by Sarah Black
Deke shook his head. “I like Blue Otis. But the police, they're gonna find out about him being up in prison. I think James said it was for murder."
Jonas pressed his lips together, then gave one sharp nod. “Well, you're right, it was murder got him sent up. Everybody knew about it, cause it was an injustice, send a man to Angola for that."
"For what?"
"Blue Otis on the road, and he comes home and finds a white man in bed with his wife. And she pregnant at the time."
Deke nodded. He'd been afraid it was something like that. “Did he kill his wife?"
Jonas shook his head. “He killed the white man, who just happened to be a deputy sheriff. The wife, she said the man forced her, but she would say that, wouldn't she? Anyway, she died having the baby when Blue Otis up in Jackson. He only spent ten years. That was back, oh, 1940, 41, something like that. Even back in those days there was a lot of talk about if a man had a right to kill another man if he was sleeping with his wife.
"After Blue Otis got out, that man from the Smithsonian helped him, took him up to Chicago to record some albums. You talk to that man yet? He's still there, downtown."
Deke shook his head. “Who do you mean?"
"He's got a funny name, like a bird's name. Sounds like Perry, or..."
"Peregrine?"
"That's right.” Jonas smiled and snapped his fingers. “Peregrine. Now what was his mama thinking of, to give him a name like that?"
Deke took his time, going up the stairs to Bruce Charters’ office. He was already gonna be at a disadvantage and showing up gasping for air wasn't going to help his case. He needed to know what Bruce had kept from him.
He knocked on the glass door, and Bruce waved him in, his face unusually stern. Deke sat down across from him, and they studied each other for a long moment like a couple of poker players squaring off. Bruce went first. “I admit I was shocked when Mr. James Hurt called me this morning. ‘That damned Black Indian Seducer.’ I've never had one of my reporters characterized that way before."
They stared at each other a bit more.
"I know down the street at Howard University they told you young reporters that you were not supposed to sleep with the people you were interviewing because that causes a conflict of interest. So it wasn't like you didn't know it was wrong. I don't believe it was story research. Can you give me a single reason I shouldn't fire your ass right now?"
Deke leaned back in his chair. “I can give you three. One, James Hurt had the only gun and it seems to be missing, though the cops might have taken it last night. Two, Blue Otis Johnson was screwing the girl and she was sleeping around and he has already been in prison for murder. Three, I think Blind Pete Watson just confessed to me in the hospital that he murdered Leona."
Bruce leaned back now. “Okay, you're not fired."
"I need to know about Rafael."
"What?"
"You wanted me to do this story, Bruce, and I'm gonna do this story. I need to know how you know him, and his old men. I may have suddenly found myself in a personal relationship with the subject, but I get the feeling you've had one for a long time."
Bruce folded his hands on the desk. “Somehow I didn't really picture you as being in a position to, you know, demand information from me. What did Blind Pete say?"
Deke pulled out his memo book. “That stupid bitch has killed me. I'm glad she's dead. She killed me and I killed her. That's only fair."
Bruce rubbed his chin, thinking hard. “That's iffy. He might not have meant it the way you think. Was he talking right when he said it?"
Deke shook his head. “He was sick, really sick with the diabetes and who knows what else. He went to sleep or unconscious or something right after he said it, and his words were so slurred I could hardly understand. He had one of those IVs and I don't know what medicine they had in the bottle."
"You haven't told the cops yet?"
"Bruce. I don't know Rafael that well. But I get the feeling he would do something crazy if one of those old men gets hurt. And seems to me all of them are gonna get hurt before this thing is done. So how crazy is he? How hurt is Rafe going to be?"
"Deke, you got feelings for the boy? That fast?"
Deke smiled, calling himself a fool. “I guess I do, but I couldn't tell you why. How do you know him?"
"I knew his mama, a long time ago. We were at UVA together. Anne's an intense woman. Something about her, it makes her impossible to forget. I don't know ... Anyway, she didn't want me, after her husband was killed. But she let me stay friends with her, all these years. Deke, you can't imagine how bad things are down in Hattiesburg right now. You remember Vernon Dahmer?"
"He had the grocery store? He said he was gonna let voters register at his store, and pay the poll tax there. And the next night the Klan fire-bombed his house. That was just after New Year's, right? Bruce, he wasn't Rafe's Uncle Vernon, was he?"
Bruce nodded. “Vernon Dahmer, he was a good man, strong. Everybody was hoping for some justice for him until this last summer. The trials were a joke, Sam Bowers, he was the Imperial Wizard ordered the murders. Everybody knew it, but he made that trial a mockery, just because he could, fixed the jury right out in the open. They didn't even pretend to be looking for justice for Vernon. So when the case was dismissed, Rafael, he went after Sam Bowers with a bullwhip."
Deke clutched the arms of his chair, horror shooting up his spine.
"Sam had a bullwhip and legend was it had become the most dangerous whip in Mississippi, it had soaked up so much blood. He kept it hanging up on the wall in his house. Rafe broke into his house, took the whip, hit him with it across the chest, then a couple of times across the back when he tried to run away, and then across his face. Rafe didn't realize anyone else was there, because Sam lived alone, but one of the deputy sheriffs was hanging around. He laid Rafe out with a sap across his head. The deputy, he didn't stop to finish the job, cause Sam was screaming to get taken to the hospital, and Rafe woke up and ran after they left. He hid out for awhile, but the Klan went crazy looking for him. Rafe was afraid what they were gonna do, everybody was. His mama shipped him up here with these old men to watch over him. And me to watch over him. That's why I sent you. I wanted another set of eyes. The Klan, they don't usually operate outside their own territory. They're cowards outside of their little corner of Mississippi. But I get the feeling Rafe's afraid everything else that goes wrong down there is gonna be on his head, like it's all some crazy revenge."
It was worse than he thought. “Bruce, he doesn't know yet if I can be trusted, because I'm a reporter. He's not sure if my intentions are honorable."
"I'm not so sure your intentions are honorable either. I sure hope you aren't what breaks him, Deke.” Bruce's eyes were remote. “Long as I've known you, and as much as I respect you, I would find that hard to forgive. Rafe is something special."
"You're not worried about him breaking me?"
Bruce leaned back in his chair again, and Deke heard the familiar squeak of alarm. “No, Deke, I'm not."
* * * *
In the kitchen of the Blues Angel, Mama Rose was talking to her baby. “Now, Rafe, darling, I know he's a handsome man, but you got to be thinking about the future! Don't you want a little baby of your own? Don't you think your mama..."
James was leaning against the counter, and he narrowed his eyes when Deke came in. “You been fired yet?"
"No, sir, I have not.” Deke stuck his hands down into his trouser pockets, and they stared across the kitchen at each other like a couple of gunslingers. Rafe looked at Deke, then at James.
"Why would he get fired, Uncle Jimmy?"
"Cause he's a reporter, not some stallion up for stud! Come in here seducing..."
Deke interrupted him. “Rafe, you want to go with me to see Dr. Peregrine Faucett?” Looked to Deke like Rafe would go about anywhere to get out of the kitchen at that moment. Rafe nodded and stood up. “Listen, go get your guitar, okay?"
James had his eyes
narrowed again. “You going to see that guy from the Smithsonian?"
"Yes, I am. How's Blind Pete?"
"He's bad,” Sally-Rose said. “They found sores all over his feet and legs and now they talking about amputating, but he isn't in good enough shape to survive the surgery. That sorry bitch Leona, I'd shoot her myself if she wasn't already dead. She was supposed to be watching his feet for those pressure spots before they turned bad. Miss Anne went over and over it with her, watch his diet, and check his feet, give him his insulin, check his blood pressure. I never saw her with that blood pressure cuff, not even once, and she got real uppity with me when I asked her why not."
Deke turned back to James. “Mr. Hurt, did you find your gun?"
James seemed to realize there was no way to keep it from getting out. “The police have it. They took it out of Leona's room. Somebody shoved it under the bed, probably after they shot her with it."
Deke hesitated. “Sir, let me just say this. Rafe cares a lot about what you think of him. But I don't know you and it doesn't matter to me what you think of me. Me and Rafe, we're both grown men. I believe I'll have to ask you to stay out of our private business."
James jerked back like he'd been struck. Sally-Rose crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, he told you something, didn't he, Jimmy? Doesn't seem to me that reporter knows anything at all about family."
* * * *
"Dr. Faucett must come from money.” They were driving through Georgetown and Deke was studying the brick facades of the townhouses through the windshield of his VW. “These places look old and expensive. Have you met this guy before?"
Rafe shook his head. “I think he's related to my daddy's family somehow. He's some sort of black sheep. That's what I heard.” Rafe was staring out the window. “Deke, are you in trouble because of me? Do you want me to talk to somebody? I mean, I couldn't stand it if you got fired for being with me. That's so...” His voice trailed off, and he stared out the window at the street.
Deke eased the Beetle into a street-side parking spot. The townhouse was dark-red brick, with the front door painted shiny black. The Christmas wreath on the door was balsam, with an evergreen and silver bow, very elegant. Deke turned off the engine, then twisted around in his seat to face Rafe. Blue eyes full of dread, shoulders squared like they were carrying the weight of the world. “Rafael, how do you figure you're responsible for me?"
"I ... well, because I..."
"Don't take this the wrong way, but you need to put that white bullshit aside, my friend."
A little temper was kindling in his blue eyes. “What are you talking about? It's always a white thing with you."
Deke reached for his face, kept his palm against Rafe's cheek until he closed his eyes, turned his face into Deke's palm. And Deke yelped a little when Rafe bit down on his finger.
"I know that down in Mississippi, the things you do have consequences outside yourself. I understand you're just trying to do right by everybody. But I'm not a child, Rafe. You don't have to take care of me. I'll feel better about things between you and me when you look at me and see a grown man."
"I see a man.” Rafe's voice was quiet in the silence. “I didn't mean to disrespect you, or..."
"I know. I just think it'll be something you're gonna have to get used to. You can't take care of people because they're black and you've got the power to make things better for them. You understand what I'm saying. Maybe that's the way it is for good men from Miss'ippi, but the world's changing and nobody's gonna appreciate your good intentions. Not these days, when white and black seem to be moving to opposite sides of some line nobody can see, but everybody can feel."
Rafe's chin was looking a little stubborn. “I don't think you know how bad things are, Deke. Somebody's got to..."
Deke reached up and pushed the bangs off his forehead, traced his fingertips over the scar. “Oh, but I do know how bad things are."
Rafe stared into his eyes, then he surprised Deke by smiling. “Bruce. Damn, you cannot expect a newspaper man to keep his mouth shut. Kiss me."
"Okay.” Deke was smiling now, too, and he reached across the knobby gear shift and kissed Rafe's mouth. Rafe slid his tongue into Deke's mouth, then Deke's hand seemed to move on its own accord, and he found it snug up against a straining cock, covered in faded denim.
"Come on, Deke, just slide your hand..."
"No, not out on the street. We're gonna get arrested.” Deke wanted to bite his tongue in two, anything to take the words back, because Rafe's happy, horny face fell like a ton of bricks, remembering the trouble his old men were in.
"Deke, listen, you don't think the cops are gonna just..."
"I don't know, Rafe. Did you hear what Blind Pete said to me this morning in the hospital?"
Rafe shook his head.
"He said, ‘She's killed me, so I killed her.’”
"No way. He was out of his head! He couldn't mean ... I mean, Uncle Pete is blind. How could he do it? How could he even know where Uncle Jimmy kept his gun?"
"Okay, now you listen to me. How could anybody else but you guys know that James even had a gun? Of course he knew where the gun was. James probably kept it in the same place for the last forty years. The cops are going to be looking at five people. Sally-Rose, you, and those three old men you love so much. Rafe, I know it wasn't you. And I think Sally-Rose would have used one of her iron skillets. So who does that leave?"
"No.” Deke opened his mouth and Rafe put his hand across it. “Just shut up now, because you're talking about people you don't know, and I don't want to argue. I don't want to get mad at you, Deke. I want to blow off this old man and go back to your place and fuck all afternoon."
"An hour,” Deke promised, opening his car door. “We'll be out of here in an hour."
The man who answered the door was elegant and slender in gorgeous flax linen trousers and a raw silk shirt the same blue as his eyes. The small hairs on Deke's arms stood up. He looked like Rafe at fifty, with silvered hair and a wicked little goatee, but with the unmistakable lines of vice carved in his face.
Rafe must have felt alarmed, too, because he took a step back and looked at Deke, eyes wide. The man grinned at them both, hands on his slim hips, then spoke to someone behind him in the room. “Otis, looks like your young blues angel has come to pay us a visit.” His honey and magnolia voice hadn't lost much of Mississippi. “And he's got a very big, good-looking friend with him. Come on in, you two. We were just talking about you."
More whiskey. Deke thought he'd seen more whiskey drunk in the last two days than in the last two years. Peregrine's whiskey was in a cut-crystal bottle heavy enough to qualify as a murder weapon. Blue Otis was sprawled out on the divan, and he looked drunk up to his eyeballs. Peregrine, ‘call me Uncle Perry, you handsome boys,’ was walking a bit carefully, laying his bare feet down as if the floor wasn't quite still, but otherwise only the looseness of his tongue suggested he was floating with Blue Otis down Whiskey River.
"Good, you brought your guitar. Play something for us, Rafe.” Blue Otis didn't seem surprised to see them.
Rafe looked at him and shrugged. “What do you want to hear?"
"Something old, something new, something something, something blue.” Rafe looked at Deke, who bit down on his lower lip to hide his grin. Rafe's expression said quite clearly, We could have been fucking right now.
"What about that Willie Dixon song? The one Muddy did up in Newport that got everyone so unspeakably excited?"
"What, Hoochie Coochie Man?"
Perry sloshed some more whiskey in a glass tall enough to be a jelly jar and passed it to Deke. “Oh, that one's fine. Let me hear it, Rafael."
Blue Otis struggled to sit up. “That man there,” he pointed to Deke, “is a newspaper reporter, sent by Bruce Charters to keep an eye on Rafe. But he's liable to publish any damn thing, he don't care, so just be careful what you say."
Perry raised his eyebrows and grinned, apparently delighted to have a reporter in the h
ouse.
Rafe spent some time playing around on his guitar before he moved into the song. Deke thought this was how he let himself settle a bit, his hands moving through the familiar old rhythm. He got a picture in his head of Rafe when he was as old as Blue Otis, his knuckles thick and gnarled, hands moving across the guitar strings. Deke felt something softening in his chest, like a tight hard nut that was getting ripe. Maybe it was his heart.
But what did that even mean? Deke wasn't sure. He'd never wanted an easy life, full of soft men. He'd wanted something he would have to work for. Rafe felt good, a good match for him, better than trouble, real with possibility and danger. It would be almost as hard for them to be black and white together as for them to be two men together. But it felt strong and real, like something worth fighting for.
Rafe was complicated, sweet and sharp, like biting into an autumn apple and tasting his flavor across the tongue. Deke wanted to eat him down to the seeds, then roll them around, hold them between his teeth. He didn't have any idea what Rafe wanted from him. Maybe he was just lonely, like Blue Otis had said. Maybe he was just horny and wanted someone to talk to. It didn't matter. Whatever it was between them right now, they would move down this path, or peel off in different directions. And it would all be okay. But Deke felt a strange little stirring that was unfamiliar, watching Rafe. Desire. He wanted him. It was going to cost him something if Rafe walked away.
"Blue Otis, that boy's gift is precious and rare. I have been suffering from an unnatural exhaustion of my spirit that I put down to the stress of the holiday season, but now I believe I missed your company, old friend, and I missed hearing the blues. You know James has never stepped foot in my sinful house, but Blind Pete Watson has filled this air with his music so many times. I can't believe ... I hate to think it, Otis, that Pete is really..."
"Yeah, he is."
"Listening to his young protégé I feel like he's right here with us, that Coke bottle slide on his finger. Rafael, do you play a slide?"
"Yes, sir, I do. I use a piece of pipe, though.” Rafe stopped playing and dug the pipe out of his pocket, handed it across to Perry.