Rock & Roll Homicide

by R J McDonnell

  “Where did you go?” I asked.

  After he left the hospital, Cory went home and got his laptop and disks with several pictures of the Cerise crew. He then checked into a motel and began sending emails to various media trying to generate interest in a story on the Russian Mafia in San Diego. The only one that bit was California Confidential, a cable TV tabloid journalism show. Cory sold them the story and pictures for $2500.

  “Why didn’t you come to me before you did this?” I asked.

  He said it was because he knew that I’d talk him out of it. He felt that by getting the story out in the open the Russian Mafia would crawl back under a rock and stop being a threat to me and Jeannine.

  “Did they say when they’ll be running the story?” I asked. Cory didn’t know, but he was pretty sure it would be aired this week.

  As I walked Jeannine home I explained to her what Cory had done and I thoroughly inspected her deadbolt and window locks when we arrived at her apartment. She seemed a bit anxious about the prospects of our Russian adversaries getting really pissed off and readily agreed to the precautionary suggestions I made about not answering the door, screening her calls and not leaving the apartment on her own.

  When I returned to the office I called Kelly and arranged to meet her a couple of blocks from my place, so that the cars would not be a telltale sign that we were in. I met her at the rendezvous spot just before 7:00 PM and we walked to my house with the Chinese food she had picked up.

  Dinner was a little tense as I explained about the bomb Cory had dropped a couple of hours earlier. At 7:30 PM we tuned in to California Confidential. The plan was that if the Russian Mafia story ran we would continue with our original idea for the evening, except we would do it by the light of a single candle and without plugging in the electric guitar. As it turned out they didn’t run the story and Kelly really enjoyed hearing me perform for her. I was definitely amped-up for the performance, knowing that I could be on the Russian Mafia’s most wanted list any day. Kelly’s adrenaline was also pumping since, by default, she was thrust into this high-risk situation. That night, our lovemaking was wilder than ever. I was wrong when I thought a night at home with the little woman was going to mean getting a good night’s sleep.

  Chapter 13

  When I arrived at the office on Thursday morning I reviewed the items Jeannine highlighted from the Russian newspaper articles Uri had translated. She listened to the tapes he had provided and noted items she thought could pertain to the case. The resolution of the kidnapping was very conspicuous by its absence. Tass had gone to great lengths to describe in detail the circumstances of the abduction, bio’s on the family, the suspicion of Mafia involvement and practically a day-by-day report on developments leading up to the rescue. It seemed incomprehensible that the largest news service in Russia would follow a case that closely and never mention the outcome. I interpreted this as an inference that Ivan Chofsky had cut a deal with the kidnappers. If the police had engineered the recovery, it’s hard to imagine that they wouldn’t celebrate their success in the paper and be hailed as heroes. But I realized that we were dealing with a very different culture.

  Uri’s translation gave me the name of the Odessa police lieutenant who was the primary on the case. I called Uri and said, “Thank you for the translation of the newspaper articles, they were very enlightening.”

  “Your welcome, my friend,” he replied.

  “I’m afraid I have one more favor to ask of you,” I stated.

  “Ask away, I am still in your debt,” he said.

  “The translation mentions the name of a policeman in Odessa, a Lieutenant Victor Sanchenko. It would be extremely helpful to me if you had any contacts in Odessa who could arrange a conversation with the lieutenant,” I said.

  There was silence on the other end of the phone for about twenty seconds, then Uri said, “I have an acquaintance named Igor Shmalko who has family in Odessa. I’m not sure if they have any influence with the police. I don’t know if Igor would be willing to try to make the arrangement. And, I am skeptical that the lieutenant would be willing to tell an American what would not be allowed to be printed in the national press. For you, my friend, I will try, but don’t expect too much,”

  “Thank you. Now I want to tell you about something you’ll probably hear about in the next few days,” I said. Over the next ten minutes I told him about what would be coming out on California Confidential. We agreed that few people took the show seriously, but that it would definitely cause a stir in the Russian community, and that it was quite possible the Mafia might seek out those responsible for the story. “Under these circumstances, if you feel that bringing in Mr. Shmalko could endanger him or his family, then I don’t expect you to do it.”

  “Igor is not an old friend and certainly not a confidant, but I know exactly how he feels about the Mafia. He would perceive helping you as a way of striking back at the Mafia. That would be the only way he would consent to providing assistance. But, even if he refuses to get involved, he would respect what we are doing and wish us well in our endeavors,” Uri said.

  Nigel called just before noon. “Jason, how are the songs coming?” he asked.

  “They’re coming,” I replied. “Another month and I’ll definitely be ready.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I was thinking it would really help if we were able to practice our set at your friend’s club on Saturday afternoon. Do you think you can make it happen?” he asked.

  “Actually, I think it’s a great idea. What I’d like to do today is meet with GI Jo-Jo at the club to decide who's bringing what equipment, and put together a plan for equipment changes before and after your set. Since Tsunami Rush is no longer a working band we don’t own a PA system anymore,” I said.

  “We have a club size PA and, if you like, you can use our amps, mics, lights and everything,” he said.

  “I’m pretty sure Michael Marinangeli, our lead guitarist, will want to use his own stuff, but I think the rest of us would appreciate the upgrade. I’ll check with the guys before meeting with GI Jo-Jo,” I said.

  Nigel said, “I’ll ring up GI Jo-Jo and tell him to give you his full cooperation.”

  “Great. Can you ask him to call me right away?” I asked.

  “Done,” he said. “Also, I’m starting to talk with some new management candidates next week. When I get it down to the last two or three possibilities I’d like bios. If you’re finished working for Chelsea by then can you help us out?” he asked.

  “Sure. When I finish up, I’m all yours,” I replied.

  GI Jo-Jo called twenty minutes later. “Jason Duffy,” I said.

  “It’s Jo-Jo Martin from Doberman’s Stub. Nigel Choate asked me to call,” he said.

  I replied, “We met at the recording studio when I filled in on rhythm guitar,” I said.

  “I remember,” he said. “You’re the one with all the questions.”

  “That’s me,” I said.

  “I don’t mind getting together to figure out the set up for Saturday night, but I’m not answering any more of your questions,” he said.

  “Believe it or not, rhythm guitar isn’t how I make my living,” I said.

  “Then I won’t bother to tell you not to quit your day job,” he said, laughing at his own joke.

  “I’m a private investigator working on Terry’s murder. I’m going to need to ask you more questions if I’m going to solve the case,” I said.

  “I told you I’m not answering any more questions and I don’t want you bothering Delitah anymore either,” Jo-Jo said.

  “Don’t you want Terry’s murderer caught?” I asked.

  “That’s a job for the police. I talked to them and we’re done. I don’t need to discuss anything with you except technical questions about our gig,” he said sternly.

  “Nigel’s asked me to do some work for the band. He’s anxious for me to solve the case so I can get started. When I spoke with him a half-hour ago he told me he was going to a
sk you to give me your full cooperation. Do I need to call him back and tell him that’s not happening?” I asked.

  There was silence for about a minute. “This is bullshit!” he exclaimed. “You’re telling me you’re going to call my boss and tell on me if I don’t play ball with you?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s bullshit,” I retorted. “The boss who gave you your job got murdered, but instead of you helping to find out who did it, you’re doing what you can to impede the investigation.”

  “Fuck you!” he exclaimed.

  “Then here’s how it’s going to go. If you don’t agree to meet me and answer all of my questions honestly, I call Nigel and tell him I can’t work with you. I’ll tell him your behavior has led me to believe you’re a suspect in the murder and that I feel the band should immediately put as much distance between you and them as possible. What’s it going to be?” I asked.

  Again GI Jo-Jo went silent. I knew it was a risk letting him know he was a suspect, but since I was already looking over my shoulder for the Russians, what’s one more asshole who hates my guts. “I didn’t kill Terry,” he said quietly.

  “Then step up to the plate and help find his murderer,” I said. Again more silence. After thirty seconds I added, “You can always collect unemployment.”

  “I’m into Doberman’s sound and I don’t want to lose the gig, so I’ll talk to you. But when this thing is over I’m gonna kick your ass,” he threatened.

  “When this thing is over I’m going to be advising Nigel on personnel changes. Do you think that’s a good idea?” I asked.

  “Fuck you. Where do you want to meet?” he asked.

  “Dali Lama Yo Mama at 5:00 PM this afternoon,” I said and hung up.

  After my conversation I was too hyper to review Terry’s bills and phone charges. I took a walk and thought about how to proceed. By the time I had calmed down I found myself in front of Schlotsky’s Deli, so I stopped in for a turkey club sandwich. When I returned to the office I was surprised to see Kyle Kramer, Derek Schmidt and Michael Marinangeli, a.k.a. Tsunami Rush, in my reception room. “We’ve come to kidnap you,” Kyle said.

  It was obvious from Jeannine’s hundred-watt grin that the boys introduced themselves. “We all took a couple of vacation days. If we spend some time in Alpine we actually might not embarrass ourselves on Saturday night,” Derek said.

  “A couple of nights in Alpine sounds great, but I can’t leave until tonight,” I said.

  “Just reschedule,” Kyle said enthusiastically. “We did it.”

  I replied, “I have a meeting at Bernie’s at 5:00 PM today to work out what equipment we’re using. Also, how the changes for the Doberman set will go down. And, I’ve been asked by Nigel Choate to get Bernie to agree to let them practice with me on Saturday afternoon. They don’t want me to embarrass them either.”

  “Fine, we’ll come with you just to make sure you don’t bail on us,” Michael said. He’s been upset with me ever since Tsunami Rush broke up. It was his idea to form the band originally and he is the only one of us still working as a musician. He’s been through two groups over the past three years and is in the process of getting a third one off of the ground.

  Over the next half-hour I explained about my encounters with the Russians as well as what they did to Cory and Jeannine. I told them that as much as I needed practice in Alpine, I also needed a safe place to keep Kelly once the California Confidential story broke.

  Derek called his aunt and got the OK for Kelly and Jeannine to accompany the band for a couple of spend-the-nights. When he got off of the phone he turned to Michael Marinangeli and exclaimed, “We’re going to the mattresses, Pizon!”

  “Do you guys think you could give me a couple of hours to get a few things done before going to Bernie’s?” I asked.

  “We have a better idea,” Derek said, and the three of them walked out of my office. Five minutes later they returned with two acoustic guitars, a practice drum pad and an acoustic bass. We used to practice with this equipment on nights when we stayed in LA motels to avoid hassles with the police.

  Before we started I called Kelly and got her to agree to the Alpine overnight. At first she seemed reluctant because she was getting her classroom ready for the new school year. It was then that I told her about the pictures in Yuliya’s computer. That did the trick. “I want to come back with you tomorrow and work on my classroom,” she said.

  “I’ll make you a deal. If the California Confidential story doesn’t break tonight, I’ll bring you back tomorrow. If it does, then you stay with the guys and Jeannine in Alpine, OK?” I asked. She agreed. I guess she saw enough chaotic violence when she lived with her family, and welcomed a safe haven.

  At 5:05 PM the Tsunami gang descended on the Dali Lama Yo Mama. GI Jo-Jo had not yet arrived. I spotted Jasmine and waved her over to our table. "Do you recognize these derelicts?” I asked her, nodding my head toward my crew.

  “Are you kidding? I heard this is the headline act at what’s gonna be the hottest club in town this Saturday night,” she said with a cheerleader’s enthusiasm.

  “Word isn’t leaking out, is it?” I asked.

  “Bernie swore us to secrecy. But the employees have been strongly urging their friends to see this legendary club band come out of retirement for one last gig at their favorite venue,” she said.

  “Do you mean it?” Kyle asked with wide eyes.

  “Oh yeah,” she replied. “We’ve been laying the bullshit on extra thick to make sure our best friends don’t miss those Dobie dudes.”

  “Dobie dudes?” Michael asked with a face that looked like he just bit into a pickle.

  “But we were one of the best club bands in San Diego,” I said defensively.

  “And I’m up for cocktail waitress of the year,” she said sarcastically. “You boys are sweet. Come sit in my section,” she said and led us to a table closer to the bar. “I’ll tell Bernie you’re here?”

  Five minutes later Bernie was standing at our table. “What a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you guys until Saturday. Kyle, congratulations,” he said and extended his hand for a shake. “I heard you got married and have a baby girl.”

  Kyle beamed and looked at his fellow band mates; very impressed that Bernie had kept up. “Thanks Bernie,” he said with a smile, “I’ll bring a picture on Saturday.”

  “A picture. You better bring your better half on Saturday,” he said, then turned to Derek. “Mr. Schmidt, did I hear you invented a new software product?"

  “Just one of the team members to make it happen,” Derek said.

  “He’s being modest,” Kyle chimed in. “It was his idea and he was in charge of the team.”

  “Very impressive,” Bernie said. “Promise me you’ll come by the club sometime when it’s less hectic and tell me all about it.”

  “I’ll be glad to, Bernie. I didn’t realize you started opening for happy hour. I’ll stop by soon,” Derek said.

  “Wonderful,” Bernie said then turned to Michael. “Now if only I could think of something nice to say about this guy.” Bernie stroked his chin and looked at all of us. “Did you guys know that Michael has been in two bands since Tsunami Rush, but he’s never called his old friend Bernie to book a gig at the Dali Lama?”

  Michael replied, “C’mon Bernie, you know I was never a band manager. I just make the music; I don’t make the deals.”

  “Are you working now?” he asked.

  “I’m just starting a new band,” he said. “I’ll be glad to have the manager send you a demo when we’re ready to perform.”

  “I’m glad you stayed in the business, Michael. You have a lot of talent. How could San Diego do without its angel of the sea?” he asked.

  “Angel of the sea?” asked Kyle.

  “That’s what Marinangeli means in Italian,” replied Derek.

  We were all enjoying Bernie’s company when GI Jo-Jo walked in the door. I hadn’t yet cleared the Saturday afternoon practice session. “
Bernie, Doberman’s sound guy just got here. Can I introduce you?” I asked.

  “Sure, I’ll ask Jasmine to bring him over to the table,” he said.

  “How about if we take a walk over and meet him at the bar? I’ll stop by your office before we leave and explain,” I said. While we made our way through the cocktail tables Bernie gave me the go ahead for the Saturday practice session. As we approached, GI Jo-Jo was taking his first sip of a full glass of beer. He spotted us when we were about ten feet away. “Hi Jo-Jo, this is Bernie Liebowitz, the club owner. Bernie, Jo-Jo Martin, the sound man for Doberman’s Stub.” They shook hands, but Jo-Jo made no effort to shake mine.

  “Nice to meet you, young man,” Bernie said “My condolences on Terry’s passing. He used to play here with Caliber 9 a few years ago.”

  “Thanks, man,” GI Jo-Jo said. “Can we check out access and electrical?”

  Over the next ten minutes Bernie took us through the back-stage tour and how he wanted the cabling to run from the stage to the soundboard. Then, Bernie excused himself and I walked with Jo-Jo to the bar, which was now almost full. We ordered beers, and took them to a table away from the crowd.

  “Let’s get this over with so I can get the fuck out of here,” GI Jo-Jo said.

  “Fine,” I replied. “Let’s start with the day Terry died. I was told you carried his stuff in from the Ferrari while he chewed out Ian for moving the partitions. Is that correct?”

  “I do almost all of the carrying, so what,” he said flatly.

  “So that means you were the last person to be alone with his headphones before they exploded,” I said.

  “I didn’t do anything to the headphones. In fact, I didn’t even see the headphones. They were probably in one of the bags,” he said.

  “I understand you were an ordnance technician in Iraq. Did the police ask you about your qualifications to build the device that killed Terry?” I asked.

  “Why don’t you ask them?” he asked.