After The Kiss, A Murder

“Kiss me, detective!” she hissed.
I grabbed Jill by the waist and pulled her towards me, her soft, warm body pressed hard against mine. Her lips were hotter than the Sahara, her burning tongue entering my mouth and scorching the cavern-like insides. I could smell her sex, the musky invitation whispering, “Take me tonight!”

“How about that cup of java you promised me?” Jill fetchingly teased.
“The kitchen’s to your right”, I jabbed my thumb to the revolving door. “Heat up the percolator, sweetness, and make it snappy!”
She left the room, her tight yellow shift dress switching away, her brassy red hair tantalizing me like a devil’s crown.
I lit up an unfiltered Chesterfield and walked over to the hi-fi, clicking on my favorite Les Baxter album. Baxter was always guaranteed to bring out the tigress in any woman!

I parked my carcass on the plaid sofa, trying to tame my primitive ardor for the time being. What was I going to tell Chief Connell? What was a private detective doing romancing a murder suspect, albeit one with 38-24-36 measurements?
I weighed all my options while the guilty temptress was in the kitchen brewing that precious joe.

“Everything under control in there, baby?” I called to the closed door. I took another perfunctory drag of my smoke as I heard footsteps stomping down the hall towards my apartment.
BANG BANG BANG! A fist pounded against my door.
“Something tells me that’s not Chicken Delight”, I rakishly chuckled.

BANG CRASH! The door cracked open, giving way to a metal claw. I pulled my Smith & Wesson out of my shoulder holster and aimed at the breaking door because I knew exactly who it was. By the time I reached my deduction he demolished my door and came charging at me.

It was Jeremiah, the murderous Danish seaman who already threatened me the other day at Fisherman’s Wharf. Corpulent and standing at 6’6” tall, the peg-legged psycho with the iron claw glared at me.
“This be the last time you get in my hair, shamus!” His bushy black beard bobbed on his ruddy-complexioned face. “Now you give me what I came for, or I cut you up like skipjack, yah!”

“I told you once and I’ll tell you again, Squarehead, I don’t have your damn golden gizmo!” I pointed my heater at his monstrous Scandinavian demon’s head. “Stay where you are!”
“Yah, I tink not, snooper!” he charged at me. Before I could squeeze a few shots at him he pulled the pistol out of my hand with his claw. The gun flew across the room and smashed into my African Fertility God statue, toppling it over.

“I finish you, yah, like I gut minnow!” His yellow separated teeth gleamed. He picked the lapels of my Brooks Brothers suit with his claw and lifted me up by the throat with his one good hand, choking me. I tried kicking him hard in the groin but all I could hit was his damned wooden leg.

“Hah, Hah. Hah! You squirm like eel, dis goot fun!” He hacked phlegm as he laughed. “For de last time, where is the dingus?”
“Let me down ya big ape and I’ll kick it loose!” I wheezed, losing my breath.
Jeremiah loosened his grip on me and dropped me onto my plush thick piled rug. That bastard - my fall aggaravated an old football injury! I almost hit my head on the tinted glass coffee table.
“Hokay but no funny stuff or I kill!”

I was about to try something clever when the revolving door opened. There stood a thin, shapely man without his red hair and yellow shift dress on, in his underwear holding a gun in one hand and a percolator in the other. Fooled again by a pro! The doll was a dude!
“Okay, boys, reach for the ceiling, nice and slow, both of you!” he yelled.

“Angel”, I froze in shock, “Is that you?”
“You didn’t really think I was a woman, did you? I’m after the golden gizmo just like Olaf over here!”
“But, but, but, I thought we had something real!” I exclaimed in horror.
“Listen, sailor, I’ll do anything to get that golden booger, ANYTHING. Besides, that dress certainly does things to my figure!” he swung his hips. I thought I was going to get sick all over my expensive thick piled rug. Les Baxter played on in the background.

“Ugh, you’re that nelly who hangs around the docks, I know you, I fix you like I fix him!” Jeremiah yelled.
“Don’t make a move! I’m walking out with the dingus, not you, fish!”
“Ach, you fish, not me! I walk out wid dingus, girly boy!”
“Not a chance, butch!”

While these two maniacs argued I quickly grabbed my expensive table lamp and smashed the top half of the bulb, taking the base with its exposed wires and smashed it against the percolator in Miss Jill’s hand. The combination of spilled coffee and live electric wires made Jill go into a seizure. The lights in the apartment flickered like crazy.

“Now you give!” Jeremiah lunged towards me with his thick peg leg.
I stood between him and the former Miss Jill who was still flopping around like a gutted fish. I pushed Jeremiah towards Jill and his hook caught to the handle of the percolator. They twitched in a lover’s clutch of electrocution, both bodies hung together and twitching to their electric death.

I kicked the plug out of the wall and watched as both bodies fell to the floor, very cold, very blue, and very dead.

I walked over to the hi-fi, turned off Les Baxter and turned to the telephone. I picked up the receiver and dialed Chief Connell’s personal hot line.
“Hello, Connell? It’s Goldsmith, yeah, me”, I looked down at the two corpses, sailor and drag queen, clutched together in death. “Buckle up your seat belt, Skipper. I’ve got your killers ready for delivery”.

My Cup Runneth Over With Swill

The first taste of alcohol begins in church/temple. Yeah, it starts with God. Like it or not. When you go to the house of the holy they pour that wine in your mouth and you're hooked. At the age of ten. Little boys get their first taste of sweet fluids, followed by a divine buzz. Let's thank the Lord and give grace. It starts there and builds into something unholy, of course.

My first booze buzzes began with childish, doggy highs: Southern Comfort (syrupy barf bait), awful Gilbey's Gin, and punk rock heaven circa 1978: MD 20/20, sometimes called Mad Dog 20/20, but really called Mogen David 20/20. I'm sure good King David is turning over in his grave. Another punk (nee puke) rock high: Mickey's Big Mouth (aka "The Green Death").

And those boozy upchucks like the time you mixed Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum with Mickey's Big Mouth (yeah!) and you ended up vomiting in that lucky girl's purse. Hey, don't laugh, I'm sure Tommy Lee's done that dozens of times...and then scored.

Stuff I like (in no particular order):

1. Goldschlager (gold fairy tale flakes drifting in your shot glass for a rockin' cinnamon buzz).

2. Maker's Mark = smoother than Jim Beam, love to break the fake wax seal.

3. Jack Daniels, making me pass out on my anniversary, talk about a Kentucky blackout, wake up and vomit, while the room is spinning watch Tom Servo and Crow rip on Arch Hall, Jr. on Mystery Science Theatre 3000.

4. Domaine de Canton - ginger liqueur mixed with Ginger Ale for a double whammy of ginger.

5. Hennessy cognac, excellent for a cold when you have a chest full of flug and have to cough the green devils out. Once when I was tubercular I lived on cognac and donuts. Rock 'n roll, baby.

6. Greyhounds - Grey Goose vodka with grapefruit juice because orange juice is for babies.

7. Rye - booze of choice in billions of old noir movies and novels and kicks ass harder than bourbon. Tastes best in old Hollywood dives like The Formosa Cafe, aye laddie.

8. Manhattans - classier than martinis and tastier, too. Honest. My drink of choice at Jones Hollywood.

So whatever God hath wrought booze is thy destiny. Blame it on my Jewish upbringing; we have not one, but two holidays that encourage hard drinking: Purim and Simchat Torah. On one Simchat Torah I mixed so many different drinks that I perforated the lining of my stomach! Praise the Lord and pass that bottle, brother.

Rock & Roll Confidential, Part 1

Rainbow Bar & Grill (9015 W. Sunset Blvd) = Ah, the Rainbow Bar & Grill…the decline of rock civilization unfolding before your eyes…mp3 killed the video star, but I digress…
The “legendary” pizza everyone raves about will take about an hour plus before you even get to see it on your table. And it’s not all that, really. If you want to eat right away, I would suggest (believe it or not) the Greek salad which is surprisingly goods, seasoned well and absolutely delicious.
Celebrities spotted at the Rainbow: Lemmy of Motorhead who probably gets his mail delivered there, the Osbourne Family (pre-TV show fame), Kevin Dubrow of Quiet Riot RIP, and a heavy-metal Cecil B. DeMille cast of thousands.

Hollywood Bowl (2301 N. Highland Avenue) = Everyone has to hit the Bowl at least once in their lives. Last time I visited the Bowl was for the Motley Crue/Aerosmith show. First thing we did was park at Hollywood & Highland and hit the Bowl shuttle on Orange Drive. I was the only guy on the shuttle besides the surly bus driver; every metal tramp, stripper and strumpet was riding the hooker shuttle, whoo! Cheap blondes in buckskin bikinis were craning their necks scoping me out while my girl was laser-beaming stink eye at them. Let the rock ‘n roll begin, and begin it did. Since my girl made clothes for Mick mars (Motley Crue) we got in through the VIP entrance behind the Bowl. The reason I mention it is because it was fun watching Leif Garrett try to talk hi way in for free after the guest list staff didn’t see his famous name on the list (“Dude, don’t you remember me from Behind The Music?”)
As we walked in I noticed Slash walking by us, his bodyguards were three steps behind him and running to keep up. Some bodyguards. I hope he puts a stop payment on their pay checks.
We got a great box in the orchestra pit (seats four). The sound was decent (ah, the review begins), visibility is good no matter where you’re seated with lots of video screens in case you’re not a squinter. Motley Crue were great; wish they did “Too Fast For Love” and “Afraid”, but they did “Dr. Feelgood” so I went home happy.
As soon as Motley Crue were done and Aerosmith opened with “Toys In The Attic” (my favorite R.E.M. song) it was our cue to leave. If I want to hear Aerosmith there’s always KLOS and trailer parks.
The bimbo shuttle wasn’t happening so we walked down Highland, everyone incredulous we would bail on Steven Tyler’s mega-lips, even the rent-a-cops schitting a brick (“how could you?”)
The most outraged of all was MTV has-been Jesse Camp and his entourage walking up as we were walking down the road. “Dude are they done already?”
No, but we were. Who wants to hear the same old song and dance?

Whiskey A Go-Go (8901 W. Sunset Blvd) = The Wiggy A Goo-Goo, those were the days, and they were funny ha-ha days, too.
You’d be on stage rockin’ and shakin’ yr. ass and there’d be video monitors all over the place and while you’re singin’ up there you’re staring at yourself performing and it’s a lot like boppin’ in front of the bedroom mirror when you’re a kid only a lot of poor people paid to get in so your ego is magnified times 100 and once two girls fought over me at the bar upstairs and I ended up going home alone because it wasn’t really about me after all, was it?
The Whiskey is a funny place because The Doors played there and now a tribute band called Wild Child plays there and once Van Halen played there and now a tribute band called Atomic Punks play there and I played there a lot and how soon will my tribute band be playing there?

The Coach & Horses (7617 W. Sunset Blvd) = I was in a very-Bad-MOOD before I went to the Coach & Horses because my former band sent me a pseudo-litigious e-mail about some mySpace crap I had no involvement in. By the end of the night at the C&H I was grinning like a little chimp flinging Number 2’s at the zoo.
The door man (Paul? Too drunk to remember) was the nicest I’ve met in years. The bar is dark as hell with a jukebox that made my jaw drop. As soon as I heard “Hold Tight” by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich I knew I was home.
The drinks were stiffer than Walt Disney’s corpse: My first 2 scotch & sodas were rabbit punches but the third was the haymaker. I almost lit my nose instead of the cigarette I jammed into my gob. The bartenders here rule like a wrench. Dammit, I was so larried up I could have sung a Johnny Mathis aria at Miceli’s.
The night ended with a cab ride home from a cabbie named Hamlet, I schitt you not. Coach and Horses is chill to kill.

The Roxy Theatre (9009 W. Sunset Blvd) = When I played The Roxy Theatre the sound was very crisp and clean on stage, great monitors finally I could hear my Lizabeth Scott On White Crosses Croon and screeching saxophone over the din of feedback guitars, kick-ass monster mix, etc.
The sound man was Don Henley-style cocky and rude but the end result was brilliant, angel’s flight to the ears cheers mate, but buy yourself some manners, Don Henley clone.
The lighting guy was excellent. Never met him before in my life but he knew all the dramatic moments I our songs instinctively and lit us at all the right moments to chilling effect.
The dressing rooms are pretty small but big enough to make out in. I road tested that option myself.
If everything about the Roxy seems small it’s because the club got its start as a dilapidated striptease club bought by Lou Adler, John Phillips and some silent partners. The first show they put on there after they gussied it up was an unknown rock musical from England called “The Rocky Horror Show”. Not a bad start, eh?
In short, the Roxy isn’t the greatest club to see a show at but it’s one of the best for performing in. You will love it.

Frankie & Johnnie’s New York Pizza (8947 W. Sunset Blvd) = If the Rainbow is for rock royalty (haha) then this joint is for the dispossessed rockers, the street skanks and the merely curious. They’ve got beer and wine, if you want it harder (hey girls) go to Turner’s and flask it, baby. F&J’s isn’t like the ‘Bow but at least you get your pizza in less than an hour. And individual slices thin and thick crust can be had in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Yes, the pizza’s just OK but I like it.
The Italian sandwiches are big and happy and affordable. Their dessert selection’s not bad, either. Apple cheesecake and tiramisu are some of the specialties there. I love the Sunset Strip.