BLACK Is Back (18 page)

“I’ll take it in my office,” Black said. He hurried to his desk and composed himself before activating the blinking line.

“This is Black.”

“Black. I need you on deck this evening. B-Side agreed to do a small show we’d planned, mostly industry people and a bunch of winners from a radio station promo. But only if your security contacts are in place. Have you talked to them?”

“Yes. I’ll give you the contact info in a minute. They can handle it, but you need to go through the fine print with them.” Black cleared his throat. “Why do you need me at the show?”

“Because I’m paying you an arm and a leg, and apparently B-Side has faith in you, for whatever reason. He specifically made your attendance a condition of doing the performance, which will only be a half-hour set. Why? Have you got a better offer?”

“No, I just wanted to understand what’s going on behind the scenes. What time does it start?”

“He goes on at seven-thirty. So get there at seven. Shouldn’t take more than an hour and a half, max. He’ll be in and out of the building in no time.”

“Hang on a second, Sam.” Black put him back on hold and called out to Roxie. “You have any interest in going to an exclusive industry party featuring B-Side before we go to the gallery to deal with Todd?”

She appeared at the door. “Is he going to be performing?”

“Yup. Very chi-chi. Invitation only.”

“Wow. Yeah, I’d love to. His stuff kind of grows on you. If I was into rap, I’d definitely dig him.”

Black stabbed the line back to life. “Sure thing, Sam. Put me on the guest list, plus one.”

“Done. Now, what’s the security team’s info?”

Black ended the call after getting the club details, which he jotted down on the back of a gasoline receipt and pocketed. Roxie was still standing in the doorway.

“What?” Black asked innocently.

“What? Where are we going, and what time?”

“We have to be there at seven. On the strip. The Boiler Room.”

“I’ve played there a bunch of times. Nice place. Intimate. A little bigger than the Troubadour.”

“You know, I played the Troub years ago.”

“I figured. Why do you think all my dreams are dead?”

“Nice, Roxie. Especially given that I just got you into the most exclusive show of the year.”

“This isn’t a date, right? No oil rub or anything, right?” Roxie asked.

“Not even a small one?”

She gave him a dark look. “What should I wear?”

“What you’ve got on.”

“I can’t go wearing this.”

“Why not? Remember we’re doing the gallery after. I don’t want you looking freak of the week.”

“You going to pay me extra for this? Longer hours. Plus, danger and deception.”

“I still haven’t told you exactly what you’re going to do.”

“I figure I’m going to set Todd up in some way, right?”

“You can read me like a book, can’t you?”

“A book with a hundred bucks in it.”

“A hundred bucks! Are you kidding? Fifty. I got you into the show. That alone is worth the ride.”

“Come on. I know what you’re billing B-Side. Don’t be a cheapskate.”

“Fine. But I’m not being paid anything for Todd.”

She disappeared back to her station, the negotiation concluded, and Black rose. He removed his jacket, and draped it over the back of his chair before sitting down and leaning back. All that remained was to think up a way to put Todd to the test and it would be a full day’s work. Fortunately Roxie looked about as far from a cop or investigator as possible, which would make things easier.

He activated his computer, opened a browser, and checked his emails. Halfway through the second message, a light bulb went on in his head, and he knew exactly how to deal with Todd.

Roxie was perfect for the role.

Now he just needed to get her to go along with it.

Chapter 24

The Boiler Room was dark inside, the walls painted flat black, the seating red, the floor multi-colored stained concrete for an easy hose-down after shows. Black led Roxie into the depths of the club and got them both beers from one of the three bars that had been set up to accommodate the crowd. When they’d arrived, the warm-up act, a white rapper called UpTick, was almost finished with his act, which as far as Black could tell consisted mainly of dropping the F-bomb every other sentence and lamenting what cheating liars all his hoes were. Good wholesome fare for the kids, Black mused, as he waited to get backstage.

The backstage barricade bouncers were the size of his Cadillac, and Black also noticed two hard-looking men with military-clipped hair standing just inside the corridor that led to the dressing area, with matching black leather jackets, hands in their pockets, tell-tale ear buds almost imperceptible. For all their casual wardrobe, they looked about as at home as saber-toothed tigers prowling the area. One of the muscle-bound club bouncers found Black’s name on the list and unhooked the red velvet rope that ran across the doorway, and Black subjected himself to a search by one of the hired security men before making his way to the dressing rooms.

Genesis was standing outside of the furthermost one, a drink in hand, wearing an extremely short silver sequined dress that would have put most Hollywood starlets to shame, her long, sleek legs showcased to near miraculous effect by the way it clung to her body’s contours. She was talking to Sam, who was dressed in a blue blazer and khaki slacks, listening intently, a bottle of Perrier clutched in his hand. When Genesis caught sight of Black her eyes lit up, and Black felt his breath catch in his throat. She exuded a wild animal magnetism that was as different from Sylvia’s pensive, artistic allure as he could imagine. Sam detached from her and moved to Black, who nodded to the two additional hired guns that framed the dressing room door.

“You made it. B-Side’s supposed to be here any minute. I gotta say that your buddies are beyond pro. Expensive, but wow. I just about peed my pants when I saw them. Definitely hard cases.”

“They take their work seriously. Many are ex-Special Forces of some sort, either SEALS or Rangers, and like I said, some were Secret Service, and most have seen combat. Definitely would make me think twice about trying for B-Side with them around.”

Genesis strutted toward him, her gait sultry, and favored him with a near-blinding smile. “There you are,” she purred in a way that made Black’s hair stand on end.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

“Are you done with him, Sam?” she asked.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’m going to go out and shake hands. A lot of big names in the crowd, and just about every label in L.A.’s here. More juice than I’ve seen in a while gathered in one place.”

Sam moved back to the security checkpoint, and Genesis inched closer, pausing and whispering to him like a lover sharing a secret.

“You look very handsome, Mr. Black.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Genesis.”

“B-Side won’t be here for a little while. Let’s find someplace quiet where we can talk without being watched,” she said, and before he could protest she took his hand and drew him after her, deeper into the club’s bowels. Once past the dressing rooms she stopped at a darkened alcove and pulled him in. Before he could react, her lush, full lips were on his, her aroma as intoxicating as a hit of heroin. He tried not to respond, but found that his body had suddenly abandoned any loyalty to his brain, especially when she reached around and cupped one of his buttocks, urging him on. A small moan escaped her throat, an untamed sound, and he found himself responding in spite of his best intentions. She pulled her face away, panting, and was nipping at his earlobe when their dalliance was interrupted by yelling from the security barrier.

Black snapped back to reality with a jolt, and Genesis regarded him like a mountain lion eyeing a fawn.

“Is that your gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” she asked, and then stiffened when more loud voices echoed down the corridor.

“Come on. Let’s see what’s going on out there,” Black said. He took off at a jog, not waiting for her to follow.

At the barrier, four of B-Side’s crew were holding the rapper back. Across from him, Moet and two of 2Bad’s entourage were restraining 2Bad as well. B-Side had a small cut trickling blood down his right cheek, and 2Bad’s lip was swelling.

“Tha’s right. You heard me. You ain’t nuthin’. You don’t write your own raps, you punk. You a fake, a wannabe Blunt,” 2Bad snarled at B-Side. Black caught Moet’s eye, which had a glint of amusement in it, and Black wondered whether he’d put 2Bad up to the display.

“You full of it, you little bitch. I got more in my little finger than you ever gonna have in your life,” B-Side spat, struggling to get at his nemesis. “Tha’s all you are. A little bitch. Moet’s bitch girl, his shorty.”

“You all brave when you got your death squad wit you, ain’t you. Who tha bitch now? At least I don’ have to steal other people’s raps to get by, you no-talent prick.”

“You as played as a ten-dollar crack whore, punkass. An’ you hit like a bitch. I been hit worse by my mama.”

Black edged forward and got between the two rappers. “All right. Enough.” He stared 2Bad down. “If you came looking for a fight, doing it at B-Side’s show’s about as low as it gets. Is that how you want the news to read tomorrow? ‘Jealous rival tries to disrupt show’? Because that’s how it will play. And you’ll look like a punk.”

“Who you think you talking to?” 2Bad hissed, but Black could see from the young rapper’s expression that he’d scored a direct hit.

“The laughingstock of the rap business, if you keep this up for even another second. You want that kind of coverage? Look around you. Half the industry’s here, and all the media. I’d back off right now and get out while you can, because they’re going to tar and feather you for picking a fight. Is that what you want?” Black didn’t wait for a response. He turned to the security men. “Get B-Side backstage. Now.”

“This ain’t over, bitch,” B-Side yelled, and Black leaned toward him and spoke softly so only he could hear.

“Enough. Walk away. You’re giving him what he came for. Just ignore him. He’s nothing. This is your show. He’s navel lint. You’re a star. Now start acting like one. Move. Now.”

B-Side scowled, but nodded and elbowed toward the backstage rope. Crisis averted. Black swallowed hard, and then he saw Sam crossing the room to where Moet was standing, a small smirk of triumph on his face.

“Have you lost your frigging mind?” Sam blurted, facing off against the mogul.

“Sam. Nice to see you again. Been awhile, hasn’t it?” Moet said, his voice as evenly modulated as though he were discussing the weather.

“I want you out of here, now. This is way over the line. And take your attack dog with you.”

“Apparently the two youngsters don’t like each other. How is that my fault?” Moet smiled.

“This is invitation only. You were invited because of who you are. But when your gang gets out of control, the party’s over.”

“You sure you want to do this, Sam?”

Black tugged at Sam’s jacket. “Sam. Can I see you for a minute?”

Sam whirled to face Black, and then realized who was asking. “Sure. In a second.”

“It’s important. We need to talk now.”

Sam seemed about to argue, and then he recognized a graceful out when he was handed it.

“Fine. What is it?” he said, walking away from Moet, Black by his side.

“I wanted to get you away from that. It’s already bad enough. The papers are going to have a field day with it, without you doubling down and confronting Moet in front of everyone. You do that and he’s got no choice but to dig in. This way, you’re just a busy guy who has to move on to more important things.”

Sam nodded. “Good thinking. I can’t believe they pulled a stunt like that. It’s a really low blow.”

“Agreed. I think now you need to come up with a spin and put Genesis to work on the media. Whoever gets their ear first is likely to prevail. Don’t think that if Moet planned this he won’t have someone working the crowd. It’s all about perception. I’d have someone from B-Side’s new security team escort 2Bad out of the club, but let Moet stay. That way he saves face, and you don’t escalate this any further. And 2Bad isn’t in the house to cause any more trouble – but it’s not you, it’s just a security precaution.”

“You’re not just a pretty face, are you?”

“I’ve got a small amount of experience, Sam. Just making suggestions. You can take them or leave them.”

“No, you’re right. Time to do some damage control. Where did you leave Genesis?”

Black contemplated how to answer the question, but was saved by her appearance, radiating vitality as she slipped by B-Side with a peck on his cheek.

“Ask and ye shall receive. Good luck,” Black said, and then left them to their work while he tried to find Roxie in the throng. He did a lap around the room and saw her near the far bar, talking with a tall man with long hair in his late thirties, wearing a silver Armani jacket and ripped jeans.

“What was all that about?” Roxie asked when Black materialized by her side.

“High-spirited youngsters. Good-natured rivalry. A schoolyard scuffle,” Black said, sizing up Roxie’s new friend. He held his hand out to the man. “Name’s Black.”

The man shook it. “Jerry Weintraub. A&R for RCA. What’s your line?”

“Security,” Black said, preferring not to elaborate.

“I was just telling Jerry that he should come see us play,” Roxie said, and Black could see that Jerry was interested in more than her pipes.

“Yeah, it sounds like it would be fun. Give me your number and I’ll call you to make sure I entered it right, then text me whenever you have a gig,” Jerry said as he extracted an iPhone from his jacket pocket.

Roxie took it from him and dialed her cell number. Her back pocket rang, and she terminated the call. “There. File it under Roxie.”

“Roxie. I like that,” Jerry said, and Black fought to control his gag reflex. The man was plainly trying to figure out the shortest distance between the club and Roxie’s pants. Then again, it went with the territory, and Roxie could more than take care of herself.