I could hear a guitar blasting through the glass. It had to be him. Nobody else could play like that. His voice was muffled but unmistakable.
“Are you relating today to tomorrow?
It’s just madness this morning”
Entering the store, Rolly’s driving rhythm and flying fingers took the turmoil inside me, yanked it a million directions, then reorganized and laundered it. My anxiety about the city and my paranoia from being pursued dissipated into the controlled chaos of the band’s music. It seemed like it was the first time I had taken a breath since I had stepped onto the asphalt road in Merida.
“Oh, I said it’s just momentum fading away”
I found the album, read the liner notes, studied the picture. I couldn’t stop giggling and chuckling. “Yeah, man. You made it.”
“Can I help you?”
I answered the store clerk, “Ha, ha, man. The dude is wailing. Too much.”
“Nothing like it.”
“I have to listen to this. Don’t stop playing it.”
“No problem.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Strange music’s going to teach you to fly
Everything’s changing
Surf’s going dry”
“Ha, ha, still using that line.”
Rolly slashed a fuzzy, but melodic, lick over a single repetitive plunking note.
Hey, there’s that note I used to play when we jammed. A bit of vibrato added to it, but yeah, that’s the song I started playing guitar on. Title song of the album too. Far out.
Then I heard him whisper faintly, his voice almost drowned out by his fingers twirling out a string of notes.
“Since those strange discoveries in your mind
You’re running faster, falling farther behind”
That line brought me back to my situation. Soon, either I was going to disappear in Monster Alley or the cops would capture me. If so, the picture of Charlie Little might never reach Teresa. Even if Orville or some agent confiscated it and identified him, then contacted Teresa, I couldn’t let her get the news that way. She needed the true story.
A blue uniform caught my attention. I watched through the window as the officer walked hurriedly on the other side of the street, glancing in store windows. He crossed to my side.
No way I’ll get to Good Stuff, then double back to the alley without being caught. Man, I can’t remember the phone number. I don’t have time to mess around.
There was a bulletin board near the front counter. After removing the photo of Charlie from my pack of cigarettes, I jammed a few thumb tacks through it, sticking it between an ad for a used six-string guitar and a dance teacher’s business card.
That cop’s going to be looking in here soon. Best chance is to try to make it to Daisy’s and tell her where Teresa can find the photo, then hope that portal doesn’t zip me off to Alpha Centauri.
I popped my head out the door and saw the policeman enter a building a few doors away.
Now.
I stepped back out, slipped across the street, and a block later, cut through a park that stretched up to Houston Street. I crossed into familiar territory, hadn’t caught sight of any pursuit, and was sailing along with a guitar riff from Rolly’s album in my head.
Three minutes from the HooDoo Gallery, a patrol car caught me off guard, pulling up alongside me. Officer Al leaned his head out the window.
“Long hair to middle of back, beard to middle of chest. White baggy pants, crazy-ass yellow girl’s shirt, black bedroom slippers. That’s gotta be you, Deets. Don’t run for it.”
“Al, how’s your wife?”
“Fine, fine. I’ll tell her you asked. You’re better coming in with me, Deets. Every cop around, plus the Feds, is looking for you. And let me tell you, in that outfit, no one’s going to miss you, even in this neighborhood.”
I opened the door to the cruiser and sat in the back.
“I gotta cuff you. Resisting arrest, fleeing from Federal officers.”
“You ever meet Agent Orville? Anybody’s going to want to flee from that moron.”
Al gave me a big smile, slapped me on the knee. “We thought for sure you were dead. Papers had a story a while back about you disappearing in some jungle. Deets, it’s really good to see you alive and back home.”
“Yeah, quite a welcome party.”
The story continues in Book Three, Miracles.
The Remarkable Adventures of Deets Parker
Book Three, Miracles
There are reasons for the madness and chaos of Deets Parker’s life.
Unable to cope with the stresses of New York City after living in the pristine pasture of Monster Valley, Deets Parker is placed in the psychiatric ward of Bellevue Hospital. After a violent escape, as he flees across the country, he discovers his right hand is capable of great magic. The reasons why his life has been hijacked by the gods are finally revealed to him. But there are overwhelming threats and dangers to battle as his power is realized.
Continuing to self-destruct in his love life, his romantic failures help shape the path to unraveling the gods’ paradoxical quest. A quest only he can fulfill.
The Remarkable Adventures of Deets Parker inspire him to create great works of art and introduce him to mysteries no other mortal has known. Are they worth the price he’s paid?
Book Three of a three-book continuous story.
About the author
J. Davis Henry has made a living as an illustrator, graphic designer, and sign maker. His personal drawings are usually whimsical/cartoon animals. He lives near Philadelphia with his wife, Carol, and two cats.
Email: [email protected]
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Kent and Mary Donley for their friendship and encouragement, Mark Richards for his feedback, Tim Warner for his critical science, Jonathan Claudy (RIP, friend) for his commentary, and my wife, Carol, who put many long hours into reading, editing, and discussing The Remarkable Adventures of Deets Parker.
Dear Reader,
I imagine if you’re reading this, you’ve enjoyed the story so far.
Could you please leave a review? It should only take a few minutes and would be invaluable in convincing others that Book Two, Magic is a worthwhile read.
Continue the adventures with Book Three, Miracles.
Thanks!
Magic (The Remarkable Adventures of Deets Parker Book 2) Page 24