Rockabilly Hell

by William W. Johnstone

  “Disappearances?”

  He nodded his head. “Several. The cops really didn’t want to talk about that, but I got the important facts out of them. The rest I got from the newspaper morgue.” He leaned back and sipped his coffee, smiling.

  “Come on, Cole. Give. There have been sightings, right?”

  “Plenty of them. But most of the locals don’t like to talk about them.” He set his cup down. “The one sighting that appears most often is of a man, between thirty-five and forty, nicely dressed in a blue blazer, light gray slacks, white shirt, and striped tie.”

  The blood drained from Katti’s face. For a moment, Cole thought she was going to faint. She steadied herself and sat down in a chair. Collapsed, was more like it. Seconds ticked past until Katti found her voice.

  “That’s . . . that’s what Tommy was wearing the night he disappeared.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “What is ... what does this . . . sighting do? I mean . . .”

  “I know what you mean. He’s running down this county road. His face is bloody. He’s waving his arms, as if trying to get someone to stop and help him. Then he vanishes.”

  “Does the sighting occur at regular intervals? I mean . . .”

  He held up his hand. “No. People have reported it throughout the year.”

  Katti stood up and walked into the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee and bringing the pot to refill Cole’s cup. She sat down, a strange look in her eyes. “His still . . . well, being here, so to speak, could mean a number of things. Many of the so-called experts can’t agree on that.”

  “There is one more thing, Katti.”

  She looked at him.

  “The sightings always occur at approximately the same time. Between nine-thirty and ten at night.”

  “I want to see him, Cole.”

  “We can try. If you’re really sure you want to do this.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “We’ll drive up there tomorrow. Get a room at a local motel. Drive out to the place and get the feel of it. Then go back that evening. I’ve already spoken with the sheriff and the deputies; told them we were doing a book and might show up in odd places in the middle of the night. We won’t be bothered.”

  “I want to find the people who killed my brother, Cole. I want them punished!” She paused, realizing what she was saying.

  “Katti, the people who killed Tommy are being punished, in a manner of speaking.”

  “I’ll accept the first part. What do you mean by the last?”

  “I think they knew when they killed him that they had given their souls to the devil. Maybe not Tommy, but a lot of the others who have vanished without a trace over the years, wandered into the same situation I did. But I got out in time.”

  “Trapped between worlds?”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “Well, why doesn’t God do something about it, then?”

  “Maybe God doesn’t have anything to do with it, Katti.”

  This time it was her turn to hold up a hand. “Wait just a minute, Cole. Hold on. You’re saying, you’re saying . . . what?”

  “I’m not a religious man, Katti. I haven’t been to church, any church, in years. I’m sort of like that old Tom T. Hall song: Me and Jesus got our own thing going. But I do believe strongly in God. I believe in Satan. I believe in the hereafter. I believe God punishes sinners. But I also believe there are levels of Heaven and Hell. And I believe that some people knowingly and willingly sell their souls to the Devil. Now, I don’t believe in vampires or werewolves or things of that nature. But I do believe with all my heart and mind that evil walks this earth. Am I making any sense to you?”

  She nodded her head. “Yes. Yes, you are. I think. You’re saying these people, these things that live on in these ghost roadhouses, are the Devil’s work.”

  “Yeah. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. But more than that. This is their punishment. They sold their souls to the Devil. Maybe they were so evil even the Devil didn’t want them in Hell. So he left them here, but did so for a purpose——”

  “Flaunting his power in the face of God?”

  “Right. I think this is an ageless game between God and Satan. They’ve been playing this since the beginnings of time. Maybe that’s how they amuse themselves.”

  “Cole, that’s . . . sacrilege. That’s like saying we’re just . . . pawns in some cosmic game.”

  “Some of us, yes. As a cop, Katti, I firmly believe in the Bad Seed theory. I’ve seen evil in kids six and seven years old. Down in Louisiana we recently put to death a man whose arrest record goes back to when he was six years old, stealing bicycles. He came from an upper-middle-class home. Good people. Plenty of love in the family. That kid was just no ... fucking... good. Right from the git-go. And I’ve seen plenty of others just like him. I firmly believe something supernatural planted that evil seed in them.” He sighed heavily and rubbed his face with big hands. “Like most people, I’ve denied the existence of ghosts ever since I was old enough to reason. But I guess I was just kidding myself all along. Hell, I know I was.”

  “You said that God didn’t have anything to do with these... things.”

  “It’s out of His hands. They sold their souls. They now belong to Satan. I don’t believe that a person can live a life of depravity and degeneracy and then on their death beds mumble a few words and be absolved of all sins. I think that’s crap. I think to attain Heaven, a person has to work at it all their lives. Not to be perfect, for that’s an impossible goal for a human. But try to do the best they can. My dad used to say that Heaven was going to be a very sparsely populated place. And come Judgement Day, there were going to be a lot of very disappointed and unhappy people. I think he was right.”

  “This is a side of you I didn’t know existed.”

  “I’ve watched too many people die pinned in wreckage; seen the light of life fade from their eyes. Innocent eyes. Then look up to watch some stinking drunk or some worthless damn punk walk away unharmed from the wreck he or she caused. I’ve seen victims of incest, rape, torture, drive-by shootings, robberies. You can’t but think about the hereafter. Maybe cops won’t admit they do; maybe they aren’t even aware of it at the time. I always was.” “Have you killed people, Cole?” she asked softly.

  “Yes. In ’Nam and on the job as a cop. On the job I’ve killed two and wounded two.” He smiled, but it was a hard smile. “And beat the shit out of several.”

  “One of those kind of cops, huh?” But it was said with a twinkle in her eyes.

  Cole smiled. He was happy to shift the conversation away from Katti’s brother. If for no more than a moment or two. “You have to get some folks’ attention. No, truthfully, in over twenty years behind a badge, I had very few complaints from the public. I don’t believe in hassling people, and don’t have any use for cops who do.”

  The twinkle in her eyes faded, and she lost her smile. “Cole, are you certain in your mind that you want to pursue this investigation?”

  He nodded his head. “Yes. Very certain. Pack enough for a week’s stay. Let’s get to the bottom of this mystery.”

  * * *

  They checked into a small but clean and well-kept motel in a town close to the site of the old roadhouse. They ate lunch and drove out to where the roadhouse used to stand. The concrete slab was plainly visible, although the parking lot was grown over with weeds. Together, they walked around the several acres. It was then that Katti noticed Cole was not wearing his pistol. But he was wearing what looked like some sort of walkie-talkie in a leather holder.

  “What is that thing?”

  “Stun gun. The best and most powerful one made. Delivers several hundred thousand volts.”

  Katti thought about that for a moment. “You’re going to stun a ghost?”

  “I don’t know exactly what it’s going to do. But if it works, I’ve got several more in the truck. I’ll show you how it works, and tonight I want you to carry one.
”

  “Stun a ghost,” she muttered. “Right.”

  Cole smiled and said no more about it.

  After walking around the area, they both sat down under a huge old oak tree. After a moment, Katti broke the silence. “Cole? Are we a couple of idiots, or what? The more I think about what we’re doing, the less certain I am.”

  “I know the feeling. I also know what I saw that night. Not that many miles from where we’re sitting, I might add.”

  “Cole?”

  “Ummm?”

  “What if we do . . . find Tommy? What can we do?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t find many answers in those books of yours. But it’s obvious that he’s trapped—for some reason—between worlds. What kind of a person was your brother?”

  “Basically a good person. He enjoyed being around people, liked most people. He seldom had a bad thing to say about anybody. He was a teacher. But a very special kind of teacher. He worked with retarded kids. Tommy was a very patient sort of man. The kids loved him.”

  “Married?”

  “Divorced. They were married while they were both in college. It was a mismatch from the beginning. They called it quits after a few years. No kids. He was seeing a real nice lady before he ... vanished. She finally moved away. I don’t know where she is now.”

  “What happened to Tommy’s car?”

  She smiled. “I still have it. In storage. It was a restored 1965 Mustang. Tommy loved that car.”

  “If things work out this evening, tomorrow we’ll go back to Memphis and get that car. Bring it out here with us at night and park it. Is that all right with you?”

  “Sure. But why?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. Just a hunch. I want to play every angle I can think of.”

  “What if ... what if we don’t see anything tonight?”

  “We come back every night until we do.”

  “Maybe we should contact some religious person. What do you think?”

  “I thought about that. But I’m not sure that religion has anything to do with what’s happening at these old honky-tonks. I think it’s beyond that, past it.” He was silent for a time, then said, “The past . . . the past. Who are these people who live on and on in these honky-tonks? Are they local people? How did they die? What kind of lives did they lead? We may be tackling this thing from the wrong angle.” He stood up and held out his hand, pulling her to her feet. “Come on. We’ve got hours of daylight left. Let’s go find some local folks who love to talk.”

  “What if we get tied up and can’t get back out here in time? What about Tommy?”

  “He’s been here for ten years, Katti. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “But—”

  “He’s dead, Katti. That’s not flesh and blood that people see. That’s Tommy’s soul. Trapped where it doesn’t want to be. These other people, the one’s who permanently inhabit the old roadhouses, they sold their souls. They’re where they chose to be. The more information we have about who, what, where, why, and how, the better prepared we’ll be to help your brother. If that’s possible.”

  “You mean we might not be able to help him? I don’t even want to think about that!”

  Cole put both big hands on her shoulders. “Katti, we’re dealing with the dead—the afterlife. The only thing I know about the supernatural is that I don’t know anything at all about it. No one really does. No, there is something I do know about it: frankly, it scares the crap out of me. So far, we’ve been stumbling around blind. Let’s do some talking with the locals and find out all we can. We’ve got the time, and Tommy sure isn’t going anywhere.”

  She shuddered under his hands. “He might be listening to us right now.”

  “He might be. I guess that’s possible. I don’t know what’s possible and what’s impossible anymore.” Cole took his hands from her shoulders.

  She walked a few feet from him and looked all around her, sudden tears misting her eyes, making the green farmland wavy and indistinct. She turned back to Cole. “What is it?”

  “Pardon?”

  “What do you want?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You just tapped me on the shoulder.”

  “I didn’t tap you on the shoulder.”

  Katti’s face drained of color, and for a few seconds, Cole thought she was going to faint. “Oh, god!” she whispered.

  Cole felt a hard chill wash over him as a scream of anguish cut the warm air. He’d never heard anything like it in his life. The air suddenly contained a putrid smell that almost caused him to vomit. It was the smell of death. He was very familiar with the smell. It was the same odor he’d smelled up in Cairo, from the man who said he was homeless.

  “Katti!” the cry sprang out of the summer air.

  Katti turned around and around. “Tommy!” she called. “That’s Tommy! Damn it, Cole, do something!”

  Cole stood helpless. There was nothing he could do.

  The wind picked up, blowing hard all around them. Cole’s ball cap flew off his head and sailed away, spinning and spinning until he lost sight of it.

  Loud music filled the windswept area. Cole remembered the song. Raunchy. Laughter was behind the music. But it was taunting laughter . . . evil . . . hate-filled.

  Katti screamed as her blouse was ripped down the front, the buttons flying. Something hit Cole in the back and knocked him sprawling to the ground. He tried to get up and could not. Something, some . . . force was pinning him down.

  He watched helplessly as Katti was lifted off her feet and tossed to the ground on her back. Her bra was ripped from her, and it went sailing off into the hard wind.

  “Get your hands off me, goddamn you!” she screamed. “It’s cold,” she wailed. “It’s cold. Stop it.”

  Cole summoned all his strength and bulled away whatever it was holding him down. He ran over to Katti and slammed into some invisible object. He heard a grunt as ... whatever-the-hell-it-was was knocked off of Katti. “Get up!” he shouted.

  “No. Don’t leave me!” the voice of Tommy lashed out at them.

  “Get up!” Cole ordered, reaching down and jerking Katti to her feet. “Run for the truck. Run, damn it!”

  “Sis!”

  “Move, damn it!” Cole shouted at her, giving her a shove toward the Bronco. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him.

  At the edge of the parking lot, the wind ceased its hard blowing, the music faded, the laughter died away. Silence surrounded them.

  Holding her ripped blouse together, Katti said, “Cole, that was Tommy calling for me.” Her face was very pale.

  “We’ll come back tonight. The joint ought to be jumping about nine o’clock.”

  “Come back?” the words were almost a shout. “Cole, some... thing was fondling me. Those were real hands. As cold as ice. But hard and callused. You want me to come back here?”

  “You want to quit?”

  She leaned up against the Bronco and tried to compose herself. She took several deep breaths. “Of course, I want to come back. Forget what I just said. Jesus Christ, Cole! I’ve never been so frightened in all my life.”

  “I don’t think I had time to be scared. But I’m getting a delayed reaction now.” He held out his hands; they were trembling.

  “Well, you didn’t have some redneck ghost pawing at your tits!”

  “And I certainly hope I never have that experience,” Cole said drily.

  “That was Tommy’s voice, Cole. It was really his voice. He’s here.”

  “We’ll come back tonight. Come on. Let’s get you back to the motel for a change of clothing. Then we’ll go find some talkative local. And I want to show you how to use a stun gun. That was a real solid object I hit out there. I think my idea just might work.”

  “I’ll kick him in the nuts, if he tries that again,” Katti muttered, anger replacing fright.

  Cole started laughing at the ludicrousness of the situation, and Katti looked at him as if he’d
lost his mind. Then she started giggling at the idea of kicking a ghost in the balls.

  “It’s not funny, damn it!” she shouted at him, trying to contain her laughter. “How would you feel if some redneck chick grabbed you by the crotch?”

  “Flattered,” he said, and dodged the punch she threw at him.

  Five

  Katti was silent on the way back to the motel. After their laughter died away, she had sobered and not smiled since.

  “You’re sure that was your brother’s voice back there?”

  “Positive. It was Tommy.”

  Cole turned into the motel parking lot and pulled up in front of their room. “You feel like talking to people, Katti?”

  “Now, more than ever,” she said tight-lipped, one hand holding together her ruined blouse. She opened the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  * * *

  “Land, yes, I recall that dreadful honky-tonk,” the woman said. “Mind you, now, I was never in that sinful place. But I know some of those who did drink and gamble their paychecks away out there.”

  Her name was Idabelle, and Cole had found her sitting with her sister, Clara Mae, on the front porch of their home on the outskirts of town. It was hard to tell how old the sisters were, but Idabelle looked as though she might vividly recall the Spanish-American War, and her sister looked like she might be able to talk at length about the Indian Wars.

  “Terrible goings-on out at that place,” Clara Mae said. “When it first opened, oh, forty or so years ago, it was a nice place—so I’m told. Then the trash of the county took it over—Ace Black and Curly Williams and Steve Deal, and those types of people. Drunkards and gamblers and thugs—bad blood in those men . . . and the women they caroused around with.”

  “Oh my, yes,” Idabelle said. “Joyce Rushing and Paula McCord and Gloria Kendrick . . . to name but a few. They all met with tragic ends. Every last one of them.”

  “Not all of them, dear,” her sister gently corrected her. “Billy Jordan is still alive.”

  “That’s right! He sure is. My, but he was a bad one in his day. Now he could tell you some tales about the roadhouses up and down the highway. He sure could.”