Crang Mysteries 6-Book Bundle. Jack Batten

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СКАЧАТЬ the link. Let’s go with that for the moment. If we can come up with a reason for Fenk’s interest in Dave, maybe we stand a chance of locating Dave.”

      Ralph hadn’t touched his dark rum and Coke. Neither had I. I was nervous about the taste. What was Ralph’s excuse?

      Ralph said, “Well, you’re right about California. Dave was out there a couple of weeks ago on a tour. Dave Goddard and His Canadian All-Stars. I thought that one up. Dave’s got a big underdog reputation, you know. Fans from way back still come out to hear him.”

      “Underground, Ralph. Dave’s got an underground reputation.”

      “I’m not up on the jazz lingo,” Ralph said. “All I know’s I booked this band of Dave’s into a bunch of clubs down the west coast. He was out there May to August.”

      “And at some point he hit Los Angeles?”

      “Last stop on the tour. But I don’t recall this what’s-his-name had anything to do with the place Dave played at.”

      “Raymond Fenk.”

      “Off the top of my head, I couldn’t tell you the name of the place either.”

      “Why not you get out the apple-pie records and we’ll both take a look.”

      “Will do,” Ralph said. He spun the Motolounger into the disembark position.“You sit there and enjoy the drink. I’ll get the paperwork out of the den.”

      I sipped from the rum and Coke. It seemed short on rum and long on Coke. I sipped again. A few more sips and I’d have a personality as sugary as Bill Cosby’s.

      Ralph kept his brother’s contracts, itineraries, and other documents in orderly six-by-twelve file folders. He had eight or nine of them stacked up. They were orange-coloured, and each was fat with forms held neatly together by paper clips.

      “Four people were in the band besides Dave,” Ralph said. He shuffled files as he spoke. “Dave rounded them up in Vancouver. I leave that end to him, the musicians. So, let’s see, the band played the first two, three weeks right around Vancouver and after that, kept moving right on south.”

      “They reached Los Angeles in August?”

      “Transportation’s your biggest expense.” Ralph stopped at one file, lifted out a sheaf of papers, and turned slowly through them. “Your other cost, it’s the lay-over time. Some of these jazz clubs only run weekends. So what was I gonna do with Dave and the four other fellas Monday to Thursday? Ship them all the way back to Vancouver?”

      Ralph raised his head from the papers and gave me the big grin.

      “Not on your life,” he said. “I just went on ahead and scouted through telephone books and whatnot for the areas out there, and I found universities, community colleges, the likes of them, places there was a lot of kids, and I sold them on a concert. Had to cut my price most times, but it paid the freight and some left over.”

      I said, “Abner Chase told me you were astute, Ralph.”

      “Did he now.”

      Ralph squared the sheaf of papers in his hand, returned them to their file, and resumed his shuffle through the other files. I leaned back in the sofa. This was going to take a while. I went at my drink very slowly. If I finished it, Ralph might offer me another.

      “Portland, Oregon. Eugene, that’s Oregon too,” Ralph said, more to himself than to me.“All righty, now we’re getting warmer. San Francisco. Dave did excellent there. Palo Alto is Stanford University.” Ralph unclipped sheets of paper that looked like contracts.

      “Here we go,” he said, his voice louder. “Actual fact, it wasn’t in Los Angeles Dave played.”

      Ralph separated out one contract.

      “Culver City,” he said. “I guess that’s a Los Angeles neighbourhood or something, little town close by maybe.”

      “Like Anaheim, Azusa, and Cucamonga.”

      “It was the Alley Cat Bistro Dave worked at,” Ralph said. “How in the world could a man forget a name like that? Alley Cat Bistro in Culver City.”

      Ralph handed me the contract. It was four pages long. Most of it was in printed clauses, standard boilerplate stuff, but there were dates and money amounts typed in. I flipped to the last page. Whoever signed for the Alley Cat had an illegible hand, but the name was too long to be Raymond Fenk’s.

      Ralph said, “Dave thought the audiences were hep at this Alley Cat. Couldn’t have been a big place though, not according to what they paid.”

      “Did he play other jobs out there? A concert? Anything?”

      “Not in L.A.”

      “What about a movie soundtrack?”

      “A week at this Alley Cat and Dave flew straight home,” Ralph said. “He was a pretty excited guy.”

      “How could you tell?”

      Ralph performed the grin that lit up Don Mills.

      “Oh sure, Dave’s one for keeping the feelings to himself,” he said. “But anybody could see the week with Harp Manley had him real pleased.”

      “He knew about that before he came back from the western tour?”

      “Before he even went west,” Ralph said.“I had the contracts signed up first of May.”

      “Signed with whom? Manley’s people?”

      “With everybody,” Ralph said. “Abner Chase booked Manley into his club, and his agency in New York, Manley’s agency, told Abner they needed another horn for Toronto. Abner asked if Dave was okay. Well, that needed backing and forthing because Manley had to give his personal stamp, which he did soon’s he heard it was Dave. So, Bob’s your uncle, the contract came from New York and Abner signed and I signed, and Dave felt real good about everything.”

      “Until Raymond Fenk arrived on the scene.”

      I gave the Alley Cat contract back to Ralph. He aligned the orange files so that their corners were exact and placed them on the floor beside the Motolounger.

      Ralph said, “Where’s all this get us?”

      “Not far past square one.”

      “Don’t think I don’t appreciate your worry, Crang,” Ralph said. “But I’m just thinking Dave’ll walk in tomorrow, you know, sheepish, apologizing to all concerned. I’ll read him the riot act, count on it, and we’ll get back to business as usual.”

      No rum and Coke had passed Ralph’s lips. Maybe Doreen was the drinker in the household. I finished my glass and told Ralph I’d keep in touch. He stood under the porch light until I drove out of sight around one of Hiawatha’s curves.

      I chose a route home by way of Eglinton and North Toronto’s back streets. If someone I knew spotted me on the DVP, word might get out I was a closet suburbanite. It was ten-thirty, and I hadn’t eaten СКАЧАТЬ