“Yeah, Naughty Child Pie.”
She said, “You care for me, don’t you?”
“I really do.”
“You know why?”
“It’s something that, I don’t know, just happens. I meet girls and I think, Yeah . . .? I meet you and I think, Yeah, ’cause you’re on my mind every minute after.”
“That’s how I feel,” Loretta said. “I can’t wait to put my dear husband in the ground and get on with my life.”
Dennis said, “Will you hurry?”
He got home at eight-thirty the next morning: Charlie still in bed, Vernice in the kitchen, her magazine open on the table. She said, “Well.” She said, “You must’ve had quite a time. Did you fall in love?”
He could say yes, he believed he did, but told her he fell asleep.
“That’s what you do, after. You go to Memphis?”
“Why would I?”
“Charlie said you were meeting that TV girl with the two names.”
“I wasn’t meeting her.”
“Well, according to Charlie, she was meeting you. He said a fan bought him a drink, he turned back around and she was gone. He thought you two must’ve got together.”
“I never even saw her. Listen, I’m sorry I missed supper. What was it?”
“It don’t matter now, does it?”
“I stayed at the hotel. I took a room, see what it was like. You know that desk clerk Patti, blond, semi-big hair?”
“Yeah, Patti.”
“She comped me.”
“You dog. You seeing her?”
“She’s way too young.”
“And she’s got that overbite,” Vernice said, “we use to call buckteeth.”
“She’s nice though.”
“She better be. You want some breakfast?”
“I’ve had my coffee.”
“Sit down, I’ll fix you some eggs. You diving this afternoon?”
“I’m not sure yet. Robert’s picking me up.”
“You haven’t mentioned him since his friend got killed. The one Charlie went to Memphis for, remember? I saw his wife in the lobby, sunglasses, a cute black suit. She can wear clothes. But there’s something—I don’t know what it is. Like I wouldn’t be surprised to turn the page of this magazine and there she’d be, in the sunglasses.”
“How’re Nicole and Tom doing?”
“They’ve learned the identity of her secret lover.”
“Who is it?”
“Some Eyetalian guy. You want a couple fried eggs or not?”
Newton watched the valet boy get in the Jaguar and pull out to circle around to the hotel entrance where Mr. Negro was there waiting, his sunglasses on. Newton had slept in his truck all night and had a cup of coffee to go earlier. He wedged a hunk of Copenhagen behind his lower lip, sucked on it and turned the key. He was surprised when Robert Taylor—that was the boy’s name, same as a movie star’s the way to remember it—drove south to Tunica and stopped at a house on School Street, up from those bail-bond offices. He was surprised again when the diver came out of the house and got in the car. Now where? It turned out they went south again on Old 61. Newton didn’t care where they were going. This stretch of road was the place to pull alongside and give ’em the double-ought buck.
Except, goddamn it, he could keep the black car in sight, but not catch up to it to do the job.
Robert didn’t put his music on this time, in the car. He’d asked Dennis to drive with him to see Walter Kirkbride. There was something he wanted to tell Dennis and they could talk on the way.
Riding along now Robert said, “The fire dive—man, I saw that, I knew more than ever you’re the man I want.”
Dennis said, “Thanks anyway.”
“Your conscience,” Robert said, “won’t let you do it. That’s the trouble having a conscience, why I control mine, only listen to it when I want.”
“You have your own way of reasoning things,” Dennis said.
“Bend it when I see the need. I told you everybody believed Robert Johnson must’ve sold his soul to play the way he did? But Robert Johnson never said he did or didn’t?”
“I remember.”
“Well, who would know better than the man himself? What he did was leave the Delta, went down to Hazlehurst where his mama lived, and went to the woodshed. You know what’s meant by woodsheddin’? It’s getting off by yourself and finding your sound, your chops, what makes you special. Robert Johnson went off for a couple of years and learned his style. He went back to the Delta . . . Sam House says, ‘He finished playing and all our mouths were standing open.’ You understand what I’m saying?”
“You want something,” Dennis said, “work for it. If I want to run a diving show, get off my ass and make it happen.”
“What I want to tell you,” Robert said, “I could help you. I won’t make a promise till I see how this deal goes, get Walter Kirkbride in line. It works, I could maybe back you.”
“Why?”
“’Cause you my man. ’Cause you got the nerve to douse yourself in high-test and go off the ladder.”
“You mean if Walter goes in with you?”
“If Walter works for me. That’s part of what I need to know. See, I been looking for him, but Walter’s hiding out, shaky after killing a man. But I believe I know where to find him.”
No more than a minute later they turned left at the Dubbs intersection and Dennis said, “We’re going to Junebug’s?”
Yes, they were, through the lot and around back to where the two trailers stood, and a car. Robert said, “You recognize it?”
“Arlen’s Dodge.”
“The one Walter drives,” Robert said, “when he comes to see his sweetheart, Walter keeping his romance a secret.”
Dennis said, “Unless Arlen left it.”
Robert turned the car around to drive out. “That’s what we gonna find out.”
Newton came along expecting to see the black car parked in front of Junebug’s. It wasn’t. It wasn’t up the road, either, even though it was heading that way and couldn’t be out of sight this quick. Newton coasted past the roadhouse, got ready to give her the gun and glanced at his rearview mirror. Hell, there it was, coming around from behind Junebug’s, and stopping to park.
They went in, Robert carrying his attaché case, and crossed the dance floor to the bar, both of them glancing around to see the place empty, Robert saying now, “My man Wesley. I brought you a present, man, you gonna love. Gonna not want to take off.” He laid the case on the bar, snapped it open and brought out a LET’S SEE YOUR ARM T-shirt. Robert held it up for Wesley to read and then tossed it to him. “Take off that redneck tank top, Wes, and slip into something stylish.”
Wesley said, “Why can’t I put it on over?”
“Do it, man, be trendy. But tell me something. How long’s my buddy Walter been back there with his honey, a few days now?”
Wesley said something with his head inside the T-shirt.
“What was that, Wes?”
He said, “Yeah, I guess,” pulling the shirt down his narrow trunk. “The girl took food out there to him. I wondered, you know who’s gonna be running this place now?”
“My man Dennis’ll fill you in,” Robert said. “Fix him a cocktail while I go look in on the lovers.”
Newton parked next to the black car. He took his shotgun from the rack across the window behind him and slid out of the pickup. He was anxious now and it made him want to take a piss. He was thinking he could step inside, shoot both of ’em and then go to the men’s. No, he better take his leak first, right here. Piss on Mr. Negro’s car.
Dennis had a longneck beer he took sips from telling Wesley he wasn’t exactly sure if the ownership would pass to somebody, or if there were other partners. Dennis said, “But they could be dead, too, couldn’t they?” Thinking of Jim Rein and Eugene Dean. And that other one, with the beard, the one they didn’t know what happened to. Or would it go to Arlen’s wife?
How about that? L
oretta could end up owning this place. And if Robert wanted to use it as a dope store he’d have to buy it from her. It could speed up getting Loretta out of that life she was in.
Robert walked around the Dodge Stratus to the trailer, went up to the door that had Traci lettered on it in that old-fashioned script and knocked. He waited and knocked again.
“Traci?”
Her voice came from in there. “I’m not seeing anyone today.”
Robert said, “Girl, I don’t want you. I need to see my business partner, Mr. Kirkbride. Would you open the door, please?”
It opened a few inches and he saw her face, showing concern, looking out at him.
“What is it you want?”
Robert raised his voice. “Walter, step out here, will you? While I’m still exercising my patience?”
Wesley laid his forearms on the bar and leaned on them, his white skin blue with old tattoos Dennis couldn’t make out. He moved Robert’s attaché case aside and brought the lid down without snapping it closed. He had asked Wesley how long he’d been working here. Wesley said since Arlen bought into Junebug’s.
“I’m Arlen’s uncle on his daddy’s side.”
Dennis said, “You aren’t that much older.”
Wesley said, “You don’t need to be.”
He looked past Dennis and pushed up from the bar to stand straight. Dennis half-turned and saw Newton inside the door with his double-barreled shotgun, pointing it this way as he came toward the bar and then stopped about twenty feet away to look around.
“Where’s everybody?”
Wesley said, “Nobody’s come in yet.”
“Where’s the nigger?”
Wesley motioned toward the back. Dennis looked that way, in time to see the door next to the bandstand come open. There was Robert, there was Walter coming behind him with Traci. Dennis watched Newton put the shotgun on them.
Newton saying, “My Lord, I couldn’t prayed and expected this. Both of you at once?”
“Newton,” Robert said, “you come by for a cold beverage?” Like he didn’t see the shotgun pointed at him. “Lemme buy you a beer.” Robert started toward the bar.
Newton yelled at him, “Stay where you’re at!”
Robert stopped and looked puzzled, frowning at Newton.
“What’s wrong?”
Newton motioned with the shotgun for Walter and Traci to move away from Robert, saying, “Walter, I don’t want you hurt. We gonna talk after.”
Dennis, his eyes on Newton, slipped his left hand inside the attaché case, his fingers working through papers and folders to feel the grip of Robert’s pistol, the Walther PPK that James Bond carried.
Walter was saying, “After what?”
“After I shoot the nigger,” Newton said. “We’re gonna go to your office for my paycheck.”
Walter said, “I don’t know what you mean.”
Dennis had the gun in his hand now. He was sure Robert kept it loaded, but didn’t know if it was ready to fire. Or if he’d have to pull back that top part first, the slide. If there wasn’t a bullet in the chamber there’d be a click when he pulled the trigger and then, he was pretty sure, there’d be one in there.
Robert, still frowning, was saying to Newton, “Come on, man, tell me what’s on your mind.”
Newton had already said it, he was going to shoot him, and had the shotgun at his shoulder aimed right at Robert. Dennis didn’t see he had a choice now, he pulled the trigger and the gun fired inside the case, through it and took out a bottle of Jim Beam behind the bar. He had the gun out now, saw Newton swinging the twin barrels at him and Dennis shot him, knew he’d shot the man even as the shotgun went off and he heard glass shattering and heard Robert yelling to shoot him again, but saw the blood on Newton’s shirt, high on his chest, Newton’s face blank as he dropped the shotgun and went to his knees, something brown coming out of his mouth, and fell to the floor on his face. Dennis laid the gun on the bar and tried not to look at Newton.
Dennis watched Robert in action now, taking over, Robert the first one to speak, Robert looking at Dennis to say, “You my hero. You got nothing to worry about.” Looking at Traci then. “Honey, you saw what happened, didn’t you?”
She said, “Yeah, he shot Newton.”
“’Cause Newton shot at him.”
She said, “Yeah, I guess.”
“We have the broken bottles,” Robert said, “to prove it,” and looked at Walter. “Walter, you didn’t see nothing, ’cause you aren’t here. You understand? You don’t frequent this kind of place.” He said, “See how good I am to you?” and turned to Wesley. “What happened, Wes?”
“What she said. Newton tried to shoot us.”
“Trying for you as well as Dennis.”
“I was standing right here.”
“And the gun was on the bar, huh?”
Dennis watched Robert getting into it.
“The one you keep back there, Arlen’s gun. You were showing it to Dennis. Newton shot at you. You picked up Arlen’s gun and plugged him.”
Dennis stopped him at that point. He said, “Robert, if you want it to be Arlen’s gun, that’s okay with me. But I shot him.”
“You want the credit for it.”
“No, I want to keep it simple.”
Robert looked at Wesley again. “You know it was Arlen’s gun, ’cause he put it there. The sheriff’s people, whoever, they’ll look at it good and give it back to you and then it’s yours, Wesley. You can keep it behind the bar where you had it.” Robert said, “Hey, and I can give you some more T-shirts. ‘Let’s see your arm’ means you’ll arm-wrestle anybody wants to try you. They win they get a free T-shirt.”
Dennis watched him looking at Wesley’s stringy, tattooed arms, Robert saying then, “You don’t have to—it’s something we can talk about. I’m getting ahead of myself here.” He said to Dennis, “There’s always something, isn’t there?” and kept looking at him and said, “Man, you saved my life,” sounding surprised now to realize it. “You know that?”
Dennis said, “Yeah, I know it.”
Robert said, “Man, I owe you, don’t I?”
Dennis said, “Yes, you do.”
Robert said, “Tell me what you want.”
Dennis said, “Let me think about it,” and paused and asked Robert, “You know anybody in Orlando?”
About the Author
ELMORE LEONARD is the author of thirty-seven novels, including the bestselling Pagan Babies, Be Cool, Cuba Libre, Out of Sight and Get Shorty, as well as numerous screenplays. He and his wife, Christine, live in a suburb of Detroit.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
Credits
Cover Design by Chip Kidd
Cover Photograph by Peter Griffith/Masterfile
Other Works
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Forty Lashes Less One Killshot
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Fifty-Two Pickup Maximum Bob
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Unknown Man No. 89 Pronto
The Hunted Riding the Rap
The Switch Out of Sight
Gunsights Cuba Libre
Gold Coast The Tonto Woman & Other Western Stories
City Primeval Be Cool
Pagan Babies
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author
or the publisher.
TISHOMINGO BLUES. Copyright © 2002 by Elmore Leonard, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © JANUARY 2002 ISBN 9780061804786
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Elmore Leonard, Tishomingo Blues
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