by Larry Karp
Inside the room, he opened the envelope to show Alan the snippet of piano wire and Mickey’s note. “When you said Parks was being careful, I figured you meant he might search me. Seemed like putting these someplace outside the room would be safer than trying to hide ’em here.”
Alan gave him a quick hug. “Smart kid. You read me just right.” He stretched to release the tension in his back. “Ought to be safe to hang onto that, now he’s done with us. Tuck it in the pack, and let’s go find some dinner. You can tell me how you did with young Mr. Jackson, and then we have some figuring to do. I don’t think Parks has the smarts to settle a case as weird as this, and I don’t trust him to not impound the duffel bag if he finds it. I think it’s up to you and me to get things straight, as soon as we can.”
Chapter Eight
Comfortably settled in a padded booth in the railroad car at Kehde’s Barbeque, Alan stretched his back. “Hope you don’t mind barbeque two nights in a row.”
Tom waved off his grandfather’s concern. “You’ve brought me to Sedalia for the Joplin Festival every year for, like, half my life, and I don’t think we’ve ever had anything but barbeque. Is there even anything else?”
Alan laughed. “It’s strange—seems like my chemo taste aversions would have a field day with barbeque, but it’s just the opposite. Most food tastes at least a little bit off, but it’s mostly a loss of flavor, like I’m eating blotting paper. But barbeque sauce tastes right. Ketchup helps too. Fries without ketchup? Ugh.”
Tom put a hand on his grandfather’s. “Don’t worry about it,” he said quietly. “Whatever works for you works for me. Besides, this is good stuff.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that. What would work for me now is to hear what went on with you this afternoon. What did you learn?”
As the boy wound up the account of his adventure, Alan nodded. “Good. Really good. I think you made every call right, and we’re rolling…”
The waitress set two brisket sandwiches on the table, with a side of fries between them, then added a couple of Cokes to the array. “That do it for you for now, Guys?”
Alan inhaled extravagantly. “Very well, I think. Thank you.” He picked up his sandwich, took a big bite, chewed and swallowed slowly.
Tom suppressed his normal inclination to gobble his food, determined not to put any pressure on Alan to hurry.
It’s part of his routine. If he puts it in too fast, he fills right up, and can’t eat the whole thing—and then he imagines the server’s gonna bring him a bottle of Ensure. Jesus, I hope it’s not the same for me, sixty years down the road! But if it is, I hope I handle it as well as he does.
Alan snagged a napkin, mopped his lips, took another bite, set his sandwich down, swallowed. “Well, let’s go along with what you’ve set up, just one small change. I’ll go into the house with JJ, and you’ll stay out with Elvira.”
He held up a hand as he saw Tom about to object. “I’m not being pushy here; I think there are good reasons. If one of the lookouts needs to come inside to give a warning, there’ll still be another one outside to keep monitoring. And if the lookouts need to do more than just look, you’ll be of more help to a woman in her sixties than I would. Besides. Let’s just suppose JJ knows more than he’s told you, and he may not play altogether straight. Let him know he’d need to face you if he comes outside alone, and he might think twice before he’d try any funny business with me. And if he doesn’t think, well, maybe you’ll get some use out of those karate lessons you’ve been taking for the last couple of years. Fair enough?”
Tom’s face said he didn’t like it, but he nodded. “You’re a tough man to argue with.”
“I’ve got a few years on you.” Alan gestured at the food. “Okay, let’s eat, then go back to the room, call your grandmother, and get some sleep.”
“You gonna be up for this, Alan? At three a.m.?”
Alan patted his shirt pocket; Tom heard the little pill container rattle. “Five, six hours in the sack and my little pocket pharmacy’ll get me through almost anything.” He picked up his sandwich, and took another bite.
***
As Alan reached for the hotel room phone, Tom asked, “Wanna use your cell? You’ve got unlimited long distance.”
Alan shook his head. “Good point, but it’s not going to be an easy conversation, and I don’t want us cutting out on each other. Worth the extra few bucks.”
“You sure you wanna tell her the whole story? She’ll shit a brick if she hears Mickey got murdered.”
“I’m sure. I’ve learned over a lot of years that it’s best to be straight with people, especially your wife. Sooner or later, that little fact would have to come out, and if she knows I kept it from her, it’ll be a lot worse than if I just tell her now.” He picked up the receiver, began to push numbers. After a few rings, he said hello, how are you, and then launched into his report.
When he stopped talking, Tom, on the bed, could hear Miriam’s voice past his grandfather’s ear. “Alan—you’re both all right?”
“Fine, Miriam. Really.”
“So what now? I assume you’ll be coming home soon.”
“Not quite yet. For one thing—the main thing—Tom and I are under orders from the police to not leave town. It was us who found the…Mickey. They had us make a statement, then told us we needed to stay around while they continue their investigation. And…well, we don’t have the music, and I am determined to get it.”
Tom grimaced as “Alan!” cut through the air from the phone.
“Miriam, you know me better than to react like that. I’ve been fortunate enough to not just drop dead one day or go out in my sleep from a heart attack. I’ve been given an opportunity unlike any I’ve ever had in my life, and a wakeup call to not let it go by. I won’t do anything foolish. I’ll take good care of Tom and myself, and I will keep you posted, call every day. But I’m not leaving until the cops tell me I can—and until I’m carrying that duffel bag.”
Tom could not make out the short reply from Seattle, and figured it was just as well.
“How’s your conference coming along?” Alan asked. “I trust we are not going to go broke over the next year.”
***
At ten after three, two pairs of black-clad figures made their way up opposite sides of East Third Street toward Lafayette, where Granny Elvira had arrived a minute or less earlier. Tom and Alan walked up the south side, JJ and Saramae on the north. JJ had spent the past block—since Saramae had joined him—getting his temper under marginal control. Now his voice came out as a hoarse whisper.
“What the hell you doin’ here, Girl? We didn’t say nothin’ about you bein’ here. This ain’t exactly a ‘more the merrier’ job.”
“Well, just fuck me upside down, huh? This’s the most excitin’ thing I ever—”
JJ clapped a hand to her mouth. “God damn, Girl, keep quiet! You gotta talk, you keep it way down, got it? Don’ make me have to shut you up.”
She squirmed away, threw her arms in the air. “Okay, okay. I’m just about whisperin’. Happy? Jesus, JJ, ain’t no way I’m gonna miss this show.”
JJ threw his arms skyward. “Fine! Looks like Tom bring somebody ’long too. Who the hell’s that?”
“Probably his grandpa, the ol’ piano player. Mickey’s friend. Tom said he might wanna come.”
“Jesus! Hope he’s got his Pampers on.” JJ shook his head, disgusted. “I shoulda come by myself, not try an’ do a job with a buncha am-a-choors.”
As they approached Lafayette, Elvira set out half a block in advance, leading them past the wide weed-filled lot to the west of Mickey’s house. All lights were off at the closest neighbor’s, on the far side of the lot. Tom saw JJ crouch and scamper noiselessly closer toward the front porch, then give a hand signal to advance. They followed him and Elvira around to the back. Elvira crouched beside the tiny rear stoop
on the side away from the street; Tom followed her. Her eyes shot him a question, he answered with raised palms: cool it. JJ, Alan, and Saramae ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, and continued up the three wooden stairs to the stoop.
JJ took a deep breath, put a finger to his lips, then slipped on a pair of thin black gloves and turned the doorknob. The door opened, creaking more loudly than Alan would have liked, but he said nothing, just followed JJ inside. Saramae brought up the rear.
At JJ’s gesture, Alan took Saramae’s hand, then held out his other hand to the young man. JJ grabbed the hand and murmured, “I knows this house like my own. We go slow. Jes’ follow me, don’ trip, an’ don’t nobody but me touch’ nothin’.”
He led the party through the kitchen, stopping periodically to listen for any noise that might be coming from a policeman stationed inside, then through the living room and down the hall to the closet, where he freed Alan’s hand, turned Saramae back the way they had come and whispered directly in her ear, “Keep watch. Don’ pay no attention to what I be doin’.”
She glared, but didn’t object when JJ pushed her a few steps toward the living room.
JJ opened the closet door wide, blocking the hall, and dropped to his knees just short of the threshold.
Alan watched, fascinated, as the young man hooked fingers into knotholes in the baseboard on both sides of the closet and pulled. The wood slid forward an inch, hitting the front wall of the closet with a pair of subdued thunks. JJ winced and froze, waiting to see if anyone came to investigate the sound. After ten or fifteen seconds, he put his hands flat on the closet floor and pushed to the right, then back. The entire floor shifted, exposing a gap at the front of the closet. JJ grabbed the edge of the floor, lifted slightly, then swung it up on concealed hinges to rest against the rear wall. He glanced up at Alan with a mischievous grin, and Alan mimed applause.
JJ took a tiny flashlight from his pocket, and played the light around the opening. Alan could see an empty shelf at the back of the space, but no more than that. JJ leaned forward, then sat back on his heels. “Shit, fuck, damn,” he whispered. “Gone.”
He waved Alan to squat, then whispered, “Lookit down there, see? Mickey, he usedta put the bag on that shelf. But sometime it fall down below, ’specially if he been drinkin’. I don’ wanna go down there, leave footprints an’ all that. So you hold my legs while I lean in an’ look ’round.”
Alan nodded and waited as JJ lay facedown, halfway into the closet. He knelt between the young man’s feet and raised an ankle onto each of his calves. JJ bent forward at the waist, his head and arms dangling into the darkness. Alan caught glimpses of the flashlight reflecting off whatever was down below. After less than half a minute, JJ straightened, then rolled to one side. Alan shifted his weight to help, and extended a hand, which JJ ignored. He sat up, then stood. “Nothin’.”
JJ gently lowered the closet floor into place and shoved the baseboards back to their original positions. He made a let’s-go movement with his right hand, led the way outside, then motioned to Elvira and Tom, and the five housebreakers walked silently back to the corner of Lafayette and Third. JJ checked his wristwatch.
“Okay, then,” he said in a quiet voice. “I got a quarter of an hour to get back to work. We gonna meet up at home, nine o’clock, right?” He looked at Alan. “That all right with you, Old Man?”
“I think we were introduced, and the name’s Alan, Alan Chandler. And yes, nine o’clock will be fine.”
That earned him a grin from JJ and an admiring glance from Elvira.
“Good. See you then.”
As he turned toward the Democrat, JJ unbuttoned his shirt pocket and pulled out a notebook and pen.
“I’ll have us breakfast,” Elvira said.
JJ nodded without looking up from the page. “Huh. Didn’t have no doubt about that.” He started walking, still writing.
***
By a few minutes past nine, the five conspirators were seated around Elvira’s living room, balancing heaping plates of pancakes, eggs, and sausage on their laps, a huge pot of steaming coffee on a centrally placed card table. JJ was the first to speak. “Mmm-mmm. Granny, this so good, it almos’ make me forget how pissed off I were ’bout surprises on the job.”
“Now, Jackson. How ’bout you give the people half a chance to digest they food, huh?”
“Granny, I been havin’ indigestion for five hours. Only fair t’ share it.” JJ stared at Saramae. “Like for example, Girl—what you doin’ here now? You already late for school.”
She flashed him a look, half-annoyed, half-teasing. “Ain’t the first time, and so what? I told you last night—this’s the funnest thing ever happened to me. I know I’ve got a big mouth, yeah, but I also know how to keep it shut. So I wanna be a part of this stuff.”
“Okay,” JJ said, a look of resignation making it clear how little he wanted to agree. “But I tell you, and I talk seriously: you open that mouth in the wrong place to the wrong person, and you find out jus’ how much fun this ain’t. Hear me?”
Saramae pouted. “You don’ have to be that way.”
In an instant, JJ set his plate on the floor, grabbed the throat of Saramae’s blouse, and yanked her forward. “I be a dead man by now if I not be ‘that way,’” he growled. “We gettin’ involved here with some fuckhead who wrap wires around peoples’ necks. That mean no carelessness. None, zero, zip. Okay?”
“Okay,” the girl whispered.
JJ released her, and went back to his breakfast.
Alan was surprised at Elvira’s calm reaction to the exchange. He wondered whether he should say something about the possible consequences of hothead actions. But it occurred to him that the older woman’s behavior might have been due to her having confidence in her grandson, and perhaps also having sufficient acquaintanceship with Saramae to figure the boy’s threats contained at least some degree of put-on, and might have been advisable, even necessary.
Alan swallowed a mouthful of pancakes, cleared his throat. “I think it’s a good idea to keep each other fully informed. I apologize for not calling you to let you know I’d be there.”
JJ nodded. “You, I shoulda jes’ figured on. But thanks.”
“And I trust you’ll keep Tom and me up-to-date as well. We’re at the Bothwell, Room 412.”
If JJ was annoyed by what might have seemed a challenge to his leadership, he didn’t show it. “It work both ways. But okay, enough bullshit. We gotta figure out what we gonna do now.”
“That’s what I think,” said Alan. “And unless you’ve got a better idea, I also think that’s going to depend on what you and I can tell each other.” He pulled a quarter from his pocket. “Heads, I go first, tails, you do.” He flipped the coin in the air, caught it, raised his upper hand, and extended the coin toward JJ. “Tails. Go.”
The boy guffawed. “Let’s see the other side.”
Alan laughed, flipped him the quarter. JJ checked both sides, smiled, shoved it into his pocket. “Okay, then. We gonna be partners, so I be straight with you. Honest truth is I don’ know a whole lot. One day, maybe a week ago…little less? Anyways, I come in with Mickey’s paper, and right off I know something big’s goin’ on. Mickey looks like he got a stick up his butt, an’ there was more empty bottles in the livin’ room than usual. ‘I’m on to something big,’ Mickey tells me. ‘An’ I’ll let you in on it if I know you can keep your mouth shut.’
“‘Well, if you don’t know that by now, you never will,’ I tell him.”
“‘All right, then,’ he says. “‘I’m sittin’ on a pile of music manuscripts that could not only be the greatest music find in history, they could bring enough money to make us both comfy. Crap, Boy, I’m over seventy, ain’t got no wife, no kids, an’ you’re the closest I got to a son. It’d make me happy to set you and your granny up for life.’”
“Well, I gotta ad
mit, I was so choked up in the throat, I couldn’t say nothin’, and he went right on talkin’. ‘A man was here last night with a duffel bag fulla music I bet no one has ever seen before. I’m pretty sure it’s by Scott Joplin, but it’s gonna be easy to find out yes or no. I got a friend in Seattle, Alan Chandler, and if he says it’s by Scott Joplin, there ain’t no one in the world gonna argue with him. I’m gonna get him out here, have him look over the music, and we’ll go from there. How you like them apples?’”
Tears coursed down JJ’s cheeks.
Alan’s eyes widened at the show of emotion. He’s not faking that. He loved that man. “Did he say anything about who it was that brought him the music?”
JJ sniffed, shook his head. “He jus’ say the five hundred bucks he give whoever it was, was nothin’ near what that music’d bring in a resale with a copyright.” He sniffed again. “He showed me his hidey-hole an’ give me the key fo’ the padlock. Had me come over every morning to open it up, ’cause he couldn’t mess with that floor when he were drunk or hungover. But no way he was gonna leave that music sittin’ out at night.”
Tom looked back and forth between the two. “Hidey-hole?”
“It’s quite something,” Alan said with a laugh.
JJ nodded. “I ast Mickey about it. He tell me his father and grandfather made it back in the twenties. He put in a whole room down there to hide bottles of booze afore he sell ’em.”
Elvira sniffed. “He brag about his granddaddy bein’ a bootlegger. Even had it in his bi-o-graffy at the festival a couple a times. Like father, like son.”
“We’re wandering off the subject,” Alan said. “You have no idea where he got the duffel bag?”
“Iff’n I had a clue, I’d tell you…Podnuh.”
Alan grinned. “Fair enough. Okay, my turn. Everything you’ve said so far clicks with what I know from Mickey, and I can add a little. Mickey told us an antiques dealer was cleaning out a house in Kansas City, found the duffel bag full of unsigned music manuscripts, and thought he could turn a few bucks on it. He showed it around to some other dealers, one of whom was named Rudolph Korotkin, who had done business with Mickey before. Korotkin sent the dealer to Mickey, Mickey gave him five hundred bucks, and he gave Mickey the music. I don’t know who the dealer was, but it shouldn’t be hard to find Korotkin, and go from there.”