CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Genuine Blues
Gerome Elderberry was infuriated at having to spend the night incarcerated in a dirty Chicago Jail.
“When in the goddamn hell will I get my phone call?” he kept screaming. A silver-haired gentleman came up to the jail cell.
“I’m Captain Richards. We contacted your Chief Bushman in New Lake City this morning. He said you had no business being here.”
“Of course I have business here. I’m tracking a murderer.”
“Well, Chief Bushman told me no murder was committed. The lab reports show the death was accidental.”
“Accidental, my happy ass,” screamed Elderberry. “When can I talk to him?”
“I’ll let you call him right now,” said Captain Richards. He opened the cell and lead Elderberry to his office. “You have to call collect. We’re on a tight budget.”
“The only thing that’s tight here is your ass,” said Gerome. He dialed the New Lake City Police Department’s direct line, using operator assistance.
“Sergeant Wilcox here.”
“You have a collect call from Lieutenant Gerome Elderberry. Will you accept the charges?” said the operator.
Wilcox started laughing. “No way.”
“Goddamn it, Wilcox. What the hell are you…”
“I’m sorry, sir. No one will accept the charges.” The operator hung up.
“Goddamn it!” hollered Elderberry. “I thought that asshole quit.”
“That was your one call, Elderberry,” explained Captain Richards.
“I didn’t even get connected. Give me a goddamn break.”
“Okay,” said Richards. “You can use the phone again. You have to use your calling card.”
“It’s in my wallet, which you graciously confiscated,” said Elderberry. Richards was having a good time with Elderberry. He was an old friend of Chief Bushman. Bushman had told him to give Elderberry a rough time.
“Well, I guess you’re shit out of luck,” laughed Richards.
“I know my rights. You owe me that call. I’m not leaving this office until I get my call.”
“Okay, settle down. Go ahead and call. Just dial direct.”
“That’s more like it,” said Gerome. He called the direct line again.
“Sergeant Wilcox here.” Elderberry disguised his voice.
“Yes, I would like to speak with Chief Bushman, please.”
“May I ask who’s calling?” “This is Doctor Rosenberg from the Center of Disease Control. I have his test results.”
“Hold on a second.” Wilcox put Elderberry on hold and found Chief Bushman.
“Chief, I think you need to get line two - some kind of prank call.” Bushman knew who was on the end of the line before he picked it up.
“Chief Bushman, here” he said.
“Don’t hang up, chief,” screamed Elderberry. “I need to talk to you.”
“Elderberry – what in the hell are you still doing in Chicago?” He tried to act surprised.
“I’m tracking down Nicholas Pel-tire.”
“I told Captain Richards to send your butt back here.”
“He’s not cooperating very well.”
Bushman put his hand over the receiver and started laughing. He got back on the line after his chuckles subsided. “Well, the lab reports came back. Zipper Down died of an apparent choking. There was a piece of pizza lodged in his throat.”
“Pizza?” asked Gerome.
“Yeah, so we’re closing the case. No unusual amounts of drugs were found in his system. No murder or suicide - it was just an accidental choking.”
“Where is the pizza box I turned in?”
“Wilcox took care of all the evidence. Everything checked out. No murder, no case.”
“I thought Wilcox quit.”
“Well, you left town so I didn’t accept his resignation. I needed someone with experience working homicide.”
“Something’s not right, chief. I need to question Pel-tire.”
“Okay, Elderberry. I’ll humor you for a while and keep the case open a few more days.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Put Captain Richards on the line.” Elderberry handed the phone to Richards.
“Yeah, Sam?”
“Keep that asshole locked up a couple more days, if you don’t mind. That’ll teach him a lesson not to take off on a wild goose chase without my permission.”
“Sure thing, Sam – no problem. Talk to you later.”
“Well, can I go now?” asked Gerome.
“Of course you can go – right back to your cell.”
“What?”
“Your chief wants me to keep you a few more days. He’s enjoying the peace and quiet,” Richards said, with a smile.
“You can’t keep me here. You have no goddamn grounds.”
“Disobeying an officer of the law’s orders? That’ll keep you here a couple more days.”
“This is a goddamn outrage.”
“I’ll just add obstruction of justice to the charges,” said Captain Richards, as he escorted Elderberry back to his cell.
Gerome started talking to himself, since no one was listening to him.
“Why is Chief Bushman trying to keep me here? There’s got to be some explanation for this. I’m the best homicide detective New Lake City has ever seen. Sergeant Wilcox is just a panty waste waiting for his retirement. Somebody is trying to keep me from getting to Pel-tire.”
Nick got into a cab around noon. He had had to drink himself to sleep the night before. He brushed his teeth for ten minutes before he started drinking. He was trying to obliterate the feeling of Lucille’s lips on his. After rinsing his mouth out with Everclear, he decided to just drink it instead. He almost slept with Satan, or so he thought.
“Where can I take you, Nick?” asked the cabbie.
Nick handed him the card with the address.
“How did you know my name?” asked Nick.
“How rude of me. My name’s Bart. I know exactly where this place is. Just enjoy the ride.”
Nick decided not to question him. The cab driver took Nick to the address on Division Street where Barry Washington had his little recording studio set up. There was a view of Lake Michigan from the front door, which Nick noticed as he walked in.
“Nick, my man, come on in,” said Barry. “Any trouble finding the place?”
“No. The cab driver knew exactly where to bring me,” said Nick, as he shook Barry’s hand.
“You want some pizza? Got some genuine Chicago deep dish right here.”
“No, thanks man. I don’t have much of an appetite right now.”
“Well, grab a piece later if you want. I got a surprise for you.” Barry was excited. He knew he had found something Nick would enjoy.
Nick was curious. “What is it?”
“I was digging in the attic and found some old pictures you might want to look at.” He handed Nick one of them.
“Is that my father?” asked Nick. The picture was a little fuzzy but he could see some resemblance
“Sure is,” said Barry. “That was taken the night he met your mom. Take a look at this one.”
Nick grabbed the picture. “Is that my mother?” The picture showed a full-length image of a sexy woman dancing near a bar. He couldn’t make out the face.
“Sure is. Does she look like the other pictures you seen of her?” asked Barry.
“I don’t know. I’ve never even seen a picture of her. My Grandma said she didn’t have any.”
Grandma Peltier sheltered Nick from any connection to his parent’s life. She didn’t like the way her two sons turned out and she wanted a fresh start with Nick.
“Damn shame, son. A man that never met his own mama and doesn’t even know what she looked like. Here, take a look at this one.”
Nick looked at the next picture. It was a close-up of Fast Phil, Louise, and another man. It was a detailed photo of his parents. She had beautiful eyes and long, flowing blond hair. His father had
the same goofy expression that Nick always had when he came close to a beautiful lady.
“My, God. My mother was gorgeous,” said Nick.
“Damn straight, she was,” said Barry.
“And my father was a good looking as I am now,” Nick joked. He chuckled to hide the pain he was feeling of seeing his parents for the first time. They looked happy in the photo. He knew it was the night they met, but he could see something in their eyes as they were leaning against each other, cheek to cheek. He wondered what it would have been like if he was raised by them instead of Marie. His eyes drifted to the gentleman sitting next to them. The man seemed furious.
“Who’s that man sitting next to them?” Nick asked.
“That was your mother’s boyfriend. I think his name was Bill or something like that. He was a guitar player for a band that played in the club every now and then. I remember taking this picture right before the fight started. Never saw him after that night. I never liked the guy. He was a lawyer by day and an average musician by night. He was kind of a butthole. I put a copy of this picture behind the bar to piss him off. It ain’t there no more. Guess he took it.”
“He looks kind of familiar,” said Nick.
“Tell you what, son. Why don’t you let me make you some copies of these pictures that you can keep? After that, we’re going back there and do some serious jamming. It looks like you could use it.” The front door opened and in walked a bunch of older looking black men.
“Sammy, Jimmy, Rollo, come on in,” said Barry. “This young white boy’s gonna jam with us today.”
“You know anything ‘bout the blues, boy?” asked Sammy, a veteran of the Chicago blues scene for fifty years.
“I’m thirty-five years old, my mother died when I was born. My father left me right then. I just saw a picture of them for the first time two minutes ago. The woman I’ve been carrying a torch for the last seventeen years is a lesbian, and I almost got laid by Satan herself less than twelve hours ago,” said Nick.
“Damn, that boy is the blues,” said Sammy. “Come jam with us. I’m sure you could use it. Satan herself? The boy thinks the devil is a woman.”
“Sammy, you remember back in the late fifties, this jazz combo from Louisiana gigging at the club? You know, some crazy Zydeco jazz mix.”
“Yeah, think so, maybe,” said Sammy. “What about ‘em?”
“You remember that crazy drummer?”
“Oh yeah, Fast Phil, I think his name was. He got in that big ol' fight over some woman.”
“Well, this young man is Phil and that woman’s son,” said Barry.
Sammy was surprised. “You say she died when you were born?”
“Yeah.”
“Damn shame. That was a fine looking woman. No disrespect, you hear, but your daddy didn’t deserve somebody that nice.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Nick.
“Now don’t get me wrong. I’m sure he loved her and all that, but he stole her from a man right under his nose. I don’t like seeing that happen.”
“That’s only because it happened to you too, you ol' bastard,” said Barry.
“Still don’t make it right, you big mouth buzzard,” snapped Sammy.
“Don’t worry about it, guys,” said Nick. “Let’s just go back there and jam.” He was a bit overwhelmed from this new information about his parents. Nick found an old Les Paul Custom Deluxe sitting in the corner of the studio. He picked it up, tuned it, and then started jamming with the best musicians he had ever played with. For the next few hours, he didn’t think about Jamie, Andie, Tony, Lucille or his parents. He just played.
The Devil's in My Bathroom Page 26