FOURTEEN
Jake braked the Bluesmobile to a stop. "Here we are," he announced as he rematerialized inside the car.
"Where's here?" Rocky asked.
"Baton Rouge," Jake said, "And more specifically, Clarence Craycroft's home. Elwood, come with me."
"Right," Elwood glanced down at his watch. Jake had taken them from Illinois to Louisiana in a mere four minutes.
With Armstrong nipping at their heels, the two brothers entered the shabby apartment building before them and climbed up the stairs to the top floor. "Just like my old place," Elwood commented, noticing the serious decay on the walls.
"I've seen a lot worse," Jake said. He knocked on the door at the far end of the hall. "Mr. Clarence Craycroft?" he called in.
"Go away!" was the rather harsh response, "I don't want any!"
"We're not selling anything," Jake told him, "we need your help."
There was a clip-clop sound inside the apartment just before the door swung open. Clarence Craycroft, a large hulking African-American who was now blind and walking with a cane, brandished a sword wildly. "I don't take any visitors!" he bellowed.
"We're here on the advice of Curtis Salamone, your old partner," Elwood said.
"Don't mention his name to me, boy!" Clarence roared, "He stood me up after I put faith in him!"
"Yeah, well, he's reformed now, and he told us you'd be of help," Jake said, "Now if you'd..."
Clarence slammed the door in his face. Jake shook his head. "This is going to be a little harder than I thought," he told Elwood. The angel waved his hand at the door, and it opened before him. "Don't you come in here, damn it!" Clarence yelled, waving his sword at them again.
"Mr. Craycroft, you're not going to stab us with that chicken," Jake said confidently.
"What are you talking about? This isn't a chicken!" Clarence shouted, just then, before Elwood's astonished eyes, the sword transformed into a squawking chicken. Surprised, Clarence tossed it aside. "What do you want?" he asked, less angry now.
"Mr. Craycroft, I'm the late Joliet Jake Blues, and this is my still early brother Elwood and his dog," Jake explained, "Curtis was our sort-of legal guardian, and he taught us everything we wanted to know about the blues. Last night he told us that we should come to you in making our band more dynamic, like it used to be."
"We're on a mission from God," Elwood added. He was impressed by Clarence's dwelling; the walls were lined with photos of the musician in his prime, alongside such figures as Cannonball Adderley and John Coltrane. A couple of photos had a figure blacked out, which he assumed had once been Curtis.
"Oh boy, I must have had too much to drink last night," Clarence said to himself, sitting down on his sofa, "Now I'm being visited by the dead! And I thought my life couldn't get any worse!"
"So what do you say, Mr. Craycroft?" Jake asked him.
"Forget it!" Clarence snapped, "I'm retired! The blues are dead, in case you haven't read the papers lately! I wish they could have lasted longer, but unfortunately that wasn't the case. And for your information, there is no God, boy! If there were, my wife wouldn't have run off with another man, and my son would still be alive today and not at the bottom of the Mississippi!!"
"The Lord can't cover anything, Clarence," Jake said, walking toward him, "But one thing he's good at is making the lame walk and the blind see." He abruptly spit in Clarence's eyes. "Hey, what do you think you're...!" Clarence shouted, wiping the spit away. He stopped, looking shocked. "I...I can see again," he murmured softly.
"You think that's impressive, watch this," Jake gave Clarence's leg a yank. The old man's cane clattered to the floor as he rose to his feet with perfect equilibrium. "How'd you do that?" he asked Jake, amazed.
"Now do you believe in the existence of the Lord our God?" Jake asked him, a big smile on his face, "By the way, Curtis asked me to give you this." He handed Clarence the glowing card Curtis had given him last night. Clarence examined it closely, and then said, "Okay, I suppose I could give you boys some instructions, but you do realize that you're probably not going to make much of an impression on people."
"That's what you say now," Jake said, "Elwood, go down and tell the guys to come on up and bring their stuff."
"But they ain't here, yet, Jake," Elwood pointed out, "They're days behind us."
"Really?" Jake split himself in two. One of his halves rushed out of the apartment at light speed, and return fifteen seconds later to fuse back together with his other half. "They are now," the reunified Jake said, "So go get them and bring them up."
About ten minutes later, the Blues Brothers Band was all set up, ready for a mock performance. Clarence looked them over carefully. "I still think you've got too many people singing here," he informed Jake, "But if you're convinced that you want to go with nine vocalists, I won't stop you."
"Ten, actually, if you count Armstrong here," Elwood pointed to his dog, who was already playing some notes on his harmonica.
Clarence shook his head at the thought of a dog being part of a band. "All right then, who's the lead singer?" he asked the group.
"I am," Rocky, Mack, and Zee all said at once. They glared at each other and snapped simultaneously, "No you're not, I am!"
"Okay, okay," Clarence waved his hands, "I can see you really need some assistance in prioritizing your arrangements here. Why don't we set up here and have a run through so I know what I'm working with here."
"Right," Elwood turned to the band, "Gimme Rubber Biscuit, one, two, one, two, three, four." The band started playing, and everyone started singing together in a muddled mess. "Hold it, hold it!" Clarence shouted, "This isn't getting us anywhere! Now let's try it again, this time one at a time. You first, big and hairy."
The band started up the song again from the top, Rocky taking the lead. Clarence cut him off in midstream again. "No offense, boy, but you can't sing well," he told the former biker, "You should get used to being a second tier guy. You next, my friend," he said, pointing to Mack. The former bartender sang about six lines before Clarence said, "Nice, but let's see what this fellow has to offer," and pointed to Zee. Zee smiled nervously and took the lead on the next run-through of the song. This time Clarence looked pleased. "I think you've got your lead man right here," he told Jake.
"Good work, Zee," Jake slapped his blood brother on the back.
"Well as long as there's no more of those fast chases coming, I guess I can live with it," Zee said.
"So now that we've got the lead singer down pat, I think we should order the rest of you," Clarence said, studying the singers, "When I was on the road, we chose our backup singers carefully for the way they'd interact with the main singers. You two are good as second tier guys," he told Rocky and Mack, who managed to smile over their wounds of not being chosen first, "You've got the soul and rhythm, but I think you work best as first- string backups. "You sir," he pointed to Cabel, "And you," to Keith, "You're the third tier. If you can play any instruments and sing, you'd be helping the cause a lot."
"Hey, we're the band!" Steve spoke up.
"I wasn't questioning that, sir," Clarence told him, "But I made myself learn piano lessons so I would be able to keep going in case a regular band wasn't available, so I think you should all do the same. And you two tykes," he told Buster and Katrina, "Are the fourth tier. As long as you know how to dance well and put on an occasional burst of song, you'll be pleasing to the crowd. Besides, I don't think many people would shell out big bucks to hear some kids singing blues music by themselves. It would be too shocking to folks today. And speaking of dancing, let's work on your choreography next. You need to look like a synchronized, well- oiled machine, not like a bunch of idiots running around like you're being attacked by fire ants."
"Well, we're a little rusty," Elwood admitted, "I've been in prison the last two years, and most of my friends here weren't around me much if at all."
Clarence snorted. "I could have figured as much," he said to nobody in particular. "All right then," he told the musicians, "Let's work on style and form until we get it right. You're not on any time constraints, just so I know?"
"Nope, we're good for the next twenty-nine hours or so," Jake told him, "Then we've got a gig at the Gator Bay Fall Festival."
"Well we're not leaving this apartment until I get you all and perfectly ready for that," Clarence said, adding under his breath, "Or until I crack."
"Sounds good," Elwood said, "Okay guys, let's trying Hey Bartender now, one, two, one, two, three, four."
So preoccupied with getting back into shape were the Brothers that there was no way they could notice the guy next door dialing his phone and asking, "Hello, is this the FBI? I've heard you've been looking for the Blues Brothers. They're right here next door to me now. A day and a half until you get here? Okay, I'll keep an eye on them for you until you get here, but I hope a reward is forthcoming from you guys, because I'm really in debt right now."
Jake braked the Bluesmobile to a stop. "Here we are," he announced as he rematerialized inside the car.
"Where's here?" Rocky asked.
"Baton Rouge," Jake said, "And more specifically, Clarence Craycroft's home. Elwood, come with me."
"Right," Elwood glanced down at his watch. Jake had taken them from Illinois to Louisiana in a mere four minutes.
With Armstrong nipping at their heels, the two brothers entered the shabby apartment building before them and climbed up the stairs to the top floor. "Just like my old place," Elwood commented, noticing the serious decay on the walls.
"I've seen a lot worse," Jake said. He knocked on the door at the far end of the hall. "Mr. Clarence Craycroft?" he called in.
"Go away!" was the rather harsh response, "I don't want any!"
"We're not selling anything," Jake told him, "we need your help."
There was a clip-clop sound inside the apartment just before the door swung open. Clarence Craycroft, a large hulking African-American who was now blind and walking with a cane, brandished a sword wildly. "I don't take any visitors!" he bellowed.
"We're here on the advice of Curtis Salamone, your old partner," Elwood said.
"Don't mention his name to me, boy!" Clarence roared, "He stood me up after I put faith in him!"
"Yeah, well, he's reformed now, and he told us you'd be of help," Jake said, "Now if you'd..."
Clarence slammed the door in his face. Jake shook his head. "This is going to be a little harder than I thought," he told Elwood. The angel waved his hand at the door, and it opened before him. "Don't you come in here, damn it!" Clarence yelled, waving his sword at them again.
"Mr. Craycroft, you're not going to stab us with that chicken," Jake said confidently.
"What are you talking about? This isn't a chicken!" Clarence shouted, just then, before Elwood's astonished eyes, the sword transformed into a squawking chicken. Surprised, Clarence tossed it aside. "What do you want?" he asked, less angry now.
"Mr. Craycroft, I'm the late Joliet Jake Blues, and this is my still early brother Elwood and his dog," Jake explained, "Curtis was our sort-of legal guardian, and he taught us everything we wanted to know about the blues. Last night he told us that we should come to you in making our band more dynamic, like it used to be."
"We're on a mission from God," Elwood added. He was impressed by Clarence's dwelling; the walls were lined with photos of the musician in his prime, alongside such figures as Cannonball Adderley and John Coltrane. A couple of photos had a figure blacked out, which he assumed had once been Curtis.
"Oh boy, I must have had too much to drink last night," Clarence said to himself, sitting down on his sofa, "Now I'm being visited by the dead! And I thought my life couldn't get any worse!"
"So what do you say, Mr. Craycroft?" Jake asked him.
"Forget it!" Clarence snapped, "I'm retired! The blues are dead, in case you haven't read the papers lately! I wish they could have lasted longer, but unfortunately that wasn't the case. And for your information, there is no God, boy! If there were, my wife wouldn't have run off with another man, and my son would still be alive today and not at the bottom of the Mississippi!!"
"The Lord can't cover anything, Clarence," Jake said, walking toward him, "But one thing he's good at is making the lame walk and the blind see." He abruptly spit in Clarence's eyes. "Hey, what do you think you're...!" Clarence shouted, wiping the spit away. He stopped, looking shocked. "I...I can see again," he murmured softly.
"You think that's impressive, watch this," Jake gave Clarence's leg a yank. The old man's cane clattered to the floor as he rose to his feet with perfect equilibrium. "How'd you do that?" he asked Jake, amazed.
"Now do you believe in the existence of the Lord our God?" Jake asked him, a big smile on his face, "By the way, Curtis asked me to give you this." He handed Clarence the glowing card Curtis had given him last night. Clarence examined it closely, and then said, "Okay, I suppose I could give you boys some instructions, but you do realize that you're probably not going to make much of an impression on people."
"That's what you say now," Jake said, "Elwood, go down and tell the guys to come on up and bring their stuff."
"But they ain't here, yet, Jake," Elwood pointed out, "They're days behind us."
"Really?" Jake split himself in two. One of his halves rushed out of the apartment at light speed, and return fifteen seconds later to fuse back together with his other half. "They are now," the reunified Jake said, "So go get them and bring them up."
About ten minutes later, the Blues Brothers Band was all set up, ready for a mock performance. Clarence looked them over carefully. "I still think you've got too many people singing here," he informed Jake, "But if you're convinced that you want to go with nine vocalists, I won't stop you."
"Ten, actually, if you count Armstrong here," Elwood pointed to his dog, who was already playing some notes on his harmonica.
Clarence shook his head at the thought of a dog being part of a band. "All right then, who's the lead singer?" he asked the group.
"I am," Rocky, Mack, and Zee all said at once. They glared at each other and snapped simultaneously, "No you're not, I am!"
"Okay, okay," Clarence waved his hands, "I can see you really need some assistance in prioritizing your arrangements here. Why don't we set up here and have a run through so I know what I'm working with here."
"Right," Elwood turned to the band, "Gimme Rubber Biscuit, one, two, one, two, three, four." The band started playing, and everyone started singing together in a muddled mess. "Hold it, hold it!" Clarence shouted, "This isn't getting us anywhere! Now let's try it again, this time one at a time. You first, big and hairy."
The band started up the song again from the top, Rocky taking the lead. Clarence cut him off in midstream again. "No offense, boy, but you can't sing well," he told the former biker, "You should get used to being a second tier guy. You next, my friend," he said, pointing to Mack. The former bartender sang about six lines before Clarence said, "Nice, but let's see what this fellow has to offer," and pointed to Zee. Zee smiled nervously and took the lead on the next run-through of the song. This time Clarence looked pleased. "I think you've got your lead man right here," he told Jake.
"Good work, Zee," Jake slapped his blood brother on the back.
"Well as long as there's no more of those fast chases coming, I guess I can live with it," Zee said.
"So now that we've got the lead singer down pat, I think we should order the rest of you," Clarence said, studying the singers, "When I was on the road, we chose our backup singers carefully for the way they'd interact with the main singers. You two are good as second tier guys," he told Rocky and Mack, who managed to smile over their wounds of not being chosen first, "You've got the soul and rhythm, but I think you work best as first- string backups. "You sir," he pointed to Cabel, "And you," to Keith, "You're the third tier. If you can play any instruments and sing, you'd be helping the cause a lot."
"Hey, we're the band!" Steve spoke up.
"I wasn't questioning that, sir," Clarence told him, "But I made myself learn piano lessons so I would be able to keep going in case a regular band wasn't available, so I think you should all do the same. And you two tykes," he told Buster and Katrina, "Are the fourth tier. As long as you know how to dance well and put on an occasional burst of song, you'll be pleasing to the crowd. Besides, I don't think many people would shell out big bucks to hear some kids singing blues music by themselves. It would be too shocking to folks today. And speaking of dancing, let's work on your choreography next. You need to look like a synchronized, well- oiled machine, not like a bunch of idiots running around like you're being attacked by fire ants."
"Well, we're a little rusty," Elwood admitted, "I've been in prison the last two years, and most of my friends here weren't around me much if at all."
Clarence snorted. "I could have figured as much," he said to nobody in particular. "All right then," he told the musicians, "Let's work on style and form until we get it right. You're not on any time constraints, just so I know?"
"Nope, we're good for the next twenty-nine hours or so," Jake told him, "Then we've got a gig at the Gator Bay Fall Festival."
"Well we're not leaving this apartment until I get you all and perfectly ready for that," Clarence said, adding under his breath, "Or until I crack."
"Sounds good," Elwood said, "Okay guys, let's trying Hey Bartender now, one, two, one, two, three, four."
So preoccupied with getting back into shape were the Brothers that there was no way they could notice the guy next door dialing his phone and asking, "Hello, is this the FBI? I've heard you've been looking for the Blues Brothers. They're right here next door to me now. A day and a half until you get here? Okay, I'll keep an eye on them for you until you get here, but I hope a reward is forthcoming from you guys, because I'm really in debt right now."