Tishomingo Blues Part 2

"I won't say all, no."

"Who are those guys?"

"I'll tell you in two words," Charlie said, "why ['m not gonna tell you any more about it." "Two words-"

"Yeah. Dixie Mafia."

Charlie said come on, he was going to tell Billy Darwin and then make the call. Dennis said he had to get his clothes. Charlie didn't like the idea of his going back out there. Dennis didn't either, but said he wouldn't have finished work and left his clothes there, would he? Charlie said okay, he'd give him time to get away from here before he told Billy Darwin and made the call. He said go on home, but don't tell Vernice. Get her to make you one of her toddies. Dennis walked out across the lawn, his wet sneakers no longer squis.h.i.+ng, to the tank with wavy lines and the ladder standing against the night sky.

His clothes, his jeans, T-s.h.i.+rt and undershorts, hung from a bar of the scaffolding head high, but not in the way of seeing Floyd Showers lying face up in his suitcoat, a dirty brown wool herringbone, Jesus, the poor guy. Dennis took time to look at him, the third dead man he'd seen up close. No, the fourth. The one in Acapulco who hit the rocks, the two amus.e.m.e.nt park workers cut down by broken cables ... He saw a lame horse shot in the head, brains draining like red Cream of Wheat. Floyd was the first one he'd seen killed by gunshot and even the ones who did it. He had spent the weekend in a holding cell with a guy who'd shot and killed a man in a bar fight, but that didn't count. It was the time in Panama City, Florida, they went through his setup truck looking for weed or whatever, and the guy in the holding cell who'd killed somebody still wanted to fight. That mean ugly kind of drunk. Dennis had to punch him out-no help from the deputies-and bang the guy's head against the cinder-block wall to settle him down. It wasn't bad enough getting hit a few times, the guy a wildman, the guy threw up on him and Dennis had to washoff his s.h.i.+rt and pants in the toilet bowl. He remembered being a sight Monday morning, but nothing the court hadn't seen before. When they let him go he said to a deputy, "I have to put up with all this s.h.i.+t and I didn't even do anything." The deputy said he'd put him back in the cell he didn't shut his mouth.

That's why he had trouble talking to cops, they always had the advantage. Getting dressed he turned away from Floyd lying dead but kept seeing the two guys looking up at him on the perch. Then seeing the one holding a sword as he remembered what Charlie had said, Charlie's tone, just for a second there, making fun of the guy. You oughta see him with his You oughta see him with his sword. sword. And something about them dressing up as Confederates and refighting the Civil War. It reminded Dennis now of a poster he saw in Tunica, something about a Civil War battle reenactment. And something about them dressing up as Confederates and refighting the Civil War. It reminded Dennis now of a poster he saw in Tunica, something about a Civil War battle reenactment.

The lights were still on in the pitching cage.

Dennis walked back to the hotel thinking he'd better not waste time. Duck through the back work area to the employees' entrance. His setup truck was over at the far side of the parking lot. Go home and spend a quiet evening with Vernice. Work on what he'd say and how he'd act surprised when the deputies stopped by for him.

There was a guy standing on the patio.

A black guy. But not one of the help. No, a cool-looking young guy in pleated slacks, a dark silky s.h.i.+rt open to his chest, a chain, the guy slim, about Dennis' size, the guy starting to smile. Dennis got ready to nod, say how you doing and walk past.

The guy said, "I saw you dive," and Dennis stopped.

"You did? Where was it, Florida?"

"No, man, right here. Just a while ago. I gave you a ten." With the smile and Dennis turned enough to look out at the ladder. "You could see okay? It was pretty dark."

"Yes, it was."

"Tomorrow night it'll be lit up."

"The way I'd have to be, go off that thing, lit with some kind of substance." He said it nice and easy, his tone pleasant. "I've been noticing the signs in there, 'Dennis Lenahan, World Champion, From the Cliffs of Acapulco to Tunica, Mississippi' ... Doing your thing, huh?" He offered his hand. "Dennis, I'm Robert Taylor. It's a pleasure meeting you, a man with no small amount of cool, do what you do."

"I've been at it a while."

"Well, I hope you stay with it."

Dennis began to feel the guy was somebody, and said, "You were out here?"

"Mean when you dove? No, I was in my suite."

Dennis said, "Looking out the window?" and knew it sounded stupid, the guy, Robert Taylor, staring at him, then beginning to smile a little.

"Yeah, as I'm getting dressed I happen to look out, see you up on the ladder, the two redneck dudes out there watching, I thought, Hey, maybe we gonna see a show." Dennis said, "The two guys standing there."

"Yeah, looking up like they talking to you."

Dennis said, "Yeah, they were watching," and right away said, "They wanted to see a triple somersault." Dennis shrugged, telling himself, Jesus, relax, will you, as Robert Taylor kept looking at him with his pleasant expression.

"You waited till they left. Man, I don't blame you. Dangerous occupation, you don't do it for free."

The guy wasn't exactly smiling-it was in his tone of voice, mild, sociable, giving Dennis the feeling the guy was somebody and he knew something. "I'm paid by the week or the season," Dennis said, "but you're right, you can't put on a show for anybody happens to come by." He paused and said, "Like those two guys. I never saw 'em before in my life." He waited for Robert to pick up on it, mention he saw them around or coming out of the hotel. No, what he said was, "You did perform for Chickasaw Charlie." And the two guys, Dennis hoped, were left behind.

He said, "Yeah, well, Charlie's a good guy. You try your arm over there?"

"I threw some," Robert said. "But I think that radar machine the man has favors him. You know what I'm saying? Except I don't see how he'd work it. You know, set the speed up for when he throws. So I give him the benefit, say fine, this old man can still hum it in-till I study what he might be doing."

"You're staying here a while?"

"Haven't decided how long. Came down from Detroit."

"Try your luck, huh?"

"We got casinos in Detroit. No, you have to have a good reason to come to Mississippi, and losing my money ain't one of 'em."

He let that hang, but Dennis wasn't going to touch it-as much as he wanted to know what the guy was up to. He didn't like the feeling he had. He said, "You know Charlie pitched for Detroit in a World Series?"

"Uh-huh, he told me. Went in and struck out the side."

"Well, listen," Dennis said, "I gotta get going. It was nice meeting you." They shook hands and he walked off, reached the door to go inside and heard Robert behind him, Robert saying, "I meant to ask you, you don't stay at the hotel, do you?" Dennis held the door for him. "I'm at a private home, in Tunica. I rent a room." Robert said, "I thought you might be staying in town. You ever run into a man name Kirkbride?"

"I've only been here a week."

"Walter Kirkbride. Man has a business over in Corinth, makes these mobile homes aren't mobile. They called manufactured homes, come in pieces and you put 'em together on your lot, where you want. There's one called the Vicksburg has like slave quarters in back, where you keep your lawn mower and s.h.i.+t. There's one, a log cabin-I know it ain't called the Lincoln Log, this man Kirkbride's all the way Southron." Robert telling this to Dennis following him along a back hall.

Dennis said, "If he lives in Corinth-"

"I forgot to mention, he's putting up like a trailer park of these homes near Tunica he calls Southern Living Village. For people work at the casinos. Kirkbride stays in one he uses for his office."

"You want to see him about work?"

Robert said, "I look like I drive nails, do manual f.u.c.kin labor?" With a different tone, sounding like a touchy black guy who believes he's been disrespected, and it rubbed Dennis hard the wrong way. s.h.i.+t, all he was doing was making conversation. He didn't look at Robert as they came to the employees' entrance; Dennis pushed through the gla.s.s door and let Robert catch it, coming behind him.

Outside on the curb Dennis turned to him in the overhead light. He said, "I'll believe whatever you tell me, Robert, 'cause it doesn't make one f.u.c.kin bit of difference to me why you're here. Okay?"

He got a good look at the guy now in his pale yellow slacks and silky s.h.i.+rt that was dark brown and had a design in it that looked Chinese, the s.h.i.+rt open to his chest, the gold chain ... the guy giving him kind of a sly look now saying, "So you come alive, the real Dennis Lenahan, huh?" Robert's mild tone back in place.

"We out there talking I feel you hanging back. I'm thinking, a man that puts his a.s.s on the line every time he goes off, why's he worried about me, what I saw? Ask was it from my window. Did I get a good look at the ones watching you."

"I never asked you that."

"It's what you meant, what you wanted to know. How much did I see of what was going on. One thing I did wonder about-the man that was working for you all day? I see him finish up. I go in the bathroom, take a quick shower, I come out he's gone. Now those redneck dudes by the tank are talking to you. I'm thinking, what happened to your helper? He didn't want to see you dive?"

Dennis said, "You know who he is?" feeling his way, but ready to give up the two guys if he had to.

Robert shook his head. "Never saw him before."

"Then why're you asking about him?"

"I thought it was funny he seem to disappear."

"You don't do manual labor," Dennis said. "You want to tell me what you do?" It brought Robert's smile back, Robert taking his time before saying, "You think I'm the man, huh? Not some local deputy dog, you think I might be a fed, like some narc sniffing around. Hey, come on, I'm not looking into your business. I saw you dive, man, I respect you." He said, "Listen, I bet I've been in your shoes a few times. You know what I'm saying? I think we both had our nerves rubbed a little. You ask me am I looking for work and I jump on it, 'cause I don't seek employment. Any given time I got my own agenda. Like I ask if you know this man Kirkbride."

Dennis said, "You're talking, man, I'm through."

"You want to get a drink?"

"I'm going home," Dennis said, felt the pocket of his jeans and said, "s.h.i.+t."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm suppose to take Charlie's car. He forgot to give me the keys."

"You going home, I'll drive you."

"My truck's over there," Dennis said, looking across this section of the lot where the help parked, rows of cars and pickup trucks s.h.i.+ning under the lights, "but I can't leave it where I'm staying, Vernice has a fit."

"I don't blame her," Robert said, "that's a big ugly truck. Come on, I said I'd drive you." Dennis hesitated. He needed to get away from here but didn't want to walk around to the front and run into Charlie, and maybe sheriff's people arriving. He said, "I'd appreciate it. But could you get the car and meet me by my truck? I have to get something out of it." No problem.

He couldn't tell the year of Robert's car, new or almost, a black Jaguar sedan, spotless, s.h.i.+ning in the lights, rolling up to Dennis still wondering what the guy did.

They kept to themselves driving away from the hotel, leaving behind the neon Dennis didn't think was as tiring as amus.e.m.e.nt park neon; this was quiet neon. He began to relax in the dark comfort of leather and the expensive glow of the instrument panel. He closed his eyes. Then opened them as Robert said, "Old 61. Yes." And turned right onto the highway to head south. He said, "Down there's the famous crossroads." He said, "You like blues?"

"Some," Dennis said, starting to think of names. "What's that mean? Some Some."

"I like John Lee Hooker. I like B. B. King. Lemme think, I like Stevie Ray Vaughan . . . "

"You know what B. B. King said the first time he heard T -Bone Walker? He said he thought Jesus himself had returned to earth playing electric guitar. They cool, John Lee and B.B., and Stevie Ray's fine. But you know where they came from? What they were influenced by? The Delta. The blues, man, born right here. Charley Patton from Lula, lived on a cotton plantation. Son House, lived in Clarksdale, down this road." Robert's hand reached to the instrument panel and pushed a b.u.t.ton. "You don't get off on this you don't know blues." The sound came on scratchy, a guitar setting the beat.

Dennis said, "Jesus, how old is it?"

"Recorded seventy years ago. Check it out, that's Charley Patton, the first blues superstar. Listen to him. Rough and tough, man. Hits you with it. He's doing 'High Water Everywhere,'

about the flood of 1927, changed the geography of the Delta around here. Listen to him. 'Would go to the hilly country but they got me barred.' Turned away by the law, the high country for whites only. They made songs out of what was going on, their life, how they were getting f.u.c.ked by the law or by women, women leaving 'em. All about man and woman, about living on plantations, on work farms, chain gangs ... This man, Charley Patton, his style begat Son House and Son House begat the greatest bluesman ever lived, Robert Johnson. Robert Johnson begat Howlin' Wolf and all the Chicago boys and they put their mark on everybody since, including the Stones, Led Zeppelin, Eric Clapton ... Eric Clapton use to say, you don't know Robert Johnson he won't even talk to you."

Dennis had to think, trying to recall if he'd heard of the man Robert Johnson. Robert Taylor still talking, telling him, "Thirty seven miles down this highway past Tunica you come to the famous crossroads ..." He paused and said, "s.h.i.+t." Dennis saw high beams coming at them, headlights and the wailing sound of law enforcement on a dark country road and a pair of sheriff's cars blew past, going toward the hotels. Robert looked at his rearview mirror. "I know they not after me. How about you?" Dennis let it go, turning to watch the taillights until they disappeared.

"I expect sooner or later I'll be pulled over," Robert said, "driving around in an S-Type Jag-u-ar 'stead of out in the field choppin' cotton." He glanced at the mirror again, then touched the b.u.t.ton to turn off the blues.

"Where they going could be something big. Security man I talk to at the hotel? A brother use to be with the Memphis Police, he say the Isle of Capri's been held up twice. Two dudes come in the front wearing ski masks in Mississippi, scoop up three hundred thousand from the cage, security cameras getting the whole scene. They take off, run into a roadblock and one of 'em's shot dead. The second heist, the newspaper makes a point of saying was un un professional. Three dudes walk out with a hundred thousand and disappear into the night. It makes you think you don't need to be a pro, do you? A dude robs both Harrah'ses, the old casino on Sunday, the new one on Wednesday, gets away with sixty thou. Witness say the man's front teeth are gold. You bet they gold, the man's a success. Yeah, Tunica County, Mississippi," Robert said, "use to be the poorest county in the U.S. Jesse Jackson called it our Ethiopia. There still people farm.... Look on the backseat, all the pamphlets and s.h.i.+t I've picked up. The one calls Tunica a place where, I think it says, small-town friendliness is still a way of life. That's long as you don't get mugged, your car jacked or n.o.body pa.s.ses off any funny money on you. Counterfeiters, man, love casinos." professional. Three dudes walk out with a hundred thousand and disappear into the night. It makes you think you don't need to be a pro, do you? A dude robs both Harrah'ses, the old casino on Sunday, the new one on Wednesday, gets away with sixty thou. Witness say the man's front teeth are gold. You bet they gold, the man's a success. Yeah, Tunica County, Mississippi," Robert said, "use to be the poorest county in the U.S. Jesse Jackson called it our Ethiopia. There still people farm.... Look on the backseat, all the pamphlets and s.h.i.+t I've picked up. The one calls Tunica a place where, I think it says, small-town friendliness is still a way of life. That's long as you don't get mugged, your car jacked or n.o.body pa.s.ses off any funny money on you. Counterfeiters, man, love casinos."

Dennis had questions, but kept quiet, listening.

"The sheriff they use to have? Went down for extortion, getting payoffs from drug dealers and bail bondsmen. Drew thirty years. A deputy was brought up, but he made a plea deal, testified against the sheriff and only drew two to five. A man running for sheriff, to take the one's place went down? They find him lying in a ditch, shot in the head. They elected a brother as sheriff and now it's cool, least the bad dudes aren't wearing badges."

Dennis was becoming at ease with this Robert Taylor from Detroit, a guy with style and what he called his own agenda. Robert was giving him leads and Dennis felt he could say anything he wanted and Robert would play it back in his own way, showing off, and they'd talk the talk with each other.

"You learned all that from the hotel security guy?"

"Some. Some I had looked up for me."

"Planning your trip."

"That's right."

"See what there is to offer."

"Check it out."

"What to look out for, like the crime situation."

"You can't be too careful."

"Historical points of interest?"

Robert turned his head to look at Dennis. "You being funny, but history can work for you, you know how to use it."

It stopped Dennis for a moment.

"You look into business opportunities?" "You could say that."

"Like mobile homes that aren't mobile?"

Robert said, "Hey, s.h.i.+t," grinning at him in the dark. "You quicker than I thought."

4.

"I STARTED TELLING YOU ABOUT this man name Kirkbride," Robert said. "He started his business from what he made owning trailer parks. But you go back a couple of generations the Kirkbrides are farmers. Was Mr. Kirkbride's grandpa, the first Walter Kirkbride, owned land over in Tippah County and had sharecroppers working it for him-one of 'em being my greatgranddaddy. Worked forty acres of cotton, what he did his whole life. He's the one I'm named for, the first Robert Taylor. Lived with his wife and children in a shack, five little girls and two little boys, my granddaddy being number seven, Douglas Taylor." Dennis said, "This is a true story?" this man name Kirkbride," Robert said. "He started his business from what he made owning trailer parks. But you go back a couple of generations the Kirkbrides are farmers. Was Mr. Kirkbride's grandpa, the first Walter Kirkbride, owned land over in Tippah County and had sharecroppers working it for him-one of 'em being my greatgranddaddy. Worked forty acres of cotton, what he did his whole life. He's the one I'm named for, the first Robert Taylor. Lived with his wife and children in a shack, five little girls and two little boys, my granddaddy being number seven, Douglas Taylor." Dennis said, "This is a true story?"

"Why would I make it up?"

They turned off the highway to approach Tunica, leaving open country and the night sky for trees lining the road and the lights that showed Main Street.

"That's the police station," Dennis said, "coming up on the left. The squad cars we saw were county, they didn't come from here."

Robert said, "Like you been checking up on crime yourself."

"Go up past the drugstore and turn left, over to School Street and turn left again." "You want to hear my story or not?" "I want to get home."

"You gonna listen?"

"You're dying to tell it. Go ahead."