From the Flanagan condo, I flew halfway across town to see what Greco Barnett was up to. I found him at Lyzic, an independent record label he co-owned with his friend Charles Norris. Lyzic’s locale was on the tenth floor of a high-rise downtown building…
For the third time, Charles asked Greco, “What do you think?”
“What?” Greco said, adjusting his swivel chair.
“Man, are you with us or what? What do you think?”
Charles pointed at the ‘live room’ where a young black man in his early twenties was looking at them, waiting for Greco to say something on the music performance he’d just given. His name was Darren, and he was a young up-and-coming talent who had just gotten his foot in the door of the music industry. And Lyzic would be damned not to cling to the chance of breeding a future superstar.
“I think he did great,” Charles went on. “Save for the third verse; his vocal kinda succumbed to a sort of jarring flow, I don’t know.”
“Right,” Greco quickly agreed, to hide the fact that he hadn’t completely paid attention.
“Think we should maybe leave more space between the drums?”
“No, no, no,” Greco hit the talkback button on the mixing console he was sitting at. “Hey, we’re going to do it again one more time!”
Through the Plexiglas, Darren looked at Greco, then at Charles, then back to Greco. He said, his voice echoing from ceiling-mounted speakers, “What about this take, man? I loved this take. Thought it rocked the shit, man! What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing’s wrong, babe”
“Yeah, you’re doing great!”
The enthusiastic hue and cry was coming from Darren’s sweethearts. Indeed they had felt compelled to massage his ego. In exasperation, Greco covered his face with his hands wearily. Those two skinny twenty-something girls were in the control room with them, along with the rest of Darren’s squad. And they seemed to just revel in the quality-sound of his voice. Greco had agreed to let them sit in on this recording session, only if they would just observe.
Greco hit the talkback button.
“It was good, yeah, but we’re shooting for awesomeness here, aren’t we?”
Approvingly, Darren said, “You guys want me to change something? Like I could roll in to the verses hot and suave, you know. I can do real suave…”
Charles shook his head. “This ain’t an erotic song, Darren! You got the tone right the previous times, so stick to it, alright?”
Greco agreed, “Yeah… you know your stuff well enough. Just add some heart to it.”
Darren nodded, adjusted his headphones, and stepped behind the microphone. Greco whispered to Charles, “Fatten up the melody line a little bit; try three decibels.”
Charles dialed it on the large mixing console, which was lined with as many knobs and level buttons as there are pores in the skin of a pinky finger. A few seconds later soothing music boomed in the control room and sent everyone bobbing their head up and down to its engrossing rhythm. Everyone save Greco, who seemed highly preoccupied.
After ten more takes, the session broke. Greco declined to join the others – Charles included – as they were all going to grab a quick bite at a Lebanese restaurant whose food Darren had been going mad about, calling it out-of-this-world.
“Sure you don’t want to come?” Charles asked again.
But Greco had just too much on his mind and needed some time alone to sort it out. Once they were all gone, he kicked back in his swivel chair, rested his feet on the edge of the console table, and thought about the future.
Darren had potential, and once unleashed, the label could finally pick up a heartbeat by leveraging his talent to sign a deal with a bigger label. For too long, he and Charles had struggled to keep Lyzic afloat, but now there was a good chance the tide would turn.
Greco should’ve felt good about this, but his earlier unfinished argument with Suzy had left him unnerved and prickled.
What the hell was going on in her head exactly? He wondered and realized that ever since they’d been together, he could never quite figure her out completely. And as he was sulking at the realization, his mind took him to when he first met her, eight months ago.
It was at a fairground. She was hanging out at this gramophone stand with a couple of girlfriends and was going through a stack of old vinyl records. Right away, the sight of her brought something home to him. Her long curly hair which shielded her face from the windy weather; her small fingernails painted violet; her trusting yet playful eyes which gazed back with care. Greco had fallen for those eyes, as he recalled. He also recalled what she had been wearing that day: a form-fitting dress and skirt made of several layers of plush fabrics that loaded up her petite figure. He remembered everything like it was yesterday. How, to ask her for a date, he had struck up a casual conversation with her around the records she was browsing through.
She had a knack for collecting vinyl, though she didn’t have a player. She collected them to sort of commemorate her deceased father – who she later told him – very much enjoyed listening to music from the postwar era on his old gramophone.
Greco brought his feet down, hunched forward and put his elbows in his lap. The pose relaxed his back along with his thoughts. He was in love with Suzy and felt like an idiot because he hadn’t said a word until today... Was it too late? Now she was thinking about her future and by the sound of it, he wasn’t part of it; or not just yet…
Something must’ve happened, Greco thought to himself with anguish. She was fine yesterday. Now she’s going off about needing some time to think, to clear her head. What the hell does that mean? What on earth is going on?
He may have not vocalized it before, but Suzy must know she always had his ear whenever she needed someone to talk to. Whenever... Plus, by no means was he the type to assume anything nor judge. He’d shown a great deal of open-mindedness throughout their relationship. Whereas some other guy might have seen her type of work in a strip club as a deal breaker, he hadn’t because he loved her; he knew her on-stage number was just a show. She was selling her dancing skills, not herself...
Well, it was supposed to be temporary, she’d told him when they began dating. But now she was talking about it as if it could be long term instead.
It’s Stone Bormann, Greco thought again. I’m sure of it. I’m sure he’s behind whatever’s troubling her.
All of a sudden he thought of something else and his whole face twisted in anger.
What if he banged her? The assumption killed him. That’d explain her unrest this afternoon. Jesus Christ!
His anguish ballooned, and it seemed his rib cage imploded. Now he had to know… He had to know if that scum had somewhat used his authority to force himself inside Suzy. This kind of wrong was definitely up his scummy alley, since Stone considered the dancing girls to be his property anyway.
With painful awareness, Greco realized the simple thought of this transgression was moving his mind towards violence. The kind that brought about a tragic and gory end to a man’s life.
He had to know for sure; but he couldn’t bring himself to come right out to Suzy and ask her about it.
Following another train of thought, his hand reached inside his right pants pocket for his cell phone. Some scheme began to form in his mind. He had the Penthouse’s phone number. He was going to call there and ask, very insistently, to speak to Stone Bormann himself. The latter knew he was involved with Suzy. So the call would sure make him curious. Greco would then ask for a meeting with the man, on account of some amazing business prospect in the music industry.
No doubt Stone was a tight-fisted crook; but he was also known to be game for business opportunities. And because in the long-term, venturing into the music arena had the financial allure, plus the glitz and glamour to it, Stone would take at least the meeting. Greco knew it and that’s all he was hoping for.
A face-to-face with the owner of the Penthouse.
Only then, under the pretense of the so-c
alled business meeting, Greco could look the man in the eye and have his answer, one way or another. And if Stone rebutted his suspicions – and if Greco believed him – then they’d just chalk the whole matter up to a misunderstanding and part ways like gentlemen; hopefully with no undue hard feelings for one another.
But what if he does admit screwing her? What then?
The cell phone in Greco’s loose grip began to feel like a small handgun. Murder was so easy Greco thought, so long as one had the means, the motive, and the guts to carry it through. Out of those three, Greco figured he was lacking two.
But murder was such an easy thing, he reflected again to steel his nerves. So easy that, in actuality, everyone could do it after all. And so could he.
Greco Barnett made the phone call…
Chapter XIX
A PAINFUL TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE:
MR. BAGLEY REMEMBERS