Murder in Rock & Roll Heaven Page 8

  “You know what I’m talking about,” Tony exclaimed. “I read you use to think people like me are the bomb, but when you found religion, we became an abomination. You made a fortune cross dressing your entire career, now we’re the freaks? How come you’ve never explained that?”

  “I’ve said my piece,” Prince roared, defending himself.

  “Where?” Tony asked.

  Having had enough, Prince got up and stomped out, steam practically bellowing out of his ears. Some of the guests started mumbling to each other, unsure of what just transpired.

  “People, people,” Ba’al’figor quieted them. “You’re all brothers and sisters here. Tearing each other down is not the way. Those of you who’ve been here for a while are aware of how huge this past unsolved incident is. The fact that they’re even contemplating a “stop placement” on Heaven, how unprecedented is that?”

  “What’s ‘stop placement’?” Sir George Martin, premier music producer and all around good guy who was sitting next to David Bowie, asked.

  “Well,” L’Da answered. “That’s bad news for Earth. It means they’ll stop taking admissions to Heaven till this issue has been sorted out.”

  “So where will the dead go?” the famous 5th Beatle queried.

  “Unfortunately,” L’Da replied, pointing downwards, “they wouldn’t have a choice.”

  General consternation erupted in the hall again. L’Da quieted everyone down by tapping loudly on the microphone. “Folks,” he continued, “we’re not to that stage yet, and we hope never to get there. Until then, we need to go over a few points. Do you all know what your credit cards can and cannot be used for?”

  Most everyone in the audience nodded or answered in the affirmative except Tony Lopez.

  “I just got here yesterday,” the young man notified the angels. “I haven’t gotten my card yet.”

  “Do you know who to see?” L’Da asked him.

  “Karen Carpenter,” the musician answered. “I think I just missed her last night.”

  “She’s in her shoppe all day today,” the angel informed him. “Just see her after this.” He then turned his attention back to the audience. “So, what I was saying before is that you do not need your card to pay utilities. I’ve been hearing around town that some of you would like clothes and food added to that list. If that was up to me, I’d say sure, but some things we cannot change. It’s all tied into the penances that help you travel upwards through the heavens; completely out of our hands. For those of you who are very new, your actions, bad or good, affects the level of credits in your cards. Ba’al’figor, can you tell them some of the things that decredits them?”

  “Littering decredits you,” Ba’al’figor explained. “Lying, cheating and stealing decredits you even more. Greed and gluttony decredits you. Anger, hatred, jealousy and ego decredits you. Do not threaten, punch, insult or blackmail anyone. That will automatically decredit you. Learn these ten virtues – Forgiveness, Humility, Candor, Contentment, Truthfulness, Self-restraint, Austerity, Renunciation, Non-attachment and Chastity. Of course, encouraging chastity from a rock & roll crowd is like asking a lion to give up antelope steak, but at least the attempt won’t cost you any credits.”

  “And don’t forget the jobs you can do around town to improve your rating,” added L’Da. “Housekeeping, maintenance, gardening, private tutoring, personal health care, companionship, shopping for the elderly, volunteering at the food bank, volunteering at the flax farms, chopping wood, rickshaw rides, digging in the ochre dye mines…”

  “Anything positive, really,” Ba’al’figor added.

  “Have any of you met the other angels yet?” L’Da asked. “The Reaper of Souls? The Purger of Souls? The Watcher of Souls? Make sure you catch up with them later at your own discretion. You may learn a thing or two about karmic matter and how to prevent it from collecting on your souls. Everything you need to know is in your manual. Does anyone have any questions?”

  “Yes,” Gregory answered, standing. “My book came without pages.”

  “I assure you they’re there,” L’Da retorted. “They’re virtual.”

  “Virtual?” Gregory asked.

  “Just reach in between the covers and turn the pages.”

  Complying, the PI did just that. Virtual pages then appeared, allowing him to flip through them as if they were actually present all along.

  “Boomba claat!” the ex-officer exclaimed. “Pretty high tech.”

  “It’s that way,” L’Da schooled him, “because pages get added from time to time, rules change, and if all the sheets were there, that manual would be too thick to carry around.”

  “What about the other angels?” Gregory asked. “Where can we find them?”

  “City Hall,” L’Da answered. “It’s where you petition for anything.”

  “How does petitioning work?” the PI asked.

  “Simple, really. Say you want to travel to Bakers’ Heaven. You come down to City Hall or the police station, we scan your card to see if there are enough credits to travel and also if your behavior in the months prior to your request has been positive, and that’s it.”

  “How do people travel?”

  “Transfer stations,” the angel informed him. “Operated by those of us with the capability of manipulating time, space and matter.”

  “What about going to school and health insurance?” Tony Lopez asked.

  “Health care is free,” Ba’al’figor answered, “as is dental care and schooling. The Woodstock Hospital is open 24 hours a day so there are always doctors and nurses available. Their pharmacy is also opened 24 hours, too. If you get a simple cramp in the middle of the night, you can always get help. If, as you’re taking a stroll through the woods, you happen to trip over a root and break a bone, you’ll be immediately transported to the ER.”

  Gregory raised his arm.

  “Yes?” Ba’al’figor asked.

  “I’m confused,” Gregory said. “How does an ambulance operate if there’s no gas here?”

  “There are no ambulances or emergency vehicles, per se,” the angel answered, “but there are first responders. This is how it works. First, we trust that, with minor ailments, you can find your way to the ER, but for more serious situations like injuries or overdoing it with the booze, not that any of you guys in Rock & Roll would ever do that, you’ll simply be automatically whisked to the hospital in seconds because of the nature of your bodies being celestial matter which, of course, makes it attached to all substances in Heaven. In other words, the nature of your malady will be detected by HERO, Heaven’s Emergency Response Operation, and their operatives will quickly assess and transfer you to the ER if necessary.”

  “How is this detected?” Gregory asked. “Are we being spied on all the time?”

  “Hardly,” Ba’al’figor retorted. “Angels involved in the auspices of medical concerns are always on duty. That is their particular assignment – being tuned to aberrations and consequential repair of injured matter. Their machines and instincts are triggered when an anomaly occurs. The physics section of your manual goes into much more details about the process. I believe it is the section on nanoscopic observations and reconciliation of quantum transport systems. Any other questions?”

  “No,” Gregory attested. “I’m good.”

  “Tuition, as well as school supplies, is also free,” the angel continued. “The gymnasiums are free as are the saunas, tracks, and various swimming pools around town. Many of you have already taken advantage of the free rehearsal and recording studios in Woodstock. Of course, be kind to your fellow musicians and allow others to sign up for time, too. Musical instruments are free to use at the studios, but if you want to take any of them home, even a tambourine, you can either purchase them at the studio or get your equipment in one of the music shoppes around town. For those of you who are recent arrivals, the proprietor of Guitarland is Les Paul and the manager of Mountain Music is Leo Fender and, as far as I know, these two legendary gentleme
n are currently taking orders for custom shop models. If anyone’s looking for a custom shop model from Adolph Rickenbacker, I’m sorry to notify you that he became a monk roughly two years ago and will, therefore, entertain no more requests. So, if you have the credits, pay Les or Leo a visit. Also, if you’re looking for a job, you can either ask the manager of any establishment you fancy or read the employment board in City Hall. It is updated every week.”

  “Any more questions?” L’Da asked the assemblage.

  A gentleman of about 70 with closely cropped black hair and multi-color striped layered clothing stood up. “Hi. I’m Gary Loizzo, engineer and producer from Chicago. I was wondering – our TV’s work on the ultra-high energy gamma ray spectrum. The manual says the frequency is above 10 exahertz which would be 10 trillion cycles per second or, to simplify, 10 to the 19th power. Is there any chance of radiation poisoning?”

  “TV’s, computers, digital radios, com ports, basically all visual electronics, are holograms projected by a transceiver,” Ba’al’figor answered. “They’re tuned to frequencies so high, and waves so tiny, just half the diameter of an atom or less, that the holograph can mesh with those signals. It then buffers and steps it down to manageable frequencies without exposing the operator to harmful rays. And we’re talking about photon-level particles here which has no mass. Over in Sciences they’ve started looking at even higher frequencies, zettahertz and yottahertz levels which would be 10 to the 21st power and 24th power, or 1 quadrillion hertz. If anything, those higher bands should eliminate the occasional terrestrial gamma-ray flashes that interrupt your reception. Anyway, this line of discussion is better suited for the quantum physics people, definitely not me.”

  “I’m reminded of the experiments you humans conducted in the 60’s,” L’Da claimed. You were exposed to psychedelics which allowed you to see beyond normal reality. You look down at your feet but see horse’s hooves. Just outside your swaying window are multi-colored fractals coming directly at you. Not only can you see yellows and reds but you can hear them. There’s cellophane flowers of yellow and greens towering over your head. There’s Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”

  The audience laughed listening to the Beatles reference.

  “Seriously, though,” L’Da continued. “What was happening was your brain works at specific frequencies. There are four recognized brain wave ranges – beta, alpha, theta and delta. As it turns out, there’s a faster one, gamma, but it’s unexplored at the moment. The psychedelics allowed the brain to tune into wavelengths it cannot typically receive, excited those cerebral parts that have been long dormant for centuries. Do you know why users always claim they feel as one with the universe? Because, for that moment, they really are. They tapped into a reality that was always there, just existing in a different dimension, if you will, like your holographic sets.”

  “So you’re saying,” Gary queried, “if we can somehow travel at the same ultra high energy frequency as gamma rays we can cross the space and time continuum back to earth?”

  “That,” Ba’al’figor stated, “would probably be forbidden because it would disrupt the natural balance of the universe. Remember, technically, the holographic image does not exist. The energy to approximate bursts of those magnitudes would require over 400 kilo electron volts, or keV’s. It’s kind of like sneezing out a quasar through your nose. Not only would your head disappear, but also the Milky Way.”

  “I think that’s enough for one day,” L’Da promised the gathering. “Everything we’ve spoken about today is in your manual in detail. Some parts, no doubt, are very hard to understand because of the math and physics involved, but I’d skip those bits for now. You’re in Heaven. That means enjoy yourself. Those of you really interested in this inter-dimensional travel stuff can always visit Scientific Heaven and speak to Nikola Tesla, Karl Schwarzschild and the other geniuses there. They love explaining all their hypotheses. Anyway, have a wonderful afternoon. And be kind to each other.” He then gazed in the crowd. “Where is Gregory Angelicus?”

  “I’m right here,” the PI said, standing up as the audience started filing out.

  “They’d like to see you in the Police Station after this,” the angel informed him. “Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble.” He then turned to the departing throng. “Everyone else, help yourself to the goodies in the lobby.” As the two angels exited, the music came back on the surrounding speakers. Several groups formed amongst the guests; some exited alone. Gregory, eyeing Tony, zigzagged through the crowd till he caught up with him in the lobby.

  “Hey,” the PI introduced himself to the young man. “You’re Tony Lopez, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “From Seattle?”

  Tony furrowed his brow. “How do you know?”

  “I arrived here yesterday, too,” Gregory projected.

  The realization of whom Tony was speaking to struck him immediately.

  “You’re the reason I’m here!” he exploded, throwing up his arms.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Gregory explained.

  Lopez was seething with anger. “I had my whole life ahead of me!”

  “Feel free to take all your angst out on me,” the PI counseled him, “just know, in the end, it won’t amount to a hill of beans. We’re both here now and there’s nothing we can do.”

  “Sorry, man,” Tony apologized. “You can see how fucked up this is.”

  Gregory softened his tone to a gentle whisper. “Can we talk outside?”

  CHAPTER 8

  Tony and Gregory, strolling up Tinker St. towards ‘House of Romany,’ stopped to get a bite to eat from a ‘Paco y Maco Taco’ truck parked near the Village Green. From where they stood they could hear music playing from the park. The two Seattleites stopped to sit on a bench across the street from Karen Carpenter’s shoppe to finish their lunch.

  “Whatever you do,” Gregory advised his neighbor, “try not to have hard feelings against me; I’m as much of a victim as you. I really am sorry for what happened. I’d like to make it up to you some kind of way, so if there’s anything you need, whatever it is, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

  “I’m still taking all this in, man,” Tony said. “Heaven…wow. So it really does exist.”

  “Why’d you give Prince grief like that?” the PI asked.

  “You see what’s been going on back on Earth,” Tony complained. “Racism is off the hook; homophobia is off the hook. I know it’s not fair for stars like Prince, but when you’re in the public eye like that, you have everyone’s attention, don’t you think you should lend your voice to promote peace?”

  “Yeah,” Gregory agreed, “but you attacked him just now.”

  “Sorry,” the young musician apologized. “I feel really strongly about these things. LGBTQ kids get bullied and harassed to the point of suicide, so I guess I take it seriously.”

  “Well,” Gregory asserted, “try not to make any enemies while you’re here. You are going to be in Heaven for a while.”

  Tony lowered his head. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Can I ask you who you left behind?”

  “My mother and my two older sisters, a couple of cousins, some nieces and nephews.”

  “Were you in school?”

  “I was,” Tony answered, “but I dropped out. My mother was having some financial problems so I got a job at Home Depot to help her out.”

  “Your name is Lopez,” Gregory acknowledged, “but you look like you have some Asian in you.”

  “My father’s Mexican, from Juarez. My mother’s Korean.”

  “How’d they meet?”

  “Boeing, Everett,” the youngster answered, chomping his Mexican meal.

  “Where’s Lopez, Sr. now?”

  “Back over the border, I think,” Tony shrugged. “We haven’t heard from him in years. Last time I saw him I was in middle school. So you’re a private eye? That’s what you said?”

  “Yeah,” Gregory answered, shrugging. “Pays the bills.”

&n
bsp; “What’s that like?”

  “It’s not like the movies, if that’s what you mean,” the PI attested. “It’s kinda boring, really. We investigate fraud for insurance companies, locate missing people, stuff like that. Once in a while we do surveillance, you know, look for the cheaters. But that’s rare.”

  “That actually sounds cool,” Tony nodded. “My mother thinks I’m wasting my time playing music. I was actually headed to an audition that day. They were looking for people for a musical called ‘Fear of Flying.’ I figured I’d give it a shot.”

  “What do you play? Where’d you learn to play?”

  “Sax and guitar. My dad taught me the guitar. The sax I picked up myself from high school because nobody else wanted to play it. My dad really was just a sperm donator, but I did get a few things from him before he bounced, like guitar lessons. He was semi-pro but he was good. Used to play in a Rock en Español band called ‘Bragas Rojas’ – Red Panties.”

  “Oh, yeah? I’ve seen them twice.”

  Tony’s eyes beamed brightly. “You have?”

  “Nah, just playing,” the detective admitted. “Nice name, though.”

  “What about you?”

  “Can’t even whistle.”

  “No,” the budding musician clarified. “I mean, what’d you leave behind?”

  “A lot of broken hearts and my sister; that’s about it. My folks were murdered so I became a cop. It was fun while it lasted.”

  “What happened?”

  “The bottle happened,” the PI cursed. “I don’t have any regrets, just gotta learn to slow down. I loved the libations but they never returned the favor. You’d better get across the street before Karen disappears again because it’s almost lunch time. If you want, we could reconnect after I get back from the police station; go get a bite to eat or something.”

  “Sounds good.”

  When Gregory waded into the police station a few minutes later, he wasn’t expecting the building to look brand new, but he also wasn’t expecting it to look turn-of-the-century ancient, either. To his surprise, almost everything was made of wood – the floors, the staircase to the 2nd floor, the handrails along the staircase, the doors to the bathroom on his left, the long counter in front of him, and the office door to his right. Behind the polished front counter, intricately-carved oaken double doors were ajar, allowing him to see the interior of the courtroom even though most of the lights were off. The chairs there, he noticed, were wooden, as were the wheeled ones in the front lobby. To top it off, the aroma of the building smelled stale as if it hadn’t been aired out in decades. The skinny, bald, sharp-eared sergeant, dressed in a gray long-sleeved, ankle-length Kandora tunic decorated with a badge and metal ID plate, was behind the counter writing in a ledger. Gregory approached him.