinding smile. “There you are,” she purred in a way that made Black’s hair stand on end.

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

  “Are you done with him, Sam?” she asked.

  Sam nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’m going to go out and shake hands. A lot of big names in the crowd, and just about every label in L.A.’s here. More juice than I’ve seen in a while gathered in one place.”

  Sam moved back to the security checkpoint, and Genesis inched closer, pausing and whispering to him like a lover sharing a secret.

  “You look very handsome, Mr. Black.”

  “You don’t look so bad yourself, Genesis.”

  “B-Side won’t be here for a little while. Let’s find someplace quiet where we can talk without being watched,” she said, and before he could protest she took his hand and drew him after her, deeper into the club’s bowels. Once past the dressing rooms she stopped at a darkened alcove and pulled him in. Before he could react, her lush, full lips were on his, her aroma as intoxicating as a hit of heroin. He tried not to respond, but found that his body had suddenly abandoned any loyalty to his brain, especially when she reached around and cupped one of his buttocks, urging him on. A small moan escaped her throat, an untamed sound, and he found himself responding in spite of his best intentions. She pulled her face away, panting, and was nipping at his earlobe when their dalliance was interrupted by yelling from the security barrier.