Tishomingo Blues (3 page)

Now they were looking up at him.

Dennis turned enough to watch them, the two talking to each other, having a conversation Dennis couldn't make out until their words began to reach him, talking as they held their gaze on him.

"You think I cain't hit him?"

"You fire enough rounds maybe."

This coming from the hat and sunglasses looking up at him in the gloom.

"Shit, I bet I can hit him on the fly."

"How much?"

"Ten dollars. Hey, boy"-the one with his hair slicked back raising his voice-"let's see you dive."

"Would you dive offa there?"

Talking to each other again.

"I'd jump."

"Like hell."

"I was a kid we'd jump off a bridge on the CoosaRiver."

"How high was it, twenty feet?"

"It wasn't high as this'n, but we'd jump off'er." He called out again, "Hey, boy, come on, dive."

"Tell him do a somersault."

The same thing Dennis was telling himself, a triple in a tuck, as small a target as he could make himself, hit the water and stay there. It was his only move and he had to go right now, before the one started shooting. Dennis turned to face the tank, raised his arms ... and the lights came on in the pitching cage across the way.

First the lights and now he saw Charlie Hoke coming out on the lawn, Charlie in his white T-shirt that said LET'S SEE YOUR ARM across the front, Charlie yelling at the two guys, "The hell you bums doing here?"

Sounding like he was calling to a couple of friends.

They saw him. They'd turned and were walking toward him, Charlie saying, "Goddamn it-you trying to mess up my deal?"

That was all Dennis heard.

The three were walking toward the pitching cage now, Charlie paying attention to the one in the cowboy hat who seemed to be doing the talking. While Dennis, watching-wound tight and rooted to the perch-tried to make sense of two guys Charlie knew shooting the guy Charlie had brought to work here. They stood talking by the cage a couple more minutes. Now the two walked off toward the hotel and Charlie was coming out on the lawn again.

About halfway to the tank he called out to Dennis, "You gonna dive or what?"

Chapter
3

HE DOVE, DYING TO GET OFF that perch, showed Charlie a flying reverse pike and ripped his entry without seeing the water, came up with his face raised to smooth his hair back and could hear Charlie out there clapping his hands. Dennis pulled himself up to the walk that circled the rim of the tank, rolled his body over it, hung and dropped to the ground.

Charlie stood waiting for him in the early dark.

"That was pretty, what I could see of it. We got to get you a spotlight."

"Charlie, they shot Floyd." Dennis saying it and wiping his hands over his face. "They took him back there and shot him five times. The little guy. He had what looked like a twenty-two, like a target pistol." All Charlie did was nod his head and Dennis said, "Maybe he's still alive."

That got him shaking his head. "They want him dead, that's what he is."

"Charlie, you know those guys? Who are they?"

Now he looked busy thinking and didn't answer.

"The one in the cowboy hat," Dennis said, "I thought at first he was a sheriff's deputy or a state trooper."

Charlie said, "You ought to see him with his sword. When they dress up as Confederates and refight the Civil War. But listen to me. You don't know nothing about this."

"I don't even know what you're talking about." "Floyd. What you saw. You weren't here, so you didn't see nothing. I'm the one found the body." "You want to protect those guys?"

"I'm keeping it simple, so neither one of us sticks our neck out."

"What if somebody was looking out the window? They see me up on the ladder, and the two guys?" Dennis glanced toward the hotel saying it.

"People come here to gamble," Charlie said, "not look out the window. Anybody happened to, what would they see? Nothing. It was dark."

"It wasn't that dark."

Charlie put his hand on Dennis' shoulder. "Come on, let's move away from here." They walked toward the hotel, Charlie saying, "You ever see anybody in the swimming pool? Hell no, they're inside there trying to get rich. I mean it, you got nothing to worry about."

Not sounding worried himself, talking Southern in his way. It didn't help Dennis. "But you know those guys. They kill Floyd and you say to them, `You trying to mess up my deal?' "

"I meant their hanging around here. I know 'em as the kind you don't want to be associated with. Understand, I did not know they shot Floyd till they told me. I come out, I thought they mighta stopped by to scare him, remind Floyd to keep his mouth shut is all."

"About what?"

"Anything. Hell, I don't know." Charlie let his breath out sounding tired of this.

Dennis kept after him. "You said Floyd had been to prison but don't worry about it."

They stopped at the edge of the patio.

"I was talking about the kind of person Floyd is, or was. I told you he went to Parchman on a burglary charge. Floyd sucked up to some cons there, but they had no use for him, beat him up when they felt like it. I thought, well, since you didn't know anything about that, the kind of people he tried to associate with, there's nothing to worry about."

"Charlie, the police, the sheriff, they're gonna ask me questions, you know that. The man worked for me."

"He ever talk about his life? Tell you the kind of snake he was, ready to give up people to get his sentence reduced?"

"Why would you get me a guy like that?"

"You wanted a rigger-you think you find riggers walking down the goddamn street? Did he talk about himself or not?"

"He hardly opened his mouth."

"So you won't have nothing to tell, will you?"

"Except what I saw. They start asking questions-what if I slip up, say the wrong thing?" He could tell Charlie wanted this over with and was losing his patience.

Charlie saying, "Listen to me. I'm gonna go inside and call nine-eleven. They'll send out sheriff's people and I'll show 'em Floyd. I say I was out there looking for you and tripped over him. A homicide, the sheriff himself's likely to come, get his picture in the Tunica Times making a statement. Floyd won't be worth too much press. Before you know it it's blown over."

"They would've shot me, too," Dennis said, not letting Charlie off the hook, "and you know it. But I'm suppose to act dumb."

"What I heard, it sounded like they were playing with you, having some fun."

"You weren't up there, no place to hide. Charlie, I saw 'em kill a man. I can pick 'em both out of a crowd and they know it."

Charlie was shaking his head, the best he could do.

"Look, I told 'em you're okay, you work for me. I told 'em you and I'll have a talk and there won't be nothing to worry about. Listen," Charlie said, "you go on home. I'll give you my keys and get a ride from somebody after."

"What'd they say?"

"They know I'm good for my word."

"But what'd they say?"

"That you better keep your mouth shut."

"Or what?"

"You want their exact words?" Charlie showing his irritation now. "Or they'd shoot you in the goddamn head. You know that. What're you asking me for?"

"But I'm not suppose to worry about it. Jesus Christ, Charlie."

Now Dennis was looking at the T-shirt in front of him, LET'S SEE YOUR ARM, and got a whiff of cigarette breath as Charlie turned to him, saying in a calmer tone of voice, "I told 'em take it easy, I'd handle it. See, I go way back with the sheriff's people." Charlie glanced toward the hotel and went on in a quieter tone. "There was a time after I lost my ninety-nine-mile-an-hour zinger and left organized ball-this was a while ago-I ran liquor down from Tennessee to dry counties around here. Some moonshine too. There's people can get all the bonded whiskey they want legally still prefer shine. Some take the jars and put peaches in 'em to set. This stuff I ran was top of the line, hardly any burn, 'cept you better drink it holding on to something or you're liable to fall and hit your head. I was pulled over now and then but never brought up, as I got to know the deputies on my routes. See, these boys aren't paid much to fight crime and have to look for ways to supplement their income. There's only so much house-painting they can do. All right, they get here they're gonna recognize Floyd right away. They got sheets on him that tell of way more funny business'n I was ever in. What I'm saying is, they'll have a good idea who did it. If they want to pursue it, that'll be up to them."

Dennis said, "This is all about running whiskey?"

"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 squishing, to the tank with wavy lines and the ladder standing against the night sky.

His clothes, his jeans, T-shirt 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 amusement 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 shirt 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 shit 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 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.

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 shirt 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 RobertTaylor. 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."