Memphis Legend

by Brian Crawford

  After dinner, I took Lloyd for a ride in the Mercedes. He questioned my choice of driving an $80,000 sports car until I told him about the bank repossession and blown motor. I also reminded him that he made his living building expensive bass boats. He feigned surprise on that observation. Nearly 30 minutes later, we pulled into his driveway again.

  “L.T., can I ask you a question now?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why are you doing all this? I mean most guys would just tell the police what they know and see if the system figures it out.”

  “You are my girlfriend’s father; that’s for sure.”

  “How so?”

  “She asked me a similar question. To answer your question, it’s kind of like it happened on my watch. Plus, the system in this county seems broken, so who else is going to do it?”

  “So you feel obligated?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I mean I know Paul’s disappearance is not my fault. It’s just that I have experience from the Navy at handling corrupt officials and officers and such, so it just feels like I have to.”

  “Sounds like there is a story there.”

  “One heck of a story, all classified, but one heck of a story.”

  Lloyd said, “So where to now?”

  “I don’t know. Town. I will figure it out.”

  “Good luck.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Falco’s was my first destination. It made no sense to start there since Mason was not exactly cooperative; however, I did not know the town well enough yet to come up with any other ideas. I quickly discovered nothing much had changed at Falco’s. Before I made it halfway to the bar, Mason started shooing me away.

  “You are not welcome here. Get out now!” Nearly every head in the bar turned to stare at me.

  “I didn’t come here to cause trouble, Mason.”

  “I don’t care why you came here, just get out. You caused enough trouble here already.”

  “I caused trouble. I caused trouble! I asked you some questions while looking for a missing friend; that’s all I did, you friggin’ nitwit. Oh, and I prevented a fight in your bar. Don’t tell me I caused you any trouble. I’m not in the mood for you today, Mason, so lay off me before you make me angry.”

  “Shit man, you just don’t know when to stop, do you?”

  “I know exactly when to stop.”

  “Then leave, man. No one wants you here.”

  “Therein lies our problem, Mason. You think I should stop just because you want me to. I’m not about to stop just because a bunch of a-holes in this town are making things difficult for me. The proper time to stop is when I find my friend. Capiche?”

  “You calling me an asshole?”

  “Only if the shoe fits, Mason. You could change all that. You could hear me out.”

  “Damn it, man, just tell me why you are here and be on your way. But make it quick.”

  Mason was less of a coward than I had previously imagined, which made me realize how much he must fear Eric Parker. Maybe the two of them had actually in the past.

  “I’m thirsty. Can I have an ice tea, please?” It was all I could think of at the time. My whole investigative experience consisted of one case, a year and a half undercover. Sure, the outcome had been successful, but it relied on subterfuge, and now I had no idea how to ask direct questions, cop questions.

  “You came in here for tea. Sure, I’ll get you some tea. I’ll even give it to you if you leave immediately after you’re finished.”

  “Thanks, but I will pay for it.”

  Mason said, “So you’re planning on staying.” He did not look pleased with that realization as he served me my tea.

  “You want an honest answer, Mason?”

  “You don’t know me well enough to feel the need to be honest with me, so do whatever you want mist…”

  At least he was careful with the “mister” thing this time. Maybe he was softening up a little.

  “Mason, despite your animosity towards me, I’m going to be honest with you; I’m not entirely sure what I am planning on doing. My friend is still missing. Your local small town hero, Eric Parker, had something to do with it or knows something about it. And your chief is doing nothing. Did he even come out here and ask any questions?”

  “Not that I owe you an answer, but he was out here about an hour ago.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  I said, “Do you care to elaborate?”

  “If it will get you out of here, then sure.”

  “You got a deal, Mason.”

  “It was a simple meeting. He was asking me questions about that night. It seems someone called the police station earlier today and told him that they saw Eric hitting someone in the parking lot Saturday night. I guess he hit the guy hard enough that he went down holding his stomach.”

  “Really?”

  “No shit. Seems the fella who made the call drove off when he saw Eric looking at him. He was too scared to call until today. Chief Parker wanted to know if I saw or heard anything about what happened in the parking lot. He already knew what happened in the bar that night from you and your friends.”

  “Did you see or hear anything?”

  “Nope.”

  I said, “Well, a deal is a deal. You kept up your side of the bargain, so I will keep up mine and get out of here. Good luck with everything, Mason, and thanks for the tea.”

  “I don’t want your luck; I just want your departure. Since you kept your word, let me give you a word of advice, Yankee. Let the Chief handle things. You’re only going to get yourself in hot water if you keep poking around.”

  “Thanks. The Chief sort of gave me the same advice,” I said while moving away from the bar. “By the way, do you know what time Ray’s diner closes?”

  Mason said, “Nine, I think. Why?”

  “Thanks.” I did not feel like answering him.

  ***

  My plan was to apologize to Ray for meeting with the Chief in his diner earlier, and then look for another bar and see if any ideas came to me. I made it to the diner a few minutes before he closed. Ray was a friendly, good-spirited man with a genuine affection for people. If my presence was unwelcome, he did an excellent job hiding it from me while assuring me that the apology was not necessary. I stayed long enough to finish another ice tea; he remembered the way I liked it.

  As I drove around town looking for another bar, a police cruiser moving in the opposite direction slowed down as it passed, but did not turn around. Maybe he was just admiring the red convertible. A few minutes later I found a small local bar with some cars and Harleys parked out front. Not the kind of place that would serve me tea, yet it looked like the right kind of place to start asking questions. Now I just needed a plan. Nothing came to mind, so I settled on simply walking in and feeling the place out.

  I was careless. My instincts were rusty, and my inner voice was spending more time complaining than reminding me that I still needed to be cautious, which is why the hard shove from behind as I walked towards the bar caught me completely off guard. Only my innate sense of balance kept me from falling as my feet tripped over the curb in front of me. Whoever pushed me had timed the push perfectly. Someone was going to wish he had not done that.

  Despite my best efforts, I collided with the brick wall in front of me, my wrist feeling a twinge of pain as my outstretched arm prevented me from hitting my head and shoulders on the wall. Immediately, I turned to see Eric, Fireplug, and a tall, lanky man I had not seen before staring at me. The tall man was not skinny; he was wiry with dirty hands and heavily muscled, sinewy forearms. Fireplug had a satisfied smirk on his face, one that was going to disappear soon when I smashed his face with my elbow.

  “Seriously, not you again,” I said looking directly at Fireplug.

  Fireplug said, “Yankee, I told you not to come back here.”

  Smiling smugly, I said, “And I told you to bring more guys, not less. So it appears neither of us was paying too much attention
to what the other one said.”

  He replied, “The three of us will have no problem takin’ care of you.”

  “You’re an optimist. I admire that in a person.”

  The tall, lanky guy said, “So where’s your nigger friend? I was really hoping we’d have a whack at him.”

  My blood pressure must have immediately shot up as the adrenaline began its familiar course through my body. The fight or flight nervous system was in full force, and their racist comments were causing me to lean more towards fight than flight. I could hear Virgil’s voice reminding me that beating such mindless idiots would not solve anything. I disagreed.

  I said, “So this is your idea of a parade, huh, Fireplug?”

  He replied, “What did you call me?”

  “Fireplug.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You remind me of a fire hydrant. I don’t know your name, so I gave you a nickname.”

  “Well, we know your name, but we’re gonna call you a nigger-lovin’ Yankee just the same.”

  “Always with the racial slurs. Why not just stay focused on me. Let’s face it; your beef is with me, not Virgil.”

  “But I so enjoy gettin’ your goat, Yankee. You should see your face every time someone says ‘nigger.’ It looks like someone just slapped your momma.”

  Fireplug was smarter than I thought. He had observed that racial slurs were a trigger and he was using that trigger to instigate a fight. I was not going to give him the satisfaction.

  Fireplug continued, “You should know your little window trick isn’t gonna work this time. That was pretty clever what you did yesterday, but there ain’t anybody in the bar behind you that would give a shit if we beat up a damn Yankee.”

  “Good to know,” I said.

  Fireplug said, “Last warning. Go home!”

  All three of them moved in closer after Fireplug yelled at me. Virgil was right about fighting them; it would not do any good. However, my mind was made up. Virgil and John were not going to get in my way this time. No worries or inhibitions to get in my way either. I was not going to leave.

  “No.”

  “Did you just tell us no?”

  “Yes, I told you no.”

  The tall, lanky guy said, “We aren’t dicking around here. You need to leave!”

  “No,” I replied as calmly as I could muster, which was not an easy task as I was still infuriated with him for his earlier racial insults towards my best friend.

  Fireplug said, “What the hell do you mean by no?”

  “I am declining to acquiesce to your demands. You should be familiar with the word. Ugly bugger like you probably hears it every time you ask out a pretty girl.”

  “You tryin’ to piss me off?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “You seem to be having trouble keeping up, which is a shame since I am using really short sentences. Yes, I am trying to tick you off. No, I will not leave town.”

  I could not help myself. I was trying to make them mad. I was still not sure if they were planning on actually attacking me, but I wanted them mad if they did. Three mad amateurs. It hardly seemed fair.

  And it was obvious these guys were total amateurs. They were making mistake after mistake. They should have attacked immediately after I tripped over the curb. They should have fanned out to flank me and force me to defend myself from multiple angles, yet they were standing next to each other. Finally, none of them were in a fighting stance. Eric was standing with his hands on his hips sticking his chest out in an attempt to intimidate me with his size and the lanky guy was doing some lame scare tactic of pounding his fist into the palm of his other hand repeatedly.

  Fireplug said, “Are you tryin’ to be funny?”

  “No, I’m not trying to be funny; it just comes naturally. I can’t help it. I am a funny guy. Everyone says so.”

  “We’re fixin’ to kick the shit out of you, Yankee!”

  I starting laughing, a big haughty, condescending laugh. “Now you are being funny. I’m glad to see you getting into the spirit of things, but we still haven’t heard from Eric or Dwayne here.”

  The lanky guy stopped pounding his fist and said, “Who you calling Dwayne?”

  “I apologize if I got your name wrong. You just look like a Dwayne to me. Weird, huh?”

  Eric said, “You talk too much, asshole!”

  “You talk too little, Skippy.”

  Eric said, “Keep calling us names, this is not going to end well for you.”

  “I only reminded Fireplug that he is, in fact, ugly. I guess I did call you Skippy. Sorry about that, but it seems to fit. I didn’t call him anything yet, except Dwayne. Of course, maybe that is an insult in itself. I’m not sure since I never met anybody named Dwayne before, until now.”

  Dwayne said, “Dwayne is a nigger name, you asshole.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s Irish in origin.”

  “Well, my name is not Dwayne, dumbass.”

  “Hey, I only said your name was Dwayne. You’re the one that called yourself a brainless buttock.”

  As fun as it was, all the posturing was getting stale, and they seemed no closer to letting me leave or attacking me. Leaving was my first choice, yet beating the hell out of them was sounding better and better all the time.

  I said, “Gentleman, what are we doing here?”

  Fireplug answered, “Eric wants you to leave town and not come back, and you already know how I feel about you.”

  “I gathered that, but what is happening right now?”

  The one I called Dwayne said, “He told you what’s happening!”

  “No, he talked about wants and feelings.” All three were staring at me questioningly. “You know, Eric wants me to leave and apparently my presence has offended you on a deep emotional level. Since we are talking about wants and feelings, I have a few of my own. First, I want to know what the hell Eric did to Paul on Saturday night and why no one has seen or heard from him since. Second, I want to avoid a fight with you guys.”

  Dwayne said, “You scared?”

  “No, not really. Just that if four guys our size get into a fight, someone is going to get hurt. There is no way around it. So, I feel it is my responsibility to tell you guys that I have a lot of experience, and I mean a lot. It was my job to arrest unruly Marines and sailors, even a few Navy SEALS when I was in the Navy, so I know how to handle myself, and I really don’t want to hurt any of you. Or get hurt, in case I underestimated you guys. Guess it’s all up to you gentlemen on how this turns out.”

  Three on one. Acceptable odds. Thinking about wants and feelings, I could not help thinking that I wanted to feel my fist in their faces; yet, my pragmatic side insisted that a strategic retreat still made the most sense. I was looking towards my car. Eric moved slightly to one side apparently signifying he was letting me leave. Fireplug made no change in his position.

  Looking directly at Eric, I said, “Thank you.”

  I stepped off the curb and headed towards my car. The one I called Dwayne moved towards me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  He reached out to grab me. I intercepted his outstretched arm, grabbed his wrist, and twisted it into a wrist lock that forced him to his knees. Grimacing in pain, he refused to ask or beg me to let go. Impressive, but stupid. I could have easily done major permanent damage to his wrist. Maybe he knew his friends would come to his aid. They did. Fireplug pushed Eric towards me, egging him forward while he hung back.

  I yelled, “Stop. This is going to end...”

  I was going to say “end poorly,” but my sentence was cut short. I let go of Dwayne’s wrist to deal with the 250-plus pound onrush known as Eric. Talking was over. Eric was taking the direct approach, semi-running at me with his head down preparing to tackle me. I let him get close before side stepping his advance. I pushed him over into Dwayne. The two of them got tangled up as Eric fell over him. I quickly turned to find Fireplug. He had moved his positi
on until he was directly behind me, obviously planning on attacking me from behind while I was engaged with Eric.

  I glared at him. Gestured with my fingers for him to come at me. He stayed put. “Pussy,” I said while walking back three steps until I could see everyone in my field of vision. Fireplug was a patient son-of-gun. He did not look angry. He looked amused. Satisfied even. This made me think I had been underestimating him.

  Dwayne and Eric extricated themselves from each other. Dwayne was rubbing his sore wrist. Eric was dusting himself off. The idiots finally started to circle me, trying to flank me. I continued to back up into the middle of the road as I tried to keep all three men in sight simultaneously. I was cussing myself for not incapacitating Eric when I had the chance.

  “You guys had enough yet?”

  Fireplug said, “Wishin’ you had left town?”

  “Not really, just trying to keep this friendly.”

  “Past that point, bitch.”

  At least he did not prefix it with “mister.”

  “So be it.”

  No turning back now I thought. Good. Now if only Hank and Aaron would show up, my day would be complete. With them now circling me, I needed a change of tactics. I needed to bait one of them to advance so I could take them out one at a time. Eric seemed like the easiest target; he demonstrated little self-control over his emotions.

  “Eric,” I said, “I found Jackie earlier this evening. She told me how disappointed she was that you interrupted her good time with Paul.”