Storymania - Simon Says: The Case Of The Singing Lady Blues by P J Lawton

Simon Says: The Case Of The Singing Lady Blues
P J Lawton

Simon Says: Case of the Singing Lady Blues

By
P.J. Lawton

Simon Says – - Sometimes making the wrong decision is better than making no decision at all - - Not!

***

It was 4:00 A.M. when the jarring consistent ringing of my phone broke through my alcohol induced coma. Stumbling to my desk I attempted a coherent answer. After a couple of croaking tries some sound finally came out.

“Yeah, Simon here. Who is this and what do you want?”

“Hey Sherlock, what’s happening?”

“TJ you jerk, what are you doing calling me at this hour?” TJ was Tommy James my ex-partner and best friend.

“Do you know someone named Melissa Albert?”

“Yeah, I know Melissa. She’s a client. What about her?” I guess I should have told him that she had been a client. She fired me last night.

“Look Simon, I’m downtown at the old municipal building, you know the one over on Lex.”

“Yeah, I know it, over on the corner of Lexington and Smith right? What about Melissa?”

“I think you need to get down here ASAP. I’ll explain everything then.”

“Okay, give me 20 minutes.”

Fully awake now, the feeling of dread was pretty much overwhelming. I threw on some clothes and grabbing my keys headed out for downtown.

***
My name is Winston Simon and I’m a private detective. I used to be a police officer but all that ended when Saddam Hussein decided he wanted Kuwait. As officer in the Army Reserve I was sent to Saudi Arabia where large piece of hot metal from a Scud Missile took out my right knee and my Police career.

After three painful surgeries I returned home with a brand new plastic knee and small Veterans Administration pension. I couldn’t return to the police department so I used my small savings and bought a failed detective agency. That was a little over seven years ago. I had handled some successful cases over the years but I knew I was never going to be rich. Melissa Albert had been my most current case.

Melissa was a singer, a blues/soul singer, and by all accounts a very good one. Her first and second CDs both quickly went platinum. Her third didn’t do quite as good. Getting to the top had been a hard climb for her and she had made a few mistakes on the way. Her biggest mistake had been signing a contract with Mission Street Records. A rather large, 400-pound fellow ran Mission Street Records; the fellow was named Fat Daddy Jack. Yeah, I know, but that was his real name, he had it legally changed when he had gone into the recording business. FDJ, as his friends called him, was into more than just recording. It was rumored that he controlled the Upper East Side. Everything from drugs to prostitution had his stamp on it.

Melissa had come to me because when her contract with FDJ had run out she had wanted to go to another studio. FDJ was having none of that and had made several threats against her. The gist of the threat was, “if you don’t record for me, you don’t record for anybody.” Melissa had not taken the threat seriously and had recorded a new CD with a small-unknown studio. Consequently, the studio was fire bombed and two people were killed. Melissa got scared and came to me.

***

TJ was standing outside the roped off area when I got out of my car. With his head he motioned me to follow him into a long alley. Melissa was toward the back, peacefully sitting against the wall, quite dead. There were no signs of any type of disturbance. Unless you noticed the needle sticking out of her arm you would have thought she simply sat down for a nap. Only this nap was forever!

“Well Sherlock, what do you think. M.E. says she’s been dead for about two hours. Overdose?”

“No way TJ, she didn’t use. She had a brother die from an overdose and swore she would never use any narcotics. I don’t think she even took anything stronger than aspirin.” I was rambling a little, I suppose because of my hangover and also because I felt awfully guilty for what I was seeing.

I quickly outlined what I knew about her situation. TJ was sympathetic but with the lack of any other evidence he indicated that it would simply go down as an accidental overdose. He then told me to go on home and let it go. My client was dead after all.

“Look Simon, I know you tend to take your cases personally but you have got to let go. This stuff is just going to eat you up inside.”

“Okay TJ. I’ll go home and sleep on it.” To keep from getting into that same old argument we had many times I simply agreed with him and headed home but I wasn’t about to let it go.

***

It was almost 6:00 A.M. when I stumbled back into my office cum apartment. My only thoughts were settling my rear down on my cot for a much needed rest. Hopefully that would be at least a partial cure for my splitting head. I was almost ready to drop off when I happened to see the red blinking light from my answering machine. My first instinct was to ignore it and wait until I was thinking a little more clearly but something told me I should listen. As the first words came out, I was wide-awake! It was Melissa’s soft voice.

“Simon, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I talked so badly to you. I know you were just trying to help. I am going to take your advice and make a clean break from FDJ. In fact I’m going to tell him tonight. I’m supposed to be at his office at 10:00 P.M. I’m still going to need your help. Can you meet me there?”

Her words took me back to earlier that evening. She had come to see me to tell me she no longer needed my help. She was afraid and had decided to give in to FDJ and do what he wanted. We argued for about an hour before she stormed out of my office. After she left I went to my favorite watering hole and got drunk. Real mature, huh Simon?

I rewound the taped message and played it again and this instance paid more attention to the time. She had called about an hour after leaving my office. I guess I had been a little too high to notice the message button when I staggered home around 2:00 A.M. But, by then it was already too late. I don’t think I have ever felt any lower than I did at that moment. If I hadn’t been such a jerk and ran off to drink away my frustrations then she would still be alive!

I couldn’t bring her back but I could make sure that her killer or killers would pay. I owed her that much! I wasn’t sure what happened but I was sure that it was on Fat Daddy Jack’s orders. Later today I would just have a little talk with him.

I didn’t have to wait long. About an hour later my phone rang disturbing my much-needed sleep. Groggily I answered.

“Simon.”

“It would be smart if you minded your own business.”

The voice sounded familiar but it took me a few seconds to place it. For a big man his voice was small and squeaky sort of like that professional boxer Mike what’s his name. “Well, Jack I was about to give you a call. I believe we have some unfinished business.”

“I ain’t got any business with no P.I. I was just calling to let you know that Melissa came by to see me last night and signed a new contract. She asked me to tell you that she didn’t need you anymore.”

“Jack, you’re a fat pig and a liar. Don’t even try to tell me you don’t know about Melissa?”

I think my insult hit a nerve because his voice got a few octaves higher. “Do you know who you’re talking to? People have disappeared for talking to me like that. You sorry .. ”

I interrupted his shouting. “Yeah, yeah right Jack. Give it up and stop flapping your fat face. Let me tell you something, I don’t care how long it takes, I’m taking you down for what you did to Melissa, you got that?”

He was screaming incoherently as I slammed down the phone. I think maybe I upset him a little. I planned to upset him a lot more.

***

The next few days went by very slowly. I spoke with TJ a couple of times about Melissa but his hands were tied. It was a closed case. I wasn’t about to let it go that easily. I decided to apply a little pressure to FDJ. Each evening as he left his office I was staked out right across the street. I wasn’t in the least bit trying to be inconspicuous. I wanted him to see me and know that I was watching him. What was that old saying, shake the tree and see what falls off. I figured he would get tired of seeing me sooner or later and make a move against me. That’s all I needed.

One evening about a week later I saw a little piece in the entertainment news. The piece said: “Mission Street Records will release a Memorial two CD collection of songs by the late Melissa Albert. The collection will contain a CD of her greatest hits and a CD of never released songs. This new song CD was to be her latest and was almost ready for production before her untimely death. The two CD Set will sell for $49.95. Projected sales are one expected to be well over one million sets”

Wow, 50 million reasons to see Melissa dead. I could now see that she was worth more to FDJ dead than alive. Poor kid never had a chance. I thought I would just have to turn up the heat a little. Turns out I didn’t need to.

That evening as I was leaving my favorite watering hole two men were waiting for me. I saw them as soon as I left the doorway but pretended not to notice. Maybe they were there just to watch me, but I didn’t think so. I was right. About the time I reached my car they moved toward me. About an arms length away the bigger of the two spoke.

“Okay bro, lets go, the boss wants to talk to you,” he said, showing me the gun in his waistband. I guess he thought that would scare me or something.

“Sorry boys, I’m afraid I’ve got other plans,” I replied keeping my eyes on the smaller of the two. He looked to be the more dangerous.

The big one grunted something unintelligible and reached for me. That was a big mistake. With my good left leg I kicked him in the shin, hard. I was wearing my wingtips with the stiff leather soles. I think maybe I cracked his shin because he bellowed in pain and starting hopping crazily in a circle.

A second after the kick I sent a straight right jab to the nose of the second guy. When I was light heavyweight champion of the Police Athletic League I was told that my right jab was my best and deadliest punch. I must have caught him good because the blood started immediately to pour as he flew backward against the side of the building. With his eyes watering and his nose bleeding I knew he wasn’t much of a threat anymore. I wasn’t sure about the big guy.

When I turned back to him I could see that he was still hopping around but was trying to draw the pistol from his belt. I walked over and kicked him in the other shin. That did it. Down he went, again screaming in pain as his weapon went flying.

I went back to the little guy still trying to clear his eyes and stop the blood flowing. I grabbed him by the shirt and gave him a good left hook just below the ear. He went down and out like I had hit him with a 2X4.

Moving over to the big man I said, “Tell your boss that I’m not finished with him, oh yeah and also tell him that if you two are the best he’s got... “

I didn’t bother to finish my sentence. I’ve got to say this about the big guy, he was game, dumb yes, but game. As I was talking he was trying to hold his injured leg and still crawl after his fallen pistol. Just for good measure I walked over and kicked him in the head! Goodnight boys.

***

The next day I called TJ to see if he had any thing more for me. He was sorry to say that he didn’t. I told him about last nights little episode. He wasn’t impressed.

With a chuckle he said. “You must be getting old Sherlock. I can remember the day when you would have only had to hit the little guy once. And by the way, kicking a man when he’s down, shame on you!”

TJ could always make me laugh. Feigning annoyance though I barked, “Yeah, it’s easy for you to say, you still got two good legs. Big flat feet, but two good legs.”

“Hey, ease off there Mister PI. Seriously Sherlock, you had better start watching your rear. FDJ isn’t one to let that go. He’s got to protect his rep you know. Besides, those boys probably can’t wait to get another crack at you.

My tone suddenly went hard and bitter. “I know TJ but I can’t just let him get away with killing Melissa. If I can’t get something on him, then I just have to make him come after me.”

“Okay my friend. Just remember I can’t help if you step over the line. Let me know if you need any legitimate help. Take care.”

After he rang off I sat for a while and thought about what we had said. I made a decision. I was going to take Fat Daddy Jack out. Maybe not legitimately, but somehow he was going down. It took awhile but I finally came up with a plan.

***
My plan was simple and easy to implement. I was going to set my self up as a target. When they came to get me then hopefully I would be quicker and get them. Simple plan right? All I had to do was set it in motion. I pulled out my cell and called FDJ’s office.

“Let me talk to the fat slob,” I sarcastically said.

“What, who is this.” I heard

“Tell the blob that Simon wants to talk.”

“You’re a dead man walking,” was the next voice I heard.

“Been watching old movies have we, Jack, or did you come up with that line on your own?”

“You listen to me Simon, you’re dead.” His little squeaky voice was getting higher and higher. “It’s just a matter of time.”

“Yeah right, who’s going to do it, you? Your boys sure weren’t good enough. I don’t think you can move that fat rear-end fast enough to cause me any worries. I just wanted to call to let you know that you aren’t going to be around to spend any of Melissa’s money. One way or another, you’re history.”

I could hear him sputtering and choking. Maybe he was having a coronary and my job would be done. Naw, I never was that lucky. “Oh yeah,” I said, “and you have a nice day okay?” I quickly broke the connection. If that didn’t get him riled up then nothing would. Now I just had to wait.

***

Setting the stage was pretty easy. When I had two good legs every morning I would go over to Riverside Park for a 3-5 mile run. I couldn’t run much anymore but I still occasionally went to the park for a long walk. I figured that was a good place for them to make their move. Before painting a bulls-eye on my back I had to make a few preparations. I kept all my tools of the trade in an old WWII wooden footlocker in my office. I knew exactly what I needed.

Opening my footlocker I put away my usual everyday handgun, a Walther P22 .22 caliber semi-automatic pistol usually worn in a belt holster. A few of my friends had questioned my choice of weapons but loaded with .22LR hollow points my little P22 could put up a sizable fight.

For this particular job though I felt that I would need a little more stopping power. I pulled on my shoulder rig with my Russian MR-445 Varjag Heavy Pistol that was chambered for .40 caliber S&W cartridges. The Russian SPETSNAZ Special Forces had developed the MR-445 for their use. It was a good steady weapon. Whereas most .40 Cals like the Taurus or Glock held ten round magazines, my Varjag carried fifteen rounds. Those five extra rounds could make a real difference in a tight situation. Loaded down with a couple of extra ammo magazines, I headed for the park.

Nothing happened the first day, or the second, or the third. By the fourth morning I was beginning to think they wouldn’t take the bait. I figured I had better turn up the heat a little more. Through my old training officer at the Department Sergeant Willis Jackson I was able to get FDJ’s cell phone number. They had been keeping tabs on Jack from some time hoping to make a case. So far no good though. I guess I’ll have to take care of that for them, I thought.

I called FDJ’s cell. He answered with some sort of high-pitched grunt.

“Hey fatso, you still around huh?”

“What! Who the hell is this and how did you get this number?” Suddenly he realized who was calling. “Simon! Just what in the hell do you want.” He was trying to sound tough.

“Hey Jack, I told you I was going to take you down, got a little something that you might like to hear.” I had taken the taped message Melissa had left for me and put it into my small tape recorder. I pushed the play button and Melissa soft sweet voice filled the air. “I am going to take your advice and make a clean break from FDJ. In fact I’m going to tell him tonight. I’m supposed to be at his office at 10:00 P.M. I’m still going to need your help. Can you meet me there?”

All was quiet for a few seconds then FDJ’s whiney voice came back. “You got nothing gumshoe. That proves nothing.”

Gumshoe? God, how old was FDJ anyway. I hadn’t heard that term in years. He must have been watching old 1940s movies or something. “Sorry Jack. Gave you a chance to come and get me but you wouldn’t come. Guess your heart ain’t nearly as large as that big fat butt. I guess I’ll just have to give this tape to the cops. I’m sure they would be happy to have it. See you around,” I said and closed my cell phone.

If that didn’t do it I guess I would have to turn it over to TJ. Anyway, I figured one more day.

***
The day started off cold and foggy with visibility down to a few feet. A good day for a killing, I thought.

I had been walking for about 20 minutes and was about to start my return when they made their move. It was a big black limousine and came barreling down on me from behind. It must have been the squealing of the tires that made me look back and it saved my life.

The limo was only about 30 feet away when I saw it. I had just enough time to dive out of the way. As it flew past I caught a glimpse of a driver and Fat Daddy Jack sitting in the back. He looked to be holding a MAC-10 or Tec-9 automatic. Neither weapon was good from a distance put could put out a lot of lead in a short time. He didn’t get a chance to line up his shot just fired off a complete magazine as they roared past. Disappointed, I thought I was going to miss my chance at them but no, they were too stupid or overconfident to just keep going.

The driver was pretty good; with a touch of the brake and a flip of the wheel he made a perfect defensive driving U-turn and headed back toward me. This time my big Varjag was in my hand and I was ready. As they neared, I stepped behind a concrete lamppost so I couldn’t be run down and pumped five .40 caliber rounds into the windshield. I think I must have hit the driver with at least two shots. The limo started to weave erratically. As it passed me as fast as I could pull the trigger I put five more shots into the side windows. I most likely didn’t hit FDJ but with all that hot lead flying around he probably messed his pants.

Unexpectedly the car made a 90-degree right turn and crashed though the guardrail. It didn’t immediately go into the river, but sort of hung there for a few seconds. Taking up the preferred shooter stance I emptied my pistol into the back window and trunk. I guess one of the bullets hit something vital for there was a loud whoosh of the gas tank exploding as the big limo went over the edge toward the swirling brown water about 30 feet below.

Ejecting the empty magazine as I ran, I pushed a fresh load home just as I reached the broken guardrail. I didn’t need the pistol anymore. The limo was in the water sitting nose down with the trunk blazing. It slowly shifted sideways and in less than 10 seconds disappeared. I hadn’t seen any of the doors open, and besides, I didn’t think FDJ could have gotten fat butt out without help. Okay Melissa, just like I promised, that one’s for you.

In the distance I heard sirens. I guess some bystander had heard all the shooting and called 911. I walked back to my lamppost and placing my pistol down in plain site, sat down. My legs had suddenly gotten a little shaky. Anyway, I didn’t want some rookie cop to get nervous. Taking out my cell phone I punched TJ’s number. Wouldn’t hurt to have a friend around, after all, I imagined I might just have a little explaining to do.

End