by Sarah Black
"I know this will seem like the most crass of manners, young Rafael, but I wonder what brought you to my doorstep today? Just anxious to find an old family connection during this holiest of seasons?"
"Uh, no. Actually, he made me come.” He jerked his thumb toward Deke, then leaned back over his guitar and ignored them all.
Perry studied Deke for a moment longer than was strictly polite, and Deke noticed that his eyes were a tiny bit more lavender than Rafe's. Rafe's blue had a bit of gray, like a storm at sea. “Tossed to the wolves. I like that boy. So, Deke. Is that short for Deacon?"
"Yes, it is."
"Deacon. I suppose I should ask you what has brought you here today, but this is such charming company, and I'm afraid you'll tell me! Deke, Deke, Deke. Such a strong name. Your family comes from where?"
"My father went out to West Texas, Fort Davis, with the Army when he was young. My mother's people are Comanche, mostly. Just a good American mix, a bit of everything."
Perry's eyes were narrow, and he was stroking his goatee. “So I suppose you grew up the outsider. Didn't belong to the blacks or the Comanche. Learned to depend on yourself. And only yourself. I see you as a lone wolf. Where did you go to school?"
"Howard. I got a scholarship, and I had a bit of money from my father's life insurance to help me through school."
"Is that why you're still here? Because you went to Howard? You don't plan to go back home to Texas?"
Deke couldn't help but notice that Perry's attention was suddenly sharper, his voice clear as a bell. He shook his head. “I guess this is home now."
"As much as anyplace will ever be home."
Deke shrugged, starting to feel just a bit put out at this assessment. Rafe and Blue Otis were listening carefully, and Rafe was starting to grin.
"Maybe home for you isn't a place but a person. Maybe you're waiting to find the person that..."
"Dr. Faucett, would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"
Perry shrugged his shoulders. “Go ahead, young reporter. I didn't mean to make you feel any discomfort."
Deke ignored this. “I guess I really only have one question. What does Blue Otis need to do, if the cops want to take him in for Leona's murder?"
The whiskey bottle was flashing around again from glass to glass. “What in the world would cause the police to jump to such an inane conclusion? It's ludicrous."
"He was sleeping with Leona. She was sleeping around. And Blue Otis has been in jail for murder. If the cops looked at one of those three old men, James, Blue Otis, or Blind Pete Watson, which one will they pick as the most likely to have shot that girl in the heart?"
"Why don't you ask me, I'm sitting right here.” Blue Otis didn't wait for Deke to point out that he wasn't actually sitting, but was half-lying across the divan, as closed to passed out as a man could be who was still talking. Rafe had stopped playing and was frowning in Deke's direction. “Of course they gonna look at me and there's only one thing to do. I didn't kill that girl, and I can't say who did. But all I'm going to say to you is this, reporter. You better take care of my boy after I'm gone."
Rafe stood up and set his guitar aside. He settled himself down on the divan with Blue Otis. “Oh, no, you are not going anywhere. Don't even think about running. I need you here."
Blue Otis reached a hand up and pushed the hair out of Rafe's face. “You'll be okay.” His voice was gentle, like he was talking to a child. “You got a big pair of shoulders over there to lean on, you need to lean on someone. But I don't think you need him or anyone. You just about all grown up now, Rafe. You don't need a bunch of old men holding you back, that's for sure. You a fine man. You make me proud."
Rafe's eyes were full of tears, and the look he directed at Deke made him doubt it was still the plan to go back to his place and fuck all afternoon.
"All this drama is really quite unnecessary. Blue Otis was with me all afternoon. That's when the girl was killed, correct? We're working on a book, a history of the blues. And I would be very pleased to tell the police that, or really, anything else, if they have the bad manners to come bursting in, demanding an alibi."
I bet you would. Rafe wouldn't look at him, kept his eyes on Blue Otis.
"Young Rafael, you're as beautiful as a Botticelli angel. And your education, my young cousin? Will you study music?"
Blue Otis reared up. “He went up to Ole Miss and studied history! Got him a good degree with honors, too."
Deke stared at Rafe. He'd never asked, but if anyone had asked him, he would have guessed Rafe was too busy playing the guitar and listening to old men talk on the porch to go to college. Deke was falling into that picture James Hurt had painted, of the blues, and Mississippi, sucking Rafe in, and owning him.
"History? What an interesting choice, Rafael. I admit I find myself astounded. Why history?"
"I needed plenty of time to think. And play.” He shrugged and picked up his guitar again, held it against his chest like a shield. “Plus someone needs to remember. You know? Someone needs to think about things, and remember. So we don't keep doing it all over again."
Peregrine stared at him for a good long beat, eyes narrowed, and he turned to Blue Otis and the two of them exchanged a look. “Otis, tell this young reporter that story we were talking about earlier. About how Blind Pete killed the bear."
"Well, now, this story happened in 1955 or maybe 1956, I can't remember. Me and James and Blind Pete were nearly home. We'd been up in Chicago playing at a club called The Honeybee and making a recording. James was driving, and all the sudden he come to a screeching stop. I come awake in the back seat, and I see a bear sitting in the middle of the road. She was pretty, gold colored fur, but she was too big to drive around, and she didn't look like she wanted to move. So James gets out of the car and goes up to the bear. ‘You're gonna get hurt if you stay here,’ he said, all gentle in his voice. ‘I sure don't want to see that. So you just need to move on now and go back to the woods.’ He waves his hands around a bit to make the bear move, and she rears up, shows her teeth, nearly bites his hand off. James leaps back, was in that car with the door locked faster than I have ever seen that man move. And he says, all shocked, ‘That bear just tried to bite me! Shit!’”
Well, Blind Pete is howling. He'd been into the whiskey already. ‘James, what you expect a bear to do?’ I remember the mule, so I get out my harp and start to play. Well, the bear, she likes the blues, and she rolls over, shows us her soft belly. Her fur was pretty as you've ever seen. But she don't move, and she still blocking the road. Blind Pete says, ‘How long we gonna sit here, held hostage by this damn bear?’”
"He climbs out the car, and he reaches in the back seat and gets his guitar. It's in a nice, hard case. He walks up to the bear and says, ‘Get the hell out of the road. We almost home and we hungry and we want to see our children before it gets dark.’ The bear just rolls over and ignores him. Blind Pete gives the bear a little toe in the ass. ‘I said move your fat ass or I'm gonna be taking me a bearskin home.’ And James is in the car, talking through the window, ‘Don't hurt that bear, Pete. Just make it move.’”
"Pete turns around and says, ‘James, you can't mess around, trying to be sweet to bears. They killers.’ And while he's turned to talk to James, the bear stands up, puts its claws out, and swipes him across the back. ‘Don't you claw me, you son of a bitch bear.’ Blind Pete swings around with his guitar case, lays it upside the bear's head. The bear goes down. Blind Pete hits it a couple more times till it stops moving, kicks it in the head when the bear tries to put its jaws around his ankle. James isn't looking, got his hands up over his eyes. So Pete, he says, ‘Otis, get out here, let's cut us a bear skin to take home.’ I get out of the car, and I'm thinking that bear will make a beautiful rug for Blind Pete's feet, cause he had the diabetes even then and he had to be careful. But when we rolled the bear over, there was a rattlesnake underneath it in the road. Blind Pete, he's got good ears. He heard the snake, stomped down hard on its he
ad. Shit! I'm screaming and thinking I might pass out cause I'm deathly afraid of snakes. But Blind Pete, he grabs me by the arm and puts me back in the car, says, ‘You two don't see what is right in front of your eyes. James, will you please get us the hell home? I want my supper.’”
Nobody spoke. Rafe was looking at Blue Otis. Peregrine was staring at Deke with narrowed eyes, watching to see how he was taking this story, a little smile on his face.
Deke stood up. “Come with me.” He walked into the big formal hallway, and Rafe followed, his guitar still clutched in both hands. “Rafe, you want to ride with me? I need to get out of here. Or you want to stay and make sure Blue Otis is okay? Make sure he gets home?"
"Why did we come here again?"
"I wanted to see if this guy would consider helping if Blue Otis needed to split. I'm way behind on that one, I guess. I was afraid he didn't have an alibi and the cops would take him in. I'm still not sure he has an alibi. Rafe, can you believe that guy? He'd lie as soon as breathe."
"But he's just trying to protect Otis. I mean, I understand it, the cops, they..."
"But Rafe, he's not telling the truth.” They looked at each other for a long moment. “You know, I always thought if I fell for somebody, it would be somebody who thought like I did. You know, a man who believed in the same things I do. Like telling the truth.” Rafe moved into his arms, balanced the guitar on his foot, and Deke kissed him like he was tasting his mouth for the first time.
"Your truth may be a hard line for a lot of men to follow, Deacon."
"Just don't throw yourself between the cops and Blue Otis, they come here looking for him. Your head isn't that hard, Rafe. You know where your Uncle Jimmy was yesterday afternoon while Leona was being shot?"
"Yes, I do. He was with me. I took him to the zoo. He told me he'd never had cotton candy before."
"So that's the rest of the alibis. Otis, you and James, and Sally-Rose was down at the church. Remembering history, making sure we don't repeat the mistakes of the past, that's your job? Your responsibility to the world? You keep surprising me, turning out to be such a cool cat. I'm liable to fall for you, you don't watch it.” Rafe didn't speak, he just stared up into Deke eyes, hands tracing the lines of his face, then Deke leaned over and kissed him again. “We got trouble coming, the next few days. Rafe, just ... just remember that me and you, that is something different from what's going on around us. We can't..."
Rafe was shaking his head. “Deke, I don't think it works that way. This is family. Obligations and expectations from a lifetime, from generations, and I can't ignore them. You think that's me being patronizing and white, but I'm sorry, man, that's just who I am. And I can't just put you and me away in a separate box. I get the whole lone wolf thing, I really do. It's kind of sexy, the way you don't have all these mamas and uncles and responsibilities, and can just go off and do what you want. But understand me. I'll stand between you and my family if I have to. You gonna have to decide if your stories are more important than innocent old men getting hurt."
"It's not about a story, Rafe. It's about justice. It's about respect for the truth. And I know you understand what I'm saying. Leona wasn't much, but she was still a person. She had a life that belonged to her. I know you understand about justice, Rafael, in the power of justice. You wearing the proof of that on your head."
"What I'm wearing on my head reminds me how stupid a person can be when they get mad. Revenge isn't justice. Revenge just breeds more violence, more hate, until it's crawling over everything like a bunch of rats. You understand Uncle Jimmy and Blue Otis and Blind Pete can't go home? They may not be able to go home for years, because of what I did. If they do someone will shoot them in the head with a deer rifle."
"Aren't you being a little melodramatic?"
"No, Deke. That's what Sam Bowers told me, before I left. He sent me a message. That's what he was going to do if I didn't leave Miss'ippi and not come back, ever. He was going to kill my people. Uncle Jimmy, Blind Pete, and Blue Otis. Bruce told you they were up here looking after me? Well, that is surely what they believe."
Rafe wrapped an arm around his waist, slid his hand down until he held Deke's ass, pressed them close together. “I'll stay here for a bit and visit. Can I come to your place tonight?"
"Yeah.” Deke could hear the husky note in his voice, desire moving like a river through his chest, down into his belly. It was dangerous getting to know this man, this man who passed himself off as a loving boy. Deke could feel some power slipping away from him, settling into Rafael's hands, and he wondered if this was what happened to you when you fell in love.
* * * *
Macaren and Weaver were at the cop shop, and they only kept Deke waiting a few minutes before they brought him back. They used an interrogation room with a battered green metal table and three chairs, and Weaver brought coffee that smelled like it had been cooking in the pot for hours.
"Mr. Davis, what kind of story were you working on at the Blues Angel last night? You don't usually write about music, do you?"
Deke shook his head. “My editor, Bruce Charters, sent me to keep an eye on Rafael Hurt. Rafael was involved in a conflict with several members of the Klan last summer, and there was an escalation of violence. I think, actually, he meant me to discover what had happened and write a story about it, but he only told me that he wanted me to write a feel-good Christmas story about black and white blues musicians, everybody getting along together."
Macaren nodded. Deke had the feeling they already knew this, and were just running through it to see if he was going to tell them the truth.
"Is there any connection you've found between what happened down in Hattiesburg last summer and this girl's death?"
They knew about Hattiesburg already. “No, other than the obvious fact that they are up here because they can't go home. At least, Rafe thinks they can't go home. The Blues Angel is in a black part of town. Rafe stands out real obviously, you know? No way could any other white man sneak into that club and no one see him. I came in to see you because I believe I have some information. This morning I went to see Blind Pete Watson in the hospital. He said something to me, and I..."
"What did he say?"
Deke pulled out his memo book. He'd noted down the exact words after he'd left the hospital. “That stupid bitch has killed me. I'm glad she's dead. She's killed me, and I killed her. That's only fair."
Macaren and Weaver both sat back, thinking. “Mr. Davis, how did he seem when he said this? Was he in his right mind? Was his speech clear?"
Deke shook his head. “He seemed sick, and his speech was slurred. I know he's got diabetes bad."
"He had diabetes. Also kidney disease and the sores on his feet and legs had turned to gangrene. Mr. Watson died in the hospital an hour ago. Mr. Davis, do you have any reason to think Mr. Watson knew where to get a gun?"
Deke shook his head. “If I had to take a guess, I would think Mr. James Hurt kept his gun in the top drawer of his dresser, and probably kept the same gun in the same drawer while they were traveling together for the last twenty years. It wouldn't take a genius to figure that out.” Macaren and Weaver looked at each other. “Pete Watson was blind and sick, but he wasn't helpless. He's only been blind for a few years, from the diabetes. Mrs. Johnson told me that. He could dress himself and feed himself and play the guitar like nothing I've ever heard before. I don't have any reason to tell you this, other than I am concerned you'll find out about Blue Otis's prior police record, and jump to the incorrect conclusion he was involved."
Macaren sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “So you are assuming we would railroad some poor old black man rather than investigating properly? Not that I would call Blue Otis Johnson a poor old black man. He had half the station crowding in to the interrogation room to listen to him play that mouth harp. And he has an alibi, such as it is."
"He was in here this morning? I'm not trying to insult you,” Deke said, aware that he had and was about to make it worse.
“But it's the holiday. Everybody wants to get home to the family. You've got a trashy young girl shot dead in a black blues club and the man who was sleeping with her spent ten years in prison for murder."
Weaver looked at Macaren. “Well, hell! Now he says it like that, I guess we are wasting our time."
Deke sighed and raised his hands in surrender. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"Mr. Davis, did you see anyone at the Blue's Angel who was white? Besides Mr. Hurt?"
"No."
"Was the doorway to the back stairs open?"
"Yes, it was. There were some men out there in the alley smoking. I didn't see anyone upstairs."
"Most of the time there were men in the alley smoking? By smoking, you mean throwing dice, right?” Deke ignored this. “Was the music loud enough that it would have drowned out the sound of gunfire?"
"Yes.” They were just double-checking what they already knew.
"Did you hear anyone besides Mr. Watson say they wanted to kill the girl?"
"Mr. Watson said he had killed the girl. I think everyone else said they wanted to kill her, except Mr. James Hurt."
"Why? What did she do got everybody so mad?"
"Mr. Watson, he was beloved, you know? She was supposed to be taking care of him, making sure his diabetes didn't turn into ... well, what it turned into. She made him feel bad about asking for help with his insulin. She wasn't paying attention like she was supposed to, and she made him feel helpless and weak.” Deke shrugged. “I'm just talking here, repeating things I've heard. I didn't know the girl."
"Okay.” Macaren stood up. “Mr. Davis, can I ask you what your relationship is now with Mr. Rafael Hurt?"
Deke stood up. “No, Detective. You can't."
"It's illegal. You could go to jail. You know that, right?"
Deke looked at him, and Macaren held up his hands. “But you're right. It is your business, and I don't think it has anything to do with this murder. Thank you for coming in with your information."
Weaver and Macaren nodded to him, but neither man offered a hand. It wasn't the color of his skin. Those detectives were thinking hard about where Deke's hands had been. And who had run in here and told the fuzz that he was sleeping with Rafe? Deke actually thought it was probably Elroy Macallister.