Tishomingo Blues (2002)

by Elmore Leonard

  "That's right, he did. I said to him, `You talk like that to a man has a sword in his hand? You want to fuck with me, take it up with my buddy General Kirkbride.' "

  "He did," Anne said, "really. I had my hand on my gun the whole time."

  Jerry said, "What'd you give her a gun for?" "Let her bust some caps, see what it's like." Jerry said, "Queenie, put it away. You're gonna shoot somebody."

  Anne said, "It goes with my impression."

  Jerry said, "I never knew any hookers that packed," and looked at Robert. "Have you?"

  "Yeah, I have," Robert said. "Long time ago." He looked up at Dennis with a grin and said, "Dog, say hello to Hector Diaz, man with the coleta. You know TontoRey. That's Cedric, from the fields of Virginia come to be with us, and the cool one there is my man Groove, from the MotorCity."

  They gave each other a nod and Dennis said well, he was going to move along, see you later. He started off through the trees, heading for the battlefield, and Robert caught up with him.

  "You having fun?"

  "It's like a county fair without the rides."

  "I got weed, you want to pick up your mood. Me and Annabanana slipped away from the general to share a joint. She come back with Chinese eyes, the man's too lazy to notice."

  "Jerry doesn't do any drugs?"

  "Sticks to his red wine, the Sicilian in him."

  "How'd you get a VIP parking spot?"

  "The Jag-u-ar, man. General Grant in the front seat and one of those little American flags taped onto the fender. Pulled in there like it was the official car. The security man saluted."

  "I did too when I saw him."

  "Everybody does. Jerry's a show and don't know it." He touched Dennis' arm and said, "Wait up."

  They were on the crest of a slope that fell gradually to what would be the battlefield.

  "We got lunch coming from the hotel pretty soon. My man Xavier bringing it disguised, in tin pots."

  "I want to find my camp," Dennis said. "Report to JohnRau and get that done."

  "You into it, aren't you? Going around salutingI'd like to see that. Well, you get hungry come on back."

  "I'm surprised," Dennis said, "Jerry came out."

  "He might not last. I told him, `Man, you have to be seen, so people will think you're all the way into the gig.' That's his cover, being out front, serious, loving it."

  "Who're the new guys?"

  "The tall one, Groove, came out of Young Boys about when I did, known him all my life. Groove's gonna stay here and do the buying. On the side he'll see to making Ecstasy for the lovers, the E-tards, and find somebody knows how to make speed without blowing himself up. Cedric I found in my travels to Virginia. Knows the business, did his apprentice work under a man sold weed out of a church in Cincinnati called Temple of the Cool and Beautiful J. C. A skinhead Nazi come along and blew it up with a rocket gun. You imagine? I lined Cedric up, he's gonna deliver a chronic type of dojo weed once we set up."

  Dennis said, "Tonto and Hector?"

  "Old pros. They stay close to Jerry for the time being, their Colt guns capped and loaded. Case Arlen pulls any sneaky shit in the night."

  "So Arlen thinks Jerry's the boss."

  He could see Robert caught what he meant. "Yes, he does."

  "If he can scare off Jerry you and your guys will go with him."

  "He calls JerryCaesar. I told him like in Julius." "Why'd you antagonize Arlen's guy, call him an asshole?"

  " 'Cause that's what he is. 'Cause I had a big fuckin sword in my hand."

  "Come on-"

  "I want him coming after me once we in the woods. Get him riled. You gonna be with us?"

  "Is that part of the deal?"

  "Noooo, man, do what you want is cool. Hang out with the county fair people, learn the period dances. You notice what I told you, everybody being so serious? Hey, maybe they'll let you judge the pie-making contest."

  "I met a woman was making one," Dennis said, "rolling out the dough ... Only she doesn't know what she's doing here."

  It caused Robert to pause, looking at Dennis to catch on to what he meant. "What kind of pie?"

  "Naughty Child."

  "You're kidding me. They call it that?"

  "Has green tomatoes in it." Robert paused again.

  "You gonna have a piece?"

  "I might."

  Chapter 19

  DENNIS CROSSED THE SLOPE where the spectators would sit to watch the battle, no one else out here yet. He reached the pasture, headed for the thicket over to the left, and saw he'd have to watch his step as he moved through the coarse grass, the ground underneath broken and rutted, years of grazing cows leaving their marks. Man, but it was hot in the wool uniform, the sun still high. There was a crackling sound and a voice over the PA system.

  "Four score and seven years ago ... Wait a minute, somebody gave me the wrong speech."

  There was no mistaking CharlieHoke. Dennis continued toward the edge of the field as Charlie said, "Here we go. Hi, I'm CharlieHoke, the old left-hander, welcoming you to the First Annual Tunica, Mississippi, Civil War Muster. What it reminds me of, folks, is opening day at the old ballpark. Any park, there's nothing like opening day." He said, "What?" His voice sounding faint then, away from the mike, and Dennis heard him say, "I'm coming to it." Charlie's full voice returned to say, "You all are taking part in a living history, commemorating a period of our heritage that united us once and for all as Americans."

  And a Union soldier stepped out of the thicket in front of Dennis, a young guy no more than eighteen, holding his rifle at port arms. He said, "Identify yourself, name and regiment." Dennis told him, and the sentry said, "Pass." Man, dead serious.

  Dennis walked by him into the thicket, the ground sandy now. He could still hear Charlie's voice as he made his way through the growth. About fifty yards into it he came to the camp: twoman tents in a clearing, stacked rifles, Union soldiers in and out of uniform, most of them with their shell jackets off, but all wearing their forage caps, a look of seasoned campaigners, a couple of them smoking pipes. He heard Charlie's voice saying they were reliving the past today in the present, and it was what Dennis felt and knew he would remember, passing through the scrub to find himself 140 years back in time.

  Except for the pickup truck.

  An old one, but not nearly old enough.

  A group of twenty or more soldiers, apart from the ones he saw first, were looking up at John Rau, who stood in full uniform on the tailgate of the pickup, the truck bed loaded with cardboard cartons, a 55-gallon wooden barrel and what looked like a pile of shelter halves and bedrolls.

  JohnRau was saying, "I'm not going to make an issue of authenticity, criticize trifles, the way your uniform happens to be made. Point out that the top stitching on the fly of someone's trousers is too wide."

  Sounding like he was making a speech, all the soldiers in front of him looking up, paying attention.

  "Take it too far," JohnRau said, "the ultrahardcores will next be insisting we use real bullets and hope that some of us take actual hits, or at least come down with dysentery. Obviously in a reenactment we will never experience the sheer terror of actual combat. We won't see our pards drilled by minie balls and blown to pieces by canister. So let's not make too much of authenticity. But, I do not want to see evidence of candy-bar wrappers or empty soda-pop cans lying around this bivouac. That's the one thing I insist on."

  Dennis moved in to stand closer to the group and John Rau spotted him, Colonel John Rau looking cool, right out of the book in his cavalry officer's uniform, the brim of his hat pinned up on one side. Dennis, about to nod and say hi, stopped as JohnRau said, "Soldier, where's your rifle?" No sign of recognition there.

  Robert had the guns. Dennis almost said he forgot to get it, but changed it quick to, "I haven't picked it up yet."

  Colonel Rau said, "Do you mean, `Sir, I haven't picked it up yet?' "

  Dennis said, "Yes, sir."

  "Why haven't you?"

  Jes
us, he was serious. Dennis said, "I was anxious to report to the camp. Sir."

  "This is a bivouac, soldier, not a camp."

  "Yes sir."

  "The next time I see you, you will have your rifle. I will never see you again without your rifle. Unless of course it's stacked, as it should be."

  Dennis said it again, "Yes sir," getting a feeling for it, like watching a war movie he was in.

  JohnRau turned to his audience, looking over his troopers before saying, "My first sergeant will see to the issue of rations for two days, courtesy of the TishomingoLodge and Casino. I'm sure it's their hope that once we stand down, you'll go over there and lay your money on the gaming tables. Do any of you know what the pay of a private in the Union Army was during the Civil War?"

  A voice from the troops said, "Sir, thirteen dollars a month, sir."

  Dennis wondered if the guy was overdoing it. "That's correct," JohnRau said. "Now then, I want this truck off-loaded so we can get it out of here and settle into a proper bivouac. We have extra shelter halves here and bedrolls consisting of a gum blanket and a wool blanket, all any soldier needs on a summer campaign. It won't be nearly cool enough for any spooning, so I don't expect to see any evidence of it, as I might get the wrong idea."

  JohnRau smiled and it got a laugh, but Dennis didn't know why.

  "Your food rations, here in these boxes, are the authentic fare: hardtack, coffee and salt horse. Also potatoes, cornmeal if you want it-mixed into a gruel and fried can be very tasty-and dried fruit. What's commonly referred to as salt horse is, more often than not, salt pork-though fresh horse meat would have been a gourmet treat to a man in the field during the war. Nor am I referring to the salt pork you buy in the market, a hunk of bacon. That wouldn't hold up even for a reenactment weekend."

  Dennis noticed men in the group beginning to stir and glance at one another . as JohnRau, not sounding much like the CIB man, continued.

  "I know you first- and second-timers are anxious to learn all you can about what it was like, have it in your head. I've often said an authentic attitude is more important than how regulation you are in your uniform. On this subject of salt pork I might mention that table salt is never used for curing because of the filler in it. You use kosher salt as your base and cut it with a sweetener. I prefer brown sugar myself, though you can use honey or molasses. To spice it up add onions, garlic and pepper. But the main ingredients, say for a hundred pounds of meat, would be eight pounds of kosher salt and two pounds of brown sugar. What the process does, of course, is thoroughly dry out the meat. Let it sit in a cool place-the reason farmers always butchered in the winter-for up to six weeks and you've got salt horse. I'll warn anyone who wants to try preparing it himself, it does make quite a mess as the moisture is drawn out."

  Dennis, listening, thinking yeah, that was good to know, in case he ever lost his fuckin mind and felt the urge to make some. Jesus. Ask Vernice if he could use her kitchen. He saw some of the troopers in the back of the group starting to edge away and heard JohnRau raise his voice.

  "Men, eyes front. I'm not yet finished. We have a water barrel here, so you can keep your canteens filled. Also, you'll be interested to know, I ordered six hundred and fifty rations to feed a hundred men, my original estimate, and any stragglers who might come along. If this were a three- or four-day event and we took prisoners, we'd have rations for them, too. My projection now is that we'll have no more than seventy in our ranks, if that. I was hoping for as many as fifty of the First Iowa joining us, but it looks like only ten to fifteen will be able to make it. I'm expecting them at any time now. What it means, there will be at least three and a half extra rations per man." JohnRau paused. "If I had said that to you at Brice's Cross Roads on June 9th, the eve of the battle, you know what you'd do? Give out a cheer, a spirited `Huzzah,' and throw your forage caps in the air. Anyway, you'll be able to eat your fill. You might see how inventive you can be with the rations. I've always liked my salt horse diced and put in a pot to boil with a potato. I've found that recipe works best when you're good and hungry."

  Dennis tried to imagine pieces of pork fat cooking in a pot and remembered Robert asking him to lunch, brought from the hotel.

  He looked up again to see the first sergeant handing JohnRau a clipboard, Colonel Rau looking at it as he said, "I have the duty roster here. Anyone who hasn't been assigned, raise your hand."

  Dennis, not knowing shit about duty rosters, raised his. In the next moment, as JohnRau looked right at him, Dennis realized you never put your hand in the air.

  "Private Lenahan," JohnRau said, glancing at the roster again, "you'll be going on picket duty."

  Dennis said, "Sir, I'm a corporal," hoping that would get him out of it.

  JohnRau said, "Is that right?" and took time to study him. "Tell me how you achieved your stripes?"

  It was in Dennis' mind to say, The same way you made colonel. But he didn't. He said, "Sir, I thought I could be anything I wanted."

  "Soldier," JohnRau said, "you have to earn your advancement in rank."

  He didn't say, By putting up with this shit. But that's what Dennis was thinking. He saw JohnRau waiting for him to say:

  "Yes sir."

  Now he said, "Corporal?"

  And paused. Dennis believed to make him say it again. See how many times he could get him to repeat it.

  "Yes sir?"

  "You'll draw perimeter picket duty tonight, eight to twelve. See the first sergeant before the hour and he'll assign you to a post."

  One more time.

  "Yes sir."

  JohnRau looked out at his troops and then right away turned to him again. "But before you draw rations and prepare your meal, I want you to get your rifle."

  It took Dennis a moment to realize he was free. He could leave. He could have some of that lunch Robert had coming from the hotel, Dennis in his mind until he realized JohnRau was staring at him, waiting.

  "Soldier, did you hear what I just said?"

  Dennis saluted. He said, "Loud and clear, sir," the way Red Buttons said it to John Wayne in The Longest Day before they made the jump and Red's parachute got caught on the church steeple.

  Chapter 20

  "JERRY WON'T EAT OUTSIDE," Robert said, "and Anne says it's too hot in the tent, so Tonto and Hector ran them back to the hotel."

  "Get to do whatever they want," Dennis said. "Like MelBrooks said, `It's good to be the king.' "

  Dennis said, "I bet they never stand in line."

  "For what?"

  "Anything."

  "Same as I'm offering you, man. Never having to stand in line again in your life."

  "They coming back?"

  "I told Jerry he has to spend the night out here at his command post. I want to see if Arlen's got the nerve to slip over here and fuck with him."

  "What's Jerry say about that?"

  "I only tell him he has to sleep here, not he's the bait. Anne, I told her to stay at the hotel."

  "So you'll be going back there tonight."

  Robert didn't say yes or no, he told Dennis to come on, have something to eat, and got him seated under the tent awning with a plate of crawfish etouffee and a cold beer. Robert, his checkered shirt hanging open, popped one for himself. He asked Dennis how was the crawfish and Dennis said it took him home. He told Robert then:

  "Charlie says Arlen and his guys always get smashed they come to one of these. They're probably drinking right now."

  "So either it jacks 'em up to become active," Robert said, "or they get shitfaced and don't even think of it."

  "The next day they're hungover. Charlie says they take hits early in the battle and sleep till it's over. He says they're really good at taking hits."

  Robert started to smile. "Come on, what're you telling me?"

  "The way they go down. They practice getting shot."

  Robert said, "I don't believe you," smiling just a little. "They practice? Go out in their yard and fall down? Sounds like a bunch of redneck Monty Pythons.
Well, you know these dudes can be funny they with each other. What I'm saying, they can't all be stupid. See, you forget these Dixie Mafia people are mean motherfuckers. I started thinking, after I showed Arlen the picture of the lynching? Shit, I could be putting ideas in the man's head. Next thing he wants is to hang my ass from a tree."

  "Tell me the truth," Dennis said, "where'd you get the picture?"

  "I told you, was from a postcard old Broom Taylor gave me."

  "But it's not your great-grandfather hanging from the bridge."

  "It's somebody's."

  "How many times have you used it?"

  "Only since I'm here. See, I'm being truthful, 'cause I want you to trust me you come to make up your mind."

  "I've already decided."

  "No, you haven't, so don't tell me nothing yet."

  "What I came to get is a rifle."

  It turned on Robert's smile. "You want to be there tomorrow, don't you? In the woods."

  Dennis didn't answer, but he said, "Colonel John Rau doesn't want to see me again without a rifle."

  Robert turned his head to the tent next door, to his left. "Groove? Fix this man up with an Enfield. The cartridge box, the pouch, all the shit goes withit." He said to Dennis, "Or what happens, he puts you on KP, makes you peel potatoes?"

  "You cook your own meals. We don't have to cure the salt pork, but he told us how, in case we want to fix it at home."

  "Dry it out good, lot of salt, some molasses and a tangy hot sauce."

  "Colonel Rau likes brown sugar."

  "I have to think of what to do with him," Robert said. He looked up and then rose from the chair. "Here's your gun. You know how to shoot?"

  Dennis said, "You pull the trigger, don't you?"

  Groove came with the Enfield, Groove wearing shades with the uniform pants, but no shirt covering his slim build.

  Robert said, "He needs to know how to load it."

  Groove held the rifle upright against him, the muzzle at his chest. He showed Dennis a white paper cartridge about the size of his thumb, raised it to his mouth and tore off one end.

  "You don't have teeth," Robert said, "you can't shoot. Now he pours the Elephant black powder down the barrel. See, the minie ball, the bullet's in there too, in the paper. You drop it down the muzzle and take your ramrod-see where it's attached Groove pulls it out and runs it down the barrel to tamp the ball in there good. Now he picks the gun up, opens the breech. Now he takes a percussion cap-you know what I'm saying? The thing makes it explode, and puts it on the nipple there. Groove, tell him how straight this gun shoots."