Nowhere Man: A Riley King Mystery

by Richard Neer

“I lived in New Jersey for a lot of years before I moved here. I’m Riley King.”

  “I’m Moses Ginn. Pleased to meet you.”

  Bennie still had a lot of New York in him. “So what brings you here, gents? Stax/Volt, Moses? Gamble/Huff? And how about you, King? You strike me as a Steely Dan kinda guy. Got a 180 gramm virgin vinyl of Aja that’s mint. High speed Master. I’d let it go for fifty bucks. Digital can’t match the warmth.”

  “Actually, I’m after something a bit more obscure. I’m wondering if you have anything by Colton Townes.”

  “Wow. Haven’t heard that name in a month of Sundays. Old Colty used to come in here all the time. Was into the old bluesmen. Lightnin’ Hopkins. Muddy Waters.”

  Ginn said, “Really. So you knew him?”

  “Yeah baby, I sure did. Tragic what happened to him. I never thought the cops did him justice.”

  I said, “Why do you think that is? Wasn’t he a local celebrity?”

  “Had a few things against him. Well, more than a few with those yokels back then. First, he was part Cherokee on his mother’s side. And I know it’ll sound like a cliché, but he did like his liquor. They rousted him all the time. The big fracas I remember was New Year’s Eve, ‘79. He was playing a local bar, place is a hoity-toity restaurant now. Crowd was drinking, and Colty was trying out new material. Folks were getting rowdy, wanting him to play covers of Hotel California, stuff like that. He wasn’t one to take shit from anybody. He actually got down off the stage and started mixing it up.”

  “So he had a temper?”

  “Only when people gave him shit. He was a mellow dude most of the time, never went looking for trouble, even when he was soused. Fact, I’d call him a downer drunk. Got all melancholy, depressed.”

  Ginn said, “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Night before he vanished. December 8, 1980. We were up all night drinking and smoking weed.”

  “How do you remember the date so well?”

  “Surprised you don’t. That was the night John Lennon was killed.”

  “Of course. You see any correlation with what happened to Townes?”

  “Oh yeah. I mean, it hit me hard too, but he was near suicidal. I had to talk him down that night. If he’d a had a gun, he might’ve ended it right then and there.”

  “So you think he may have killed himself?”

  “Nah. The combination of what happened and the dope, he was bummed. He never would’ve done it.”

  I said, “I heard he had a new album’s worth of material that was going to be a breakthrough for him. Had you heard any of those songs?”

  “Yep. It was a lot more commercial. That old Delta Blues stuff is cool, but don’t sell big. And Moses, you can relate --- some middle class white dude playing that stuff? I mean, you might take it as a tribute, but to a lot of folks…”

  “It’d be like Pat Boone covering Fats Domino,” Ginn said, finishing the thought.

  “Exactly. Not that Colty wasn’t authentic, he was. Maybe too authentic. Led Zeppelin did blues, but Jimmy Page reinvented it. And Colty didn’t have Robert Plant’s pipes.”

  I said, “There’s this new country group, The Flying Machine, who are doing stuff that people think sounds like Townes’ unfinished third album. Have you heard them?”

  “Not into country, man. Tom Petty said it’s bad rock and roll with fiddles and I agree. And much as I hate to admit it, the years and the, shall we say, lifestyle choices, have taken a toll on the old memory banks. I’m not sure I’d recognize it if I heard it.”

  The old bell over the door jangled and he greeted another visitor to the shop. “Hey there, Johnny.”

  A short fellow sauntered in, wearing denim, dark sunglasses and a red baseball cap pulled low. A ray of sunlight reflected off the diamond stud in his left ear.

  “Hey, Bennie.”

  The Bearded Buddha said, “Can I help you find anything, John?”

  “No, just hanging. Killing a minute while the wife gets us coffee. I’ll catch ya later.” He ducked out with a wave of his hand, high over his head.

  “Guys like that keep me in business. Spends a good buck here. Lucky for me, there’s been resurgence in vinyl last couple years. Prices fluctuate, so I have to keep a sharp eye on EBay and the other markets.”

  “Here’s my card. We’re trying to find out what happened to Colton Townes and any tidbit might help. If you think of anything, call.”

  “Hey man, I only have one copy of the sides he cut, and they’re real special to me. I’m not sure exactly where they are, but I’ll find ‘em. Can’t lend them out, but I can transfer ‘em onto a CD for you. Have them ready in a couple days.”

  “That’d be great, Bennie.”

  “And thanks for not making a fuss over the guy who came in here before. He doesn’t dig being bothered. Likes his privacy and shies away from strangers. That’s why he split so fast.”

  “Like some kind of hermit?”

  “I guess you didn’t recognize him. The artist formerly known as Johnny Cougar, Mr. John Mellencamp.”

  13

  I got a text from Jason Black saying that Townes’ widow would meet with us tomorrow at Kat’s restaurant. I texted back that I’d like to see the letter he wrote before he left and wanted to look over the van, on the long shot chance there might be a clue there. No problem. He suggested that he and I meet at her place and chauffeur her to the restaurant. He indicated that it should just be the two of us. Three might seem like we’re ganging up on her. A not-so-subtle way of telling me that Ginn wasn’t to be included.

  I could make an issue of it. Stake out my turf and tell Black that if I thought Moses could help, he’d be with me. But now wasn’t the time to press matters and grilling an old lady wasn’t in Ginn’s wheelhouse anyway. He’d find something more productive to do while we lunched with Mrs. Townes. He could meet us for dessert.

  Right now, he had a plan that had nothing to do with the Colton Townes.

  He said, “5-0, nothing we can do the rest of the day unless you want to chase down Johnny Cougar and get his autograph.”

  “Man likes his privacy. I wouldn’t mind if he serenaded us with a little ditty ‘bout Jack and Diane, though.”

  “Two honky kids in the heartland? I’ll sit that one out. I got an idea you ain’t gonna like but since we got the rest of the afternoon free, how about this? We go up to that Audi dealer on 278 and check out some new rides for you. Maybe get a trade in on this old crate.”

  “Mo, even if I get another car, the MDX is staying in my garage. It’s a workhorse and I’m very attached to it.”

  “Workhorse? Problem is, it ain’t got enough horses. Does it even pull two hundred? You want to attract a new woman, you can’t be pulling up in no workhorse. You need something that says, I’m cool. I got style. This whip says, I’m old and I’m wearing Depends.”

  “You’re a heck of a lot closer to that stage than me. Although I wouldn’t mind checking out a new car. Been postponing it for a while, since Stone wrecked my old Audi.”

  Ginn said, “You got your checkbook with ya?”

  The Audi dealer was located in what they call an AutoMall, which features several elite brands. BMW, Mercedes, Lexus and Infiniti were grouped close together, which invited comparison shopping and spurred heavy competition amongst the sales people.

  Rather than enter the main showroom and deal with a high pressure sales person, I preferred to roam the outdoor lot, searching for the kind of car I’d be seeking. I’d done some homework on the web and had decided that a late model A5 Cabriolet would fit the bill. Black exterior, beige leather inside. It might be hard to find, given that most of the cars I’d seen online had black interiors, which made no sense to me in the semi-tropical climate of the Lowcountry.

  Besides, Bosco rides in the back seat and he sheds enough hair to form a new dog. With a black interior, I’d be vacuuming yellow fur every day.

  “You let me close the deal, 5-0,” Moses said. “You too nice t
o these sharks. I know how they operate. If you want, I’ll be the bad cop, you be good. But mostly, you keep your mouth shut and let me do my thing.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready to buy today, pal.”

  “You more than ready. You leave it to me and you be riding home in a sweet buggy. I’ll even bite the bullet and drive your old crate back to the crib.”

  “You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you? This from a man who couldn’t tell a veggie burger from the real thing.”

  “I knew right away. Didn’t want to hurt your feelings. It was mighty fine, though. Here comes a sales lady. Play it cool.”

  She was short, blonde and heavyset. Had a thick Southern accent and a sweet tea way about her. “Lila Claremont. What can I do today to earn your business?”

  After we introduced ourselves, Ginn said, “My man here’s in the market for a new ride. Don’t know much about cars but he got cash. Brought me along for my expertise.”

  She was taken aback. The first thing sales people do is identify the decision maker. With couples, it is most often the wife, even in multi-car families. The way she was eyeing us, I suspected she thought we might be a gay couple. Ginn would put that notion to rest quickly.

  “What kind of vehicle are you interested in? Audi has a full line of SUVs, sedans, coupes, cabriolets, both gas and hybrids. By 2025, they plan to electrify the whole line.”

  “My woman is a cop on the island.” Ginn said. “She chased a Tesla once and got left in the dust. But my friend here is thinking all gasoline for now.”

  “Why don’t we go inside and I’ll get some information?”

  “Ain’t doing that. No sense to it ‘less we have a deal.”

  I watched with amusement. Ginn was taking this woman out of her rhythm. High end dealerships don’t go for the conventional means of pressuring potential customers. Their approach is much more understated.

  “Well, let’s see if we have what you want on the lot. If not, we can always locate a car for you. And being near the end of the year, we have some very attractive offers.”

  Ginn showed his teeth in a fake smile. “I bet you do. Number of cars you get allocated next year depends on how many you move this year. You try to make your quota in December and my guess is you’re a little short.”

  “Sounds like you once did what I’m doing now, Mr. Ginn. But we’ve had a good year so trust me, we aren’t desperate. That said, we’ll make you a good deal.”

  That was my cue to speak. I told her what I was looking for, what features I was interested in. She absorbed my information and said, “I think we have just the car for you, Mr. King. It’s that black one, second row over. Take a look while I go in and get the keys.”

  I’m not an impulsive man. There was only one woman in my entire life that upon first meeting, I believed was the one. Her name was Máiréad Flanagan. I met her at a Christmas party when I was a rookie FBI agent, and she was a student at American University. We had a few fantastic months together before I discovered something about her which, in my immature mind, disqualified her for the long run. I immediately broke it off and I regret that decision to this day.

  That said, I fell hard for this car --- it was love at first sight. Black, beige interior. The window sticker listed the options --- Virtual cockpit, Heated and vented seats, state of the air voice guided nav system. 13 speakers. Ambient lighting, burled walnut accents.

  The instrumentation on this car was as sophisticated as a Gulfstream. The colors of the display cockpit lamps further brought back memories of high end audio shopping. “Moses, this is it. That sticker price is pretty steep.”

  “You want this ride? It got everything you looking for?”

  “It does. All that and more. I don’t even need a test drive. This is it.”

  “Leave it to me, 5-0.”

  Lila returned, waving the keys. “The options to your liking, sir?”

  Moses interrupted, “There’s a bunch of shit he don’t need. My man pretty basic when it comes to tech. And them gussied up displays ain’t necessary. Color’s all right though.”

  “Let’s start her up and see what you think. If you come inside and let me copy your license and get a credit card number, you can take it for a spin.”

  “We’ll see.”

  We got in and at that moment, Colton Townes, Jason Black, John Mellancamp and Máiréad Flanagan were the farthest thing from my mind. I was enveloped in the cocoon of luxury wrapped around me in the driver’s seat. The aroma of leather and plush carpeting overwhelmed my senses. I hadn’t been new car shopping in years and had forgotten how heady it was.

  But now, I sat surrounded by every comfort known to man in a sexy convertible that could make a coed weak in the knees, not that coeds are in my sights these days. Someone like Charlene wouldn’t be much impressed. She had a Mercedes AMG S63 at four times the Audi’s sticker price.

  I could afford to play in that league but choose not to. Maybe my car buying experiences as an adolescent without a lot of money had taught me not to get above my raisin’, as the country folk sing. This car has everything I want. I’d leave it to Moses to close the deal.

  He sat in the back seat, running down all the negatives. He noted there was five thousand miles on the odometer. She said it was a factory certified loaner. Thought I smelled tobacco, he replied. She insisted that no one was permitted to smoke in these borrowed vehicles. He was skeptical that they’d know if someone lit up. He inspected the body and found a couple of scratches that she said they could polish out. A minor scuff or two on the fine leather. He noted the all season radial tires weren’t Michelins and had some wear.

  He was pushing awfully hard and I thought for a minute that she’d lose patience and kick us out, quotas be damned. But she said she’d talk to her boss and see what she could do to earn our business. That phrase again. They must drill it into them in car salesman school.

  She came back with a discount of three thousand dollars off list. Ginn said thanks, we’d look elsewhere. Wait, she said. What number do you have in mind?

  He snorted and gave her a figure ten grand under the one she’d just submitted. Raising an eyebrow, she said that was unrealistic, but she’d ask.

  We sat in the car after she left. I said, “Ginn, I really want this car. You keep telling me how I have money and shouldn’t scrimp. I’m okay with what she gave us. Maybe you could get her to throw in some floor mats or something.”

  He laughed, “Let me handle it. You can get me a nicer Christmas present.”

  Lila came back. “You’re paying cash? This is the best we can do.” Her figure was still three grand over Ginn’s. I was impressed that she’d come down that much and figured he’d take it.

  “I see that Audi’s offering financing deals,” he said. I shot him a look. I didn’t want to have car payments and pay interest every month.

  Lila said, “We do have some attractive programs.”

  Ginn said that he’d seen a five year offer at an attractive rate with no interest for the first ninety days and no pre-payment penalty. He’d up his offer by a grand and agree to those terms, but that was the best he could do, take it or leave it.

  Again the dance, and again she came back, but this time was smiling. “Here are your keys, Mr. King. We have a deal.”

  On the way back to the showroom, Ginn whispered, “Take the financing. Pay it off a month before the interest kicks in.”

  An hour and a half later, with cramps in my hand from signing all the paperwork, I drove away in my new A5 Cabriolet. The biggest problem now was finding an appropriate Christmas gift for the man who has everything, Wheeler-Dealer Moses Ginn.

  14

  There is a steep learning curve to the Audi, but I blew off the dealer’s tech guy, telling him I’d come back another day to ask questions about things I couldn’t figure out myself. I spent the ride back to the island regretting that decision. The complex voice command system made me want to turn around and give the car back, even if I had to take
a loss.

  When I got home, I sat in the garage with Ginn for an hour as we tried to configure the technology. We got close to making it work right before giving up and making dinner plans. We’d attack it again in the morning with clearer heads. Besides, I figured on taking the MDX to my appointment with Black and the widow. A brand new Audi convertible might seem a bit pretentious to a woman who had fallen on hard times.

  Tomey had come up with some names of the other cops on the Beaufort County force at the time of Townes’ disappearance. Moses volunteered to track them down to see if they had any useful memories. That saved me from having to come up with an excuse for not asking him to join me for lunch with Mrs. Townes.

  I actually wasn’t sure what she called herself now but it turned out to be Carla Townes.

  Jason and I met at the house she was renting, or rather the trailer she lived in. It was a double wide rust bucket, encamped on an overgrown quarter acre plot adjacent to several other mobile homes of similar quality. A large white propane tank stood guard on one side, drooping electrical and telephone wires were strung from a nearby pole. Not the kind of place you’d want to hunker down in if hurricane or tornado warnings were out.

  The beat up VW van sat just off the gravel driveway. It was adorned with graffiti and faded bumper stickers that proclaimed in an assortment of ways that peace should be given a chance. Weeds and scrub brush grew in and around the vehicle. I imagined that all kinds of vermin had found shelter inside, and that some were currently in residence and not in the mood to be disturbed.

  With that in mind, I pried open the driver’s side door. The handle was loose and almost came off in my hand. The floor was so rusted out I didn’t dare venture inside. After a quick look, I gently closed the door, hoping the frame wouldn’t collapse at impact. I’d seen some of these old VW vans refurbished to a high sheen on TV car shows, but this one was beyond redemption.

  I walked around the exterior and noted the damage. There were dings and dents pocking the corroded sheet metal, and there was evidence of a serious crash on the left side -- a crumpled fender, broken headlamp and detached bumper. Whatever had caused the damage couldn’t have come from a collision of much more than thirty miles an hour. Not enough to cause a fatal injury, even with the occupant unsecured by a shoulder harness or seat belt.