'That'll Be The Day' (Chapter 11)
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 11
Patterson led them through the warehouse and back out to the front entrance. The return trip inspired less awe, but Jack still couldn’t believe the extent of the collection surrounding them. His eyes drank it all in one last time as he tried to console his shell-shocked brother.
He whispered in Jamie’s ear as they went to meet their fate.
“I’ll get you out of here. Back to your wife and kid. Like none of this happened.”
Jack knew it was a lie, but he needed Jamie alert. The two of them were outnumbered, outgunned, and from the looks of things, outsmarted. But Jack planned to go down with a fight. Prison had taught him that almost anything can be a weapon if you’re desperate enough.
“When the time comes, grab something heavy and start swinging.”
They pushed through the double doors and into the entryway. Jack noticed for the first time that the doors lining the walls were labeled. There were twelve in all, each with a small placard bearing the name of a band. Patterson turned to the first door on the left, labeled The Who.
“I usually take visitors through these smaller collections first, before showing them the main attraction, so you boys will just have to pretend.”
Patterson slid a key into the knob and pushed the door open. Motion lighting came on as Jamie and Jack stepped inside. It wasn’t a twelve thousand square foot warehouse crammed with priceless Beatles memorabilia, but impressive nonetheless. The interior was about the size of Jamie’s record shop, every inch of it filled with artifacts from The Who’s long and illustrious career. At the far end of the room was a smaller stage setup, this one recreating the band’s explosive appearance on The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour in 1967.
Patterson beamed like a proud grandpa outside the delivery room.
“Everybody wants to talk about my Beatles collection, but as you can see, my tastes are a little broader than I get credit for.”
Jack could have spent an afternoon in this room under different circumstances. But he was frantically searching for something heavy to brain Patterson with at the moment. He spotted a Tony Award for the Broadway version of Tommy, but it was slightly out of reach.
Patterson and the bodyguards herded them out soon after they entered. They stepped across the hall to a doorway marked Raspberries. Jack tried to make eye contact with Jamie while Patterson unlocked the door, but his brother was like a zombie. Once inside, they were greeted with a smaller, but equally impressive collection of gear, outfits and assorted paraphernalia from the band’s short career. The stage display in the Raspberries room was a recreation of their 1974 appearance on The Mike Douglas Show.
Patterson shook his head in exasperation as they exited. “I’ll never understand why that first Raspberries album didn’t go platinum.”
So it went, room after room. Following The Who and Raspberries, the Sharp brothers were treated to quick mini-museum tours for The Kinks, The Beach Boys, The Byrds, Big Star, Badfinger, Dwight Twilley, Cheap Trick, Blondie and The Knack. The final door on their whirlwind tour was unmarked.
Patterson turned to face Jamie and Jack before letting them in.
“Thanks for indulging me. It’s not often I get to share my life’s work with people who can actually appreciate it.”
Jamie remained silent, but Jack couldn’t hold back.
“I’d be more impressed if we weren’t being held hostage.”
Patterson gnashed his teeth. “Mind your manners, son. Only reason you three are still breathing is because I happen to love your band.”
Patterson opened the door to reveal a room much like the others. Only this one featured several smaller displays dedicated to a variety of bands. Jack scanned the various collections, noting shrines to The Nerves, Shoes, Material Issue, The Shivvers, 20/20, Teenage Fanclub, The Go-Go’s, Matthew Sweet and Jellyfish. But it was the stage at the far end of the room that got Jack’s attention. Unlike the other installations they had seen, this one was a recreation of a small rehearsal studio. The sight of it sent chills down Jack’s spine.
“What the hell is that?”
Jamie mouthed holy shit as the bodyguards pushed him, Jack and Chaz forward.
Patterson was in jovial tour guide mode.
“Journalists always want to talk about my Beatles collection, but I think they’re missing the point. They were the most popular band in history, and also the most heavily marketed and exploited. Given my wealth, that collection is just a matter of tracking things down and paying top dollar.”
They passed additional displays for Pezband, Off Broadway, The Posies, Supergrass and New Pornographers as they walked. Patterson carried on with his monologue as they made their way to the far end of the room.
“But it’s the smaller bands that present a real challenge. So many of them burst onto the scene but leave virtually no trace when they fade into obscurity a few years later. That’s when the collecting really gets fun. Bands like Jamie & The Jaxx, for example.”
Jack’s mind reeled when they arrived at the life-sized diorama. Every detail was there, from all of their original gear to the posters hanging on the carpeted walls. There was even a set list pinned down under the base of Jamie’s mic stand. The songs listed were all in Jack’s almost illegible scrawl.
Patterson stepped aside to give them a full view of their past.
“I was never lucky enough to visit your rehearsal studio, of course, so I relied on Chaz to help me recreate it. Only reason I hired him in the first place. How’d we do?”
Jamie stumbled forward without a word. His fingers brushed the strings of his old bass guitar while Patterson beamed. Jack kept his distance.
“This is fucking weird. Nobody ever even heard of our band.”
Patterson put a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “And it’s a crying shame. You guys were great, even if the world didn’t give you credit for it at the time.”
Jack shook loose from his grip, knocking the old man off balance in the process. His bodyguards pounced, pulling him back. Patterson quickly recovered.
“Calm down, Jack. You should be honored.”
“Gee, thanks. What the hell do you want from us, you freak?”
Patterson pulled a gun from his shoulder holster. He showed Jack the business end of the barrel.
“I was hoping you three might do a few songs for me. A private concert to settle the score for breaking into my warehouse.”
“Yeah, right. I haven’t played in years.”
“I’m sure it’s like riding a bike. Go ahead and get on up on stage. Now.”
“And what if we don’t?”
Patterson pulled back the hammer on his gun. His bodyguards leveled their weapons behind him.
“Your call.”
A bodyguard gave Chaz a shove in the direction of the drum set. Jamie lifted the bass guitar’s strap over his shoulder. Jack swallowed hard. A bullet to the head or play a few songs?
It was a tough choice.
Jack lit a cigarette as he and Jamie drove away from the warehouse an hour later. Patterson only demanded one song, but it took them three or four just to warm up, and another three after that to chase down the old groove. Once they did, it was impossible to stop. In the end, they played every song scrawled on that old set list, and a few covers to boot.
Jack was spent when the final notes rang out. He set the guitar on its stand, his ears still ringing. Patterson came up behind him, no armed bodyguards in sight.
“You sounded incredible. Not bad for a guy who hasn’t played in years.”
Jack sneered, slipping his leather jacket back on. “I always rise to the occasion when there’s a gun to my head.”
“Well now, maybe you’ll think twice before you try to rob me again.”
Jack clenched his teeth, hoping the old man would finally shut up. They watched as Chaz lay down on the floor behind the drum set. Jamie reclined against an amp, sweaty head in his blistered hands.
Patterson didn’t budge.
“How would you feel about getting back together to make a new album?”
“That another condition of us getting out of here alive?”
“You already paid that debt far as I’m concerned. What I’m talking about is a business arrangement, plain and simple. You record an album and I’ll make sure the world hears it this time. I always wanted to start a record label.”
“Why ask me? Seems like you’d have better luck with my little brother.”
“Because I’m guessing he’ll jump at the chance, especially once he hears my offer. You’re the real wild card here. Always have been.”
“Okay…what’s your offer?”
“I’ll give you fifty grand.”
Jack froze. It was more money than Jamie & The Jaxx ever made in a single year. A third of that would still be more than enough to track his father down in Milwaukee.
“That’s a pretty good chunk of change for three broke musicians to split.”
Patterson responded with a shit-eating grin. “I meant fifty grand each. In cash. Right now.”
Jack looked over at Jamie and Chaz. Neither of them had a clue their old guitarist was in the middle of a heated negotiation. Jack was ready to take the deal—it would be insane not to—but he wasn’t about to make it too easy on Patterson.
“That the best you can do?”
“Don’t get greedy now, or I might change my mind.”
It seemed too good to be true, which made Jack nervous. But it wasn’t like he was spoiled for choice.
“A hundred and fifty grand, huh? Just like that?”
“The money doesn’t matter much, but it might only be a hundred. I’m still deciding if Chaz makes it out of here alive tonight; you might need a new drummer.”
Jack flinched. Chaz might be an unbearable oaf, but he was the only drummer the band ever had. His hand shot out.
“You’ve got a deal, but only with Chaz on drums.”
That'll Be The Day: A Power Pop Heist
I’ll post another chapter on Saturdays. Let’s start at the beginning:
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)
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