In 1958, The Norsemen, were on a roll. We had a new manager and a few new members in the band. Mother and I were riding high. The place was full of dignitaries as this was the first graduating class from the new high school.
Mother had a chance of splitting from the band and entering the world of acting. Charlotte had Mother take acting lessons and photo session after photo session to get him ready for a screen test. She thought his good looks would get him a chance at being a movie star. I would be left out in the cold. Just another drummer looking for a job. My meal ticket would vanish. How could I get Charlotte to notice me at the dance? I needed to overshadow Mother. At least tonight, so Charlotte would take heed. Yeah, me, I should get my shot at the big time too.
The gym was packed with over 300 people. No stage, we were set up on the gym floor. Our new manager was sitting behind the band. She watched Mother as he performed. As luck would have it, Mother got my attention and called song #6, a Chuck Berry song called, Johnny B. Goode. Then he yelled, “Let’s rock this place.”
“As we started the song, I kicked my drum throne out of the way. I stood up to play. Hollywood, here I come. Mother noticed and gave me the look which meant, I know what you’re doing. The place was jumping, the kids and the adults were dancing and clapping their hands. The band was laying it down. From the corner of my eye I noticed Charlotte watching. This was my chance. When the guitar solo came I jumped on my bass drum and played like I had never played before. The place was going wild. Mother had the band extend the guitar solo. People started to gather around. I was too busy to notice. I did, however, see Charlotte smiling and then she stood there with her mouth wide open as I jumped off my bass drum, grabbed a cymbal on its stand and started walking around the place. Milton followed me playing his tenor sax – the people looked out-of-control. They were smiling, clapping and jumping. Mother sat down behind the drums and kept the beat going until I returned. I received a huge ovation. The song ended as we started our own song, She’s Cool, a vocal which Mother, had written. I tried my best to find my place in rock history.
After we closed the show, Charlotte called me over. Looking back at Mother, I got the look again. Charlotte wanted to be my personal manager. I signed immediately.
Mother and I left in his car and went to the Highway Diner on Route 4 in Fair Lawn. We didn’t say a word for the entire 15-minute trip. I did however get the look more then once.
At this time, we didn’t know where the future would take us but at least we would travel the road together.
A knock on the door brings Mudd, back to reality, “Who’s there.”
“It’s Mother, are you decent?”
“Come on in, I was back in the 50’s again.”
“Cool, did you learn anything?”
Mudd, had no idea what Mother was talking about so he gave him the answer he expected. “Yes, yes I did,”
“This dumpsite thing is getting out of hand. This could get ugly if someone doesn’t fix it soon.”
“Did you expect any of this?” Mudd asked.
“No, nothing like this, I thought when this movie thing came along everything would be fun and games.”
“What happened?”
“Well, the FBI has found a much larger plot which didn’t surface until about 15 years ago. A member of the gang who was at the dumpsite on the afternoon you and I were there, came clean. If he was to be locked up for a long time he would rather stay at a better facility. In order to get a change to happen, he made a deal and told the complete story of the case or box or whatever they’re calling it now and about some diamonds concealed in the false bottom of the case.”
“What diamonds?”
“About five million dollars, worth of stolen jewels. Loose diamonds, I was told.”
“In the case the money was in?” Muddy excitedly asked.
“Yeah, the case,”
“What happened to the case? Where did the jewels come from? I’m confused.”
“You’re confused?” Mother repeated. “We’re all confused.”
Mother replayed in his mind what he had heard and told Muddy the rest of the story.
“The case was made of wood and trimmed with metal. It had some ornate junk on top. It was the size of a medium suitcase. The case was mistakenly taken from a shelf where it was being stored. They needed something to put the money which would look like it belonged to Stallings. One of the guys thought it was perfect as it blended in with the background. That’s where I’d put my money, he told the guys. There wasn’t anything better to be had. They had no idea it had a false bottom filled with diamonds. Anyway, they put $2,000,000.00, all 100-dollar bills in the case plus an extra 300 dollars in loose bills which would sit on top of the case, as they were instructed.
“When Stallings, saw the case and the money in his closet he realized it wasn’t there when he left. He opened the case thinking it had to be a set up. Someone was out to get him. He hid the two million, placing twenty thousand in the case. He also left the 300 dollars with the two million, should he need quick money to get away. Thinking the people setting him up would accuse each other of helping themselves to the missing money and hoping it would cause dissent amongst them. It didn’t work out; they grabbed him. The rest you know.”
Mother added, “I still wonder how come we’re so involved in this mess?”
“I don’t understand myself. Don’t you think the FBI could handle this someplace else so we could get the music written and be on our way to fame and fortune?”
“Fame and fortune won’t come from a B-movie music track, but we might get some more work and continue to have fun, if we survive this mess,” Mother said.
“Did you say, if we survive?”
“I mean move on with our lives,” a startled Mother sputtered.
“Do you know where the diamonds came from?”
“Yes, in Denmark, during WWII, a jewel thief named, Hans Larsen, amassed a large stash of diamonds. As the war ended he knew he had to get out of Europe fast. The allied troops were checking into everything. He figured some of his Nazi friends might turn him in, then try to make a deal with the allies. For sure, they would turn him in if they got in a bind. Larsen had been paying the local Nazi’s officers in order to continue his illegal ways. His first thought was to go with his Nazi friends when they head to South America. He was able to buy his way on a steamer and ended up in Brazil.
“What Larsen didn’t know was one of the banks he had stolen from had a very valuable diamond called the Star of LaMar, in a safety deposit box. It had been confiscated by one of the German officer’s, from a villa being used by the German army as a place for its officers to govern the town they had overrun. The officer had stored the diamond at the bank. One night while Larsen was out drinking he saw some keys lying on a small round table. They were partially hidden. The owner of the keys was feeling no pain and was busy trying to dance with one of the local girls. Larsen looked around. He noticed everybody watching and goading the officer on, as he made a fool out of himself.
“He walked hastily past the table and quicker then the eye could see picked up the keys. Larsen left the tavern; he removed the key he thought might be of use and went back placing the keys back on the table before anyone noticed. The bank name on the key was the same bank he was getting ready to break into. Once he got into the vault he would open the safety deposit box, remove whatever he thought he could sell and no one would be the wiser. The Star of LaMar was worth a fortune by itself. Although Larsen would never realize what he had. This came out later when the FBI, along with some other international police organizations, surmised Hans Larsen was the one who stole the diamonds, unknowingly getting the Star of LaMar.” Mother paused, took a deep breath and continued.
“Here’s what happened in Brazil, another incident occurred when an American businessman went to Brazil where he met Larsen. He was offered the diamonds at a very low price, Larsen was broke and needed money. The American, b
ought the diamonds but had no idea there was a high value diamond among the many lesser ones. He purchased the much sought-after case at a local souvenir shop and installed a false bottom. He implanted the diamonds in a wax mold. This would keep them from shifting should the case be checked at customs on the way back to the states. The case had a Spanish look to it and a leather handle on the front. Something a tourist would purchase. With just a little over half an inch of space being used for a false bottom, the case would look completely normal.”
“Wow, some story,” Muddy said, “but what does it have to do with us.”
“We saw the case at the dumpsite.” Mother said. “Apparently Stallings, when he left was given the case by Louis. He used it for a suitcase. A high-priced suitcase.”
“When did the gang of hoodlums realize what they had done?”
“All I know is there was hell to pay when they came back with only twenty thousand. The next morning when the big guy, whoever he was, found out they used the case containing the diamonds, all hell broke loose. I’m glad I wasn’t there to see what happened.”
“Me too!” Mudd added.
“I don’t think anyone is completely sure if the case contains the Star of LaMar. It’s just a suspicion because the Larsen guy is considered the thief who stole it.”
“All this information gives me the creeps.”
“Get some sleep Mudd, you’ll feel better in the morning.”
“I don’t think I can sleep knowing my life is in danger.”
“Put a chair under the door knob,” Mother told Mudd. “You’ll sleep like a log.”
“I’ll try to sleep, but all I seem to have all night is one nightmare after another nightmare after another nightmare…Z Z Z” and Mudd was gone, sound asleep for the night.
Eighteen — Gerald Meets Mole
Gerald was getting edgy, he could sense something was wrong. A feeling he could never quite explain but he knew from experience, it meant trouble. Gerald would write down everything he knew for sure. Then on another paper he would list what could happen with ifs at the end of each event.
“Almost done,” he said to himself, “this will get me up and running and I’ll be ahead again.”
Gerald now was very sure of himself, Jewel, on the other hand, needed to be scrutinized. Her every move, checked and double checked. She was what he needed but trust was not in her character.
He had to get in touch with his inside man at the FBI office in Newark. The two conspirators seldom phoned. On a Friday, Gerald would go to a small eating establishment. Leave a coded note, followed by a meet at the designated place.
As he drove north on the Parkway, he went over the list he had made earlier. He thought about where the FBI was in their investigation and believed they were behind the proverbial eight ball. He laughed to himself. Thinking the FBI’s bureaucracy would ultimately slow them down.
Gerald didn’t take into account some of the players were not hampered by all the paperwork and were starting to realize he wasn’t who he purported to be. At Chateau 54 they were presently checking on his validity and soon would know the truth. If he realized this he didn’t let on and continued to the eatery.
The soul food restaurant sat lazily in the morning sun. Its sign hung on a steel channel with a heavy-duty chain running from the end of the steel channel, on a thirty-degree angle to a large eye hook which was securely entrenched into the bricks covering the front of the building. Hanging under the steel channel was a three by four-foot green sign with the words: BUBBA’S EATERY and just below in slightly smaller lettering FOOD FOR THE SOUL, printed in a faded yellow. A few of the letters had faded on the south side of the sign and now read: BUB S AT RY and below FOO OR HE SO L. It didn’t matter everyone knew the place.
Roland Williams had built up a thriving business making a good living over the last 20 years. The building was erected in the late thirties and still emitted a certain art deco charm. The eatery may have been small in size but the food was homemade and delicious. There were only a few tables. Most of the business was take out. The place had an original ceiling. There were large hanging lights which looked to be from the 1930’s, three in all. A quick cook grill and French fry cooker were behind the counter, which ran almost the full length along one side of the eatery. A small kitchen in the back let out the delicious odor of corn bread. Gerald ate there every time he came to Newark. He loved ham hocks and collard greens. Today would be no different.
As he ate, his mind was calculating every move he would have to make. The bottom line was to stay at least one step ahead of the competition. The FBI, he hoped, would be taken care by using the information his mole would supply. On the other hand, there was the mob. They would come after him as soon as they realize Ron and Rudy Brown were dead. The Browns were hired by Gerald. He had given the go ahead for Jewel to do the deed. She had talked too much. The Browns would probably repeat what they had heard. What else could he have done? Now he had to watch himself. Gerald knew the grandson of the old man in the wheelchair. They had planned a bank heist while he was working as a cashier some 15 years ago, thus they were business friends. One day Sean, the grandson, told Gerald what he had found concerning the diamonds.
Some of the mob guys were descendants of the men from the dump. They had worked for his grandfather who got the diamonds from the businessman who purchased them from Hans Larsen while in Brazil. The businessman owed his grandfather quite a bit of money and sold him the diamonds way below their worth to get rid of his gambling debt. His grandfather left them in the case, on a shelf in the back room of the bar he owned, thinking them safe there. Over the years the story of the diamonds became a drinking man’s story to most of the gangsters. The mob had gone from the numbers racket and loan sharks to the more lucrative distribution of drugs. Over the years the story faded and only once on a rare occasion would the subject of the diamonds come up. Sean was still out to find the diamonds or put an end to the story forever.
Sean, mentioned the diamonds to his father but he bluntly stated, “Don’t waste your time on the old story.” This didn’t deter him.
Gerald finished lunch and left the envelope with the owner of the store along with a hundred-dollar bill. He decided to wait as it was almost twelve and the mole…he loved the word mole…it gave him a feeling of superiority, something he would never sink low enough to do. The mole would be going to lunch soon. Gerald sat in his car parked half way down the street and watched the eatery closely.
His inside man was there at twelve-fifteen, apparently ordered takeout and within 10 minutes was on his way. Gerald immediately headed for the meeting place. The abandoned building was only a half dozen blocks toward the west. The area was to be rejuvenated as a large government project. The four-block area designated for urban renewal had many buildings in one state of disrepair or another. Some were used by the local gangs to meet and others for drug distribution.
The building Gerald had chosen could be seen from the street. His thought was, the best place to hide something is out in the open. So far it had worked well. Another week and he wouldn’t need it anymore. There was still the final place or places to be decided upon. When the mole knew he would call using a quick purchase cell phone and destroy it when he was finished.
The information showed, there would probably be more then one place. Gerald would have to decide which one he and Jewel should visit. As he headed back to Chateau 54 there was a large gotcha smile across the face of Lucian Santana Gerald.
Nineteen— Roll Me Over
There was a
strange quiet in the hallways of Chateau 54. The chandeliers shone with a dim eerie light. It was almost 6:00am as Mother made his way to the breakfast buffet. Eating was a necessary obstacle which had to be met head on. M&M were going to put in a full day of studio recording, playing and writing. Mudd was going to meet him around seven. Seven came and went while Mother, was organizing the work load. The hour of eight was closing in when he heard a feeble knock on the studio door. It was Mudd.
“Sorry I’m late, I didn’t sleep well.”
“When you’re going to be late leave me a message,” Mother told Mudd, “there are other things I can get done.”
“You don’t have to get huffy. It’s not like we can’t do this later; you come and go as you please.”
“Little chaffed in the crotch this morning?”
“None of your business.”
“Apparently we’re not going to get much done this morning.”
“Make it nothing will get done this morning,” said Mudd as he stormed out of the studio.
Mother wondered what had gotten into the old man this morning? In all the years he’d known him there were no more then two or three times when he puffed up into a large version of a dysfunctional toad.
Mother started on a new melody, he thought he would try to finish the song while he had a semblance of it in his head. He worked on the song over an hour, when he noticed the recording in progress light blink. Mother went to the door expecting Muddy to be there with a ready apology. To his surprise it was Jonas Lundgren. He knew Jonas as a resident of Chateau 54.