Jerry’s record player used to belong to a deep sea diver named Barfunk. Sadly, Barfunk’s boat capsized when he was diving in Australia and the only thing that survived was his 1977 Kenwood turntable, model number 2055. It was a gem, made of beautiful white granite. Back in the 70s they used to call it “The Rock”. Jerry used to point out at parties how the metal had been corroded from all the salt water it had been exposed to.
One thing that never ceased to amaze him was how The Rock still continued to function after all these years. “It’s like an old Honda snowblower”, he’d say, “it just keeps running”. Every once and a while Jerry would apply some fine motor oil lubricant to the spindle, but apart from that it never required repair.
One day Jerry pulled out the same Merle Haggard record he always listened to, it was the only record he liked listening to, and he savoured his little ritual of meticulously cleaning the vinyl and then dropping the needle on it. “Mama Tried” was the name of the album. “I like listening to a record called ‘Mama Tried’” he would say.
He poured himself a few fingers of bourbon, and reclined back in his listening chair. Sitting on the table next to him was a little black book, which he opened to a new page and wrote “Mama Tried, the Japanese pressing” in blue ink. The book contained lists of albums he wanted, and lists of albums he had. His chair was placed perfectly in the centre of the room. It was exactly the same distance from each speaker. One speaker placed 30 degrees to his left, and the other 30 degrees to his right. He brought a sip of bourbon to his lips and then spat the liquid out onto the floor when he heard something that annoyed him. The Rock was making a strange rumbling sound. When he picked it up it sounded like there were marbles rolling around inside the plinth. He finished the rest of his Bourbon, and went upstairs to bed. Luckily it was a Friday.
Friday nights were good nights to encounter problems with the turntable because Saturdays were the only day of the week that the local record shop repairman Steve came into town.
“What can I do ya for?”, said Steve, as though he’d never seen Jerry in his life.
“I’m getting a weird rumbling sound from my Kenwood.”
“Now you’ve had this turntable for quite a while now haven’t you?”
“Yeah I listen to my Merle Haggard on it”, said Jerry as though he meant to say something else. Steve carefully removed the tonearm, plate, subplatter, and neatly placed them on the tea towel on his desk. “Could be the motor” said Steve. “Listen, I’ll take a look at it, but I’ve got some other people waiting ahead of you. Here, take this ticket” he said, handing him a small piece of paper, “if I can’t look at it today, I’ll take it into my shop tomorrow. Just don't forget the ticket when you come to pick it up.” Jerry took the ticket and left.
Steve turned the turntable upside down and heard the same noise Jerry had heard the night before. He unscrewed the legs to examine the interior, what he saw inside shone like a beam of light.
- - - - -
When Jerry got home, there was a police cruiser waiting in front of his house. He pulled into the garage shutting the door behind him as usual, as if he hadn’t noticed the officers waiting. When he was inside, they knocked on his door and he answered. “We have a search warrant for this property. Your son Lyndon-Paul was arrested last night on suspicion of burglary.” The police swarmed in. “Please be careful with the records”, said Jerry. But the officers were not careful with the records. When Jerry was able to go back inside they were littered across the floor and ripped out of their sleeves. Jerry learned that Lyndon-Paul was suspected of robbing the local jewelry store.
“I didn’t do it”, said Lyndon over the phone.
“I know”, said Jerry. “How much does it cost to get you out of there?”
“$20,000.00”
Jerry put his records back in their sleeves and tucked them back on the shelf. He opened up his little black book, logged into his computer, and started searching prices online of all the albums he had catalogued over the years. He marked down prices and added them together. He really wished he could turn on some Merle Haggard.
He called a few people he knew from the record collecting community to see if they were interested, no one was. Jerry started thinking about selling his car, but he knew it wouldn’t be worth that much anyway. He rented the house. The only thing he owned that was worth anything was his turntable, and it was in poor condition. If only Barfunk had left The Rock at home and not brought it out to sea with him all those years, he thought. Right before he called Lyndon-Paul to tell him he was out of luck this time, he got a phone call from Steve.
“Listen, Jerry, you’re gonna want to come down and see this.”
“Let me guess, more bad news? I’ll have to pick it up sometime this week, today hasn’t been my day.”
“Actually Jerry, this might be the best news I’ve ever given anybody.”
“OK?”
“Your turntable is full of pearls”.
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Speed, Greed, and the Dangerous Game of Revenge
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