After he said a few things that curled her ears and left her in no doubt that he was quite capable of police brutality, Harley relented. “Okay, if you hurry I can answer one or two questions.”
When irritated, Bobby looked even taller than his six-one height. He narrowed his eyes at her in an intimidating stare that made her feel like blurting out everything she knew as well as stuff she didn’t know. He didn’t pull any punches. “You met up here with Jordan Cleveland. Why?”
“Why do you think I met with Jordan? And why do you think I’d know where he goes and why?”
“Stop answering a question with a question. You’re stalling. Tell me what I want to know, and I might let you go before Morgan reaches us.”
Uh oh. “Fine. He’s here because I had some questions for him, and since I’m at work he met me at the Rock and Roll Café. Before you ask, the questions I had for him regarded his personal and professional life and why he thinks someone’s trying to kill him. His answers weren’t that satisfactory. Can I go? How close is Morgan?”
“Right behind you,” came a familiar voice, and Harley sighed.
“This is so unfair,” she said as she turned. Mike looked at her in much the same way Bobby had. “I haven’t done anything wrong. Jordan asked me to help him find out who’s after him, and I’m still on the fence about it.”
“So get off the fence,” said Morgan. “You’re in over your head. Or didn’t you notice that Cleveland is on his way to the hospital after being run down?”
“I did notice that. It only proves he’s right, though. Someone is obviously trying to kill him, and he needs help.”
“Right,” said Bobby, “but not your help. What’s it going to take for you to figure out that this is serious? It’s not a game you’re playing, Harley. Whoever is after Jordan is damn serious.”
“I’m not stupid. I know that. I have no intention of getting any more involved in this than I am already. I told him I’d ask a few questions, that’s all. Any information I get will be turned in to you. That’s part of the deal.”
“I can make my own deals,” Bobby snapped. “For the last time, stay out of this and away from Jordan Cleveland. I don’t want to have to identify your body.”
Harley glanced at Mike but saw that he wasn’t going to be any help at all. He had that inscrutable look on his face that said he was in cop-mode. She sighed. “All right. I’m out of it. But I have a question for both of you: Why are you here? There hasn’t been a homicide, and as far as I know there’s been nothing that undercover would be working. So what’s up?”
Neither one of them answered her. She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I get it. You’re all questions and no answers. That’s not fair, you know.”
“Welcome to the real world,” said Bobby. “Tell me again why you and Cleveland were both here at the same time.”
He made it a question instead of request, and she started to refuse. Then she changed her mind. “I see how this is going. Here. I’ll give you the names and numbers he gave me, and you can take it from there.”
When she held out the sheet of paper with the info Jordan had given her, Bobby took it and said, “This is the first smart thing you’ve done in a while.”
“Thank you?”
Bobby actually smiled. “Think of it this way—you’re probably saving a life.”
“Jordan’s, I presume?”
“Him too. I meant your own. You have a knack for getting almost killed when you get involved in police business.”
“Not sure that’s grammatically correct or even factually correct, but as long as you’re happy, I suppose that’s all that matters.”
“I’m glad you see it my way.”
Harley glared at him. “I was being sarcastic.”
“Really? Couldn’t tell.”
“Tell me again how both of you got here this quick? Not that I have to have your answer. It’s obvious you were following me. Or Jordan. Were you following Jordan?”
“Inconvenient questions can be dangerous, Harley,” Bobby drawled. “Run along now. Your tour group is probably waiting on you.”
Morgan laughed. She turned to glare at him, too. “And you’re no help. You’re as bad as Bobby. You can both go . . . never mind. I’m outta here.”
“Don’t go away mad,” she heard Mike say as she stalked away from them. It didn’t help that she suspected Bobby was right; she did get in over her head sometimes. And she really didn’t like being shot at or almost killed. So why did it bother her so much that she’d been badgered into giving up? Maybe because she hated giving up anything unless it was her own idea. She’d told Jordan she was quitting if he lied, and she’d meant it when she said it, but now that Bobby and Morgan insisted she quit, she didn’t like it. Go figure. She had a contrary nature.
Just as she reached the van her cell phone rang. Tootsie. “I take it my group has paged and are ready to go?” she asked without a greeting. “About damn time.”
“Well, aren’t you little Miss Sunshine today,” said Tootsie. “Having fun? And yes. They are. What’s going on over there? I heard there’s been an accident.”
“You heard right. Jordan was hurt by a car trying to run over him. The same car that shot at me, I think. Or the people inside shot at me. The car was just there.”
“Jordan? He’s there? Is he still alive?”
“He didn’t look badly hurt, mostly cuts and scrapes. Possibly a broken bone or two. I can’t believe this. It’s crazy. Probably two hundred people watching, and some idiot aims a car at him?”
“Take a breath, Harley. You sound frazzled.”
“I am frazzled. Bobby and Mike showed up at the scene.”
“Why is Jordan at Graceland too?”
“That’s what they wanted to know. He met me here to answer some questions I had about who and why in the whole attempted murder thing going on. But Bobby and Mike made me agree not to work the case anymore.”
“Thank God, girlfriend. You scare me.”
“They tried to convince me it’s in my best interests to let them handle it.”
“What do you mean, tried?”
“I don’t really like being bullied. That tends to make me do it anyway, even if I don’t want to. I’m funny that way.”
A moment of silence was followed by, “See? This is the reason I don’t want you mixed up in other people’s messes. You forget that it’s dangerous and stupid.”
“I haven’t forgotten. And it’s not dangerous to me unless I go out looking for trouble. I’m keeping a low profile this time.”
“Harley darling, are you forgetting being shot at?”
“No. But that’s because I got caught up in the chase. I won’t do that again.”
“You say that now.”
“Besides, I know something funny is going on. Why is Bobby involved? He’s in Homicide, and no one is dead. Not yet anyway. And I’m beginning to think that Jordan is running his own game here. There’s just something off about all this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. It’s like his answers are too quick. Like he’s been thinking about what to say.”
“Why would he lie?”
“Beats me.” Harley thought a moment. “Maybe his wife is trying to kill him, and maybe she’s not. Maybe he cheated some guy out of money. Maybe he pissed off the wrong people. Maybe none of this is real, and he has his own end game.”
“For something not real, he’s been beat up pretty badly,” Tootsie pointed out.
“True. I just need more information.”
“No.”
“I haven’t asked.”
“You will. And the answer is still no.”
“Come on, it’s just accessing some public records. You have all the good software to find what I need to know. That’s all.”
After a heavy sigh, Tootsie said, “Tell me what you want.”
HARLEY FOUND the businessmen in the corner shop that sold records and videos and everything Elvis when it came to hi
s music. One of them had a bag full of souvenirs from another shop. He smiled big when he saw Harley.
“Found a music box with a replica of Graceland on the top. It plays a medley of Elvis songs.”
“That’s good,” she replied with a smile. “Your wife will love it.”
“Oh, it’s not for her. It’s for me. I’m a big Elvis fan.”
“I had no idea he had so many gold and platinum records,” Rick Streeter said. “They covered the walls and went all the way up to the ceiling in his old squash court.”
“Unbelievable,” agreed the Elvis fan. “What a talent.”
“Huh,” interjected Harvey Fine. He seemed a lot more sober but just as contrary. “Elvis just got good press. He sure didn’t have good taste. His house looks like a cartoon character decorated it.”
“Keep in mind,” said Harley, “that the house was last decorated in the seventies. Back then it was avant garde. You can’t judge it by today’s styles.”
“Huh,” Harve said again. “Still looks stupid. I’m ready to eat. Are we through shopping?”
The Elvis fan gave Harve a dark look but didn’t say anything. After they’d all paid for their purchases and returned to the van, the fan turned to Harley and asked, “So what happened with the guy that just got run down? He going to be okay?”
“Did you see what happened?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, we were in the souvenir shops.”
“I did,” said Harve before the other man could reply. “It looked like that car did it on purpose. Headed straight for him at first, then just clipped him instead of running him down.”
Harley looked at Harve. “So you saw it all?”
“Yep. These other guys were buying crap in the souvenir shops, so I was down by the sidewalk smoking. Nobody lets smokers close to stores anymore. Government gets too involved in people’s lives if you ask me.”
“Did you tell that to the police?” she asked.
“No. Why should I? I wasn’t the only one who saw it.”
“You can’t be sure of that. Maybe we should go talk to the police before we go to the Rendezvous.”
“Aw shit, I knew better than to say anything. I’m hungry. I’m not talking to police or anyone else until after I eat.”
When Harvey sat back in his seat and clipped on his seatbelt, it was obvious he didn’t intend to cooperate. That was okay. Harley had his name and where he was staying and could give the information to Bobby later. Then they could talk to him.
She took the long way to the downtown area, pointing out sites like Sun Studios, where Elvis had first recorded with Sam Phillips, then AutoZone Baseball Park, home to the Memphis Redbirds, and around the loop of the Pinch District and along Riverside Drive past the Pyramid and Tom Lee Park. She rattled off her spiel about the Memphis in May barbecue being world-famous and covering the entire park every May with huge tents and metal bandstands, and, of course, the competition of teams coveting the title of Best Barbecue.
Harley drove up Beale Street as far as she could, then went down Third to Union and made a left. She paused in front of The Peabody Hotel before pulling up to the short street that looked more like an alley to let out the businessmen. “This is the Rendezvous, gentlemen,” she said as she unlocked and opened the van doors.
The first one out was a man who hadn’t said a word the entire tour. He looked like he was bored and ready to leave. She much preferred passengers like him to the ones like Harvey Fine, who voiced his displeasure loud and often. As the men disembarked, she checked off their names one by one.
The Elvis fan, Marty McCormack, peered out the open door dubiously. “This is it?”
“Yes. It’s just there on your left. Under the red and green canopy. You can’t miss it. It says Charlie Vergo’s Rendezvous in big lettering.”
“Looks like a dirty alley to me,” said Harve.
“Just try it,” Harley coaxed. “You’ll like it. If you like barbecued ribs or pulled pork, you’ll like the Rendezvous.”
“Are you joining us, Miss Davidson?” Rick Streeter asked her. “My treat.”
Harley hesitated. She didn’t like mingling with the tour groups, especially those with all businessmen who may think of her in a way she wouldn’t like. So she shook her head. “I ate earlier, but thank you for the invitation.”
“You sure? It smells good. And you’re not doing anything else, right?”
She smiled. “I’ll probably go over to The Peabody and wander around on the roof unless they have something going on up there.”
Harvey Fine said, “She doesn’t need to eat with us. We may be a while.”
Streeter shot Fine a dirty look but said to Harley, “That’s okay. See you in a little bit when we’re done.”
All in all, she thought as she parked the van in the lot a block over, they were a pretty good group. Only Harvey Fine was rude. Some groups were a lot of fun, and she enjoyed showing them the Memphis area sights, but others could fall into one of two categories: totally rude and obnoxious, or including a rude and obnoxious tourist or two. This one fell into the last category.
Ever since Lester Penney decided to diversify and add limousines and short-term rides to their usual city area tours, Memphis Tour Tyme’s business had picked up a lot. Three more drivers had been hired. Tootsie somehow managed to keep it all straight as to who went where and when, and he’d developed a new software program to facilitate the process. Fortunately, it had survived the tornado meltdown.
Daylight was dwindling, and she decided to go up on the roof of The Peabody to watch the sunset. Unless they were having a function, it should be peaceful.
The elevator stopped on the top floor, and she got out to an empty area. It was a little spooky when the Skyway to the left was empty; the huge room was often set up for banquets or a Sunday champagne brunch. Beautiful scrolls and flowers decorated the elevator doors behind her; they whooshed shut. Directly across from the bank of elevators were the restrooms. To the right was the door out to the Plantation Roof. Popular bands played at Sunset Serenades during the summer; people gathered to listen to the music, drink, and maybe have a few hors d’oeuvres. The ducks lived on the roof too, in a palatial duck house that cost more than a lot of houses. But they were The Peabody ducks and famous because they swam in the lobby fountain. It was a tradition started back in 1933 when a drunk hunter put three live ducks in the fountain. Now the ducks had a red carpet and marched out of the elevators to the music of John Philip Sousa every day at elevean a.m. At five p.m. they marched back out the way they came in, on red carpet and to music, while the duck master made sure the ducks stayed in a row and no one bothered them.
The door was unlocked, and Harley wandered out on the roof. With the sun setting, it was chilly. She should have worn a sweater or hoodie. Her long-sleeved Henley was hardly enough to keep the wind from chilling her. Goose bumps prickled her arms, and she shivered. It really was eerie up on the roof alone. The decorated building that housed machinery usually provided a backdrop for the bands that played during warmer months, but now it was deserted so she walked around the corner to look at the ducks. Not a sign of them. They must be huddled in their heated little house that was a replica of the hotel, because not one of them was out in their fountain pool or nibbling corn. The glassed-in area was built on granite and stone, a far cry from the way most ducks lived. It had cost around $200,000 to build. When she gave tours that included The Peabody hotel, she had to remember such trivia because someone was bound to ask.
Harley wandered back toward the center of the rooftop. The sun lowering over the wide Mississippi was an orange and red ball of fire. Purple streamers tinged the sky then graduated to paler blue over the Arkansas rice fields. Lights formed the shape of a giant M on the newer bridge over the river, and the old Harahan Bridge to the south still had railroad tracks in use as well as trucks and cars traveling to and from Arkansas over the steel span. Downtown streetlights began to blink on one or two at a time. Music drifted from
Beale Street, a blend of the blues, rock and roll, and street musicians. Memphis was coming alive after dark, enticing tourists and residents with unique live bands, drinks, and barbecue. Not to mention soul food. Black-eyed peas, greens, and fatback. Cornbread.
She went close to the concreted edge of the roof and peered over the side. It was a straight drop, fourteen stories down. Her stomach flipped, and she took a step back. She wasn’t that good with heights. When she took another step back she bumped into a pole.
Then the pole said, “Don’t move.” Harley froze. It wasn’t the kind of a voice that instilled reassurance. Since she doubted even The Peabody had talking posts, she tried to think if she’d seen anyone else on her way up to the roof. Only an elderly couple in the elevator, and they’d gotten off on the fifth floor. She seriously doubted they would climb the stairs to the 14th floor, and the elevators were empty. She hadn’t seen anybody in the Skyway, and there hadn’t been a sign of anyone else on the roof.
“Okay,” she said more calmly than she felt. “I’ll stand right here. What’s going on? Who are you?”
“Your worst nightmare,” came the gravelly reply.
Despite her fear and apprehension, Harley rolled her eyes. Whoever it was, he watched too many bad movies. “Does my worst nightmare have a name?” she asked as she did her best to remain calm. “You’re not an old boyfriend, are you? Is this Jake? Or maybe David? No wait—Billy?”
Something hard and small, like the barrel of a gun, punched her in the middle of her back. “I ain’t an old boyfriend, sister. You just better listen to what I got to say ’cause it might save you a lot of time and pain.”
Pain? That sounded ominous. She always wanted to avoid pain.
“I’m listening,” she said.
“Good. Here’s what I want to happen. You forget you know anybody named Jordan Cleveland. You don’t know his number, you don’t take his calls, you don’t run into him even by accident. Get my meaning?”
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