Murder in Rock & Roll Heaven by Robin Ray

Author:Robin Ray [Ray, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-11-24T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty minutes later, Tony and Eddie were so buzzed they could barely stand up straight or look at objects without seeing them as doubles. Now that the local craft beer was coursing through their veins like an anaconda in the Amazon, their inhibitions immediately took a nosedive. Eddie thought it was time to liven up the place a little so he turned up the volume on his virtual speaker which, at that moment, meant a loud earful of Frankie Lymon & the Teenagers. As the two started dancing, or as some might rudely say, trying to get carpenter ants off their backs, the volume on the metal across the beach also went up. Not to be beat, Eddie raised the volume on his speaker till it was so distorted it now actually sounded metallic. Unfortunately, frustrated with the thrashing, broken sound it created, he raised his leg and kicked the transceiver so hard it flew into the shallow cresting waves where it immediately sparked and blew up.

“That’s it,” the 50’s icon shouted. “I’m given those loons a piece of my mind.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tony said, holding his friend back. “Look how big they are, man.”

“Don’t worry about me, Tony,” Eddie said, struggling free. “I can handle my own.”

As the blond clerk stormed over to the metal table, the novice PI gulped and stayed close behind just in case.

“Hey, guys,” Eddie introduced himself loudly to the smoking group, “why don’t you turn that music up even louder?”

The already inebriated quartet, consisting of two males and two females, simply stared at the bold intruder. The multi-tattooed female in her 50’s, wearing a12” high pink and blond Mohawk like a fan atop her head, turned the music down a little.

“What’s up, Eddie?” she asked the clerk. “Pull up a seat.”

“So you know me, huh?” the young man with clenched fists asked.

“Of course,” she answered. “You’re Eddie Cochran. ‘Summertime Blues’, ‘C’mon Everybody’…my old band covered you a lot. Bobby Darin, too.”

“Watch out,” the 70-year-old mustachioed, black haired metalhead with the grouse voice and a face full of experience warned him. “She could put hair on your chest like that,” he boasted, snapping his fingers.

“He’s drunk,” Tony apologized for his friend, grabbing his forearm.

“No, I’m not,” Eddie objected, pulling his limb free.

“Hey,” the woman with the Mohawk said, “we’re all friends here.” Reaching into a red cooler, she brought out a bottle of 5th Wheel Beer, cracked it open using a tool attached to her ID card, and handed it to Eddie. “How ‘bout you?” she asked Tony.

For a moment, the young PI hesitated, thinking, should I acquiesce to the strangers’ offer of friendship so they’re not insulted and tear me a new one, or shovel some of that sparkling, hoppy fluid down my gullet even though it meant possibly upchucking it minutes later?

“Thanks,” he said, making his decision and reaching for the bottle.

Since there really was not another seat the boys could actually sit on, they simply sat on the beach near the table.

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