Simon Says: Case of the Singing Lady Blues

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&;amp;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