'That'll Be The Day' (Chapter 4)
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 4
The Sharp brothers went to the backyard for a smoke. Sluggish bugs buzzed around Jack’s ears in the afternoon heat. Jamie pushed a copy of Rolling Stone across the plastic patio table. The magazine was folded open to a short news story.
Restaurant Chain Founder Scores Rare Beatles Record
A valuable replica of The Quarrymen’s “That’ll Be The Day/In Spite Of All The Danger” 78 might have found a new home in Memphis, Tennessee
By Betty Rudnick
Russell Patterson has been a Beatles fan for as long as he can remember.
“I started collecting Beatles paraphernalia in junior high. I still have my ticket stub from when they played at the Mid-South Coliseum back in ‘66. I was only thirteen, but they made a lifelong fan out of me that night.”
Like most Beatles collectors, Patterson has a list of rarities he dreams about acquiring. Unlike most of his contemporaries, Patterson also has the means to track the rarest items down—and pay the hefty prices they often fetch. Founder of Memphis-based restaurant chain King’s Chicken Shack, he’s consistently one of Tennessee’s wealthiest residents year after year.
“I originally wanted to call my first restaurant The Moptop Carhop, but my business partner at the time wisely talked me out of it,” he said by phone from the private warehouse where he stores his Beatles loot.
Although Patterson has never published a full list of his acquisitions, experts believe his comprehensive collection runs the gamut: wigs, shirts and sneakers; guitars, snare drums and record players; drinking glasses and lunch boxes; black & white trading cards, board games, model kits, coloring books, Halloween costumes and dolls, and much, much more. That’s in addition to an estimated 20,000 pieces of rare vinyl he’s amassed over 50 years.
“Believe it or not, The Beatles is only one of the bands in my collection. I’ve got plenty of stuff from other acts too,” Patterson said. “But it all started with that concert back in ’66.”
It’s his latest score that’s making headlines around the world this week—a replica of a rare recording by McCartney, Lennon and George Harrison’s pre-Beatles band, The Quarrymen.
When it comes to Beatles arcana, a copy of “That’ll Be The Day/In Spite Of All The Danger” might just be the holy grail. Paul McCartney himself owns the original 78, but produced a limited number of replica 45s for friends and family in the early 80s. When Patterson heard that one of McCartney’s copies was listed at an estate sale in Chicago, he hopped aboard his private jet.
“The song’s been released on a few anthologies since then so there are plenty of fakes floating around out there. I’ve encountered a few myself over the years, but I just had a feeling about this one,” Patterson said. “Far as I can tell it’s the real deal.”
When asked if he planned to have it authenticated, Patterson was a little less forthcoming.
“I’m not sure it’s worth the trouble. What matters is that I believe it’s real. Don’t matter what anybody else has to say about it,” Patterson said.
Jack slapped the magazine down with a snort. Last time his brother showed him an article like this, Jack ended up going away.
“No fucking way it’s real.”
Jamie laughed, using his current cigarette to light another one. Jack had been a pack-a-day guy forever, but Jamie never went more than a few minutes without a smoke. It gave his voice a gravelly timber all its own. His little brother might be a sneaky bastard, but he could sing and write songs better than just about anybody else Jack had ever heard. And Jack had just about heard them all. At least the artists that came around in the ‘70s and ‘80s. Most rock music he’d come across in the last twenty-five years sounded like derivative, computer-generated garbage to him.
Jamie pointed at the magazine with his cigarette. “Keep reading.”
“What for? I don’t give a shit about some filthy rich Beatles freak.”
“Then let me fill you in. Paul McCartney owns all those replicas, so you can’t legally buy one. Not without incurring the wrath of Macca.”
“Please Please Me” started up in Jack’s head. He nodded to the magazine.
“Little late for that.”
“Not really. Patterson knows if he admits to getting that record authenticated it potentially opens him up to a call from McCartney’s lawyers. Meeting your idols is one thing, but getting sued by them is something else.”
“So the rich bastard’s smart. So what?”
“He might be smart enough to fly under McCartney’s radar, but there’s no way in hell he’ll see us coming.”
“What exactly are we supposed to do with it? Sell it in your shop?”
“I’ve got a local fence lined up. He has a buyer ready in LA. It’ll be out of our hands in less than 24 hours.”
And there it was. Jamie finally made his pitch. Jack was almost impressed his little brother managed to wait so long.
“You know I’m on parole, right? I get busted again, especially so soon after I got out, and they’ll fry me.”
“Which is why this is the perfect heist.”
Jack couldn’t believe his ears. “Where have I heard that before?”
“Come on. Everything about that guitar job was perfect.”
“Until it wasn’t.”
“You took your gloves off! They never would have known who took those guitars if they didn’t get a clean print. That’s on you, genius.”
Jack flinched. He had more than enough experience to know better. It was a moment of weakness that cost him three years once the cops got a match from a previous breaking and entering arrest. But it was the first time he held a 1959 Les Paul Standard in his hands. He couldn’t resist giving the thing a strum, which shouldn’t have been a problem since they planned to take it with them. But everything went to shit when the alarms started wailing. They barely made it out of the Oklahoma Guitar Museum parking lot with ten far less valuable instruments before the police arrived. By then it was too late. Jack’s prints were all over the priceless axe he’d left behind on the museum floor.
Jack swore he would never touch another guitar after that night. Learning to play saved his life as a kid, but only brought him misery every day ever since. From wasting his youth on a failed music career to wasting away in prison, Jack had enough of guitars to last him a lifetime.
But that was none of his brother’s business.
“Let’s say I’m willing to consider it. How exactly will this time be different?”
“Because an old friend of ours works for Mr. Patterson.”
Jack was about to ask what his little brother meant when Wendy sauntered outside. She refilled their coffees and asked what they wanted for lunch.
“Thanks, but I’ll be leaving soon.”
“The hell you will. I don’t care if you eat lunch, but you’re definitely staying for dinner. I’m making lasagna.”
“I always did like your cooking.” Jack found it hard to say no to her, even after all those years.
Jamie pushed back from the table and jumped up.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to the shop to get a little work done. I’ll be back before dinner.”
Jamie gave Wendy a peck on the cheek and headed inside.
Jack kicked his chair back to chase after him. “Not so fast. I’ll come with you.”
***
There wasn’t a moment all afternoon when Jack, Jamie and Alex didn’t outnumber the customers. It was depressing to sit there listening to the teenage manager play DJ to the mostly empty store, exclusively spinning tracks that came out before he was even born. The Romantics gave way to Shoes, The Posies and Milk ‘N’ Cookies, while Jamie buzzed around the bins, pricing and slotting records. The brothers barely said more than a couple of words to each other until it was time to drive home.
Jamie reached for the truck’s stereo, but Jack slapped his hand away.
“Slow day, huh?”
“I don’t know. Seemed pretty normal to me.”
“Tough way to support a family.”
“Welcome to the glamorous twenty-first century record business.”
Jack shook his head. “Please Please Me” fired up in his head as he looked out the passenger window. He’d wasted countless hours watching the world pass him by on club tours. Back then, he spent his ample free time trying to figure out how to get high or get laid. Now, he was trying to decide if he should shoot his kid brother, or pull another job with him. Either way, he’d probably wind up back in the penitentiary—or dead himself.
Jamie turned the radio on. The classic rock DJ was back-selling “My Sharona.” Jack turned it right back off.
“You never told me who our mutual friend was in Memphis.”
Jamie smiled. It was the kind of smile that usually led to Jack getting his ass kicked by a bouncer or a cop, or both. He braced himself.
“That mean you’re interested in doing the job?”
“Is there another way to get my fucking money?”
Jamie lit a cigarette, smoke shooting from his nostrils like an angry bull.
“When’s the last time you heard from Chaz?”
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)
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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.
