The Right To Sing the Blues by John Lutz Read Free Book Online

saw the way you and he were talking last night at the club. And I know he’s plenty worried.”
    “About what?”
    “We both know what. Or rather who. Willy Hollister.”
    “Do you think he’s got good reason to worry?”
    Sievers walked silently for a while before answering, his heels striking a soft rhythm on the sidewalk. “I’m not sure. The more you see of Hollister, the less you like him. Fat Jack tells me there’s something uneven about his music, but you couldn’t prove it by me. I only judge him by the number of customers he draws, and that seems constant. I’m tone deaf. It all sounds like ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ to me, even Hollister’s music.”
    “What about Hollister and Ineida?”
    “They’re lovers,” Sievers said. “That’s no secret. What’s their personal life got to do with anything?”
    “I don’t know,” Nudger said. “I’m still trying to get a slant on things, find a toehold.”
    “Why specifically did Fat Jack hire you?” Sievers asked flatly.
    “Maybe you better ask him.”
    “Sure, I will.” Sievers didn’t seem at all miffed by Nudger’s refusal to answer. This was a man who never wasted anger.
    “What exactly is your business relationship with Fat Jack?” Nudger asked. “I get the impression you’re more than simply an employee.” He smiled. “If you’d prefer, I’ll ask Fat Jack.”
    Sievers laughed. “No, that’s okay, I’ll tell you. I’m a minority partner in the club—technically, we’ve got a limited partnership. But mainly I’m the floor manager. I keep the place running smoothly, do most of the hiring and firing, the procurement of supplies. Fat Jack hires the musical talent, does the paperwork, and reaps most of the profit. I get a salary and a percentage of the net.”
    “How do you like that arrangement?”
    “Fine. It’s what we agreed on from the beginning. Fat Jack put up most of the seed money for the club, took most of the risk. Neither of us can bitch. We’re both doing okay financially.”
    “David Collins owns a piece of the club too, doesn’t he?”
    “Right. Twelve and a half percent, just like me. Only he doesn’t need the money.”
    “Are there any other minority partners?”
    “Nope, the other seventy-five percent is all Fat Jack’s.”
    “You were career military, weren’t you?” Nudger asked.
    “Does it show that much?”
    “It does. But I know because Fat Jack told me. You were Green Beret.”
    “That’s right. Vietnam and seven years after that.”
    “How come you gave it up?”
    “It was fine in the beginning, but I got tired of playing games.”
    “Games?”
    “That’s right, Nudger. The kinds of wars we’re fighting these days are bloody and tragic, but they’re nothing more than games played by politicians, with too many rules and restrictions. Wars should be fought only when there’s no other way, and they should be fought with all-out effort; you survive or the enemy survives. Wars shouldn’t be anybody’s games, played with guns without bullets.”
    “How did you get involved with Fat Jack?”
    “When I left the service, I came here because it’s my hometown. My wife and I lived here before our divorce, a long time ago. I was a construction foreman for a while, up around Lake Pontchartrain. Then the building industry went bust, and I started doing some serious investing in the stock market—gambling, really—with some of the army severance money I had left. Fat Jack and I were in the same investment club. We got to know each other, thought the same way about certain investments. When I heard he was going to open his own jazz club, I wanted in. We talked, and then made the arrangements.”
    “What kind of investment club were you in?” Nudger asked.
    “One of those deals where the members pool their funds to purchase large blocks of stock or real estate partnerships. It fell apart several years ago when the stock market went into a swoon.”
    “You must know most of the backup