The Song is Over
By R.A. Jetter
“Please tell Sheriff Dalton I’ll be in Montgomery mid-morning. I’m certain we’ve got a bigger mystery than just Danny Mack’s suicide.”
Two hours later I boarded Flight 117 and touched down at 10:45. The Sheriff met me in the concourse. “That old pick-up truck is hiding something,” I said, holding the picture to his face. “I don’t know what but there’s got to be a reason for this red X.”
Our entourage arrived at Danny’s home about three. That old faded F-100 pickup was the center of attention. Took over three hours of scouring to finally notice tires weren’t on concrete — just barely above it and completely without air — flat. No one noticed, not even me and I was on my back under it. Holding the entire truck up were four iron bars welded to the frame, set into concrete and placed tightly against each tire. That truck wouldn’t have moved if a tow winch were attached to it. Why would an old pickup would be mounted like that? The cops left after finding nothing else suspicious. I sat in the cab and stared out the windshield, dumbfounded… no idea now what the hell that sticky note meant.
The whole sordid affair really pissed me off. I helped give him stardom… and he quit. Just up and quit! Tossed it away. Danny was a star, at the pinnacle of his career, he had everything he ever wanted, whenever he wanted it… didn’t make sense. I pounded my fists on the dash in an effort to rid myself of the demons that haunted me — What did I say? What did I do? Something Danny didn’t like? Was his suicide my fault? I was searching for answers when the glove compartment fell open and struck my knee.
“Ow. Knock it off, Danny. It’s bad enough you’re gone and now you’re torturing me?”
Hello? What’s this? A 4″ x 6″ piece of newsprint. Seems my pounding dislodged it. Ochre-colored cellophane tape attested it had been affixed to the underside of the glove compartment box. The small non-descript headline read: DynaTones Disbanded. The body copy didn’t say much more: Band member Mark Schwinn didn’t give any solid reasons for the break-up other than it was time to move on to new things and that each member was pursuing something different. Danny Mack, front-man for the group was unavailable for comment. It bore a December 30, 1960 date… exactly six years ago to the day he died.
A ton of bricks couldn’t have made more of an impact… Danny’s band didn’t just break up… or fade away… or go away… something happened to them. Bands with as much savvy as The DynaTones and playing power don’t just up and quit, even if they lose their leader. Many groups have gone on to greater success without their driving member. I had a feeling… what happened to The DynaTones wasn’t going to be pretty.
“Julia, please box up Danny’s letter, those newspaper clippings and over-nite them to the Montgomery County Sheriff,” I asked the secretary over the phone, adding, “Make sure the photos are enclosed,” and “I won’t be back home ’til we get this sorted out.”
In the morning, we enlarged the photo, studied the red X placement, again… and again… .and called an excavating company.
The F-100’s tires were aired up. It was torched off the bars… towed away. Jackhammers pummeled through four inches of concrete. The backhoe waited while the last of the detritus was removed. Ten minutes later and less than three feet into the earth it hit something. More concrete. A ten-foot wide section came to light when dirt was cleared. The backhoe dug alongside it — seven feet down, ten feet long… a veritable mausoleum. On the west side — a door — I shuddered. At times, seriously morbid thoughts invade my mind… I had half a dozen whirling around right now… and a good idea who was in there. When it was opened, the Sheriff concurred… Danny’s band-mates… holding their instruments… eerily positioned as if they were still playing… still in The DynaTones… playing for all of eternity.
Danny had murdered his band-mates somewhere along the line… to keep them together. I didn’t care to know how. I finally realized why he played such soulful tunes in the bed of that pickup… he played every day with The DynaTones… and sadly, I now knew why Danny Mack committed suicide. The price of fame… without them, was too great.
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