Cold War Copa

by Phil Swann

  When Clegg responded, it wasn’t with anger, but it wasn’t with his normal casual tone. “Not just any little spy ring, Trip. The work being done in this part of the desert is vital to national security, and the Russians know it. This little spy ring, as you put it, was perhaps the most important operation Moscow had in the field. But now, they don’t. Due in no small part to you. Knowingly, or unknowingly, you’ve done good work, Trip. You should be proud or yourself. You’re a true patriot.”

  Okay, I will admit that made me feel pretty swell. I’d been called a lot of things in my life, but a patriot was a new one. I was truly honored. However, when I remembered the sweet girl I knew as Lydia, the double life Agent Veronica Simon had to live, and the ultimate sacrifice she made in service to her country, I knew I wasn’t anywhere close to deserving of the title. But Pop always taught me to accept a compliment with grace and humility. So I did.

  “We’re done here, sir,” Square Head said to Clegg.

  Clegg turned to Luther and Betsy. “Mr. Beaurepaire, Miss Beaurepaire, I can’t order you to not talk about what went on here, but I’m asking you not to.”

  Luther got up from the barstool. “Didn’t you hear? My bartender Shorty moved back east to tend to an ailing mother. As far as the other stuff goes, well, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I run a jazz club, that’s my business. Don’t have no mind to get involved in yours.”

  Clegg extended his hand, and Luther shook it. “Thank you, sir.”

  All eyes turned to Betsy.

  “Whatcha all lookin’ at? I’d just as soon forget about all you white boys.”

  “Hey!” I exclaimed.

  “Except for you, Trip. I’ve learned to put up with you.”

  I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I just might have seen Square Head and Tonto crack an honest to goodness smile.

  “Trip, will you walk me out?” Clegg asked.

  “Sure.” I looked at Luther and Betsy to see if they were really okay. Luther glanced at me, winked, and gave me one of his trademark grins. He might have been faking it. “I’ll be right back, you two.”

  “We ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Betsy replied.

  The sun was coming up over the horizon, and Las Vegas was recalibrating for a new day—which meant it was preparing for a new night to come. The air was dry, the breeze was nil, and there wasn’t a single white puff in the sky. By all signs, it was going to be another scorcher.

  Clegg took off his suit jacket and let it dangle from his finger over his shoulder. I waited for him to say something. When he didn’t, I did.

  “So?” I asked.

  He looked straight ahead. “We have ourselves a predicament, Trip.”

  “What kind of predicament?”

  “You.”

  “What about me?”

  “You know things, and you’ve seen things. Things someone like you should not know and should have never seen.”

  “I’m not going to say anything to anybody.”

  “That’s what I told them.”

  “That’s what you told who?”

  “The people who get concerned about these things.”

  “So…what do they want you to do?”

  “Oh, they want me to have Carson and Stevens take you out in the desert and shoot you in the head.”

  Not sure how many shades of white there are, but I turned all of them.

  “Relax, it’s a joke,” Clegg said.

  “Real funny, Clegg. I can get you a spot in the small room at the Sands.”

  Clegg chuckled and slapped me on the arm. “No, seriously, it is a problem, but I think I know how to solve it.”

  “How?”

  “I told you recently you’ve impressed a lot of people, including me.”

  “Okay. Thanks, I guess.”

  “You’re welcome. When I told you we’d been on to Yuri since his days at Indiana University, what I didn’t tell you is we started a file on you as well.”

  “On me? Why?”

  “You were his friend. Why wouldn’t we? Anyway, I took a gander at that file recently. You were quite the scholar, Trip. Third in your class, in fact. Excelled at history, philosophy, and possessed an uncanny knack for language. Had you not been booted out, you were on your way to a stellar academic career. It’s too bad, really.”

  “What are you getting at, Clegg?”

  “You’re smart, a little devious, and good at making it up as you go. You’re what we call in the business an asymmetrical thinker. You’re not afraid to color outside the lines. That’s a useful trait. Not everyone can do it.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  He continued, “When we lost Agent Simon, we lost more than just a good agent. We lost someone who could go places and interact with people the rest of us humble public servants can’t begin to.”

  I’m no idiot, and I knew where this was heading. “You’re not thinking—”

  “Work for us,” Clegg said flatly.

  “Thanks, I have a job.”

  “Oh, we know. And we want you to keep doing it. In fact, we think we can make your job even better.”

  “How?”

  “By getting you gigs you’ve only dreamed of.”

  “Thanks, but I can get my own gigs,” I replied.

  Clegg smiled, draped his jacket over his arm, and leaned against his car. “You’re a fine musician, Trip. But you know how the music business is. It takes more than just being good to succeed. Sometimes you need a helping hand.”

  “And you’re proposing to be that helping hand,” I replied.

  “I am. Let me be blunt. If you don’t do this, I’m not sure I can keep those people concerned about what you know off my back…or yours.”

  “Are you saying I could get killed?”

  “Nothing like that. But your reputation could be…shall we say, bruised.”

  “Why in the world would they do that?”

  “Simple. If you ever came down with a case of diarrhea of the mouth—”

  “I’d be easily discredited,” I said.

  Clegg nodded. “It’s protocol in these types of situations.”

  “I swear, if I never hear that word again, it’ll be too soon.”

  “But there’s no reason that has to happen.”

  “There isn’t?” I replied.

  “Agree to do a little work for us, and I can protect you. As an added bonus, I promise your music career will flourish.”

  “My music career will flourish anyway,” I shot back. “Besides, I don’t plan to stay a sideman the rest of my life.”

  “And I can all but guarantee you won’t have to.”

  “How?”

  “We have relationships with all the record companies. I can imagine a day when it will behoove us to have one of our artists recording for one of them.”

  “You’re saying you could get me a record deal?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time. And with people far less talented than you.”

  At this point, I know what I should’ve said, but of course, I didn’t. “What would I have to do?”

  “Nothing too dangerous. Just be our eyes and ears. It’ll be a piece of cake. We’ll contact you when we find ourselves in need of your services. We’ll give you some instructions, you follow them, and that’s about it. It might require some traveling, but that’s typical in your line of work anyway, isn’t it?”

  “I guess,” I answered, more to myself than Clegg.

  “Relax, Trip. This is your lucky day. Say yes, and your career will instantly leapfrog ahead ten spaces.”

  “And if I say no?’

  Clegg shrugged.

  I stared out across the parking lot and let my mind wander. The previous four days had been the most terrifying four days of my life. I’d seen things, heard things, and gone through things no one should ever have to see, hear, or go through. I’d almost died…four times! Did I really want to willingly ask for more of the same? Hadn’t I had enough? Was the prospect of getting a boost to my
career really that important to me? That’s when I saw the blue Pontiac stopped across the street from The Jam Jar’s parking lot.

  “If I say yes, does this job come with, you know, some remuneration?”

  “What kind of remuneration?”

  “You know, like a stipend of some kind? I mean, if I’m working for you, shouldn’t I get paid?”

  Clegg shook his head. “It would need to be done carefully, meaning no one could know about it, but I think we could manage some compensation.”

  I looked at the parked Pontiac again. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  Clegg beamed. “Good. You made the right choice, Trip.”

  “Is there any chance I could get an advance on my salary?”

  Clegg’s smile vanished, and he looked to where I was looking. He rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. That’s Fat Tony’s boys here to collect?”

  “You know about that?”

  “Trip, I’m not sure there’s a person in Las Vegas who doesn’t.”

  “So…any chance?”

  He shook his head and sighed. “How much you owe them?”

  “Three hundred.”

  “Three hundred? Seriously, that’s it?”

  “That’s a lot of bread for a musician.”

  Clegg went into his pocket and pulled out a wad of twenties and fifties. “Here’s four hundred. Give it all to them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re only valuable to us if you’re in good with people like Fat Tony. Tell them you’re sorry for the delay. Tell them the extra hundred is for their trouble. Also, tell them it won’t happen again. Which it won’t, will it?”

  “No,” I answered.

  Clegg nodded. “Go give them the money. I’m going back inside to round everybody up. I’ll be in touch, Trip.”

  As Clegg went back into The Jam Jar, I stashed the four hundred in my pocket and headed over to the Pontiac. Sal and Vinnie got out of the car.

  “Thanks for coming, boys. I thought I was going to have to go find you.”

  “You got the dough, Callaway?” Vinnie asked.

  “I do, right here. Two hundred dollars. Exactly what I owe Fat Tony.”

  I handed Vinnie the money. He took it, counted it, and passed it to Sal. “We should work you over anyways for making us chase you down.”

  “Come on, guys. You did your job, you got Fat Tony’s money. Tell you what, here’s an extra fifty for the two of you. You know, for your trouble.”

  Vinnie took the money and nodded.

  “We good?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we’s good,” Vinnie replied. “You’re all right, Callaway. A bit thick sometimes, but you’re all right.”

  “Thanks, praise indeed, Vinnie,” I said.

  Vinnie and Sal got in the car and drove off. I looked back at The Jam Jar as Clegg and his retinue were exiting. Detective Barnard was carrying one of Luther’s signature footlong Po’ Boys in his hand. Clegg glanced at me, and I gave him a thumbs up. He nodded, got in the car, and drove off.

  I headed back to the club. There was still much for me and Luther and Bets to talk about. Like how to break the news to Eighty-Eight about Shorty, but it’d have to wait. The sun was climbing higher in the sky, and that meant it was time for all of us to call it a day—what can I say? We’re night people.

  I needed to get some shut-eye, anyway. Morelli had called a four o’clock rehearsal to go over Dino’s arrangements before the show. They weren’t difficult, but the old man always liked for us to be at our best. One of these days, folks will get it. I’m Trip Callaway, I’m always at my best.

  The End

  About the Author

  Phil Swann's career has spanned over 30 years as an award-winning performer, songwriter, and author. As well as having songs recorded by hundreds of recording artists, Swann is the composer of nine musicals including Play It Cool, The People Vs Friar Laurence, and Musical Fools.

  As an author, his work includes The Song of Eleusis, The Mozart Conspiracy (published in Italy as Il Codice Amadeus), Cold War Copa, Mekong Delta Blues, and Tinsel Town Tango.

  Phil lives in LA where he teaches the craft of writing at UCLA and the Los Angeles College of Music.

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