Never get sexually involved with a client. I should’ve heeded my own advice. But one look at Mandy and you’d have fallen too. She was a real ball breaker. Serving divorce papers shouldn’t get a private investigator shot. But it happened to me. But life goes on, right? I was summoned upstairs to Rock ‘n’ Roll Heaven. Someone was trying to sabotage the upcoming big gig. A humorous tale of music and intrigue on a fantasy world.
Never get sexually involved with a client. I should've heeded my own advice. But one look at Mandy and you'd have fallen too. She was a real ball breaker. Serving divorce papers shouldn't get a private investigator shot. But it happened to me. But life goes on, right? I was summoned upstairs to Rock 'n' Roll Heaven. Someone was trying to sabotage the upcoming big gig. A humorous tale of music and intrigue on a fantasy world.
Mary-Anne Walton wasn’t coming back. Caught up in the explosive scandal destroying the reputation of her boss, international movie producer Harold Kempenski, she’d slipped off the stern of The Blue Dahlia. Her body was never found. I was rocked by her disappearance because I knew she was innocent. I’m Dougay Roberre, an Australian living on the French Riviera, and after Mary-Anne’s demise, friends suggested I get away, to go to Gallipoli on an Australian pilgrimage; however, when there, they didn’t advise me to become entangled with a gorgeous Brazilian-American woman who seemed to have stepped from the sands of Copacabana Beach! Before I could enjoy Türkiye, there were a few things to be done. I had to assist a young woman in love escape the overbearing clutches of her obsessive brother; track down a stolen jade chess set; and try not get involved in the aftermath of a blaze in a car yard. All in all, nothing out of the ordinary for me, n’est ce pas?
On the French Riviera, summer was approaching, and Mary-Anne Walton was due back in Cannes. I could hardly wait! I’m Dougay Roberre, ex-pat Australian living in Nice, and Mary-Anne had employed me as a second unit director for international movie producer Harold Kempenski to supervise the filming of snow-capped Swiss mountains for his upcoming production of Heidi. Ahead lay an uncomplicated sensuous summer with Mary-Anne. However, suspect property developer Paul Villan; a Thai kick-boxer; a Swiss starlet; and meddlesome international lawyers had other ideas. Why does trouble search me out? And why can’t people just keep their hands off my hedonistic dreams?
My name is Dougay Roberre. I've been living on the Cote d’Azur for nine months and in that time, I’ve solved the death of a beautiful blonde, survived a serious beating by criminals, and unraveled a 40-year-old mystery. Now with a five percent share in l’Opera Mozart, I have big plans for ‘my café’. That is if I can stay out of trouble and solve a few nagging questions. Why is there an out-of-town detective shining a torch onto the cafe from the alley? Why is Paul Villan, property developer, interested in a family park? Why is notorious film star Belinda Swann back in town dressed as a man? “The sad thing about widespread corruption,” continued M’sieur Pom, “is that most of it is for small amounts. Why do people sell their souls for such little return? They should make the deceitfulness worthwhile. Forget 10 euro, pocket 10,000 from behind a smoke screen.”
My name is Dougay Roberre. Approaching 40, I left Sydney, Australia, to live in Nice, France. I was raised in the land of sea, sand, sustenance, and sex. There I’d experienced a lot of the first three. On the Cote d’Azur I bought an attic apartment; saved a beautiful woman from dying on my doorstep; discovered who killed a beautiful blonde; and in an off-handed way brought about the tragic death of a Hollywood heart throb. All that lay in the past. I couldn’t foresee I’d soon be stepping on the toes of a crime gang; I’d be fighting off thugs in a street in Milan; I’d be spending the night on a roadside garbage dump; and I’d become enthralled in a 40-year-old kidnapping. If I could have foreseen all that, I’d have stayed in bed.
Sumbeach on the Gulf of Thailand is home to fishermen, tradesmen, labourers, businessmen, policemen, service providers, expats and tourists all going about their lives in measured tranquillity under the heat of the oriental sun - its bars, restaurants and golf courses overlooked by the towering L’Hotel Majestique. Sumbar, a short walk along the beach, offers upstairs rooms with a sea view, a swimming pool, and cold beers in the noon day sun. For Australian tourist Jack Featherstone, Sumbeach is a locale to relax in, on stop-over to Paris. For wealthy Texan businessman Donald Randalson Jnr, Sumbeach offers a week of golf. For Australian librarians Beatrice Young and Eugene Parry, Sumbeach is a place for unexpected love and the exposure of dark secrets. For English police-woman Amelia Sanderson, Sumbeach is where she’ll search among the expats for a murderer. Overseeing all is Police Captain Choniburshakanari. He knows everything about the activities in his sleepy town, particularly among the expats. Or does he? Sumbeach is an idyllic paradise, though that may be a façade, particularly when the disparate guests celebrate a fortieth birthday at Sumbar on Sumbeach.
How do you get a guitarist to stop playing? Put sheet music in front of him. What do you call guys that hang out with musicians? Drummers. Here it is the dirty, the absurd, the witty side of rock and roll as it turns 50. The love of young America's music in its purest form: The Joke.
