A song to get things rolling: a train song Choo Choo Ch’Boogie, written in 1946 by Vaughn Horton, Denver Darlin, and Victor Gabler and recorded famously by Louis Jordan…. and played here by Maybank and Bumba – with some very nice touches by Mr. Maybank, I may add…..
And now the continuing story of Ted Morris, private eye, which takes place in Los Angeles about ten years after the Choo Choo Ch’Boogie was written.
Ted Morris, L.A. Detective: a short story long on genre. Part II. (For Part I click here).
Ted Morris watched as the woman Angelina kissed her little boy, Francisco was his name, a very tender goodbye at the doorway of their ground floor apartment. He nabbed her as she walked down the sidewalk. Just like that. Smoothly he came up from behind and took hold of her elbow. Before she could speak he said,
“Angelina, my dear, I am a private detective here in L.A. But I can have you picked up in a New York minute. OK? Do you understand?”
He let go of her arm, as they both continued to walk calmly down the quiet little street. Angeline had not broken stride. She walked on silently – as if nothing had happened. But when they turned the corner onto 9th St., she wheeled and spat out at him:
“So who the fuck are you? And why you been following me? And why should you be care?”
She glared at him for several long moments. Stepping back on the sidewalk she continued, “So if you’re smart, you just fuck off, you…”
“OK,” Morris interrupted tersely, “Here’s the deal”. Morris looked directly into the eyes of the woman he’d been following the past two weeks. Now that he was finally looking right at her from up close he was struck by her beauty. For a moment he got lost in some sort of strange mental lapse. Her eyes were magnificent, very dark.
“I know,” he continued finally, “what you been up to. Well, there’s still a couple details I’m not sure about, but pretty much I know. And I tell you I appreciate your situation. Here’s how I figure it.” He paused and looked up the silent street.
“You owe big to Mikey G. downtown. I know that. And you’re even into Carmella Flores for 5 G’s. Am I right?”
Angelina arched one eyebrow and slowly looked him up and down, taking in his rumpled brown suit and soup-stained tie. She did not speak, but beckoned him to continue.
“Yes. You’re in quite a fix, girlie. And what you don’t know is that you’re running shit that is marked….That’s right. You’re going to get caught. They’ve set you up.”
Angeline Marcuse stepped back again. She carefully placed her canvas carrying case onto the grass of somebody’s well-tended lawn.
“So here’s the deal. I’m gonna deliver you to the FBI. You’re gonna give me 50 G’s from that satchel because I’m a nice guy and I like you. I’ll arrange for little Francisco to get adopted by your sister Francina. I think I can get that arranged downtown, the adoption and all. All the money goes for the kid’s education when he grows up and to help out Francina with the expenses. I ain’t a thief. Nobody’s perfect, I guess. Anyhow, I figure you’ll still have enough to pay back Mikey – who is the one who hired me if you haven’t figured that out yet – and also your lovely buddy Miss Flores. According to my calculations, you should still have a coupla grand to spare that you can stash somewhere. I’m gonna bring you in. You’ll be looking at ten years, maybe less. But you’ll be alive. Mikey will leave you alone. And your kid will be taken care of.”
Angelina’s face showed a hint of a smile. She picked up the satchel, took Morris’ arm and started to walk down the street.
“Come on, shammis. Come on. What you say your name is? Come on. I buy you a cup of coffee.”
To be continued??
Believe it or not, Bumbastories has already addressed the theme of Anthemic Songs
Def: anthemic: 1. a song of loyalty or devotion, as to a nation or college: a national anthem. 2. a musical composition for a choir, usually set to words from the Bible, …3. : a usually rousing popular song that typifies or is identified with a particular subculture, movement, or point of view
OK. National anthems don’t count here. Not on this blog! They all suck anyway. However, Take Me Out To The Ballgame, The Beatles’ Let It Be, Alexander’s Ragtime Band: these are true anthemic songs — all by way of introducing a personal anthem, a song which captures my own (and Maybank’s) philosophy of life, in particular as it pertains to ambition and personal work ethic: the Country classic Roll In My Sweet Baby’s Arms – which we played again the other day and with which I hope you will sing along.
Ain’t gonna work on the railroad/ Ain’t gonna work on the farm/ I’m gonna lay around the shack till the mailtrain gets back/Gonna roll in my sweet baby’s arms
A pleasant week to all. And don’t work too hard.