BLACK Is Back

by Russell Blake

  For any of them.

  Especially if the rub on the steak was anywhere nearly as potent as the rice.

  Chapter 31

  The meal concluded and more than a few post-prandial beers consumed, the afternoon’s lazy pace was disrupted by a beeping box van backing up to the stage. Several large men got out and unloaded a drum kit and some amplifiers, as well as the seemingly obligatory DJ turntable station. Soon afterward a gas generator fired up and the men ran a hundred-foot power cable to the small platform, and in another ten minutes a group of the relatives were on stage doing a better-than-passable rendition of James Brown’s “I Got You,” with Reggie on the mike, doing Brown’s trademark shimmy and stomp like a man possessed.

  “He can sing, can’t he?” Sylvia asked, leaning into Black as she clutched his arm.

  “Yes, he can. I watched part of his set the day I met him, and the whole band was note for note.”

  When the number was finished, the crowd broke into enthusiastic applause, and Mr. Brown was immediately followed by a Temptations number. Three more family members took the stage for the backup vocals, which to Black’s ear were flawless – particularly amazing given there were only two reference monitors and all three were singing into a single mike. Several of the small children began dancing, and the parents and siblings stood in a loose circle around them, clapping and smiling and egging them on.

  The Temptations gave way to Otis Redding, and then the Spinners, and by the time a half hour had gone by the park was humming with the musical vibe being created whole cloth before them. After the final song, a BB King number, one of B-Side’s crew manned the turntable and the entertainment switched to rap. A teen got up and began freestyle rapping. He was pushed aside after a few minutes by another contender, and then another and another. Some were terrible, some tolerable, and Black and Sylvia were preparing to leave when the crowd started cheering and B-Side took the stage. He started slow, and then accelerated, but for the life of him Black couldn’t really see why he was one of the hottest artists on the charts. Not bad, but it all sort of sounded the same, and lyrically it was nothing to write home about.

  “Come on. I think it’s time to call it a day. I’m stuffed and ready for a nap,” Black said. He took Sylvia’s hand and began walking to the edge of the park, and then B-Side’s distinctive voice was replaced by a familiar one – Reggie was on the mike. Black stopped as he listened and then turned to watch the man work the stage, his rhythm and style in every way superior to anyone else before him, hands down. Black stood, transfixed, and barely registered when Mama Fajah edged next to them.

  “So what you tink bout dat?” she asked him, watching him watch Reggie’s mesmerizing performance.

  “He’s really good. I mean, rap’s not my thing, but even so…he’s great.”

  “Yeah, dat man got more dan his share of da talent in da family.”

  “What about Blunt?”

  “Blunt was pretty good, but Reggie…poor Reggie was born ten years too late. If he’d been younger when the breaks started comin’, he woulda been big.”

  “No kidding.”

  “But life like dat sometimes, innit? You has to take ’em as dey come.”

  “True dat,” Black said, and Mama Fajah drifted away toward the food tables.

  Sylvia looked at her watch. “Honey, I want to go to the bathroom before we leave. Can you wait for me here?”

  “Sure. We’re in no huge hurry.”

  She marched off to find relief, and Black circled around to B-Side, alone, his crew onstage with Reggie.

  “Yo, I never asked. How’s the investigation going?”

  “It’s going.”

  “You got anyone you thinking looks good for trying to off me?”

  “Who doesn’t look good? Moet’s basically a criminal, 2Bad hates your guts, Sam would make out like a bandit if you were dead, some people think there could be a psycho fan who’s trying to get even with you for your feud with Blunt, other people think Blunt’s still alive and coming for you out of revenge for trying to kill him…”

  “I didn’t have nothing to do with Blunt’s death, man.”

  “You know that, and maybe God does, but nobody else does. The point is that everybody’s a suspect. Even your girl Genesis. You tapping that?”

  B-Side smirked. “You know how it is. Playah’s gotta play. But that’s been over for a while.”

  “Then we can add her to the suspect list. Maybe she doesn’t like being bumped for this week’s trick. From my perspective, everyone has a reason for wanting you to have an accident. Even your uncle has his theories.”

  “Reggie’s a good guy, but he smokes a lot, you know, and drinks a whole lot more than he should. He’s got theories about everything. I don’t even listen to them anymore.”

  “Well, his theory on you is that Sam wants you dead because you’re singing Blunt’s songs, and you don’t have any more where that came from, so this is the record that’s got to make all the money – because the second’s going to bomb. What do you say to that?” Black asked.

  “I didn’t steal no songs from Blunt. That’s lies.”

  “He says he heard some demos from Blunt back in the day that sound almost exactly like your record.”

  “He did?” B-Side seemed surprised, but not guilty surprised. Just surprised at the news that Reggie thought he’d stolen Blunt’s material.

  “Look, I don’t care. I’m just saying that everyone you have around you is a suspect, which leaves me with nothing much to go on, because if everyone’s guilty and has a motive, that’s the same as nobody. The trick is to weed through all that and figure out which, if any of these theories, is closest to the truth.”

  “Damn. Just thinking about it all makes my head hurt.”

  “Welcome to the club. This isn’t an easy one by any means. So it’s unlikely I can figure it all out and deliver the perp on a silver platter in time to jet off to Rio for the weekend. It just doesn’t work that way.”

  “I’m telling you, I didn’t steal Blunt’s songs, and I didn’t kill him.”

  “I believe you. Look, I’m not trying to piss you off. You asked how things were going. I told you, and let you know what people are thinking. And I don’t want you getting all paranoid, or angry with your uncle, or Sam, or Genesis, for no reason. I probably shouldn’t have said anything.” Black burped softly, and his mouth filled with a reminder of the afternoon’s feast. “Tell you what. I’ll keep all this to myself, and when I know who’s behind it, I’ll let you know. Until then, don’t ask, don’t tell. Okay?”

  “You the boss, man. You hitting the road?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for having us, but that spicy rice killed me.”

  “Puts hair on your chest, doesn’t it?”

  “Or removes it.”

  B-Side swaggered off, a pensive look on his face, and Black watched him cross the park, headed back to the stage. Black hoped he hadn’t precipitated anything. Normally, he wouldn’t have shared so openly. But one beer too many and suddenly he was a chatterbox.

  Sylvia returned to his side, and after listening to a little more of Reggie tearing it up, they made their slow way back to the car, Sylvia by Black’s side.

  On the way back to Sylvia’s place, he called Roxie to see if anything had come up while he’d been gone. Roxie took four rings to answer and, when she did, sounded preoccupied.

  “Black Investigations.”

  “Roxie. It’s me.”

  “How was the pig roast?”

  “It wasn’t a pig roast. It was a barbeque.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “I believe at a pig roast they dig a hole and put the pig in it with a bunch of hot coals.”

  “Poor pig. That’s got to hurt.”

  “Generally a dead one, Roxie.”

  “Because the only good pig’s a…”

  “Did anybody call?”

  “Just Todd. He wanted your home address so he could have a birthday cake delivered.”


  “Very funny.”

  “I’m working on my standup in case the singing gig doesn’t work out.”

  “Don’t quit your day job.”

  “You’re quite a wit yourself, aren’t you? Drunk again?” Roxie asked.

  “I only had a few beers. Maybe four…”

  “…teen or five-teen…?”

  “But enough about me. How’s your research on Moet going?”

  “Slow. There’s a mountain to go through, but most of it’s just rehashes of the same stories. The rise of his label. His acts. You know the kind of thing.”

  “What about his gang affiliation?”

  “Rumor and innuendo. No arrests. So it could be all BS, or he could be gang-related, but keeps away from actual crimes.”

  “Is there anything more on Mugsy?”

  “I’m waiting to get something back.”

  “I hope you find him, Roxie.”

  “Sure you do.”

  Black burped softly again. “Is there any reason to come in, then?”

  “Not on my account.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Chapter 32

  The bloody penises hadn’t improved over the past week, and Black wondered whether he was the only one of Dr. Kelso’s patients that interpreted the painting the way he did. Not that there was anything wrong, per se, with penises. He just wondered why a therapist would put art with a bunch of bloody ones on the wall for patients to contend with while working through their issues.

  “Did I lose you?” Kelso asked, trying hard not to sound annoyed that Black had spaced out during their session.

  “Oh, sorry. My mind just wandered.”

  “Sometimes that can be indicative of something important.”

  “Not always. Trust me on that.”

  “What took you away?”

  “I was just admiring your painting.”

  “Ah, yes, it’s a favorite of mine. Abstract, but with a lot of color. Do you like it?”

  “I guess. I don’t know much about art.”

  “Anyway, back to my question. You say you feel guilt because of an incident with a woman?”

  “Right. She came on to me, and then practically jumped me the first chance she got.”

  Kelso nodded. “I see. Were you both drinking?”

  “No. Okay, maybe. I had a beer. I think she did, too. But nothing heavy.”

  “Describe what happened.”

  “We were at a rap concert…”

  “You and the woman? Together?”

  “No. I was there with my assistant. Roxie.”

  “Not your girlfriend?”

  “No, this was work.”

  “A rap concert with your assistant was work?”

  “It’s a long story. A case.”

  “Do you often take your assistant into the field on cases?”

  “No, but that’s not important. Forget about Roxie. The woman in question works with the rapper.”

  “In what capacity?”

  “PR. And she gets him whatever he wants. Sort of a jack of all trades.”

  “I see,” Kelso said.

  “Anyway, I was backstage, and she told me she needed to talk to me, and then she pulled me into a corner and began kissing me.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes.”

  “How old is she?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe twenty-eight?”

  “Is she attractive?”

  “Gorgeous. I mean serious, movie-star hot. But that’s not the point.”

  Kelso made a notation on his notepad, which was probably a reminder to get his shirts at the dry cleaner. “And how old is your…assistant?”

  “Haven’t we covered this? Twenty-five.”

  “This is the one for whom you have the sexual feelings?”

  “No. I mean, yes, but I don’t act on them.”

  “I see.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Go on.”

  “Anyway, we were kissing, and for whatever reason I began to respond. Probably when she grabbed my ass. I was ready to push her away, but then she did that, and I, well, didn’t exhibit the best judgment.”

  “She grabbed your ass?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you liked it, obviously.”

  Black sneaked another look at the penises and shuddered. “You had to be there.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now I feel terrible, because I have a great girlfriend, and I’m clearly the kind of man who can’t be trusted to do the right thing.”

  “Your girlfriend has no problem with you taking your young assistant, for whom you have sexual impulses, to concerts?”

  “I guess not. But she doesn’t have all the information you do about my thoughts on Roxie.”

  “Hmm.” Kelso paused. “Is that a new watch?”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s another thing that drove me nuts this week, besides the kissing and the drive-by shooting. My ex-wife came to my birthday party and embarrassed me by giving me an expensive watch.”

  Kelso did a double-take. “Can we go back to the drive-by part?”

  “What? Oh, that. Um, after my birthday dinner, my parents, ex, and my assistant had all left, and on the way out of the restaurant some punks took a few shots at Sylvia and me.”

  Kelso came awake. “How does that make you feel? Are you okay?”

  “Truthfully, it all happened so fast, and so much has happened since then, I’ve hardly had time to think about it.”

  Kelso’s eyes narrowed. “You mentioned that your assistant went to your birthday dinner as well?”

  “Yes, but that’s not what you think. She helped organize it. It was a surprise party.”

  “Ah.”

  “And believe me, I was surprised.”

  “How did it feel to see your ex-wife at the party?”

  “More of a dinner, not a party. Never mind. It was…uncomfortable. I mean, she’s there, my mom and dad are staring at us like they expect us to get back together, Roxie, my assistant, is enjoying my squirming, and my girlfriend is ready to bolt out of the place.”

  “Wait. So it was you, four women, including your mom, and your father?”

  “Correct.”

  “And would it be fair to say you’d slept with, or had sexual fantasies about sleeping with, three of the four? Or perhaps all of them?”

  Black saw where this was going. “It’s not like that. Believe me, I wouldn’t have picked that guest list.”

  The chime sounded, announcing the end of the session. Kelso made another note and flipped the cover over on the notepad. “You know what that means.”

  “I don’t have to talk about the worst night of my life?”

  “Not unless you want to talk about it next week.”

  Black shook his head. “No. I think once is enough.”

  “Very well, then. Same time?”

  “Sure. Given all the progress I’m making since I started coming every week instead of every two.”

  “Are you as angry as you were?”

  “No, just poorer.”

  “Then I’ll see you next week. We’re making progress.”

  Black gave him a neutral stare. “Sure we are.”

  The trip to his office took fifteen minutes, and when he pushed open the door he was shocked to see that Roxie was already there – an unheard-of occurrence, her being on time.

  “What happened? Did you lock yourself out of your apartment and sleep here?” he asked.

  “I found Mugsy!”

  “Really? Where is he?”

  “Eight blocks away. The guy who has him agreed to come home on his lunch break and meet us so we can get him.”

  “Oh…good.”

  “Try to contain your enthusiasm. You could have a heart attack or something.”

  “Always thinking about me first. I like that.”

  “We have to be there at five after twelve. I can’t wait! Poor Mugsy has probably been
so lonely and scared.”

  “He didn’t really seem that way on the video.”

  “I know him. That’s how he gets when he’s scared.”

  “I’ve never actually seen him do anything but eat and sleep, so I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I’m excited.”

  “So am I. I’m wondering how to keep him away from my new chair.”

  “And a handsome one it is.”

  “Thanks,” Black replied glumly. “Seriously, that’s great news about Mugsy.”

  “It’s like something was missing all week.”

  “I noticed that, too. Amazing how used to cat box odor you get, isn’t it?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Of course. Anything more on Moet?”

  “Yeah, I sent it to you. A lot of material.”

  “Sounds like I’ve got my work cut out for me, then.”

  Black opened his office door, hung his jacket on the hook he’d installed earlier in the week, and took his new seat, the fabric fresh and supple, the cushion cradling him like a loving mother’s arms. All soon to go to hell, courtesy of Mugsy, he thought wistfully, and then pushed the thought aside. Roxie was happy, and a happy Roxie was a more cooperative one. If he had to pretend delight over Mugsy to keep her that way, it was a small enough sacrifice – and after a week of two-thousand-dollar days working on B-Side’s case, not nearly as troubling as it had been when he’d been scrambling to come up with rent and Roxie’s salary.

  Roxie wasn’t kidding about the material on Moet being dense and plentiful. It seemed like he’d barely got started when Roxie was standing at his door expectantly.

  “Is it really noon already?”

  “No, I just like standing here. In case there’s an earthquake.”

  “Never lose that childlike sense of wonder, Roxie. I never asked. What wizardry did you have to use to find out who posted the video?”

  “It cost us two thousand dollars for a hacker named Neo to get into the YouTube servers.”

  “Two grand? Are you insane?”

  “I guess that answers my question about whether you’ve ever seen The Matrix.”