Chicago, Illinois; Thursday, May 6, 1937, 3:30 PM; it was a dark and stormy day. My name is Harmon Nick Triad, private detective. My friends call me Nick; my enemies call me something else. I was in the mood for some music by Robert Schumann so I played my new record album of the _"Spring" Symphony_ with Frederick Stock and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. They were the best orchestra in town, maybe one of the best in the whole wide world.
Then she walked into my office. "Mr. Triad, you've got to help us. My name is Tempest Sonata. You may have heard of me and my identical sisters, Moonlight and Appassionata." Yes, I had heard of the Sonata triplets. They were the Trio Sonatas who performed Triple Concertos at Orchestra Hall. Tempest led her sisters into my office. They were big, brunette and beautiful, with their well-developed Sonata forms and their gorgeous gams that formed a stunning Sonata leg row. I was intrigued.
I greatly admired the Sonatas as musicians. Tempest was a superb violinist, Moonlight was an outstanding cellist, and Appassionata was a brilliant pianist. As part of the audience I had seen them many times in concerts; now suddenly they had come to my office. For a piano trio, they had a lot of brass.
After a brief introduction, Tempest in typical Sonata style gave an exposition of themes which she developed at some length, and then she recapitulated her themes. "You see, we were shocked to get that off-key note from that gangster in Washington - D.C. Al Fini. He said that if we didn't change our tune soon, he'd string us up." A tear came to her eye, and it was a pathetique Sonata I beheld. D.C. Al wanted to horn in on their concert tours and he had tried to scare them off. The previous month the Sonata triplets toured cities of the Great Lakes on the boat Belle o' Bar Tock. Near Toven, a runaway van almost ran their taxi into a bay. Luggage van Bay Toven... it was too suspicious for an accident.
Moonlight added another theme. "In our tours we have acquired some rare and valuable musical manuscripts. Now someone else wants them, and threats have been made against us. Just last night, someone broke into our home and stole an original manuscript for a _Trio_ by Joseph Haydn."
Had they called the police? "No, this just isn't their forte," responded Appassionata. "Only you can conduct this investigation. We think D.C. Al was also behind this theft and he may be in Chicago now, accompanied by his band. They may try a repeat performance to steal the rest of our manuscripts."
This was interesting. Up until that time my caseload was not very exciting, mostly variations on the same dull themes. In frustration I had spent many of my evenings like a drunken musician who wandered from bar to bar and didn't know the score. At last here was just the sort of case I wanted, but I didn't know if I was intrigued more by the problem or by the Sonata triplets themselves. At any rate this case was a welcome change of tempo, so I invited the Sonatas to dine out with me and we could compare notes on this matter. They gladly accepted my invitation to dinner, and I gladly accepted their case.
I knew a swell Italian restaurant with a beautiful view of Lake Michigan and a great taste in music. The Sonatas wanted some Verdi, so we ordered _Quattro Pizze Sacre_ (Four Sacred Pizzas), a magnum opus. The Sonatas said that they had gone to a modern Austrian restaurant during the previous week but they couldn't stomach the _Six Pizzas for Orchestra_ by Webern, the new chef.
No matter. We had an important case to solve, and the thieves might try their encore tonight. I had heard about D.C. Al Fini from Washington, a star performer in a city full of song and dance. He would probably be in Chicago himself to orchestrate the next score personally, because his local band had botched the 1st movement and not heisted all the manuscripts. He was also molto agitato because some of his star protigis had been arrested that week: Ollie Gretto wasn't too swift and Anne Danti wasn't too slow; Pat Rushka was little more than a puppet; Blue Dan Yube was sent up the river.
After dinner I drove the Sonatas to their house on the north side of town. The manuscripts were locked in a cabinet in a storage room upstairs at the back of the house. We thought the thieves would return that night and we wanted to lay some traps for them, so we set to work. Then I told the triplets to hide the manuscripts and replace them with some worthless papers while I went back to my office for a few items.
When I returned to my office, D.C. Al was there with some thugs. "Mr. Triad, if you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from those Sonata triplets. They have refused all my offers so now I need to use other forms of persuasion." I never did know what was good for me, and I told him so. "You're not very sharp, Mr. Triad. Now you must face the music." One of his thugs stepped forward with a violin case; it probably had a tommy gun inside. Another thug had a viola case; this began to look pretty serious. Still another thug carried in a cello case; now I was definitely uneasy. Finally another thug dragged in a double-bass case and I began to sweat; it looked as if D.C. Al would ring down my final curtain. "Well, Mr. Triad, we need a 2nd violin for a proper string quintet. I'll play it myself. Goodbye, Mr. Triad."
Luckily, like most musical detectives I had a large record collection, with about 20,000 discs stored upstairs in alphabetical order by composer. That same afternoon when I bought that Schumann set I had worried that one more album might be the last straw. The timing was perfect. Just at this moment the ceiling above gave way and those thugs were flattened by a downpour of 78s. I was saved but when the dust and shellac cleared D.C. Al was gone. He was probably headed right for the Sonata triplets. After a brief pause to determine whether to reassemble my entire record collection right then and there, I decided the Sonatas just might be more important so I dashed out of my office.
I reached the Sonata house, hid in the shrubbery and peeked into a window. D.C. Al wasn't there yet, but 3 thugs had bound and gagged the triplets and were torturing them with 12-tone chamber music to make them reveal where the manuscripts were hidden. I could hardly contain my revulsion but I had to remain silent and hope that our traps would work. D.C. Al was very dangerous now, but in his rage he might make a fatal mistake. Soon a black limousine entered the driveway. D.C. Al stormed into the house and screamed at the Sonatas. "So, if Schnberg and Berg won't make you talk, we'll have to try the opposite extreme. Let's see if you can withstand _The Four Seasons_ by Vivaldi, played _500 times_!" He gave a diabolical laugh that made me shudder. I sneaked to the back of the house, climbed a trellis and entered a window upstairs. The Sonatas had done their work well and our traps were ready. It was show time.
With a wave of my baton I hit a switch to shine a spotlight on D.C. Al and his band to blind them long enough so I could free the Sonatas. Another switch started a phonograph which filled the house with loud and obnoxious Dixieland jazz from Desecration Hall in New Orleans. The villains tried to shield their ears but the strain was too much and they began to stagger around the room. I grabbed the 1st thug and smashed his own violin over his head; that'll teach him not to fiddle with me. I knocked over the 2nd thug and cracked his cello bow across his knees; he'll be bow-legged for a long time. Then I seized the 3rd thug and dropped the piano lid onto his head; it was a grand slam. Dixieland jazz always did work me into a frenzy. This left only D.C. Al himself, so I executed a cadenza with a credenza to his labonza that left him senseless. Then I tied him up with piano wire and phoned the police.
The police took D.C. Al and his band to some nice soundproof cells; they would be held over for an extended command performance of 20 years. The Sonata triplets were in pretty good shape after their ordeal but the atonal music torture had left them temporarily tone deaf. They needed a long vacation. Tempest congratulated me. "Nick, you were wonderful! We can't thank you enough." She gave me a kiss, then turned and walked toward her sisters. It was the end of a successful case and the start of a new chapter in my career. I would probably see the Sonatas again soon. Then it was time for me to go. I had a big mess to straighten up in my office, and some serious shopping to do at Rose Records.
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