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(Page 5 of 6)

     “Oh, you’ve got a star. Biggest star in the world, a cultural icon, closest thing to a rock n’ roll messiah since Elvis. Yes, sir. You got a star, all right. In fact, I’d say he’s a bigger star now than ever. You see, some might see the pesky fact that Zeitzman’s dead as a problem. I, on the other hand, see it as an opportunity. And I’d like you to see it that way as well.”

     “An opportunity?”

     “Don’t play dumb with me, Frost. You know as well as I that a dead rock star is worth more than one who’s alive any day.”

     “He’s hot, he’s sexy, and he’s dead—that what you’re saying?”

     “Jann always could write a hell of a headline,” Commissioner Tiresias replied, immediately catching Jack Frost’s cryptic reference to the 1981 Rolling Stone cover featuring Doors frontman, Jim Morrison. By all accounts the cover was a classic. Bare-chested and barely able to contain his smoldering sexuality, Morrison stares seductively into the camera looking like a cross between a caged animal and Christ on the crucifix.

     When Jack Frost first saw that cover, he thought Morrison was going to leap right off that magazine. That, of course, would have been a difficult trick indeed. As Commissioner Tiresias had so aptly observed, by the time the magazine hit the newsstand the rock deity had been dead for close to a decade.

     “Well, I don’t know what your angle is, but I don’t want any part of it.”

     “Too late, Frost—you already got a part of it. According to the boys out on Interstate 29, you got a rather sizeable part. Frankly, I’d like a little part of it, too,” Commissioner Tiresias said, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. The implication was clear—if money was going to be exchanging hands, some of it would need to pass through his.

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

     Frost was lying and both men knew it. Commissioner Tiresias knew it because he had talked to the boys out on Interstate 29; Jack Frost knew it because he did have a sizeable part of what the Commissioner had so sardonically referred to as ‘The Million Dollar Bash.’

     And while Slim’s little conversation with the Commissioner earlier that day had tipped the Commissioner off to a show that was in the works, what Elysian Row’s best-known snitch hadn’t told the Commissioner was that the concert was going to generate a lot more money than a million dollars. A hell of a lot more. And therein lay the real problem for Jack Frost: Commissioner Tiresias probably knew that, too.

     “Actually, I think you do know what I’m talking about,” the Commissioner said, clearly savoring the moment. “You see, Minnesota Slim wasn’t the only guy I talked with before you blew into town. Took a little trip out to the aforementioned Interstate 29. Ran into Tommie the Make and Julius the Squeeze. And they told me the three of you had been planning this show for months. You were going to make a real killing, pardon the expression.”

     “What are you suggesting?”

     “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m simply stating the facts.”

     “Well, considering who’s feeding you your information, I’d be very interested to know exactly what the ‘facts’ are.”

     “That you have quite a lot to gain from your loss—if you play your cards right, that is.”

     This son of a bitch is enjoying every minute of this, Jack Frost thought to himself. A career spent trading on the misery of others. He’s gonna milk this for all it’s worth… milk me, too, if I give him the chance.

     “I always knew you were a crooked cop,” Frost said disdainfully.

     Commissioner Tiresias smiled.

     There was a moment when Jack Frost actually considered taking that bullet just to smack that smart-ass smile off Commissioner Tiresias’ face.

     “Frankly, I don’t care much for your tone, Frost, but I love the alliteration. You’ve got quite a knack for turning a phrase.” The Commissioner’s smile broadened to a full shit-eatin’ grin. And for the second time that evening, Frost rose from the red crushed velvet chair.

     “Where do you think you’re going?” Commissioner Tiresias demanded.

     “Back to New York City—I’ve had enough of this crap.”

     “You’re welcome to leave. Of course, if you do you won’t be able to see firsthand who murdered your client.” That stopped Frost cold. “Don’t you want to be in the courtroom when the verdict comes down? I know I would.”

     “Now you think he was murdered?”

     “Oh, that’s right, I didn’t mention the bullet hole in his chest yet, did I?”

     That got Frost’s attention.

     “Dela found him down by the railroad tracks all right,” Commissioner Tiresias continued. “But how he got in front of that train has yet to be determined.”

     Commissioner Tiresias didn’t come right out and say it, but the implication was clear—“Now let’s not jump to any conclusions,” the Commissioner said coyly.

     “It sounds like you already have.”

     “Listen, Jack, I’m not saying you off’d your client. You’re capable of a lot of things. Frankly, I’m not convinced murder is one of them. Jury might see it differently though… ” The innuendo was not lost on either of them. “But as for me, no, I don’t think you killed Bob Dorian.” The smile returned to the Commissioner’s face. “However, considering the fact he was your client—your only client, mind you—my advice to you is to capitalize on the hand that’s been dealt.

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