Extreme Justice by William Bernhardt Read Free Book Online Page B

well. Some wanted to take him out of the clubs and move him up—give him hotel gigs and TV spots. Make him the white man’s be-bopper.” Earl paused meaningfully. “Sometimes he got his heart broke. ’Course, that happens to everyone. But when the Professor’s heart broke, it was like he felt the pain of every broken romance in the world, like he could feel all our pain. Small wonder he needed salvation. Small wonder he began to develop … bad habits.”
    “You mean—”
    “By the time I played with him, he was a man carryin’ many burdens. His color. His habit. And his genius. All of them burdens, all of them things this old world treats none too kindly. Any fool could see he couldn’t carry that load forever. Eventually, somethin’ had to break. But through it all, the Professor played like an angel, like the angels wish they could play. Small wonder they called him home. I expect that celestial choir never heard licks like the ones Professor Hoodoo brought with him.”
    “Then he’s—”
    “Yeah.” Earl slowly opened his eyes. “He’s gone. And the sad part is, he never made a recording. We’ve got no record of what that man could do. Except the record a few of us keep locked up in our memories. And in our souls. Right, Scat?”
    Scat nodded gravely. “That’s right, Earl.”
    Earl pushed off the edge of the stage. “But you boys ain’t so sorry yourself. You just ain’t in the groove yet. You’ve let too many other things distract you from the truth. Remember that’s all you got to do when you’re up there playin’. Just make your music, and make it the truth.”
    His head dropped, and Ben could swear he saw traces of moisture glimmering in the corners of Earl’s eyes. “So you play that number again, you hear? From the top. But this time, you let the Professor’s spirit guide you. You play it for him. ’Cause when you play for Professor Hoodoo—you got no choice. You got to play the truth.”
    The truth was, he was too old for this kind of work.
    Or felt too old, anyway. He dropped his bundle onto the floor, just outside the club. He was dripping with sweat; his hands were so wet he could hardly hold on to the rug.
    Man alive! Next time he thought up some elaborate fonky-monkey business, he’d think again. Simple was good, he reminded himself. Like in jazz and geometry—the straight line is best.
    He peered through the window of the double doors in the front of the club. It was mostly empty. A couple of the band members were on the stage, but he could tell they were finishing up. Soon the coast would be clear.
    Since he was alone, he took the opportunity to roll down the rug a bit and take one last look at his once-glorious bundle.
    There was something wrong with her face; it only took him a moment to recall what it was. Of course—he’d forgotten her smile. He had meant to address this earlier; the smile was very important. But with all the trouble he’d had moving her, he’d almost forgotten.
    After checking to make sure no one was watching, he pulled his long serrated knife out of its sheath. She was long dead, so there would be no bleeding; that was a relief, anyway.
    He took a deep breath. The first incision was the hardest. Best to get it over with.
    As he laid his knife against her icy flesh, he found himself involuntarily squinching his eyes shut. What do you know? he thought to himself. After all he had done, he still had some sensitivity. He could still be squeamish. Especially when it came to her. Especially when it came to her.
    But enough of this foolishness. He had work to do.
    He closed his eyes and began to carve.

Chapter 7
    “N O, NO, NO !” Uncle Earl leaned across the piano, his fists clenched. “Slow down already. That ain’t no damn typewriter you’re playin’!”
    Ben pursed his lips. Earl had been trying to help him whip this new number into shape so they could use it tonight as an encore piece, if required. It wasn’t coming easily. “But this is