Memphis Legend

by Brian Crawford

  “So what’s the device?”

  “Sorry, I get kind of excited about the spy shit sometimes. You’re looking at a prototype unit that can receive signals from several different types of bugs that transmit their signal back using a UHF signal. Nothing new really, other than we think we have found a way to do it cheaper and smaller than anyone else out there with crystal clear audio.”

  “You stealing stuff from work?”

  “No, it’s a prototype. Under that tarp in the back seat, I even have our version of a laser microphone that lets me listen through windows from a long way away. Another prototype. The engineers want me to test the stuff in a real-world situation. And don’t worry, they don’t know any details.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Oh, that’s not all.”

  “No?”

  Boyd had a wide, self-satisfied smile on his face. “Believe it or not, I already found out where both Chief Parker and his son live, and I already have contact microphones on the windows.”

  “Holy cow, you’ve been busy.”

  He gave me a look of pure satisfaction. “So when do you want to start?’

  “Start what?”

  “Listening, dork.”

  “How about now, I got nothing better to do. Now help me with this alcohol,” I said while opening my trunk.

  “I don’t have any room. You said it yourself; I have been busy. So busy that I haven’t got a hotel yet, which means I still have the liquor in my car from earlier. We will have to get it later. And I have no room in my car, so we will have to take yours to listen to the Chief. Just put the top up and close the windows so no one can make me out in the car.”

  “Sure thing. Besides, it’s the Navy’s job to give Marines a ride.”

  Personal experience had proved that stakeouts could be long and boring, often with little to no results. Furthermore, it was late in the evening, so we had no guarantee that either of our targets would even be awake. Hoping to increase our success, I called Chief Parker on a pay phone on the way to his house. I knew he would not have a forensic report back yet, but it gave me a chance to call. I also made up a story about Eric, telling the Chief that someone had overheard him bragging about coming into some money recently. My goal was to get him talking with his wife, or better yet, hoping he might contact Eric while we listened to the conversation when we got outside his house.

  As I pulled onto the Chief’s street, I asked, “So how did you find their houses so fast?”

  “After leaving LeClair’s, I figured I would just wait at the beer distributor and see if I could spot Eric leaving, which I did. Following him was easy. I got lucky on the parent’s house; Eric stopped by there on his way home. That’s why I haven’t found a hotel yet.”

  “Way to go, Bird Dog.”

  “Bird dog, really? You don’t even hunt.”

  “Maybe not, but it fits. Matches your enthusiasm, plus it seems like all I need to do is point you in the right direction, then sit back and wait for you to get it done.” He laughed at that one. I think he liked the name. “So after planting the bugs, you decided to follow him to dinner and buddy up with him?”

  “No, after putting the microphones on the windows, I went to Falco’s and Eric pulled in at the same time I did. He commented on the car; we struck up a conversation, and then he introduced me to Jackie. I sat one table over, but we kept talking, so it was almost like I had dinner with them. That big son-of-a-bitch gave you no trouble the other day? Shit, L.T., seriously how tough are you?” he asked in a rhetorical, teasing tone.

  Within minutes, we arrived outside the Chief’s house. Boyd spent a few minutes describing how the UHF receiver worked, as well as its range limitations and the fact that his current prototype unit could not record conversations, although future units would have that function. Boyd started fidgeting with some buttons, and soon we could hear voices from inside the Parker house. The sound quality was perfect. The television was on. They were watching Letterman. We caught the tail end of his Top Ten List; it was something about Top 10 Signs You’re on a Bad Cruise.

  Chief Parker and his wife continued to watch Letterman through the end of the first guest, a popular Italian-born actress. I could not recall anything she had been in, and I did not find her interview particularly stimulating. The musical guest was George Thorogood, so as far as stakeouts go, this was not going to be a bad one. If we were going to be bored, at least, we could listen to some good rock and blues. However, it was not meant to be as Chief Parker turned off the television right before Thorogood’s performance and the couple went to bed.

  I said, “I knew I didn’t like that guy. Makes us sit through a worthless TV show and then shuts it off just when some good music is going to start.”

  Boyd said, “You know what they say, ‘If it’s too loud, you’re too old.’ Well, that was a bust. Getting late, do you want to drive over to Eric’s?”

  “Probably a waste of time, but I still got nothing better to do.”

  ***

  I was impressed with Boyd. Professionally, we had served together briefly in the military where I had the chance to see him under fire. In situations of extreme danger and duress, he had shown that he was unflappable and resourceful. Now he was showing an uncanny ability in understanding the complexities of an investigation. He said he liked the “sneaky stuff.” He was also proving he was good at it. The toys he brought with him were a bonus and I had a feeling they were going to come in very handy. Hopefully, we would have no use for the firepower he also brought with him.

  Within minutes, we parked near Eric’s house. Boyd pushed some buttons on his receiver and it became immediately clear that Eric was not alone. He was in a heated argument with a woman. Both were angry and both were yelling.

  Boyd said, “That’s Jackie’s voice.” I nodded an acknowledgment.

  Jackie’s voice boomed over the speaker. “What did your dad say?”

  Eric replied, “Just that he heard a rumor that I was bragging about coming into some money recently.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “The damn truth. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. He kept yelling at me to tell him the truth or he wasn’t going to be able to help me. I don’t even know why he thought my coming into some money was important to him, but he said it was and to trust him. I asked him where he was getting his info and he wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Did he believe you in the end?”

  “He said he did. But obviously he is still asking around about me, so I’m not so sure.”

  Once again, the sound quality was excellent; I gave Boyd a big thumbs up. My ruse had worked; obviously the Chief had called his son after we left. I also made myself a mental note to call the Chief tomorrow and tell him the rumor about the money had been a false alarm. The father and son were communicating, and I did not want a lack of trust to ruin that communication. The two inside the house were relatively quiet while someone was obviously flipping channels looking for something to watch at 12:40 a.m.

  “I’m fixin’ to go, Eric. I got to get up for work.”

  “Don’t go. Sleep over.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “Come on. I’ll let you sleep.”

  The conversation went on like that for a few more minutes ending with Eric telling Jackie that he loved her and wanted her to stay.

  “I know you love me, Eric. I don’t doubt that for a minute, but you also drive me crazy sometimes. I want to go home and you keep trying to pressure me to stay. Ultimately, it’s because you are just too damn jealous and insecure about our relationship. It’s your jealousy and your temper that got you into this mess in the first place. You know that, right?”

  Eric spent the next couple of minutes apologizing for his jealousy and professing his love.

  Jackie listened quietly before responding. “Like I told you before, I accept your apology. And I know you have gotten better. You didn’t hit Paul in the bar, but you still hit him out in the parking lot
, which somebody saw you do according to your dad. Obviously, I told your dad the truth that you were at my house for a couple of hours immediately after we left Falco’s and everyone knows you couldn’t kill anyone. It just looks bad is all I’m saying.”

  “It looks worse than you think, Jackie. Can you keep a secret?”

  “You know I can.”

  “Dad says that someone tied the guy to the steering wheel with a tee shirt.”

  “So?”

  “It was my tee shirt. My father recognized it, and when I went to look for it in my laundry, I couldn’t find it. I think whoever is trying to frame me took it out of the gym bag in my car, probably that night.”

  “Oh, sweetie, what are we gonna do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The conversation went on for several minutes with both of them repeating the same sentiment only with different sentences. Eric was scared. His girlfriend was worried for him. There was genuine concern in her voice for Eric. Eventually, the conversation turned to Eric’s encounters with me. He accurately described both encounters to Jackie.

  Jackie said, “So he really is a doctor from Memphis?”

  “Dad says he is, but he is the toughest damn doctor I ever saw. I probably got 20 pounds on him, but he tore through all three of us like we were nothing. I don’t think anyone even got a lick in on him. I know I didn’t. Whoever heard of a badass doctor?”

  “But he didn’t start it?”

  “No, I told you, Tyler kind of started it.” He went on to describe the fight as he saw it, right up to being choked until he felt he could not breathe any longer.

  “Sweetie,” Jackie said, “Why were you there with Junior and Tyler to begin with? It’s not like you guys are friends or anything.”

  “They just showed up and told me the doctor fella was running around town implying I had something to do with Paul being missing. Junior was saying he tried to run him out once before when he was in town with Paul’s dad and some black guy. He kept saying it would be a pleasure to help me run the ‘nigger-loving Yankee’ out of town. It would be like two birds with one stone. I thought we would just be able to scare him out, you know.”

  Jackie said, “Well, that didn’t work.”

  “No shit. He wasn’t even the least bit scared of us; I could tell that real quickly. I know this sounds weird, but he looked more annoyed than scared. Impatient is a better word, like we were keeping him from something. Next thing you know we were all on the ground and he was just standing there unscratched and not even breathing hard. Actually, I was basically unconscious. My father says he argued with Officer Crane. Apparently, the doctor did not want to drop me on my face when he was told to put his hands in the air or whatever.”

  Boyd said, “You need to tell your stories with more flare, L.T. It was just so matter-of-fact when you told it, but it is funny as hell to hear this guy’s version. Damn, I wish I had been there.” He was trying hard to stifle his laughter.

  Jackie said, “Is he going to press charges against you guys?”

  “My father, or the doctor?”

  “Either, I guess.”

  “My father says it might come to that. He is waiting to see what the doctor says.”

  After a few minutes of them contemplating his father pressing charges, Jackie said, “It’s almost one in the morning. I’m going home to bed.”

  Eric spent the next several minutes in an unsuccessful attempt to get Jackie to stay. During that time, Boyd and I discussed what we had just heard. Boyd stated that the entire evening had been a colossal waste of time. I disagreed reminding him that all information is useful in one manner or another.

  ***

  Boyd tapped my arm and pointed towards Eric’s house. Jackie was leaving. She walked to a bluish-gray Pontiac Grand Prix and sped off in a hurry. He asked me to follow her so he could see where she lived. Apparently, he had plenty of microphones. Driving a red German sports car in a small town has its obvious disadvantages: it stands out like a sore thumb. Even so, Jackie did not spot us as I followed a safe distance behind her. However, on Main Street, a police cruiser did an abrupt U-turn and settled in behind us.

  I shoved Boyd down into his seat. He looked at me with surprise until I told him the cop was following us. We decided to forget about following Jackie; it was not all that important. Not worth the risk of someone spotting Boyd with me. Boyd was thinking; I could see it on his face. My plan was to simply drive out of town until he stopped following, although I was not sure what to do if the officer signaled us to pull over. Boyd told me to stay on the main road and see if I could time one of the stop lights just right so as to run a yellow. If I could get far enough ahead of the cop, then he was going to bail out without being seen.

  “You sure?” I asked.

  “Yeah. And don’t worry about me. I will walk out to my car.”

  “That will take you an hour at least.”

  “So.” He gestured towards his left leg. “I know it ain’t pretty to look at, but it is functional you know. I can even run on it.”

  “I know. I wasn’t thinking about you; I was thinking of any little kids that might see Quasimodo lumbering through town.”

  “Well, that makes sense, but it is one in the morning. If they are out this late, then they need to be scared.”

  The speed limit on Main Street was 20 miles per hour. Boyd’s idea was only going to succeed if the traffic lights were on a timer; otherwise, we were going to need someone coming off a side street at one in the morning to trigger a red light for us. As we hit the last light heading out of town, we realized his idea had failed.

  Boyd said, “No worries, he will stop following us when we hit the city limits. Outside his jurisdiction.”

  “His jurisdiction is the whole blasted county, Boyd. The police department in Emmettsville is more of a sheriff’s department for the county. Chief Parker is elected, not appointed.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Don’t ask me; I don’t live here. Ellie told me about it.”

  Boyd asked, “Now what?”

  “I was prepared to drive until he stopped. What if I outrun him instead?”

  “Can you?”

  “Do you doubt my driving ability, Boyd? Because I’m not into guns like you, or hunting, or fishing. I don’t even play golf. I can fight, I can drive, and apparently I have a knack with sutures.”

  “Good to know. Hey, I got this button loose on my shirt, can you fix that for me?”

  I punched him playfully in the arm. “You know, I’m pretty sure I have more car than him.”

  “Then go for it.”

  “Alright, I will. But I want to go back the other way since we are getting farther away from your car.”

  I was telling the truth when I told Boyd I could drive. My dad was a 290-pound offensive lineman who had been big his whole life, big, strong, and slow. He told me that he had not moved fast since grade school; that is until he bought his first American muscle car. After that, he got hooked on speed and cars, which was an interest that he passed down to me. I even competed in a go-kart racing circuit for a couple of years as a teenager. I never won a single race, but I was a competitive second or third several times, which meant that unless the officer behind me was a retired race car driver, then I stood a good chance of getting away.

  We were traveling at a steady 55 mph a couple of miles out of town while I looked for an opportunity. I needed just the right intersecting road. Unfortunately, on the winding two-lane road the upcoming intersections were poorly marked, and the heavy forest made it difficult to see the intersections until it was too late. Finally, a road sign indicated a 4-way intersection up ahead, one I could see far enough in advance to set up my plan.

  The police cruiser was a Ford Crown Victoria, maybe three to four years old, plenty of horsepower, but not the most nimble of cars. I was counting on that. I did not want to get into a high-speed pursuit.

  Signally far in advance for a left-hand turn, I slowed far below a nec
essary safe speed. The police cruiser was also signaling a left-hand turn. Immediately before the turn, I dropped the automatic transmission down into second gear accelerating quickly into the turn. For a split second, the headlights of the Crown Vic could not be seen as the trees blocked my view. Using the small window to my advantage, I turned off my headlights and then spun the car 180 degrees in the middle of the road before the police cruiser came speeding around the corner trying to make up some lost distance.

  It took the officer a second to realize he had just passed me in the dark heading the opposite direction; he traveled at least 50 yards before I saw his brake lights light up. I floored the accelerator, turned right and sped down the road back into town. The 0 to 60 mph specifications on the Mercedes were impressive for a luxury sports car, which I used to my advantage.

  Heading into the first curve at nearly 90 mph, I soon discovered the car’s shortcomings; it was heavy. The steering response was neither crisp nor especially responsive. Flinging the 500 SL into the first corner required a lot of effort, and I badly wanted a manual transmission. The car was obviously designed more toward a luxury roadster than toward making it a sports car.

  I had difficulty maneuvering through the first corner efficiently. Boyd must have sensed my problems with the car because he reached out to brace himself against the dashboard as if he expected a crash. I heard him murmur an “oh shit” as the car whipped into the curve, the tires squealing through the turn as they fought to maintain proper contact with the road.

  Although I had overestimated the handling of the 500 SL, I did manage to maneuver through the first turn successfully. Boyd’s fear was short-lived. He was enthusiastically yelling as we exited the curve. By the second or third curve, he was egging me on to go faster. On the straight away heading into town, I was able to squeeze 130 mph out of the car. Boyd sounded as happy as a kid on his first roller coaster. We never saw the police car even once in the rear view mirror.