Memphis Legend

by Brian Crawford

  At the first intersection in Emmettsville, I turned down a side road to get off Main Street in case another officer was looking for us. “Well, that was exhilarating,” I said. “I need to remember this is a luxury sports car, emphasis more on luxury than sports. Scared me a little bit on that first turn.”

  “Whatever,” yelled Boyd, “That was awesome. You know you enjoyed it.” I mumbled a weak acknowledgment. “L.T., you need to stop lying to yourself. That was scary, but that’s why it was fun, and you know it. Just because you have a cerebral job and do the real estate investing thing doesn’t mean you don’t like the adrenaline and excitement. Maybe you aren’t the junkie I am, but you like it. That’s probably why you like the ER and why you still do the martial arts stuff every week. It’s also why you are trying to find Paul’s killer.”

  “I’m trying to find Paul’s killer because it is the right thing to do, not because I’m an adrenaline junkie.”

  “Sure, I know it’s the right thing to do. I agree. But it was way too easy to talk you into investigating this crime after you had already decided to throw in the towel. Just saying. By the way, how come he didn’t chase us?”

  “I think he tried, but he would have had to do a three-point turn with that big car unless he was crazy enough to try to whip around in the middle of the road going fast in reverse. Would have been pretty risky in that big car on a narrow two-lane road with no shoulders. By the time he got turned around, we were probably three-quarters of a mile ahead of him.”

  “Let me out here. I will walk,” said Boyd. “Call you tomorrow. I’m going to stay in town and try to find a room tonight.”

  “Let’s hope your undercover work as Graham, the new bootlegger, gives us more information than listening to Eric did. Not to rain on my own parade, but I am now thoroughly convinced Eric had nothing to do with Paul’s death, which means we have no suspects.”

  I hated making Boyd walk that far with a bad ankle, but he insisted especially, since I needed to get back onto Main Street to exit the west side of Emmettsville. Boyd’s words were buzzing in my head as I drove home. Over seven years of college and four years of residency, plenty of money left by my dad for whatever I needed it for, a wonderful girlfriend, everything a guy could want, yet I was looking forward to tomorrow and my day off from work to see how I could help Boyd. If he told me I was enjoying myself again, I was planning on punching him in the arm.

  The interior discussion I was having with myself was interrupted by my pesky inner voice. I had no suspects, yet Eric’s conversation with Jackie held a clue. My inner voice insisted on it, telling me to replay the conversation and focus on what I heard. One of them had asked an important question, one that I told myself to come back to later; however, the car chase had redirected my focus, and now the memory of the conversation was vague. My mind had effectively paraphrased the conversation, but I needed a word-for-word account. When I crawled into bed a little after three in the morning, I still had not solved the puzzle.

  CHAPTER 21

  Jackie was sitting across from me at Falco’s dressed in a blue top that flattered her well-proportioned figure. She was talking to me, asking me a question, yet I could not hear what she was saying despite the proximity. Suddenly, her eyes grew wide with surprise, (or was it fright?), as she looked past my left shoulder. Turning quickly, I spotted Eric walking briskly in my direction.

  He was mad. He looked ready for action, yet he stopped a few feet from the table and said, “No hard feelings, I hope,” before abruptly turning and walking straight out of the bar. He left me there sitting with his girlfriend. Alone. She was avoiding eye contact as I looked back in her direction. She looked dispirited. I was confused.

  My inner voice was warning me, screaming at me to quickly examine my surroundings as the smell of Old Spice permeated the room. I had learned not to ignore my instincts. Whipping my head around revealed Junior and Overalls standing slightly fanned out behind me. Overalls was wearing the same ironed overalls as the other day, and he had his hands crossed and resting on his protruding abdomen. Junior looked ready to pounce.

  Junior spoke. “Don’t go thinkin’ you’re so smart and that you figured anything out, ‘cuz you don’t know shit.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. I was beginning to speak when Overalls interrupted me. “Nice day fer us. Maybe not so nice fer y’all though,” he said.

  I stared at them silently with a confused look on my face. It was like they were suddenly including me in a conversation that they had started without me.

  Junior said, “I will lead the parade myself.”

  As I opened my mouth to respond, someone grabbed my wrist, someone that I had not seen before. Someone I had missed. Instinctively, I twisted my forearm to position myself for a wrist lock. The grip was strong. I turned toward my adversary. It was Tyler. He had already dropped to his knees even though I had not finished the wrist lock. Slightly smarter than the last time; he was learning.

  As I went to deliver a crippling blow to the side of his head again, he suddenly got free of my grip then sprung to his feet a safe distance away. Tyler smiled. He looked satisfied with his success in avoiding the wrist lock for a third time. In a smug tone, he said, “Who you calling Dwayne?”

  I could not comprehend how Tyler had suddenly seemed to spring out of thin air. Was my situational awareness becoming that rusty? Remember the sequence: observe, orient, decide, act.

  Observing was the easy part; it was the orienting that was causing the bottleneck in my brain. Jackie was still sitting at the table with her eyes downcast. Overalls and Tyler were standing in front of me while Junior was farther back. He was pushing Eric towards me. When did Eric return?

  And finally, both Hank and Aaron were standing at the bar talking to Ray, who was holding a glass of tea. What is Ray doing in Falco’s?

  Eric walked closer as Junior pushed him from behind. Eric said, “You talk too much, asshole!”

  I had not said a word, and these assholes were beginning to get on my nerves. Anger and frustration were boiling up inside me. I was aware of each heart beat as I felt the blood pulsating through my temples.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I also noticed the other two men from Sunday walking in the front door. All six of the original goons were now present, along with Eric and Tyler. Panic was beginning to sit in.

  Suddenly, everything in the room became crystal clear. I was able to shoot right through the orienting stage into making a decision: I had my .45 tucked into the holster in the small of my back. As I reached behind me, Officer Crane walked out of the bathroom. He glanced furtively around the room and began to draw his weapon.

  I did not want to shoot a cop. It appeared he was leaving me no choice.

  Luckily, I never had to draw my weapon.

  Junior spotted Officer Crane and started heading for the door brushing his shoulder against me as he walked past. He whispered, “Are you tryin’ to be funny?” Then he left.

  Everyone else except Jackie and Eric followed Junior out the door. Even Officer Crane left. He was the last one to leave. Before exiting he yelled over his shoulder, “Mister, you are pushing your luck with me.”

  What the hell just happened?

  I was forced to observe and re-orient myself. Jackie had moved to a new table several feet away. She was murmuring something incomprehensible to Eric. Ray was smiling from behind the bar pushing an iced tea in my direction. All I could do was stand in the middle of the room with my mouth open. The two men who had given me Eric’s name on the night Paul disappeared were once again staring at me from their pool table.

  The room began to spin. Objects and people went out of focus. I did not feel dizzy, yet I had an uncomfortable feeling in my heart, fuzzy thoughts, and a loud ringing in my ears. The sudden stress and onset of anger and frustration seemed to be causing a vasovagal response. Although I had never suffered from a vasovagal episode before, I immediately recognized the symptoms and knew I was going to faint if I did n
ot lie down and elevate my legs to return oxygen to the brain. While looking for a suitable location to lie down, black cloud-like spots appeared in my vision. Falling to the ground, I started to slip into unconsciousness.

  No one was coming to my aid; in fact, everyone was simply ignoring me. Through the spots in my vision, I could still see Ray behind the bar holding a glass of iced tea. Eric was mumbling something to Jackie.

  Jackie responded, “I know you love me, Eric. Why were you there with Junior and Tyler to begin with?”

  It was the last thing I heard before I blacked out.

  CHAPTER 22

  When I awoke, I was lying comfortably in my bed. My internal clock told me it was 9:45 a.m. Thursday. The bizarre set of events had been a dream, a dream that was already fading into my subconscious leaving me a little unsettled as I contemplated its meaning, if any.

  Was the dream trying to imply that my situational awareness was that bad? Did Ray’s presence mean that I could not truly trust anyone in the town? Were Junior and his friends finally going to stay out of my way? Why did Junior and Tyler even care? Could their bigotry towards blacks and Yankees make them that hateful?

  Maybe it was just a stupid dream. Maybe dream interpretation was a waste of time. I mean, why does a dream have to mean anything? I never put much stock in that kind of pseudo-science when we discussed it in my psychology classes in undergrad. The irony that a man with an inner voice was arguing against dreams being a portal into the subconscious mind was not lost on me.

  I wanted to stop wasting time analyzing my dream and try to find the answer to other questions, yet my inner voice kept redirecting my thoughts to the dream, insisting there was an answer to a big question hidden in the dream. I did not deny that the answer was there. It was just that I could not see it.

  ***

  All my life, for as long as I could remember, I had been bigger than average, and even faster than I was big. Therefore, growing up I had never been one to sit on the sidelines; in fact, I was a starting varsity football player my freshman year. Sitting in my apartment analyzing a dream while waiting for Boyd to call was nerve-racking. I was on the sidelines, and I hated the feeling.

  While waiting for Boyd to call, I ate breakfast, worked out on the weights and heavy bag, and grabbed a shower. Someone had left a message on my answering machine while I was in the shower. My disappointment would have been obvious from a mile away when I realized the message was from my mother leaving an impassioned plea for me to call her. It hurt to hear the genuine concern in her voice; I needed to find out what Virgil told her. There was also a number on my pager that appeared to be from Emmettsville.

  When I returned the call, a female voice with a pleasant Southern accent answered on the second ring informing me I had reached the Emmettsville Police Department. I was not sure if the Chief had called me on police business or if it was personal. I decided to play it safe and made up a different reason for calling. I asked for Chief Parker, telling the receptionist that L&M Realty out of Memphis was returning his call concerning the land for sale near his hunting cabin. She put me on hold. The line went completely silent. At first, I thought the call had disconnected, and then I realized the police station merely wasted no money on hold music. The silence was shortly interrupted.

  “Chief Parker, how can I help you?”

  “It’s me, L.T.”

  “What’s with the L&M Realty?”

  “I didn’t know if I needed a cover.”

  “That makes sense, but how do you know about my cabin?”

  “I thought you were a dirty cop, remember? I looked into you a little. If you were still a suspect, by now I would have known if you preferred boxers or briefs. I might even know how long you watched Letterman last night with the wife.”

  “I did watch Letterman last night with the wife. How did you know that?”

  “Lucky guess.” There was an awkward silence as he considered my last statement; it seemed like a good idea to keep him a little unsettled when thinking about me and my presence in his town. “Change of subject, Chief. First, the rumor about your son coming into some money turned out false. My source was unreliable.”

  Chief Parker said, “Good to know since I questioned him last night and he denied the whole thing.”

  “Second, did any officers happen to mention following me last night a little after one?”

  “Not to me.”

  “Would they have called it into the night dispatcher?”

  “Not necessarily. Why?”

  “Because one of them followed me from Main Street several miles out of town, but I gave him the slip.”

  The Chief said, “Why didn’t you just pull over?”

  “The officer never actually hit his lights, plus, I had something in the car I didn’t want him to see. Don’t worry; it was nothing illegal, just something useful in my investigation that I didn’t want anyone to know about.”

  “Including me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand. Aren’t we on the same side?”

  “We have a common goal, Chief. Finding Paul’s killer. Only time will tell if we are on the same side, although I currently trust that you will do the right thing when I find the person responsible.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘if’ you find him?”

  “No, I mean ‘when.’”

  Chief Parker said, “I can’t tell if you’re cocky, or just thoroughly convinced.”

  “Neither, but failure is not an option, so I will find him. You can bet on it.”

  The Chief said, “I wouldn’t bet against you, that’s for sure. So what did you mean when you said that you currently trust me?”

  “Don’t read too much into that, Chief. I just meant that I trust you now, unlike before. And I believe if I found out the killer was your best friend I could still trust you to do the right thing.”

  “Yet, you are withholding information from me; you are driving around my town at 1:00 am, and I get the strange impression that you know exactly how long I watched Letterman last night.”

  I said, “Chief, I am not withholding information, I’m just not telling you how I’m getting my information.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “You would need a warrant to do some of the things I’m doing without a warrant. I’m giving you plausible deniability, so the less you know, the less you might have to lie about later on. It is as much for your protection as it is for mine, I promise.”

  He was silent for several seconds.

  “Chief, I can’t tell you how I’m getting my information. You know that. I can’t go undercover in your town since I’m too well known now, which means I have to investigate and ask around directly. If I had, say, a local member of your town in the car with me, then I could not risk that person being seen with me. Catch my drift?” It was a little white lie, but he seemed to need the reassurance.

  “Okay, that makes sense. So did you find out anything useful last night?”

  “I found out you don’t like George Thorogood. The rest I’m still working on. See if you can find out who followed me and why. I have to go.”

  After hanging up with the Chief, I realized I had not asked him why he had called me in the first place. My focus had been on figuring out which officer followed me the night before; however, I was no closer in finding out the answer. Maybe the Chief could figure it out for me. It would provide me a good test of his leadership ability in the office while also letting me know how much I could trust him.

  If Chief Parker remembered that George Thorogood was the musical act last night on Letterman, then my parting reference should have left the Chief a little unsettled, which is exactly where I wanted him. It is also why I mentioned my knowledge of his hunting cabin. I did not want him to feel he could hold back any information from me without me finding out. I was telling him the truth when I told him we had a common goal; it did not guarantee mutual trust.

  Before heading out to buy Boyd’s pager, I left a
brief message on Virgil’s machine asking him to call me; I wanted to know what he told my mother. Once I purchased the pager, I plotted a different route to Emmettsville involving a winding blacktop that gave me an opportunity to push the Mercedes 500 SL around the tight corners. The automatic transmission was a royal pain, reminding me once again it was a luxury sports car and not a true sports car. Regardless, it was one gorgeous vehicle and had the smoothest ride of any vehicle I had ever ridden in. My biggest complaint: how could an $80,000 vehicle not have a CD player in it even though it had a built-in hands-free cellular phone? All I needed was a phone contract.

  With the top down and the stereo up, I did not hear my pager. I returned the call from the first available pay phone. The number belonged to a hotel called the Traveler’s Inn in Emmettsville. He added 202 to the message; his room number. I asked for Graham, aka Boyd, but he was not in his room. Apparently, we were going to play phone tag again today. I needed to get the pager to him soon.

  ***

  Unlike yesterday, I could not find Boyd anywhere. He was not at Falco’s, or outside the Chief’s house, or Eric’s. I even checked around the police station wondering if he had the nerve to bug it as well. Eventually, I decided to see if he might find me instead by parking my bright red, very obvious, vehicle on Main Street while I grabbed lunch at Ray’s once again.

  He did not find me. Nor did he page me.

  This time I did not panic. Instead, I decided to drive out to Junior’s junkyard. I was not sure if seeing Junior again was the best idea in the world, but it was the only idea that I had. During the 10 minute drive to E’s Salvage Yard, I changed my mind more than once. In the end, I pictured his head bouncing off the window of Charles’ bar and thought that even if the visit did not go well, I might have a chance to hit him again, which seemed like a great consolation prize if I failed to get any worthwhile information.

  The junkyard was east of town on a blacktop road in a small valley surrounded by woods on all sides with the closest building a mobile home that was at least a half mile away and looked like it was going to fall over the next time it saw a strong wind. The extreme isolation was unexpected, yet even on a Thursday afternoon, the place looked busy. I saw a flatbed tow truck loaded with a late model Oldsmobile driving through the front gate. There were also almost a dozen vehicles parked in front of the office.