When Hell Freezes Over Page 17

  “I’ll take it in the office. Ask him to hold on,” I answered, getting wearily to my feet.

  Flopping down behind my desk, I lifted the receiver. “Hi, Rolly. What’s up?”

  “We’re getting a lot of interest in this concert, Michael, and I think you should be aware of that. The phone’s been ringing off the hook since the announcement, off the bleeding hook! I must have done a dozen interviews the past three days. This reunion is going to be big, Michael, really big. Has anyone got in touch with you?”

  “There have been a few calls, but I haven’t returned them. I have no interest in speaking to journalists.”

  He sounded vexed. “Why must you always be so bloody difficult?”

  “I don’t like journalists. What’s so hard to understand about that? They don’t listen, they make things up, and just about every time I’ve sat down with one, they’ve made me out to be a lunatic or a hermit or something else I’m not.”

  “But we all need to promote Neurotica’s reunion!”

  I was beginning to lose patience. “No, Rolly, you need to promote Neurotica’s reunion. This was supposed to be a tribute to Angus and it should be billed as such. Fine. But I will not kiss the media’s arse. You can. You like doing it, and I bloody well don’t!”

  “All right, all right,” he said soothingly, but still with an undertone of impatience. “That’s actually not why I was calling. We’ve got the dates set and—”

  “Wait a minute, Rolly,” I interrupted. “Did I just hear you slip a plural in there?”

  “I told you there’s been a lot of interest. We couldn’t get the SECC as our venue, so we’re doing the gig at Braehead Arena. It’s a nice place, but it only holds fifty-five hundred, so the proposal now is to do four performances over five nights. The others have agreed to it. Besides, why go to all that trouble for one kick at the can?”

  Rolly did have a point. If I were going to take the time and expense to put my end of this together, playing only one night would be less than satisfying. “I don’t know...”

  “Oh, come on, Michael! You know it makes sense. You’re not going to have to do any of the slug work this time. I’m working with the promoter, and a mate of John’s is providing the lighting and sound. All you have to do is turn up and play. If we only do one concert, our fanswho can’t get tickets are going to lynch us!”

  “Okay,” I sighed, “I’ll do the four bloody shows.” Picking up a pen, I added, “Give me the dates.”

  Rolly actually had a schedule all organized, a first for him.

  I’d need to be gone for nearly a fortnight. Hmmm... “Getting away for that long might be a problem.”

  “But you’ve given your mates your word! Don’t you dare try to back out on us, Michael, or I swear to God—”

  Lord give me strength! “I’m not remotely trying to back out. I’m just telling you that you’re asking for more than I was expecting.”

  “We have to allocate enough rehearsal time. We haven’t played together in so long, and our material isn’t easy. We’d look a right bunch of prats if we’re playing duff notes all night long.”

  “Okay, point taken. Look, why not write out a set list and pass it around, then we can all dis—”

  “Check your fax machine, mate. You’ll find one there. The rest of us have agreed on it. Long as you’re happy, that’s what we’ll be playing.”

  I yelled for Johnny to bring me the fax. Upon looking it over, I noticed it contained two songs I hadn’t written and consequently had never played.

  “Do you have access to the masters for these?” I asked, even though I had zero interest in playing them. They were total shite.

  “I don’t think that will be a problem. Why do you want them?”

  “Actually, I’d like copies of the multi-tracks for all our material. I simply don’t remember handfuls of it, and it’s always hard to pick out the keyboard parts. If I can isolate the keyboard tracks, it will speed up my practising. Can you get them?”

  “If it will make you happy, Michael, I’ll fly them over myself!” Rolly said. “The record company is behind this, so I’m sure they’ll play ball.”

  “Have them transferred to files I can read with ProTools.”

  “Sure, and I’ll let you know when they’re on their way. Michael...”

  Rolly paused and I waited for the inevitable announcement. “The record company wants in for a live recording and DVD .”

  I’d known this would be coming the moment I’d agreed to the concert.

  “Look, Rolly, this is way more than I agreed to. I said I’d do one concert, and now we’re doing four. I understand that. Now, you’rethrowing a CD and a DVD at me. And weren’t you the one who was telling me recently that our record company were a bunch of crooks?”

  “But there’s money to be made here, mate!”

  “I thought we were doing a charity gig—or are you saying that the charity will get all the proceeds from any recordings?”

  “Well...”

  “I thought so. No recordings, full stop. That’s my final word on the subject. And make certain the other lads are practising. I don’t want to waste time while they relearn their parts at rehearsal. You know who I’m referring to!”

  And with that, I slammed down the phone.

  ***

  My day now pretty well a ruin, I decided to go for total martyrdom and do some work on the business’s books, something I detest, but with tax season approaching, I didn’t have much choice. However, I detest it much more when I get so far behind that I have to spend days getting caught up.

  Throughout, I kept a weather ear open for anyone entering the building. I’d decided if I didn’t like what I was hearing, I’d be out the front door in a flash, dialing 911 as I ran. Getting smacked around the other night had been more than enough to cure me of any idea of wanting to play the hero. My feet had never failed me up to this point, so why shouldn’t I keep relying on them?

  I found it hard to concentrate, though, and that made the job far more onerous as I continually lost track of what I was doing. A thousand things kept flitting through my head, and none of them were productive. I also began to get the overwhelming feeling that events were catching up with me. The next time the bad guys made an attempt, they’d be a lot more circumspect. That didn’t bode well for my health.

  I was hoping my private investigator would discover the magic bullet that would put an end to this mess, but an address in Montreal from a bogus driver’s license was not much to go on. She’d probably find an empty lot where the address should be. Kevin returned shortly after one, and once we had the truckunloaded, I called out for pizza rather than sending him as was our usual practice. With people around, I felt reasonably safe.

  The afternoon was spent over more paperwork, with the guys checking equipment, then putting it away and helping to load the outgoing orders. I tidied up the last of the paperwork, filled out the week’s paycheques, then decided to look over Rolly’s set list again.

  Frankly, it was not very imaginative. If I was going to go to all this trouble, the gig had to be something special, something that stretched us. Shannon’s idea about the alternate way we could play our defining hit was a start, but we’d have to dig a lot deeper than that. Would the rest of the band be up for it?

  I spent the next few hours in the front room working out a few ideas on my keyboard rig. The mellotron gave rise to a number of interesting alternatives. In the past, I’d always used electronic samplers. Using such an archaic keyboard would raise more than a few eyebrows, but there was just something about the sounds the mellotron produced that really excited my imagination. Neurotica had never sounded like this, and people would know I was back. Trouble was, I had to convince the band to try what I had in mind. Maybe a call to John or Tommy to sound them out would help.

  Before closing up for the day, I remembered that Shannon had those spy cameras set up all around my apartment, so I went back into the office, and using the instructions she’d
written out for me, I soon had my computer showing me the page on her private website giving me access to anything that had been recorded.

  Four minutes later, I was very glad I’d looked. The two locals had showed up at my door about ten minutes after I’d left that morning.

  I wouldn’t be sleeping there tonight.

  A call to Shannon’s cell caught her about to board a plane to New York. She agreed I should check into a hotel and stay well away from the warehouse, at least until she got back.

  “And when will that be?” I asked.

  She sighed. “Tomorrow or Sunday. You should hope for Sunday, though, since that would mean I’m having some luck. I’m not staying in New York a moment longer than I have to.”

  “You have hopes then?”

  “I don’t want to jinx anything. Let’s just say I ran across a fewthings today that made my antennae twitch.”

  “What?”

  “I’d rather not say.” She paused, and I knew what was coming next. “Michael, you really should go to the police, you know.”

  “Let’s not get into that again. You know why I don’t want to.”

  “You’re being pigheaded about something that’s getting more and more dangerous.”

  “I know, I know, but it can’t be helped.”

  “Let me hire a couple of bodyguards, then.”

  I rolled my eyes. Danger or not, that would be too much. Staying at a hotel, I should be plenty safe. Anything to do with my business could be handled over the phone... “Damn and blast.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “If I can’t come to the warehouse, how am I supposed to practise for the bloody concert?”

  “Aren’t there places that rent rehearsal space?”

  “Word I’m practising someplace will be all over town in a flash. I’m hot news at the moment. The Globe and Toronto Star and some Brit papers have already requested interviews. No, I can’t rent space.”

  “Leave this with me until I get back. I may have a solution.”

  Shannon’s voice had seemed rather clipped and strained during our conversation, so before signing off, I asked, “Sounds like you’ve had a rough day.”

  “What?” she said, startled, as if I’d cut in on some inner reverie. “I’m fine, fine. I just have a lot on my plate at the moment.”

  “Speaking of plates, I think I owe you a good dinner when you get back into town. You’ve done a lot for me the past few days.”

  “Dinner? Me?”

  “Yes, dinner, you,” I laughed. “What do you say?”

  “Just try to keep yourself alive and in one piece, then we can talk about dinner. Okay?”

  As I put down the phone, I wondered to myself, Where had that come from?

  ***

  I took the paycheques out to Johnny and Kevin, who were sitting in our entrance room shooting some late Friday afternoon bull.

  “I, ah, have some appointments tomorrow morning and Monday, so I’m going to leave Hamed’s cheque in the drawer here. I’ll be available by cell, though, if anything should come up.”

  “Does that mean Hamed is going to be back here to carry his weight?” Kevin asked.

  “No. Hamed is at that shoot for the duration. Tell him it’s waiting for him if he calls.”

  Kevin seemed pretty put out.“How come I don’t get a chance? He’s not doing anything I couldn’t do, and I’ve worked for you longer!”

  “He’s the one who is on the job until I say so. Okay? Besides, tomorrow is your turn for the Saturday opening.”

  “Hamed didn’t do his turn last week!”

  “I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

  As I drove downtown, I decided that maybe it hadn’t been the best way to handle things. Kevin was my employee of longest standing and possibly deserved more consideration. Regardless, that didn’t give him the right to shoot off his mouth. Even though I didn’t have to force the issue very often, I was still the owner of the business. Kevin just needed to be reminded of that, and if it didn’t suit him, he could find employment elsewhere.

  ***

  I checked in at the Four Seasons in Yorkville, normally out of my price range, but a place used to dealing discreetly with celebrities.

  “Excuse me,” the middle-aged desk clerk said, “but has anyone ever told you you look just like the keyboard player in the band Neurotica?”

  So much for discretion...

  “I have heard that, yes.”

  After signing the registration card with my real name and handing it back, she looked up at me again. “The resemblance is really uncanny.” Then after another glance at the card, she said, “You actually are him, aren’t you?”

  With a grim smile, I answered, “Most of the time.”

  “Wow! I’ve always been a huge fan.”

  “Really.”

  “Ever since I was in college! Is the band going to tour again?”

  “I rather think not.”

  “That’s too bad. I certainly don’t have the money to go to the concert you’re doing in Glasgow—even if my husband would allow me!”

  “Yes, it is rather far.”

  “Well, Mr. Quinn, it’s a pleasure to have you stay with us. If there’s anything we can do, just let us know.” She pushed over a pen and piece of paper, and with a shy smile, asked for my autograph.

  I obliged, and we proceeded with the check-in without further comment. Her eyebrows did rise, though, when I told her I had no luggage.

  That was something I’d have to rectify the following morning. There was no way I was going out on the streets at night.

  Dinner consisted of a club sandwich ordered from room service washed down with a beer from the mini bar.

  Shannon was right. This cat and mouse game couldn’t go on.

  For years now, I’d been able to go where I wanted with little fear of being recognized. There had been a time when our photos were in all the music magazines, on billboards, and I often had to deal with fans and autograph seekers. The rest of the band had loved it; I hadn’t.

  Yes, I could have been rude and told them to bugger off, but I didn’t like doing that either. So I’d put up with it. After I left the band, it had continued for a while, but eventually the public’s memory faded. Now I could go months without anyone asking me for anything but directions or spare change.

  Angus’s death and my agreement to do the bloody concert had changed all that. I had figured that there would be some interest in a Neurotica concert, but it seemed to be arousing far more notice than I would ever have imagined—and a lot of questions about why I’d left the band in the first place were being asked once again.

  If word now got out that gangsters were after me, my car had been trashed and I’d been beaten up, I’d find myself in the centre of a media frenzy. The sooner I could get everything behind me, the happier I’d be.

  Disgusted that my life had been reduced to this, contemplating the long night ahead and feeling in need of a soporific, I switched on the telly and flopped onto the bed.

  Fifteen

  Shannon O’Brien arrived at LaGuardia shortly before six that evening, her first time in New York since ‘that day’. With disgust, she noticed her palms had become sweaty, a sure sign of nervousness. What did she have to be nervous about?

  After getting some American cash at an ATM , she headed straight for the taxi rank.

  New York had also received the same dump of snow that had buried Montreal and Toronto two days earlier, but the Big Apple never coped with winter’s vagaries the way her Canadian cousins could. In other words, traffic was still badly snarled, and even though the roads themselves were clear, the entrance and exit ramps were a mess, with barely room for one vehicle.

  Shannon sat back in her seat with a sigh and fished her cell phone out of her purse. After dialing Rob’s number, she waited about five rings before someone picked up.

  “Hello?” A woman’s voice.

  Damn! Shannon thought, the last person I want to talk to is
that cow! Not identifying herself, she asked to speak to Robert O’Brien.

  The voice sounded put out. “Yeah, he’s here. I’ll get him.”

  Shannon’s ex came on the phone a moment later and said in his loud, blustery way, “Is this my little Shanny?”

  The former Mrs. O’Brien swore sharply under her breath, causing the cabby to look back through his rear view mirror with interested eyes. She should have expected the woman to recognize her voice.

  “Cut the crap, Rob. I’m in town for one reason only, and we both know that it isn’t you.”

  “You hold a grudge an awfully long time, you know that?”

  Mister, if you think this is a long time, you don’t know jack! she thought, then said out loud, “Did you get a chance to ask around about those names I gave you earlier?”

  Shannon had spoken to her ex from Montreal shortly after lunch, giving him the meagre amount of information she had, which basically amounted to not much more than a few names.

  The New York mob heavy the girl had told Michael was her father Shannon already knew was the real deal, although she doubted they were related. The rest were just names, and she’d made the trip south, hoping she might be able to add a bit more flesh to the bare bones. If this lead proved to be a dry well, then all she had left was the fifty bucks she’d invested in the old concierge to call her if the girl showed up at her apartment. Whether he’d do it or not was another matter.

  “I made inquiries around town with people I know,” Rob told her, and she heard the rustling of paper. “Yeah, here it is. This guy Angelo you asked about, got a last name for him yet?”

  “No.”

  “Well, it might be Angelo Spadaro, a low life scumbag who does ‘errands’ for the Mastrocolle family.”

  “That part fits in with the information I have,” Shannon answered.

  “What else you got?”

  “Nobody’s seen him in over two weeks. Rumour has it he may have met with an accident.”

  “Really,” she said, scribbling in her police pocket pad. Old habits die hard. “Did your contact give you any other details?”