Black's Beach Shuffle: A Rolly Waters Mystery

by Corey Lynn Fayman

  Gordon and Bruce left the stage, walked out back to take in the air and share a joint before packing up their equipment. Rolly kneeled down, grabbed a rag off his amp and wiped down his guitar strings, which were covered in sweat. Moogus stayed at his kit, breaking it down. He looked out at the crowd. He leaned his head down close to Rolly’s.

  “Ay yi yi, Rolly. Who’s the talent sitting next to Fender? Don’t tell me that’s his girlfriend.”

  “Nah, I don’t think so. They work together.”

  “Well, I’ve got something I’d like her to work on with me. Perhaps I’ll have a visit with my dear old friend Fender.”

  Rolly looked over at Moogus, but didn’t say anything. If Alesis was going to buy anything Moogus sold, she had a lot less on the ball than Rolly had come to think she did. Moogus put his snare in its case and unhooked his floor pedal. He crawled out from behind the rest of his kit, jumped down the steps, and bounced across the floor to where Alesis and Fender were sitting.

  Rolly finished cleaning his guitar, placed it back in its case. He unplugged his amp, coiled up the cables, and put them into the guitar case. He stood up, turned back towards the room. Moogus had pulled up a stool next to Alesis. Fender looked up and waved. Rolly walked down the steps, picked up a club soda from Harry, and went over to join them. God, he was playing it cool.

  “Hey there,” he said as he reached the table.

  “Hi Rolly,” said Fender. “You’re sounding great!”

  “Hey there to you, rock 'n' roll star,” said Alesis, turning away from her conversation with Moogus. The look in her eye suggested some sort of sincere appreciation. What sort, Rolly didn’t quite know, but he was pretty sure it meant something good.

  “Are you sure,” Moogus said to Alesis, “that we haven’t met before? You sure look familiar. Rolly, does she look familiar to you?”

  “Oh, I think I’d remember if I’d met you before,” Alesis said. She pulled out a cigarette and started to light it.

  “You’d better not let Gina see that,” Moogus said.

  “What?”

  “You can’t smoke in any clubs now. It’s the law,” Rolly explained.

  “Ah, shit. I forgot,” Alesis responded. “I’d sure like a smoke.”

  “Well,” Moogus chimed in, “if I can bogey a butt from you, I’ll show you someplace you can smoke.”

  “Where would that be?”

  “Out back, on the patio.”

  “I really need a smoke. You guys want to come out with us?” Alesis asked, looking back at Rolly and Fender.

  Before Rolly could answer, Fender broke in. “You go on ahead. I’ve got something I need to talk to Rolly about.”

  “Don’t go anywhere. We’ll be back in a couple,” Alesis said as she hopped off the bar stool. She tugged at the hem of her skirt. Moogus held out an arm to show her the way, making a big display of it. They walked up the stairs and disappeared into the hallway that led out to the back patio.

  “So, Rolly, how’s the case going?”

  “I haven’t had much time to get started. Probably tomorrow I’ll get going.”

  “Did you talk to Curtis yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “He’s hard to get hold of, I guess.”

  Gordon and Bruce returned from their smoke, which meant Moogus had Alesis all to himself out on the patio. Rolly resisted the urge to go check on them.

  “Hey, Rolly!” someone shouted. It was Gina, waving him over from her table by the front door. She counted out a stack of money. When Gina called with the cash, you had to obey.

  Rolly excused himself, walked over to collect.

  “Friend of yours?” Gina said, glancing over Rolly’s shoulder towards Fender.

  “Yeah, an old friend.”

  “Who’s his girlfriend?”

  “I don’t think she’s his girlfriend.”

  “So I guess you got a chance, then.”

  “You keeping an eye on me?”

  “I got to watch out for my boys.”

  She counted out two hundred dollars, tossed in two twenties for tip.

  “There you go. Don’t spend it all on one woman.”

  “What I really want is a chance with you, Gina.”

  Gina laughed. She loved to flirt with the guys in the bands. It kept Harry from taking his good luck for granted. Rolly walked back to Fender, who was talking on his cell phone. He turned it off as Rolly arrived.

  “Hey, Rolly,” he said. “I need a favor.”

  “What is it?”

  “Can you give Alesis a ride home? I have to go meet with King.”

  “At one-thirty in the morning you have to go to work?” Rolly regretted the question. He was more than happy to give Alesis a ride.

  “King says it’s really important.”

  “That was him on the phone?”

  “Yeah. He keeps kind of weird hours. I don’t think he sleeps.”

  “Sure, I can give her a ride.”

  “Thanks, Rolly. It will really be a big help.” Fender stood up, as obsequious as ever, then stuck out his hand to shake Rolly’s, as if they were making a deal. Rolly shook. Fender pulled out his car keys.

  “Have fun,” Fender said, and walked out the door.

  Rolly watched Fender leave. Bruce and Gordon had packed up their gear and cleared out. At the end of a gig they were always on time. Moogus' drum set was still up on stage, disassembled, but not yet packed up in its cases.

  Moogus always said that Sunday night was the best night to get lucky because the next day was Monday. The woman would have to leave early to get ready for work. And if she didn’t leave early, you could pretend that you had to go to work. There was no pretext of hanging around. A woman who was out late on Sunday wasn’t looking for love. She was out to get laid.

  Rolly sat at the table and finished his soda. He wondered if it was true.

  A Mooging

  Alesis walked back down the stairs and over to Rolly.

  “Where’s Fender?” she said.

  “He had to go to work. King called him.”

  “He called him at this hour? Jesus, he’s such an asshole.”

  “I said I could give you a ride.”

  “Oh, you did, huh?”

  “Where’s Moogus?”

  “He went to get his car. There was a parking spot open in front of the club.”

  An open parking spot in front of the club was golden for drummers. Even for Moogus, it was more important than sex.

  Alesis sat down, put her chin in her hand and looked at him sleepily.

  “You know, you’re pretty handy with that guitar,” she said. “I could have used you in my group.”

  “What was the name of your band?”

  “The Chiclets. It was an all-girl band.”

  “I don’t look very good in a dress.”

  “You could have played on the record. We had some guys play on the record.”

  “You made a record?”

  “Yeah, an EP.”

  Every band Rolly knew made an EP back in the eighties. They all wore skinny ties on the cover. The new wave/punk thing. Everyone and their brother (or sister) had a self-produced Extended Play record. It was more than a single, less than an album. If you sold a couple thousand copies the record labels might show an interest in you.

  “Is that when you went to Japan?” Rolly asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “How was that?”

  “The first night was great. We had a big crowd. After that it was kind of a mess.”

  “What happened?”

  “Someone died.” Alesis stared off into the corner of the room, as if suddenly taken with the quality of the woodwork.

  “Someone in the band?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Who died?”

  “Oh. Our backer. The guy who put up the money.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Alesis snapped back into focus, looked at Rolly again.

  “He just died. That’s all. W
e had to cancel the tour.”

  “So how’d you wind up working at Eyebitz?”

  “I know King.”

  “Oh, right. You used to go out with him?”

  “A long time ago.”

  “Well, I guess you still get along.”

  “Let’s just say we understand each other.”

  “He asked you to work for him?”

  “That was my idea. I told him he had to hire me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. He owed me. That’s all.”

  Rolly was silent. Alesis’ mood had soured a little.

  “Well, it’s getting late. I guess we better get going,” he said.

  He walked back up to the stage and hauled down his gear. They said goodnight to Gina, who unlocked the front door and let them out. They walked past the Crab Shak restaurant next door. Rolly nodded at a waiter, who was standing outside, smoking a cigarette. The waiter glanced down at Rolly's guitar case.

  “Hey, you with the band?” the waiter asked. He tilted his head in the direction of Patrick's.

  “Yep,” Rolly replied, expecting a musical critique. Everyone has an opinion at two in the morning.

  “Come with me. There's a guy inside, says he’s with the band. Somebody mugged him.”

  Rolly and Alesis followed the waiter inside. The late-shift bartenders and waitresses were cleaning up, refilling the ketchup bottles, rolling silverware up in cloth napkins. In the corner of the room, back towards the kitchen, near the door to the patio, a small group gathered around a man seated in a wooden chair. The man leaned back in his chair, holding a large white towel over his face. One of the waitresses knelt down beside him with a glass of ice water.

  “Moogus?” Rolly said.

  Moogus pulled the towel down from around his eyes, leaving it bunched up against his nose. The towel was red with blood. Alesis gasped.

  “What happened?” Rolly asked.

  “Some guy jumped me, man. I was going to pick up my car. This big guy walks up to me. He was six-foot-six, at least. He just walked up to me and slammed me. Shit, I don't know. It happened so fast.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Yeah. He said, ‘I’d like to inquire as to the whereabouts of the key.’ Then he kicked me a couple of times while I was down.”

  Rolly turned to the waitress.

  “Have you got any aspirin or something?” He took the glass of water from her. She walked back to the kitchen to look for some.

  “Moogus, who was this guy? Have you ever seen him before?”

  “No. It all happened so fast. He just stood there for a couple of seconds blocking my way. He smiled at me like he knew me, just stood there looking straight at me in his Hawaiian shirt and puka shells. He said, ‘I’d like to inquire as to the whereabouts of the key.’ I said ‘How would I know where your freaking keys are?’ Then out of nowhere he decks me.”

  Rolly glanced at Alesis, wondering if she was thinking the same thing he was. She looked a little sick.

  “Do you want to call the police?”

  “We already called them,” said the waitress, returning with a couple of pills.

  “Can we please move to the back patio?” said another employee, approaching them. “We need to get the floor mopped.”

  Rolly, Alesis, and Moogus moved to the back patio, where Moogus and Alesis had gone for their smoke. It was an old brick courtyard shared by the rear exits of the Crab Shak, Patrick’s, and Croce’s around the opposite corner. The back windows of an old brick apartment house looked down from above. There were iron chairs and a table, a small decorative fountain. It was a nice little spot, except for the stink of old crab shells floating up from the dumpster. Alesis shivered.

  “Here, take my jacket,” said Rolly. “It’s a little sweaty, but it’ll be warmer than what you’ve got on.”

  “Ooh, rock star sweat,” Alesis said, wrinkling her nose, but taking the jacket.

  “I think I’d better wait here until the cops show up. Do you want me to call you a cab?” Rolly offered.

  “Pretty expensive cab ride to North County,” she shrugged. “I’ll wait.”

  Rolly thought about offering to split the fare with her, decided against it. The night was probably shot, but he’d still like some more time with her, alone.

  Moogus leaned forward in his chair, looked at Alesis over the top of his towel.

  “You know, I still think I know you from somewhere,” he said to her. “Are you sure you never dated a drummer?”

  “I don’t think so. No drummers in my past. A couple of guitar players maybe.” She winked at Rolly.

  “Guitar players, huh? Well, you should try dating a drummer sometime.”

  “Is that a proposal?”

  “You see, guitar players can only play with two hands. Drummers can coordinate all their extremities.” Moogus was incorrigible. Even with blood dripping from his nose and a dark welt puffing up around one eye, he was hustling her.

  “Hey, Alesis,” Moogus said, “how does a guitar player change a light bulb?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He holds it up and the world revolves around him.”

  Alesis laughed, looked over at Rolly. “Are you gonna take that?”

  Moogus seemed to feel better than he looked. If he wanted war, he could have it, at least until the police showed up.

  “Oh, I can beat that,” said Rolly. “Why is a drum machine better than a drummer?”

  Alesis shrugged.

  “Because it can keep a steady beat and won't sleep with your girlfriend.”

  She laughed.

  “What do you call a drummer who breaks up with his girlfriend?”

  “You’re killing me, man,” Moogus moaned.

  “Hey, you started it.”

  “What do you call him?” Alesis asked.

  “Homeless,” Rolly replied.

  There was a noise from inside the Crab Shak and a policeman entered the courtyard. A paramedic followed behind like his shadow.

  “Is the victim here?”

  Moogus raised his hand.

  “That’s me, officer. I’m the victim. Thank God you’re here to rescue me from this offensive jokester.”

  The paramedic knelt down beside Moogus, pulled the towel back to take a look. The officer spoke to Rolly and Alesis, got their version of the story before turning back to Moogus.

  “Hey, kids,” Moogus said, waving at Rolly and Alesis, “go home. I’m all right. I don’t want to spoil your fun.”

  Rolly glanced at the paramedic, who unwrapped some gauze from his kit.

  “I think he’ll be okay,” said the paramedic. “I don’t think it’s broken. We’ll check him into the emergency room for an x-ray to make sure. They’ll probably just send him home with some Percoset.”

  “Okay,” said Rolly, torn between leaving Moogus and getting Alesis out of there. “I’ll tell Gina you’re leaving your gear overnight. I can pick it up for you tomorrow.”

  “Rolly, you know something really weird?”

  “What?”

  “After the guy hit me, I was lying on the ground. He was walking away, and I heard a harmonica playing. I can’t believe it. I got my ass kicked by some dumb-ass harmonica player.”

  Rolly’s House

  Rolly and Alesis left the Crab Shak and walked back to Patrick’s, knocked on the door. Rolly told Gina about the drums. He didn’t tell her anything more. She would have wanted to hear the whole story. She would have gone into a long speech about how dangerous it was getting downtown, how it wasn’t a neighborhood anymore. Rolly didn’t have any more time left in him to listen.

  They headed back east on E street, across the intersection at Fifth. Rolly pulled the cart with his amp and guitar along with his right hand. Alesis walked next to him on his left. As they reached the opposite corner, Alesis reached out her hand and slipped it under his arm, getting close.

  “That was kind of scary,” she said.

  Rolly was
scared, too. “It comes with the territory,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  “Oh, you know, the late nights, playing in bars. It’s not the safest environment.”

  “Anyone ever hit you?”

  “Oh yeah, a couple of times,” he lied. It was, perhaps, the most remarkable thing about his whole bar-playing, whisky-drinking, girl-chasing career. He’d never once taken a punch. Not from a bar patron, a jealous boyfriend, or a pissed-off band member who’d spent one too many nights on the road in roach-infested motels with him. Not once. Rolly had always been able to talk his way out of anything, even drunk. He’d smile and start talking. He’d back away slowly. Taking a punch was what drummers were for. Like Moogus tonight.

  “Here we are,” Rolly said as they arrived at his Volvo. He opened the passenger door for Alesis, stashed his amp and guitar in the back seat. They’d have to make room for a woman tonight. He climbed into the driver side seat, flipped the key in the ignition, and looked over at Alesis. The sulfur-yellow light from the street lamp above reflected a small glint of moisture in her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. She tried to smile, but didn’t get far, half sleepy, half sad. She looked hopelessly sexy.

  “We’ve met before, you know,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Me and you. We met at a party. Your band was playing. Back in the eighties.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, we did. You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “If I’d met you before, I think I would remember.”

  “I had my band then. Everyone at the party said I should meet you. They said you were going to be a star. There was an article in the newspaper about local bands, ‘Most Likely to Succeed,’ I think it was called. You and your band were on the list.”

  “Yeah, I remember that.”

  “At the party, I kept trying to talk to you, but your girlfriend was jumping in all the time. She kept dragging you away whenever I tried to be friendly.”

  “How friendly were you trying to be?”

  Alesis smiled. “I made friends with your singer. What was his name?”

  “Matt?”

  “Yeah, that was it. He doesn’t play with you anymore?”

  “He’s dead.”