'That'll Be The Day' (Chapter 10)
Serialized Crime Fiction: A Power Pop Heist
CHAPTER 1 • CHAPTER 2 • CHAPTER 3 • CHAPTER 4 • CHAPTER 5 • CHAPTER 6 • CHAPTER 7 • CHAPTER 8 • CHAPTER 9 • CHAPTER 10 • CHAPTER 11 • CHAPTER 12 • CHAPTER 13 (THE END)
That’ll Be The Day: A Power Pop Heist
by S.W. Lauden
Chapter 10
Jamie stood there, gun in hand. The bodyguard lay motionless at his feet.
“I never even pulled the trigger.”
“Then what the hell happened?”
“I have no idea. The gunshots came from somewhere else. I swear.”
Jack knew a double cross when he saw one. It was crystal clear Chaz had set them up.
“We need to get out of here. Right now.”
“What about the record?”
Jack looked down at the bodyguard. The briefcase was nowhere to be found.
“No time. We have to leave before somebody calls the cops. No way those gunshots went unnoticed.”
A slight edge crept back into Jamie’s trembling voice. “I’m not leaving without that record. I can’t lose my house.”
The look of determination on Jamie’s face was so much like their mother’s. Jack knew his brother wouldn’t budge, and he wasn’t about to let him go back into the warehouse alone.
“Okay, but we have to hurry. I think he stashed it somewhere inside.”
They edged along the building back around to the front. The first bodyguard lay in a pool of blood near the rear of the Caddy. Jack’s eyes bugged out, but Jamie couldn’t look. Jack retraced his steps down the hallway and into the warehouse. He groped at the wall until he found the light switch. The overhead fluorescent lights came on one by one, each of them revealing another meticulous display more mind-blowing than the last.
The Sharp brothers froze as their eyes scanned the immense museum spread out before them. Glass case after polished glass case was filled with every Beatles collectible imaginable. The displays closest to them featured Fab Four lunchboxes, three-ring binders, rulers, pencils and backpacks. The next row over featured stuffed Mop Top dolls, John, Paul, George and Ringo figurines, bubbleheads and clock radios. A whole case was dedicated to a sunny array of yellow submarines. The third row down showcased Beatles-branded kids instruments ranging from guitars, banjos and pianos to bongos and tambourines. Beyond that were cases featuring impossible to find vinyl albums, signed posters and several pristine concert programs from the ‘60s.
On and on it went, row after jaw-dropping row. The most comprehensive collection of Beatles swag that most of the world had no idea existed in one place. It was such a staggering stockpile, the brothers briefly forgot why they were there, basking instead in their own childish Beatles fandom. Wide eyes swept across the assembled treasures, getting them drunk on the overwhelming nostalgia. But nothing prepared them for what they saw on the opposite end of the vast room. Up on an elevated stage against the wall was a perfect recreation of The Ed Sullivan Show set exactly as it looked on that legendary night in 1964 when America fell for The Beatles.
The brothers stepped forward in unison, as if overcome by some gravitational pull. They encountered new wonders with every step, slapping shoulders to excitedly point this way and that. It felt like an eternity before they finally reached the foot of the stage. Jamie turned to Jack with a look of complete wonder on his face.
“Is that McCartney’s actual Hofner bass?”
It was the first time either of them had spoken since the lights came on. Jack thought his little brother looked and sounded twelve years old again. Not like somebody who had just watched two men die.
“Seems like it.”
The famous violin bass was perched on a stand in the exact spot where McCartney performed. Same with John Lennon’s black Rickenbacker 325 Capri guitar and George Harrison’s Gretsch hollow body. Ringo Starr’s Oyster Black Ludwig drum kit sat on a riser behind them, the band’s famous logo emblazoned on the kick drum. Both Jamie and Jack had seen enough footage from that famous debut to know that everything in front of them was exactly as it had been that February night fifty years ago. The installation even had vintage TV cameras pointed right where the band should be. The only thing missing was John, Paul, George and Ringo.
Jack did the math while “Please Please Me” roared in his mind. The Beatles might not have played that song on The Ed Sullivan Show, but Jack could hear it all the same—screaming girls and all.
“If the gear is real, there’s several million dollars on this stage alone.”
“Twelve million and change, actually. And it’s all real, I can promise you that.”
Jamie and Jack whirled around, guns drawn. A portly old man stood before them in cowboy boots, worn blue jeans and a plaid shirt. The white Stetson on his head rounded out the ensemble. Four heavily armed men flanked him.
The old man’s lined face was like a wooden mask.
“Go ahead and drop your guns. Unless you plan to die here tonight.”
Jack wasn’t about to rule it out. Anything was better than going back to prison. Especially before he got the chance to find his father. What was one more body after the two that would be pinned on Jamie and him anyway?
“I take it you’re Patterson.”
“And you’re Jack Sharp. I hope you don’t mind me saying that you are, hands down, one of my favorite guitarists of all time. After Harrison and Lennon, of course.”
Jack was about to respond when two more bodyguards stepped out of the shadows. They pushed a dazed and bloodied Chaz between them. The brothers dropped their guns in unison at the sight of him. Jack was ready to lunge at their old drummer, but Patterson waved him off.
“Slow down now. I’m not sure he could take another punch after what my boys put him through. Ain’t that right, Chaz?”
Patterson gave Chaz’s bruised cheek a hard slap before turning back to face the Sharp brothers. Their eyes went wide.
“Don’t look so surprised. Chaz here’s a real backstabber. He’d sell his own mother out if it meant some quick cash.”
Jamie and Jack were too stunned to speak.
“He never planned to let you get that Quarrymen 45. He wanted it for himself all along. But he did plan to pin those two murders on you from the looks of things. Damn shame too, since it cost me two of my best men.”
Jamie went from silent to screaming. “Fuck you, Chaz! We trusted you—”
Jack pushed his brother aside.
“How’d you figure it out?”
“Chaz’s really good at dirty work, but he ain’t exactly a criminal mastermind. Those two bodyguards outside said he’d been asking a lot of questions about the Quarrymen 45. I guess he found out they told me. That’s probably why he was okay shooting them.”
Chaz swayed silently. Patterson kept his eyes on Jack.
“They told me about his plans around a month ago. I had no idea he was bringing you two in until the silent alarms started ringing a little while ago. How long have you three boys been planning this, anyway?”
Patterson looked from Jack to Jamie and back again. Several tense moments passed before Jack decided to answer.
“Only a couple of days.”
Patterson took the cowboy hat off, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. He had an impressive crop of thick gray hair for a man of his age.
“Well, I guess that makes sense since you just got out of prison. Although I have to admit, this wasn’t exactly the reunion I had in mind.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on now, Jack. Those boys up at the Oklahoma Pardon and Parole Board had no intention of letting you out. Not without a little cash incentive from me. But that’s all behind us now. Why don’t you boys come with me? There’s something I’ve been wanting to show you.”
That'll Be The Day: A Power Pop Heist
CHAPTER 1 • CHAPTER 2 • CHAPTER 3 • CHAPTER 4 • CHAPTER 5 • CHAPTER 6 • CHAPTER 7 • CHAPTER 8 • CHAPTER 9 • CHAPTER 10 • CHAPTER 11 • CHAPTER 12 • CHAPTER 13 (THE END)
That’ll Be The Day In Print & eBook Formats!
Both That’ll Be The Day: A Power Pop Heist and the sequel, Good Girls Don’t: A Second Power Pop Heist, are available in print and ebook formats on Amazon.
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