Tishomingo Blues (2002)

  "It was Eugene's dog," JimRein said. "Junebug took care of it while Eugene was at Delta Correctional."

  "I know that," Arlen said. "I asked Junebug what he was protecting the dog from. The dog'll tear the throat out of anybody looks at her cross. Junebug says it ain't anybody's throat he's worried about. The dog tears up the house you leave her alone."

  "What kind of dog it is?"

  "Farm dog. Kinda white and brown, has some setter in her."

  JimRein said, "I didn't know Eugene was out till I run into him. He says yeah, a couple months. Did you know the dorms at Delta Correctional are airconditioned? I couldn't believe it."

  "That's account of it's private-run."

  "Eugene says you tell the warden you don't like something, that state soap for instance? The warden says, `We ain't in the business of liking.' "

  They were coming on to Tunica.

  "Eugene says he got rich there at Delta only never saw the money."

  "Working that con on the queers," Arlen said.

  "Yeah, that's what he told me but not how it worked where he was. I only got into that business far as selling my pitcher to some cons that used it. Remember that? What was that hack's name, took my pitcher in the shower?"

  "Otis," Arlen said. "Dumbest spook I ever met. No, Eugene worked it the usual way. Ran personal ads in homasexual magazines. Eugene used the one, he'd been falsely accused of receiving stolen goods from his boyfriend and would like the advice of an older and wiser homasexual. Pretty soon he's hearing from a bunch of old homo sweeties feeling sorry for him. After while he gets around to saying he's up for appeal and needs five thousand sent to his lawyer in Jackson, as he can't receive the check hisself. See, the lawyer was in on it. The old homos have a stack of Eugene's letters and pitchers of this boy standing there naked and they start sending the checks."

  "Pitchers of Eugene?"

  "Jesus, no. Junebug took pitchers of one of the boys does the sex show, Eyetalian kid, hung like a goddamn horse, and I sent 'em to the old homos, telling 'em as a favor to Eugene, pitchers taken before he went down. He got letters from near every one of 'em saying the check's in the mail and hope to see you soon. See, the checks are made out to Eugene and suppose to go into an account the lawyer opened for him."

  They were in Tunica now on Main, coming to Fox Island Road, and JimRein turned right. Arlen said, "I heard that's the house the fella runs Tishomingo leased, Billy Darwin?" Arlen pointing to a big Tudor set among white oaks. "Best-looking house in town." Junebug's was up ahead on the left a half mile: one of Kirkbride's manufactured homes with a screened porch, a patio and a three-car garage, additions Junebug'd had built on.

  JimRein said, "Eugene told me he knew it worked, but he'll never see the money, something like over two hundred thousand dollars."

  "I know that was his estimate," Arlen said. "He had homos all over America sending checks. Eugene got his release-you know there wasn't any appeal, he did the whole bit, three years straight up. Went to Jackson to collect his money and the lawyer says, `What money?' He only received ten thousand and it went for his fees." "Lying."

  "Course he was."

  "What'd Eugene do?"

  "He shot him."

  They were coming to the house now with its new lawn and young yellow poplars, June bug's Cadillac and a pickup truck in the drive.

  JimRein said, "Then where's the money?" Arlen, looking at the house, said, "That's a good question."

  Walter Kirkbride would arrive in a car he borrowed from Arlen, usually the Dodge: drive around back of Junebug's to the trailer with Traci lettered on the door in a vivid red, the way it could've appeared on the bedroom door of an 1860s whorehouse. New Orleans coming to mind. There might not have been girls named Traci then, no Airstream trailers for another seventy years or more, it didn't matter. Kirkbride loved the feeling of the past coming here gave him. The name on the door and, once inside, little Traci in the black stockings she wore snapped onto a garter belt and no underpants. Farby, but close enough, a French whore from a time past.

  She was looking at the ashtray he'd brought, a special gift today.

  "Walter, I love it."

  "It's from Morocco."

  "Oh, wow."

  "The Mamounia Hotel in Marrakech.

  It's my favorite one I've ever had."

  "I'll have to tell my wife I broke it."

  She collect ashtrays too?"

  "She'll see it's gone."

  "Walter, you're so cute."

  "But if I broke it the pieces would be in the trash."

  "Hon, look up here before your eyeballs fall out."

  He did, tore his eyes away from her crotch and said, "I want you to do something for me."

  "I'm not gonna beat you up again, hon. I'm not strong enough."

  "I want you to take part in the reenactment. I'll have a tent for you and ice chest full of Coca-Cola." "Sure, if I can get away."

  "I'll fix it."

  "You want me to dress up? Like in a hoopskirt with all those petticoats they wore?"

  "Just the hoopskirt. Nothing under it."

  They walked into Junebug's manufactured home and JimRein said, "Man, we's just talking about you," to EugeneDean watching TV with Junebug. They sat at either end of a green-plaid sofa, a dozen empty beer cans on the low table in front of them, the ashtray full of butts, the smell of marijuana in the air.

  Eugene said, "Hey, Fish, how they hangin'?"

  JimRein said, "Just like you left 'em."

  Arlen turned off the giant TV and then adjusted his Confederate slouch hat to feel just right, Junebug yelling at him, "Hey, I'm watching my fuckin show. They's just about to start hitting each other."

  "Arguing over the Confederate flag," Eugenesaid, no shirt on, showing his sunken chest and ribs. "The white guys're skinhead militia, they say it's part of our heritage. The colored guys say well, it ain't part of ours, motherfuckers. They bleep it, but you can tell what they're saying."

  "Look like some gang niggers," Junebug said, "they got off the street."

  Arlen said, "Bug, have you been telling people we shot Floyd?"

  Junebug held a beer can on his knee looking up at Arlen. "Man, are you crazy?" A scowl on his face.

  "And that diver was up on the ladder the whole while?"

  "Jesus Christ, Arlen, it wasn't me told anybody, you fuckin moron, it was you. I'm behind the bar looking right at you when you told BobHoon and one of his boys. They'd just delivered a load of crank."

  Arlen said, "You gonna stick to that story?" "It's the truth. Ask BobHoon." Arlen turned his head to JimRein.

  JimRein put his hands around to his back and brought out a U. S. Army Colt .45 from under his shirt hanging out.

  Arlen said, "Bust him."

  Junebug tried to sit up saying, "Hey, come on-"

  And bam, JimRein shot him.

  A dog started barking and scratching at a door.

  Arlen held his eyes on Junebug slumped back against the plaid sofa, his eyes open.

  Eugene had his eyes hooked on JimRein.

  JimRein said, "He ought to be dead. I shot him through the heart."

  Arlen said, "You heard him lie to my face?" He looked up. "That dog don't quit I'm gonna shoot it."

  That got Eugene up. He went to the kitchen door the barking was coming from, telling Arlen, "I got it, I'll take care of the dog," went through the door and closed it again.

  JimRein said, "He's more worried about that dog than hisself."

  Arlen said, "Eugene didn't do nothing. Put your gun away."

  Eugene came back in the room, his shoulders sagging, hesitant, saying to Arlen, "Don't look at me like that. You either, Fish. You know I'll keep it right here."

  "I was thinking of something else," Arlen said.

  "That money you made off the homos?"

  "Made, but didn't get none."

  "What happened to it?"

  "I don't know. The lawyer spent it or hid it someplace. I checked every bank in Jackson, wasn'
t one had an account in my name. I went back to see the lawyer and asked him where my money was. He kept saying I didn't have none. So I went and got a gun and shot him. Like Fish done Junebug, through the heart."

  "Whyn't you make him tell where it was?"

  "I lost my temper. I know, I should've caused him some pain first, but I lost my goddamn temper."

  "I'm gonna ask you a question," Arlen said, "while Fish stands there with his pistol waiting on the answer. Did you get hold of the money-what was it, two hundred thousand?"

  "Around there."

  "And hid it yourself?"

  "Who from if it was mine?"

  "You owed me a third."

  "Yeah, for getting me that fuckin lawyer."

  "And the pitchers."

  "Man, if I had that money I'd have paid you first thing, and you know it."

  Arlen made him wait till finally he said, "I believe you, Ace."

  They had a discussion about Junebug, what to do with him. Arlen said to leave him where he was at. Eugene said, "Arlen, this is where I live." Where he'd been staying since his release from Delta Correctional, it was home. His dog had to have a place to stay and she was used to living here.

  JimRein said, "What's her name?"

  "Rose."

  "Yeah? That's a pretty name."

  "She's a bitch, but I love her."

  It meant one of them would have to take Junebug in his car someplace and dump him. Arlen picked JimRein. First they had to find Junebug's keys so they could bring the Cadillac in the garage and put Junebug in it. The next step was to carry him out there. They went to pick him up and saw another problem, the blood on the sofa, all over the back cushion, and the bullet hole in it. JimRein telling them it was why he used the .45, it was a stopper. You get hit with it you weren't going nowhere. They began to discuss what to do with the sofa. Arlen said, "Well, it ain't mine," and told Eugene to put it in his truck and get rid of it. Dump it in the river. Arlen decided that's where Junebug should go, dump him in the river, too, downstream, or state cops'd be all over them by tomorrow. The next decision to be made, what to do with the Cadillac. Eugene said, "Shit, we don't want to dump it, it's a good car. How 'bout he left it here when he disappeared?"

  Arlen thought about it and said no. "Fish'll take it over to Arkansas and sell it to a nigger."

  Once they had Junebug in the garage-Arlen inside watching that TV show-Eugene said to JimRein, "Fish, you know Wesley?"

  "The bartender?"

  "Yeah, Wesley. You ever talk to him?"

  "If I want a drink."

  "Wesley says to me, `You want to hear a funny story?' He says one Arlen told the other night to old BobHoon when he was in."

  JimRein had Junebug in his arms. He bent over to lay him in the trunk of the Cadillac, then looked at Eugene as he straightened.

  "I know what you're gonna say."

  "I don't care," Eugene said. "It don't make a bit of difference to me."

  JimRein said, "Me neither."

  Chapter 12

  VERNICE SAID TO ROBERT on the phone, "Well, you sure rise and shine early. He's still sleeping, the last I heard." Robert asked if she'd have Dennis call him when he got up and Vernice said, "Sure thing."

  Maybe he was awake by now. She went into Dennis' room to check and looked down at the sweet boy lying on his side, arm under the pillow, the sheet almost to his bare shoulders. She went back to the door and listened, the house quiet except for the faint sound of Charlie in the next room sawing wood. Vernice closed the door and slipped out of her robe going to the bed. She got in behind Dennis and squirmed over to press her body against his bare back. She hoped he'd have to go to the bathroom and would brush his teeth while he was in there, but if he didn't it was okay. She raised her head enough to nibble at his ear and whisper, "Hi, stranger."

  He stirred and she kissed his neck. Now his hand came around to her hip, like he was checking to see who this was in bed with him.

  "It's just me," Vernice whispered, almost saying "little me," hunching her shoulders, Vernice down another four pounds in the past two days. She was pretty sure he was awake now but didn't want to rush him, appear too anxious. She said, "Dennis?"

  He made a sound like "Hmmmm?"

  "You think a person can look good but be too thin?"

  It took a moment for him to say, "I guess," sounding more awake now.

  "Did you know JaneFonda had a twenty-fiveyear battle with bulimia?"

  "What's bulimia?"

  "You eat and then throw up on account of low self-esteem. But she got over it. Estranged husband TedTurner got Jane to believe in herself." "I thought it was finding God did it." "That was in an old issue."

  He came around enough to look up at her and Vernice gave him a peck on the cheek. She said, "How was the show yesterday?"

  "Billy Darwin doesn't want Charlie calling dives anymore. He said, `Get somebody to introduce you, tell the crowd about the splash zone and let it go at that. No more Charlie telling stories from the old dugout.' He said do a few dives in the afternoon if you feel like it and save-he said, `save the daredevil stuff for the show at night.' "

  "You want, I'll introduce you," Vernice said. "I know I can do that."

  "But then you know what he said, Billy Darwin? There's a guy standing here-the ones Charlie picked up at the airport, the Mularonies, remember?"

  "Anne," Vernice said. "Charlie thought she was too thin."

  "The guy tells Billy Darwin he wants to be sure I get a few days off from diving so I can take part in the reenactment. Me. I don't even know the guy. Billy Darwin says, `Well, he knows you.' He tells me the guy laid a check for fifty grand on the casino cashier. The man's comped all the way and that includes me. If Mularoni wants me in the reenactment, I'm in the reenactment. I said to him, `It doesn't make sense, I never even heard of the guy.' Billy Darwin says, `It's up to you. Get in uniform or pack up your show.' Then he says, `It's not much of a draw anyway.'"

  "And you don't even know this person?"

  They heard a toilet flush.

  "Nuts," Vernice said, "Charlie's up." She rolled out of the bed, picked up her pongee robe from the floor and put it on. Going to the door she said, "Oh, that colored fella, Robert? He wants you to call him."

  The phone rang in Robert's suite-all the phones. He put his hand on the one next to the bed and said to Anne, putting her warm-ups back on, "Where'd you tell Jerry you were going?"

  "To work out."

  "Weren't lying, were you?"

  "If he ever starts, we're fucked."

  "No danger, the man likes the way he is." Robert picked up the phone. "Is this Dennis I'm about to speak to?"

  "What's up?"

  Robert said to Anne, "It's Dennis."

  So Dennis would say, "Somebody's there with you?"

  "The maid. She's getting dressed." "Come on-"

  "See, what you do, believe everything I say and you won't have to mind-fuck yourself thinking about it. Listen, I want to introduce you to somebody."

  "His name Mularoni?"

  "Hey, how'd you pick up on that?"

  "Billy Darwin. I do the reenactment thing or the gig's over."

  "He didn't need to put it like that-shit. You were gonna do it, weren't you? All we wanted, make sure you got some days off. Mr. Mularoni's the kind of man can make it happen. You understand what I'm saying? I want you to meet him."

  "How about Anne?"

  Robert put his hand over the phone and watched Anne sitting on the bed putting on a tennis shoe. He took his hand off the phone and said, "Dennis, you got chops working now I hadn't noticed. That was cool, that `How about Anne?' Damn."

  "I'm diving at two."

  "You can if you want. But Mr. Billy Darwin agreed you could cut that one."

  "Why?

  "Have time to get the uniform and the gun and shit. We meeting in their suite at one o'clock, have some lunch."

  "What if I'd rather dive?"

  "Dennis? Listen to me. You're hungry. You eat, wa
it an hour and then you can dive all you want."

  He hung up, Anne looking at him now, ready to leave.

  "How'd he know about me?"

  Robert was already thinking about it. He said, "Gimme another minute or two."

  Mularoni was introduced to Dennis as Jerry, not Germano. In his fifties, shorter than Dennis with a head of thick dark hair and a beard, a poser with the cigar, the dark sunglasses. He seemed pleasant enough, but also the boss, saying, "Dennis, come here," put his arm around Dennis' shoulders and brought him to the balcony, the doors wide open.

  "The ladder stands eighty feet high. That correct?"

  "Exactly," Dennis said. "Eight ten-foot sections."

  "But how does anybody know for sure?"

  "Some people actually count the rungs."

  "That's what I thought," Jerry said, "the skeptics. You know what you could do? Have a couple of the ladders, the ones you put on top, make the rungs six inches apart instead of a foot. From the ground you'd never be able to tell, but now you're ten feet lower up there."

  "Jerry thought of that last night," Robert said, "watching the show."

  "But whether you go off from seventy or eighty feet," Dennis said, "it doesn't make that much difference."

  "Either one," Robert said, "you can kill yourself, huh? You want champagne, beer, vodka tonic-what's your pleasure?"

  Dennis said champagne. Robert popped a bottle of Mumm and poured two glasses. Jerry had red wine.

  Anne came out of the bedroom in what looked like a beach cover mostly yellow, almost see through, smiling at Dennis and extending her hand. She said, "I've watched you perform twice now, both times with my heart in my mouth. Hi, I'm Anne."

  Sounding like a TV commercial. Charlie was right, she could be a fashion model, the long, streaked hair, the way she moved, sure of herself. She took his hand and kissed the air next to his cheek, giving him a whiff of scent that was the best thing he'd ever smelled. In his life. Up close she could be thirty-five.

  For lunch there was cold shrimp, a mixed salad, marinated calamari, fried chicken, Anne saying, "Nothing fancy." Robert saying, "And a nod to regional chow, the river catfish and the mustard greens."