Private Oz (Private 7)

He spun on his heel, lowered his voice. “Can we go … somewhere?”

We walked into reception. The pop star gave Colette a brief, professionally flirtatious smile. She’d been chewing the end of a pen and staring at the young man with a lost expression on her face.

I took Micky and Hemi along the hall and indicated to Johnny he should come with us. “We’ve a comfortable lounge through here,” I said. “Coffee?”

“Got anything stronger? Hemi’ll have water … sparkling if you have it …”

I left the odd couple with Johnny and went back to my office. I had a bottle of Bourbon in a small bar against the wall.

“Great choice, man!” Micky Stevens said as I came back, sat on a sofa opposite and watched him pour a generous measure.

I waited for him to take a sip, but he downed it in one. Meanwhile, Johnny had found a bottle of San Pellegrino and a glass. He handed them to Hemi.

“That’s better.” Micky Stevens smacked his lips.

I decided to wait for him to start talking, but he seemed a bit confused. “Not used to this sort a thing,” he began. “Feels like we’re in a Raymond Chandler novel!”

I was a bit surprised by that and must have shown it.

“I’m a big reader. Hated it at school, of course, but on tour there’s only so much drinking, snorting and screwing you can take … gets boring.” He produced a megawatt smile. “Anyway.” His face straightened and he looked quickly at Hemi who was pouring water carefully into a glass held in sausage fingers. “I’m here about Graham Parker.”

Both Johnny and I looked at him blankly.

“My manager. He’s quite well-known, dudes!”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m not really …”

“No probs.” Micky had his hands up. “You got another?” He flicked a nod at the Bourbon.

“Sure.” I refilled his glass. “So what is it about Mr. Parker?”

Micky knocked back his second big Bourbon, wiped his mouth and said, “Well, you see, it’s like this. Graham Parker’s trying to kill me.”

Chapter 29

I HADN’T EXPECTED that. Was the guy high? Was he crazy? Drug damaged maybe? I looked into his face. He seemed stone-cold sober, which was pretty amazing since he’d just drunk about a fifth of Bourbon. Actually he looked pretty cool, reminded me of Robbie Williams. Hemi seemed comfortable, hands in lap staring at the art. I was glad about that at least.

“Okay, Micky. What makes you think that?” I asked.

“I’m worth more dead than alive.”

“That doesn’t mean …”

“The bastard’s bent. I’ve been with him for three years. He picked me up when I was at my lowest point after leaving my old band. He’s a ruthless mother. You need that in a manager, but I know he wants me snuffed out.” Micky clicked his fingers in front of his face.

“If you really think that, why don’t you leave him?” Johnny asked and glanced at me for affirmation.

Micky laughed. “Wish I could! Really wish I could. But I’m bound by a watertight contract. Parker has me by the balls.”

“There must be …” I began.

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“Listen, Craig, you’ve gotta understand. Forget it … There’s no way out of the contract.” He drew a deep breath. “Look, man, it’s all about Club 27.”

I flicked a glance at Johnny. He stared back, shrugged.

“What is Club 27?” I asked.