Memphis Legend

by Brian Crawford

  Steve answered in a huff, “How the hell would we know?” I ignored him.

  Virgil was the first to come out and ask me directly. “L.T., it sounds like you suspect foul play here. What kind do you suspect?”

  “I don’t know, but here is the way I see it. First, what are the chances of the wallet falling out his pocket, bouncing across the parking lot, and landing up under the car next to him some ten feet away? It seems safe to say that chance is slim. So maybe he had the wallet in his hand for some unknown reason as he approached the car. Maybe he fumbled it, and then accidentally kicked it, and it ended up under the other car’s tire, and he could not find it. Once again, unlikely. If he did that, then why not simply come in and ask for help finding it. Or maybe, just maybe, he was knocked down, or assaulted, or threatened, and the wallet went flying and landed over there.”

  Virgil said, “But who would do that and why?”

  “Maybe a certain big guy with a temper who left a few minutes before Paul.” I noticed most of the heads in the group were nodding in agreement. “Of course, that still does not answer the question as to where Paul is now. If he had been assaulted, he would have come back into the bar for help, but he didn’t. He’s gone, and his car is gone. Furthermore, I find no sign of a str—.”

  Steve interrupted, “Look here, L.T., I only met you today, and you seem like a reasonable fella, but even if you were a Navy cop, you are not a cop now, and you weren’t really one then, now were you? I am telling you he left shortly after the blonde chick left and she made him a one-time offer that he could not refuse. A take-it-or-leave-it proposition. He is over there right now getting lucky, and when he comes up for air, he will call this place, or call us at home, and apologize for ditching us. I think you are full of shit, and your theories and suspicions are full of shit! I think we should all pile into Virgil’s car and go home. That is what I think.” He plopped down into his chair on the last sentence. Leaning back in the chair, he crossed his arms defensively while glaring at me.

  “Steve, I realize you might be right, which is why I want all of you to ride back with Virgil and go home. I’m going to wait for Paul’s father, which gives me a chance to wait here for Paul’s return. Virgil has a cellular phone, so I can call him if I hear from Paul. If I don’t hear from him, then I can go over to the police station with John and file a report. Plus, Virgil’s car only seats five comfortably so all of you will have a more pleasant trip home if I stay here.”

  “He’s my friend, not yours, so I will stay. Why do you want to stay?”

  “I’m staying because I want to do a little more investigating. You can stay if you like, I won’t stop you. Just stay out of my way while I’m asking around.”

  “But you are not a cop!”

  “Steve, I’ve been patient with you and your attitude because your fear is what’s driving your anger. You keep reiterating your idea that Paul is hooking up with Jackie, but you don’t truthfully believe that, do you? Is your theory that he was checking his wallet for a condom and he got so excited the wallet went flying? I’m telling you nicely this time, lay off man. You are a copier salesman. For three years I was involved in Navy Intelligence. I even got to play cops and robbers for real, so who has the better resume? And don’t bother answering that last question, it is rhetorical.”

  His defiant stare only lasted a few seconds before he yielded to my intense glare. At least he was smart enough to realize when to stop.

  I felt bad for the condom comment and decided to try and make it up to Steve a little bit. “Look, Steve, I’m sure I could find Jackie with little trouble, so if you are right, then that would enable me to clear up things pretty quickly, don’t you think? In case I can’t find her, I think you should go back to your place and see if he calls.”

  Virgil helped me out by standing up and twirling his keys around his finger while motioning towards the door. I expected an argument from Steve, or maybe from Ellie, but I did not get one from either. I gave Ellie a key to my place and sent them all back to Memphis. Ellie gave me a kiss before leaving. She had a bemused look on her face. Thankfully, she did not look angry.

  I asked, “Are we okay? You are not mad?”

  “Oh, I am mad, but I’ll get over it. L.T., I just want you to stop hiding things from me. You can keep all that classified stuff to yourself, but you need to tell me what you can. We will talk later, whether you like it or not. And good luck.”

  I wanted another look at the parking lot to look for any clues I might have missed on my first attempt. It felt good to be unencumbered by the others as I walked the whole parking lot. In the end, I found nothing suspicious.

  Steve’s voice popped into my head a couple of times while I was looking. I could hear him arguing that Paul had gone home with Jackie, yet I was convinced that Steve was wrong. Jackie had appeared intrigued by Paul’s charm, nothing more. She had also looked very disappointed with her boyfriend, Eric. I told Steve I could find Jackie and clear up the whole mess; however, in my opinion, that seemed like a dead end.

  Instead, I was examining coincidences. Eighteen months undercover in the Navy taught me to be wary of coincidences. The coincidence that was bothering me now was one of timing. It was too coincidental that Paul was missing shortly after a quarrel with a man that was as big as a house and had a temper and an inclination towards violent behavior to boot. The parking lot yielded no new information. Time to talk to the bartender; he, at least, knew Eric’s first name.

  CHAPTER 8

  Falco’s had two bartenders on duty. One was a very average looking man in his twenties. The other was a pasty white man in his mid-forties. There was a permanent scowl on his face like he smelled something awful but could not find the source. He was the one Eric called Mason. He seemed to be the proprietor. Mason was probably his first name, but I did not want to start with that kind of implied familiarity. “Are you Falco?”

  He was stocking Bud Light into a cooler, not bothering to look up. “Nope,” he replied.

  “It’s just that the name of the bar is Falco’s, and it’s obvious that you are the boss around here, so I surmised you were Falco.”

  Mason was still avoiding eye contact. “Falco’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I’m not, that’s how I got the bar.” He finally looked up at me, obviously annoyed by the conversation. “Mister, what is it that you want?”

  His attitude matched his scowl. I got the feeling that getting information from him was going to be like pulling teeth. No use trying to butter this guy up.

  “No small talk, huh, I like that in a person. I’m guessing you saw me sitting in that group over there, and now maybe you are wondering why they all left and I stayed behind...”

  “Yeah, I saw you. You’re the one that knocked over my chair. And, no, I wasn’t wondering whatcha still doing here.”

  This was going nowhere fast. He was throwing up all kinds of roadblocks in the conversation, and he had resumed stocking the beer cooler and avoiding eye contact again.

  “Mr. Mason, I think I got off on a wrong foot somehow. I am merely trying to get a little information concerning some of your earlier customers.”

  “First name’s Mason, Thompson is my family name. And you are referring to the two sitting at the table your friend caused the ruckus with, aren’t ya? Mister, if you’re going to ask me something, would you just hurry up and do it.”

  “I’m sorry for wasting your time, Mr. Thompson. Yes, I was referring to Eric and Jackie from earlier. I was hoping you could give me their last names, or tell me how I could find either one of them.”

  “You can knock off the ‘mister’ stuff with me; I don’t know you from Adam. All I know is you ain’t from around here, and you’re a Yankee, probably a damn Yankee. So, even if I could give you their last names, or get a hold of them, I wouldn’t. You’re barking up the wrong tree here, mister.”

  I could not help mentally registering the differences in cultures and use of th
e word mister. When I called him Mr. Thompson, Mason felt it implied too much familiarity. When Mason used mister by itself, it was in a patronizing manner. Maybe I was too much a Yankee to understand. Either way, I was getting annoyed with him.

  “Okay, Mason, have it your way. I will just ask some of your other patrons, I guess.”

  “Mister, I d—.”

  “Doctor. My name is Dr. McCain. My friends call me L.T. You can call me either; that is up to you. But if you call me mister in a condescending tone again, I am likely to stop being friendly.”

  Mason looked up from the beer cooler. He was crouched and acted like he was going to stand up, then thought better of it. “Whatever your name is, I don’t want you harassing my customers. So I am asking you to leave. If you don’t leave, I will call the police.” Mason stood and walked over to a phone on the wall. He was avoiding direct eye contact again. “Your call, it’s up to you.”

  “Mason, I’m not trying to cause trouble, truthfully I’m not. All I’m trying to do is find a missing friend. He is the same guy that was involved in the ruckus you mentioned.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “No, I guess it isn’t. Look, he went out to his car shortly after Jackie and Eric left. One of his friends thinks he left with the girl. I think the big guy, Eric, might have something to tell me. You could help me; however, it looks like you don’t want to. Fine, I accept that. But I need more information, or I’m not going.”

  Mason reached for the phone. He was looking at me, giving me one last chance.

  I said, “Go ahead and call. If I can’t find Paul, then I will have to file a missing person’s report. You will be saving me a trip.”

  Mason moved his hand away from the phone. I got the impression that calling the police had been a bluff, and I had called him on it. He slowly looked up, making direct eye contact this time, eyes darting up and left as he spoke. “I only know his name is Eric. He comes in here once in a while. He is not a nice guy, so I do not think anyone left in here is likely to know him. I do not know the girl either. She don’t come in here much, and when she does, it’s always with Eric. Never alone or with other girls. Now please, leave my bar, doctor.”

  Finally an answer from Mason. Too bad he was lying. I wanted to punch this guy. Instead, I ignored him. The bar was uncomfortably quiet. Everyone was waiting to see what the big stranger was going to do next. Some of the customers were obviously on dates, and my presence was disrupting their good time. Part of me did not give a damn; Paul’s well-being was more important than their dates. I did not want to cause any trouble, but I wanted to be able to give the police a better description than a big guy named Eric.

  I scanned the bar. There were 20 people left in the bar. Six playing pool at the three pool tables, eight still eating, four sitting at the bar, Mason, and his other bartender. Most were trying very hard to avoid any type of eye contact. A few made a point of turning their backs on me. All except for two men playing pool. Those two were blatantly staring right at me. Mason was still staring at me as well, expecting me to leave. I continued to ignore him.

  Stalemate. It was obvious no one was going to give me Eric’s last name.

  My inner voice was telling me to work the clues. Big guy, no, a huge guy named Eric in a small town. One that had a temper and appeared to have a propensity for violence. There could not be an abundance of men that fit that description. It should be enough for the police to go on. Maybe he already had a run-in with the police. Either way, Mason would not be able to lie to the police like he lied to me.

  It made no sense to stay in the bar. I headed for the door. The two men playing pool had not stopped staring. They both looked to be in the mid-forties and had the look of guys who worked outside for a living, probably farmers. I could not be sure, but one of them seemed to be trying to draw my attention, albeit, inconspicuously. Neither man looked dangerous; in fact, the only word I could think of to describe them was earnest. I was almost out the front door when I stopped and turned in their direction; the temptation to talk to them was too great. Neither man moved as I approached closer, yet neither did they make their intentions obvious.

  I was two feet from the man on the right when he said two words. “Eric Parker.” He abruptly turned his back on me and resumed playing pool. The discussion was over. I had a name.

  ***

  Eric Parker. The name meant nothing to me. But it meant something to the people in that bar. The man discreetly whispered it to me and then turned his back on me. Only his friend knew what he said to me, and if anyone asked he would be able to deny he had provided me with a name. The man wanted it that way. No doubt. Now, I just wondered who the hell was Eric Parker.

  I left Falco’s immediately after learning Eric’s last name and found myself in the parking lot again. A few customers left, and a few more arrived. Falco’s was not packed, but it was steady. It seemed to be a popular place.

  I was pacing around the parking lot near the road waiting for John’s arrival when a pickup slowed down as it was passing the entrance to Falco’s parking lot. Two passengers were silhouetted inside the truck. They appeared to be staring at me. The truck traveled a couple of hundred yards before turning around to make another pass. This time the truck stopped completely. The faces were not visible, yet once again the occupants appeared to be looking my direction. I pretended not to notice the truck while walking aimlessly around the parking lot.

  I could not make out the color of the truck in the dark. I could only tell it was two-toned, probably green, maybe blue. Even if it was not green, it was not a factory paint job. Nor was the truck equipped with a factory motor. Someone had dropped a performance cam in the big block motor. It was also equipped with a lift kit. I wished I could see the truck in the daylight; it was probably gorgeous. I also wished I could see the faces of the occupants of the vehicle. The questions I asked inside of Falco’s had obviously irritated Mason, and now I had an audience outside the bar. I did not like coincidences.

  The truck was still watching me when John pulled into the parking lot; however, it sped away quickly when John stopped in front of me. After he had stopped, John looked back at the truck as it left and then he looked at me again with a puzzled expression. As I climbed into his front seat, John said, “Was that truck bothering you?”

  “No, just watching me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. They seemed to leave the second it was obvious you were here for me.”

  “What’s going on here, L.T.?”

  “I don’t know, but I can tell you what I do know.”

  “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  I explained the whole day to him, starting with Paul showing up at my place with Steve and Kate, and ending with the conversation I just had with Mason. He showed exceptional calm during my account.

  John was rubbing his head with both hands, obviously concerned and exasperated simultaneously. “So you think the big guy, Eric, had something to do with this whole thing?”

  “I don’t know, John. All I know for sure is that Paul is missing. And I know he almost got into a fight with an enormous man that the people in that bar seemed frightened of.”

  John said, “Steve could be right, you know. They have been friends for nearly ten years now. I don’t like to think of my son as a womanizer, but if Steve thinks he’s at this Jackie’s house, he might have a point.”

  “Sure, it’s possible. It just doesn’t seem probable to me. Trust me on this one; she was not interested.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Either way, John, we aren’t going to get anywhere here tonight. Mason is lying. He knows Eric Parker, but he isn’t going to tell me anything because he’s scared of Eric. He probably had trouble with him in the past; Eric has a heck of a temper. The rest of the people were hoping I wouldn’t ask them anything, except for the two guys playing pool that gave me Eric’s last name.

  John said, “So what’s next?”

  “Let’s go the
police station and make a report.”

  ***

  A young couple entering Falco’s gave us directions to the police station. They told us it was “downtown, near the fire station, y’all can’t miss it.” The couple had been right about the fire station; it was huge and nearly impossible to miss. It must have been the only fire station for the whole county. However, we almost missed the police station since the fire station blocked our view. Outwardly, the station looked like a city police station, only smaller.

  John rang a bell near the front door, and we waited to be buzzed in. If I guessed right, there would be an officer inside acting as both the dispatcher and night front desk officer. I was right. The officer had a warm expression, very welcoming, in his early thirties. He looked physically soft like he was well-suited to a desk job.

  “How can I help you, gentlemen?” His accent sounded more like it was more from the Carolinas than from Tennessee.

  “We need to report a disappearance. My son, Paul, went missing a few hours ago from Falco’s Bar and Grill.”

  “Y’all sit over here and tell me what’s going on. Name’s Officer Willis.” The officer used a foot to kick one chair out, and without getting up, he reached over and grabbed another chair from the desk next to his.

  Officer Willis looked me over and then asked, “And who might you be, sir?”

  “Dr. McCain. I was with his son, Paul, all day up until the time he went missing.”

  “Then maybe we need to hear from you first, don’t y’all think?”

  I proceeded to tell Officer Willis the same story I had told John earlier, stopping before retelling the discussion with Mason.

  “Alright, let me get this all straight. Paul Deland, your friend, and Mr. Deland’s son, has been missing a couple of hours now, along with his car. And he dropped his wallet in the parking lot.”