Race (13 page)

We knocked harder.

No answer.

I banged on the door with my fists.
 
“
Yo
!
 
Grilled fish delivery. Open up.”

Beadsworth
shot me a look, “Grilled fish?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged.
 
“I’m making it up.”

“Hold on!” we heard a voice from behind the door.

“See,” I said to
Beadsworth
.

Two seconds later the door eased open.

DJ
Krash
, or someone we thought was DJ
Krash
, was short and skinny, wearing a Nike t-shirt, shorts, and socks.
  
He looked tired, as if someone had just interrupted his sleep.

“I didn’t order any grilled fish,” he said, but before we could answer, he said, “Oh, you guys must be from the magazine.
 
Am I late?”

We both looked at each other.

Seeing the confused look on our faces, he said, “You’re not from
Lyrics & Beat
for my interview?”

Beadsworth
flashed his badge and said, “No.
 
Are you Max Vernon?”

“Yeah.
 
What’s this all about?” he said.

“You’re not in any trouble, Mr. Vernon, at least, not yet. Can we come in?”

“I guess so.”

The condominium was spacious, to say the least.
 
Lush carpet, fine leather sofa, a plasma high-definition TV; this place was loaded.

Max Vernon didn’t offer us a seat, but we sat.

“We just need some information on a group that we believe frequents the clubs you play in,”
Beadsworth
said.

“I play in many clubs.”

“The House of Jam, in particular.”

He sat across from us and rubbed his eyes.
 
“Sorry,” he said.
 
“I was doing a gig last night.
 
So what do you want to know exactly?”

“Anything and everything.”
    

“I might have heard something or nothing,” Vernon said.
 
He was reading us to see what we were after.

“Do you know who owns House of Jam?”
Beadsworth
asked.

“Sure.
 
My brother-in-law.”

“His name?”

Vernon paused.
 
“We’re not into anything, if that’s what you mean.”

“Maybe your brother-in-law is,” I said, seeing how defensive he was.

“Hey, Cal has a family,” he snapped.
 
Then he lowered his voice.
 
“Listen, he’s got two beautiful children.
 
He’s not into…into…”

“Drugs,” I said.

“Yeah.” Vernon looked away.
 
Then he sighed and said, “Okay. Okay. Cal told me some people came by and they said they are working on this new drug that’s going to be the next big thing.”

“Next big thing?” I asked.

“Bigger than Ecstasy.”

“What did they call this new thing?”
Beadsworth
said.

“Cal didn’t mention a name. He said they wanted to open shop at House of Jam and they were willing to give him a twenty percent cut.”

“Did Cal agree?” I said, testing him.

“No, of course not,” he turned to me.
 
“We don’t do drugs, man.
 
We make enough money doing our own stuff.”

“It’s hard to believe that someone would just throw away that kind of money?”
Beadsworth
said, trying to get more out of him.

“Don’t believe me.
 
I don’t care.
 
But let me tell you, drugs are bad for business.
 
You have no idea how much business we lose because of Ecstasy.
  
The police always showing up at the club, parents afraid to send their kids there, fights breaking out, you name it—it happens because of drugs.
 
It’s just not worth it.”
 
He stood up.
 
“All we want to do is make music and earn some money.
 
That’s it.”

Some money?
I glanced around the condo.
  

Beadsworth
said, “Why didn’t Cal call the police?”
 

“You know, I hate to say it, but drugs and music go hand-in-hand.
 
You expect these types of things to be there.
 
Cal is a smart guy.
 
You don’t want a police cruiser parked in the front every time you open your doors, you know what I mean?”

“Did Cal describe these people?”

“Not really, but one of them scared the shit out of him.”
 
He leaned over and whispered.
 
“I’ll show you something.”

He disappeared and then came back holding several clear plastic sandwich bags.
 
He placed them on the coffee table.
 
We leaned closer.
 
Each contained different
coloured
tablets.

“Those guys came down several times. They left these samples with Cal,” Vernon said.

I picked one bag and examined the tablet.
  
There was nothing unusual about it.
 
No distinguishing marks, symbols, or signs on it.
 
To me it looked like a prescription drug your pharmacist would give you.

“The orange ones were the first sample they brought.
 
The green second, and then the brown,” Vernon said.

“When did they bring the brown one?” I said.

“Last week.
 
They said their drug was still in process.”

“Why leave samples with your brother-in-law?”
Beadsworth
inquired.

“They wanted to prove that they had a genuine product, I guess.
 
They were refining it.
 
I think they wanted it to be more addictive.”

“Have you tried it?” I asked.

“No way!” he spat.
 
“You crazy?
 
This stuff could be anything.”

“Why do you have it?” I asked.

“Cal didn’t want to keep it. What if he got raided or something?
 
If the cops found it they’d shut down his business.”

“Why didn’t
you
get rid of it?”

“Cal wanted me to hold on to the stuff so that if he ever got in trouble I would give it to the cops.”

“Have they given samples to owners of other clubs?”
Beadsworth
said.

“Probably. But they keep coming back to the House of Jam
.”

“Why is that?” I said.

He looked at me as if I had just crawled out of a hole.
 
“You’ve never been to the House of Jam?”

I shrugged no.
 
I looked at
Beadsworth
, hoping he hadn’t either.

“House of Jam is
the
hottest place in Toronto,” Vernon said.
 
“Everyone goes there.”

I didn’t.
Should I tell him I don’t get out much?

“Celebrities, athletes, business executives, everyone goes there, man. It’s the best place to build a diverse clientele.”
 
Vernon leaned closer.
 
“Drugs are part of the music biz.
  
It’s the one place where people are more open to try new things.”

“We’re going to take these samples,”
Beadsworth
said, not asking.

“Yeah, sure.
 
Whatever.”

“We would also like to visit the club,”
Beadsworth
said.

“Hey, man, no cops,” he stood up.
 
“We don’t want to be part of this.”

“You’re already part of it,”
Beadsworth
said.
 
I was amazed at how calm he always was.
 
Is that a British thing?

Vernon scratched his head and made a twisted face.

“If this thing gets into the market, you better believe your business is going to suffer,”
Beadsworth
insisted.

Vernon nodded.
  
“Come down Friday night.
 
I’m playing there,” he said.
 
“You can meet Cal there also.”

“What’s his full name?”
Beadsworth
asked.

“Calvert Murray.”

We got up to leave.

“One more question,” I said.
 
Beadsworth
looked at me oddly.
 
“How can you afford a place like this?” I asked.

“You mean as a DJ?” Vernon replied.

I nodded.
 
“Nice place.
 
Expensive, though.”

“I’ll show you something,” he said and disappeared.

Alone,
Beadsworth
said, “Why did you bring that up?”

“Come on.
 
You wanted to know, too,” I replied.

Vernon came back holding an album.
 
He placed it on the coffee table and began taking out newspaper articles.
 
There were articles from different countries in different languages.
 
“I’m the best DJ in Toronto and Canada for that matter,” Vernon beamed.
 
“I’m also the second best DJ in the world.”
 
He pulled out one article, which was in a language I couldn’t identify.
 
“In the Frankfurt Hip Hop Festival I came in second.
 
I think it was rigged.
 
They wanted the Swedish guy to win from the beginning.
 
His beats weren’t
crisp
enough, you know what I mean?”

I nodded absentmindedly.

“But those German fans were wild.
 
I had a blast.”
 

“Second best,” I said.
  
“So you can make good money doing this?”

“Yeah, sure.
 
But you
gotta
first find a new beat.
 
Your unique style, you know.
 
Each time you
gotta
take it a step further, elevate the music so that no one can do it except you.
 
Master it, you know what I mean?”

I nodded.
 
I had no idea what the man was talking.

“There are so many freestyle competitions around the world where you can make serious money.”

“Serious money.” I turned to
Beadsworth
.
 
“That’s what I want to do.
 
Make serious money.”

“You into music?” Vernon asked.
 
“What kind?”

I stumbled.
 
“Um, all kinds.
 
You know, techno, jazz…opera.”

“Diverse.” Vernon nodded to himself.
 
“You could probably do it,” he said.
 
“Just come up with a cool name.
 
Experiment and find your own style, man.
 
That’s all.”

“Cool name, eh?” I said.
 
I thought about it.
 
“How about DJ
Crimefighter
,” I turned to
Beadsworth
and gave a thumbs up.

“How about DJ Bigmouth,” he shot back.

“Not bad,” Vernon said.
 

“We have to go,”
Beadsworth
said.
 
“Tell your brother-in-law we’ll meet him on Friday.”

Back in the elevator, I said, “DJ Bigmouth?
 
I can’t believe you would say that.
 
I was serious.”

“So was I,” he replied.