| Posted: 13 July 2011 at 2:46pm | IP Logged
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Haven’t been this early to the office since the last time I had a late night office meeting with a Mr J.Daniels and woke up with a sore head and a painful crick in my neck. Only recovered after a healthy dose of self-pity.
Decided to ring Joanne Eden, always stay close to the customer, especially the ones that’ll probably pay. I plan to tell her that I am getting closer to the target; I may be pretty rubbish with a needle and thread but I’m sharp at embroidering the truth. No joy and a pretty cold response at the other end. Gave my name, number and address, but not my business that as ever is strictly private between me and the client. Anyhow I must have annoyed them, so I’ll deploy my usual tactic in such cases and ring back in about an hour, don’t want their hackles subsiding too far.
After a strong coffee, I try a few more leads and would be just as well asking if anyone knew where the Holy Grail exhibition was sited than asking the whereabouts of After the Fire. But something just kept driving me on. It was high denomination green folding bills and oh I still remember the fragrance of her visit. In her esteemed honour I’d not cleaned up since, but maybe in truth that would have been the case anyway. But there’d one tasty bite of worm for the early bird, a client settled up a six month old bill just right out of the Californian blue. I’m not sure what serendipity was but I was beginning to like the taste
The office door opened.
‘Paper Mr Douglas.’
‘Cameron, I hope the racing pages are still intact.’
‘Sure Mr Douglas, but I got a solid tip running in the 2.30, it’s 9 to 2 a dead cert.’
‘Cameron you’re last dead cert still hasn’t finished last week’s race.’
‘You’ll be sorry.’
‘Okay,’ I replied knowing he’d caught me at a weak moment with unexpected dollars in wallet.
‘Twenty on the mule and make sure it actually reaches the bookie’s mitt, with my run of losses I suspect you could be holding the cash and running your own book.’
‘Mr Douglas I am an honest businessman selling papers down on my usual pitch. I wouldn’t scam customers, ‘specially my regulars like you Sam.’
‘Funny that Cam, because I had you down as a little loveable scamp who should be still in school trying to better himself.’
‘I’ll be going to night school soon as I but I’ve taken another job in the evening.’
I shook my head to try and show him my displeasure, ‘Cam now I’ve just waved goodbye to twenty bucks what’s the name of the dead cert donkey.’
‘Pilgrim.’
‘If I get any time I’ll get down the track and holler out for Pilgrim, especially as it’s a cast-iron winner.’ I suspected the result with my recent betting form might be more Grim than Pilgrim nestling in winner’s enclosure.
I then heard the story of Cam’s uncle who worked at the docks until he got a heavy beating for raising a legitimate concern. With no health insurance he couldn’t get fixed up and wouldn’t be working for some while. Sounds like he was struggling on with support from his wife’s mission church. Apparently at the docks they’d brought a new cohort of Chinese, working them worse than slaves. All round pretty bad scene. Told Cam forget the bet on the nag and buy his uncle some groceries. Also learnt that years back his uncle was also a Candyman with Ripey. Small world for the jumping jive cats. Cam said anytime I needed anything just see a paper boy on the corner and they’d get the message back to Cam to help, rapidstyle. Thanked him and told him to keep away from the gangs, didn’t want to hear of him hanging out with the Black Pharaohs. Bad company ruins good morals.
Failed to get through to the evasive Ms Eden then, just what I needed, Harvey rang through with a real nugget of gold.
******
So they’ve pitched up in a pretty rough neighbourhood. Sort of place where they steal the hubcaps off your car…….and when the car is still moving! I slowed down as came down the road, I could see a greasy old truck parked up, and it looked like it had been brought over to the Sunshine State during the Dustbowl days. But who am I disparaging another jalopy as my worn slab of weary metal wheezed to a halt. As I got out I could hear a sprightly shuffle being tapped out by from a socket tool on the side of the truck.
I walked over, the socket swinger turned around from the open hood of the truck, wearing a frayed baseball cap back to front and his face streaked with oil and soot.
‘I am looking for a jazz combo name of M,I.M.E.’
‘Rings a bell, might be able to help you.’
‘Don’t worry it may be money coming in, I’m not chasing anyone for money. Harvey tipped me your address. RussIan BankRob(b)Er.’
‘Ah, so you’ve experienced our great marketing machine,’ he laughed.
‘And you are?’
‘Er as in Turner, the king of rhythm, well in my head anyway. I’m Turner as in keeping the wheels turning or though not as you can see here. You local? Any scrap yards nearby?’
‘Six blocks east but looking at the provenance of your truck, better one five miles north.’
‘Well I’m walking and going to trade some tools for parts, so it might be the nearer one.’
‘No problem I can give you a lift. Now I need to know something, you ever been known as After the Fire?’
He gave a little grin before he replied, ‘sounds like you need to speak to SOS.’
‘SOS?’
‘Our Scientist Of Strategy.’
‘SOS. It’s usually an emergency call sign.’
‘Well when you’ve seen Banksy’s planning in action you’ll probably understand why. Come into our temporary HQ.’
My ears were suddenly assailed with what seemed like a mountain goat entering a karaoke yodelling competition with a strange metallic twanging sound.
‘Don’t worry that’s just Halligan warming his pipes up. We sit him out front to practice. Keeps the bad dudes away, they probably think the hairstyle is contagious. And tell you what when where camping in mountains or deserts, he can scare the bears and mountain lions as well. So he has his uses. Hey Nibs, someone for SOS.’
A bespectacled face looked out clutching a sheaf of papers.
‘Nibs is our alleged marketing whiz, ahem. Also he juggles the unpaid bills.’
‘Come through,’ said Nibs, ‘they’re just finishing a management meeting.
Through the door I could see and hear two men talking heatedly at a table.
‘But it was the Gibson, you’ve got to listen to me! Why not Halligan’s guitar?’
’Come on John come down off your soapbox, how much would the pawn shop given for his tin can guitar? We have to eat. You’re a big man with a big heart.’
‘Looks like I’m taking up the spoons, suppose it won’t be the first or last time.’
‘On all our travels I’m not talking about an easy ride.’
‘Well that’s for sure. Suppose we’re waiting for some manna from heaven.
‘Hey SOS, man here for you,’ called Nibs.
Peter and John chorused, ‘enter.’
‘I’m Sam Douglas pleased to meet you,’ as handshakes were made.
‘A man on a mission and if I’m lucky and you’re the sounds I need, we can both share some cash.’
‘You’re playing our song man,’ said John as Peter shuffled the playing cards in front of him.
‘And what sounds do you want Mr Manna from heaven,?’ Asked Peter.
‘I know you’re called M.I.M.E but I need the sounds of After the Fire.’
‘You’re in the right place, and we can, for better or worse, make the magic.’
‘Good, because I’m working for an old fan who wants to hear whatever you do again, at least one more time. Don’t ask me why I wouldn’t know a Lindy hop from a Jitterbug. Describe it to me.’
‘Like the power of a jet. But I don’t deny we’re desperate on the resource front but we can’t do it without the guitar fuss from big Russ.’
‘My beautiful Gibson baby is now an orphan in hock. She must be soooo lonely.’
I do hate crocodile tears. The cash in my pocket was getting ready to walk. Peter was turning playing cards over and had two Ace of Diamonds and then he realised why he’d been losing the nightly card game. Turner merging the packs again.
I tossed the last roll of greenbacks across the table and then pulled out my silver cigarette case and added it to them.
‘Thanks but we don’t smoke, but our music really smokes’ said John.
‘Neither do I but the sailor who sold it to me in an Oakland bar reckons its silver. So use at the pawn shop and get your comfort blanket back. I need you back as After the Fire. Harvey has told me you’re backing the Three Decrees tomorrow night at the Starflight club. No doubt the residency there will sort out your cash flow.’
‘Residency? It was going to be. Now it’s a one off. Harvey could only hold them to tomorrow night. The Three Decrees have accepted an offer to go Asia, five times their normal rate and all expenses paid. We will play the gig and then head east, and maybe back across the ocean. But you’ve got Russ back in play, so we’ll play the first set as After the Fire. Basically we just need any excuse. Get the fan there, I’ll like to meet them.’
‘Cheers. I hope I can get her there, I’m hopefully seeing her soon with an update (‘cos she ain’t answering any calls) and you’ll be getting a bonus, that’s a promise.'
We chatted for another few minutes but I had other catfish to fry.
Turner came up to my car with a bulging holdall of tools for his scrap yard trade.
‘Leave ‘em and jump in. When we get there this old scrapper is yours for the trading.’ I don’t know why I said it but these good works were becoming a very expensive habit.
‘Joy,’ responded Turner getting in.
When we got there I told him I was walking back towards downtown. Going to build up an appetite for some Chinese chow. I had a bad feeling, and it wasn’t from my car’s lack of suspension. It was going to be a very messy forty eight hours.
Edited by rod williamson - 15 July 2011 at 12:32pm
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Topic: SOS - The real Part 5
