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...AND ROCK AND ROLL

Jochem Vandersteen

Jochem Vandersteen has been writing all his life. With the Internet he found a chance to share his work with the rest of the world. His main influences include the old guys like Hammett and Chandler as well as wit slingers like Harlan Coben and Robert B. Parker. He’s also a big fan of alternative rock and comic books, which explains a lot of the pop culture references in his work. The proprietor of the Sons of Spade website, Jochem somehow manages to capture the essence of the American PI ethos, despite the fact that he lives far away in the Netherlands. His Noah Milano novel The White Knight Syndrome, was published in 2003.

It seemed that the legends were true. The guy at the bar seated next to me could drink like a fish. His long, gray-streaked blond hair, leather jacket and wraparound shades made my drinking buddy stand out from the crowd. The fact that he was Zakk Blakk, former frontman of legendary heavy metal band Blakk Atakk, didn’t hurt either.

You’d think sitting next to this metal legend would feel like a dream come true for me. I’d been into metal and rock since my teens. Mostly, however, it was kind of embarassing and a big disappointment. Zakk had become a parody of his former self. The ultimate rebel was now just an old guy who behaved like a kid. The rock icon who had to beat the groupies away him with a stick twenty years ago was now just a dirty old man who had to pay to get his rocks off. The years onstage had left the former guitar virtuoso deaf in one ear.

But drink?

Godalmighty, he could still drink.

He had come to LA to do some Blakk Atakk reunion tour. Most of his former band members had ended up dead, either because their hearts stopped coping with the booze and drugs or because they crashed their bikes against trees that seemed to have a habit of suddenly creeping up on them. That meant only one original band member shared the stage with the frontman. As was so often the case, it turned out to be the drummer, now a quite popular producer. The guy actually seemed to be pretty sober too.

Zakk’s manager knew his boy’s talent for getting into trouble, so he had decided to hire a special nanny for him. My job was to make sure Zakky Boy didn’t touch any coke, didn’t get any teenager pregnant, and didn’t get into any fights – or, at least, if he did, that he could still get on stage the next day. The mix was a natural. I’d done some security the last couple of years for rock clubs, and it seemed like a good idea to him to get someone who knew the town, the clubs and could talk with his employer about rock music. That’s me.

Noah Milano – Rock And Roll Detective.

“Did I tell you about that time I pissed into Rob Halford’s boots?” Zakk asked me between a shot of Jack and a pull of Corona.

Our conversations were almost always this intellectual.

I took a sip of my Dr. Pepper and shook my head.

“Nope, but I have a feeling you’re gonna.”

He laughed – well, more like cackled - and clapped my shoulder. I tried not to choke on my Pepper.

Zakk started his story like he was Blackbeard relating a pirate tale. Yo ho, yo ho and a bottle of rum.

“It was at this Dynamo festival in Holland... Ever been to Holland, kid? I’m telling you, there’s more grass for the people to smoke than for the cows to fuckin’ chew. And the girls... Shit, the girls... I’m telling you, the girls over there... They.... They...”

His mind wandered off together with his eyes. I knew by now what made them do that, and I followed his gaze. Sure enough, two attractive young girls passed us by. One was a tall skinny blonde with a pony-tail and a pierced lip. The other was a gothic looking busty one with short dark hair.

“Hey, ladies! Want me to autograph your tits?” Zakk shouted at them.

I rolled my eyes.

“What the hell are you talking about, gramps?”

Obviously, the gothic one was the more assertive of the two.

He wobbled off his barstool and managed to get close enough to the girls to put his arms around them.

“Come on, you girls have got to know me... Zakk Blakk? Of the Black Attakk?”

When he was answered with blank stares, he continued with remarkable drive for a guy pissed out of his skull.

“Come on... We had three hit singles... Demon Android? Love Me To the Grave? Shit, you girls have to remember the duet I did with Lita Ford? I’m a fuckin’ Metal God!”

Gothic girl slapped him in the face. “Take a hike, creep!”

Zakk stared at her like a baby who’d just gotten his candy stolen.

The bouncer, who up to that point had watched what had happened closely, decided to step in. He was a big, balding guy, bulging with the kind of muscle you don’t just get from a bottle of steroids and a Gold’s Gym membership. I noticed the prison tat on his right arm. The look in his eyes was meaner than a kick in the balls.

This could go very wrong.

He had a hand on Zakk’s throat. “Leave those kids alone.”

“No, that was a song by Pink Floyd, not Blakk Attakk,” I said.

The bouncer turned around to face me. He released his stranglehold on Zakk’s neck.

“Who’re you?”

“I’m his nanny. I promised to get this guy back home in one piece. So just let us leave, okay? We don’t want any trouble.”

He poked a finger at my chest. I hate it when they do that.

“Seems like you already found some, pretty boy.”

“Jealousy is so ugly,” I said.

I grabbed his finger and gave it a nice twist. I didn’t let go until he was on his knees. When I did, he gave a relieved groan.

“Fuckin’ awesome!” Blondie and Goth exclaimed. “Hey, man, you wanta party?”

“Yeah, and pretty painful too,” I added. It’s a sad world we live in when pretty young girls get excited by violence.

I grabbed Zakk by his sleeve and dragged him along.

“Let’s go, pal. I think we’ve kind of overstayed our welcome here.”

* * * * *

We were in my Dodge Challenger, cruising the Sunset Strip.

“You know, I used to own one of these babies myself, just before I got addicted to Caddies,” Zakk told me.

“I didn’t know you played golf.”

Zakk’s stared at me the way a mouse stares at a water balloon. Either he didn’t get my joke or he’d just arrived at the fifth circle of inebriation. It occurred to me that perhaps I should stop him from drinking before things got really out of hand.

“Listen, pal... I got me some hankering for pussy. Could you take me to the Farm?” he asked.

“Take you where?”

I was starting to worry that bestiality was one of Zakk’s secret vices. It was possible. You hear all kinds of stories. After all, the man had been known to snort cow shit back in the day.

“The Pussy Farm! Shit, how long you been living in La-La Land? The Pussy Farm! One of the best damn brothels in the Golden State.”

I wasn’t sure I was relieved now. But hey, a brothel was a pretty enclosed space and after all that booze he probably wouldn’t even be able to get it up. How much harm could he do over there?

“All right, old man. Tell me where to go.”

He made a nice set of devil horns with his hands.

“Oh yeah! Zakk Attak Pussy Time!” he yelled to passersby strolling the Walk of Fame.

Enthusiastic fella, that Zakk.

* * * * *

If the Playboy Mansion sold tickets, it would be the Pussy Farm. It was hidden near Quail Canyon, behind a big iron gate with signs that said ‘Restricted Area – Access to Pussy Lovers Only’. Any one of cars parked there cost more than I made in four years. Except mine, of course.

Inside, we were greeted in the hall by a buxom peroxide blonde in her fifties, dressed in a pink fur coat.

Classy.

“Hello boys, what can we do for you today?”

“What do you think, Zsa Zsa? You can get us some... PUSSY!” Zakk went with the devil sign again. I think in his enthusiasm he also hit the Pink Lady with some spittle.

She smiled.

“Of course. I’ll ask some ladies to come in and meet you.”

Then she sauntered off, wiggling her hips like a duck. All that jiggling pink made me a bit nauseated, and I hadn’t been drinking at all.

I checked out the hall. On the wall were paintings of naked girls. Kind of like Playboy meets the Guggenheim. Crystal chandeliers hung from a cast plaster ceiling. The carpet was a red shaggy kind of thing. It looked as if they’d skinned Elmo for it.

In the corner of the hall was a large guy in a white suit with a buzzcut. His posture made me peg him for ex-Marine. There was a subtle bulge near his shoulder. Armed security. I was really hoping Zakk wouldn’t get us into trouble again.

“Whoo-hee, buddy! Wait’ll you see the beauties they got in this place. But remember, I get first dibs.”

“I’ll just wait here and admire the artwork while you get your exercise, Zakk. I haven’t been hired to do my minding horizontal.”

“Suit yourself. But I’m telling you, you don’t know what you’re missing. Shit, here they come now.”

Indeed, beauties they were... I felt like I was in a Bond movie. Or at the Willy Wonka Babe Factory or something. They came from the stairs and lined up like they were in a beauty contest. They were dressed in tops and short skirts, bikinis, lingerie or even less. I’m a tough guy, but I almost blushed.

Blushing was not an issue for Zakk. Like a kid picking out his favorite in a toystore he grabbed a big redhead in a blue bikini by the wrist and yelled, “I want this one, I want this one!”

The redhead didn’t even seem annoyed. A professional at work.

Zsa Zsa walked in again.

“Then take her with you upstairs.”

And there they went. I took a moment to admire the lady’s thong and the way Zakk managed to keep from falling down the stairs, as drunk as he was.

“Are you sure I can’t help you with a lovely lady?” Zsa Zsa asked me.

“Pretty sure. I could do with a Dr. Pepper though.”

She asked one of the lovelies to go fetch a can. A few minutes later I sat down on the stairs, sipping the drink and checking out the ladies. Just like high school.

Half an hour and another Pepper later I heard a loud scream. I immediately recognized it as Zakk’s, having heard him utter a pretty good variant of it on several of his records. For a moment I wondered if Zakk had just blown his metalhead wad. That moment passed pretty quickly.

“She’s dead! For fuck’s sake, she’s dead!” he shouted. I sprang from the step and rushed up the stairs.

He stood - naked - in the doorway of one of the second floor rooms. There was wild panic in his eyes. It reminded me of the art of his album ‘Songs of Terror’.

“What happened?” I asked.

He pointed to the room.

“She’s dead. I gave her some of my stuff and she just started to foam at the mouth. I tried to help her but she just went into these freakin’ convulsions. Then she stopped breathing!”

I entered the room. The redhead lay spread-eagled on the bed in her own vomit. Though she was naked and good-looking, it was not a pretty sight. I checked her pulse.

Deader than Vanilla Ice’s career.

“Dammit, Zakk! I leave you alone for half an hour and you kill a damned prostitute! How’s that going to look on my resume?”

I cursed myself because my first thought had been about my reputation rather than the loss of an innocent – well, relatively innocent - life.

“It was an accident, man! I didn’t know it was bad stuff. I just wanted to share, you know?”

“Yeah, Mr. Rogers would be proud of you.”

“What the hell is going on here?” said the guy with the buzzcut. He peeked into the room and immediately went for the gun hidden behind his jacket.

I pushed his gun-arm, pinning him against the wall. Leaning into him with my full weight,I kept him from getting his gun out. With my other hand I drew my Glock, and pressed the end of it up against his chin.

“Relax and nobody dies,” I said. I followed his eyes into the room. “Nobody else, that is.”

“You think?” a husky voice said behind me.

I spun around, pointing the Glock at the source. It was Zsa Zsa, holding a double-barreled sawed-off shotgun.

Lovely.

Buzzcut wrenched my gun away from me and gave me a shove. I barely managed to avoid bumping into Zakk.

“Shall we just put away the guns and talk about this like civilized people?” I offered.

“You just got one of our employees killed. How civilized does that sound to you?” Buzzcut countered.

“It was an accident. My client had no malicious intent whatsoever.”

I was starting to sound like a lawyer. Getting bailed out by my own lawyer Maxwell Slim several times a year obviously was starting to have a lasting effect on me.

“Yeah, man! I was just sharing some of my coke. I just wanted her to party with me,” Zakk pleaded.

Zsa Zsa gave him a look most people reserve for things they find stuck to the bottom of their shoes.

“I’m one employee short and got one hell of a problem on that bed. How am I going to get rid of that? I can’t just call the cops! If they start snooping around here I might just as well close down the place myself.”

“I’m sure we can find a way to solve this, ” I said.

Noah Milano, Rock And Roll Voice of Reason.

Zsa Zsa crossed her arms. The shotgun was now pointing at the ceiling. It still made me pretty nervous. “And how the hell do you propose to do that?”

“I’ve got a few friends with pretty good contacts. My buddy Tony will surely be able to come forward with an adequate replacement. Also, he will be able to dispose of the body.”

Tony Hawaii used to regularly take care of dead bodies and hookers for my dad. The fact that Tony was a necessity in my father's business was one of the reasons I chose another line of work.

It was sure damned nice to have him when you needed him, though.

“Hmmm. Okay, maybe... But none of that cheap Eastern-European crap. I run a high-class joint.”

I took a look at the inches of make-up on her face and the cheap boudoir furnishing.

“Oh, I can see that,” I said.

“I’m pretty rich! I can throw in some money for you as well!” Zakk piped in.

Zsa Zsa nodded.

“All right. Call that buddy of yours.”

I called Tony on my cell. After he stopped laughing at how I managed to get into stuff like this he promised to be there in an hour - with bleach, a hacksaw, plastic sheet and a high class hooker. What a pal.

I closed my cell. “It’s arranged.”

* * * * *

The hookers waved Tony goodbye as he drove off in his Cadillac, a dead colleague of theirs in the trunk. I shook hands with Zsa Zsa, who seemed pretty satisfied with the replacement Tony had come up with as well as the check Zakk had written. Buzzcut warned us to stay away from the place, as he put it, ‘until disco comes back’.

Zakk clapped me on the shoulder.

“Never a dull moment with me, hey buddy?”

I blinked. Then I drove my fist into his face, splitting his nose and spraying blood five feet in every direction. Leaving him on his ass in front of the whorehouse, I got into the Challenger and treated him to a mouthful of dust as I peeled out of the parking lot.

Leaving a client like that isn’t very good for your reputation as a bodyguard, but sometimes you just have to go with your instincts. I headed for a church to light a candle for the dead working girl. Nobody else seemed to care a hell of a lot for her, so I supposed I had to.

It’s all just part of being a Rock And Roll Detective.

The End