Little Girl Lost 6: The Return of Johnnie Wise (18 page)

“Well, we’ll see about that,” he said and dragged her into The Flamingo Den by her right arm. Loud country music, complete with six string acoustic guitars and banjos rang out as a rollicking number filled their ears.

“I told you I don’t want no trouble, sir,” she said, still resisting as he pulled.

“There won’t be no trouble, little lady. And if there is, I’ll make sure it goes away right quick. Now come on and get some of this delicious grub.” Still holding her by the arm, he pulled her up to the bar and said, “Scotty, look at this woman.”

Scotty didn’t bother looking at Johnnie. He continued looking into the Texan’s eyes, wanting to tell him to leave his establishment, but afraid to.

“Go on, boy. Look at her. Ain’t she the prettiest thang you ever did see?”

Scotty continued eying the Texan and said, “Listen, Preacher, I don’t want no trouble in my place. I’m tryin’ tuh run a respectable business. I don’t need your kinda trouble.”

When Johnnie heard the bartender call the Texan “preacher,” she wondered if that was his name, or if he was a minister of the Gospel. If he was a man of the cloth, she wondered why anyone, let alone a bartender would be afraid of him. The memory of Reverend Staples shot through her mind, the man who had been killed while trying to stop white folk from rioting. He was an excellent example of what a clergyman should be. She focused on the exchange between the Texan and the bartender again. Her eyes shifted back and forth between the men. She felt the atmosphere thicken. Even though Scotty was being contentious, showing his frustration with the Texan bringing her into his restaurant, she felt safe with the Texan, but she wasn’t sure why.

His powerful presence alone had gotten Scotty’s attention, and she could tell that he was afraid of the Texan. If the owner was intimidated by him, he probably had good reason to be, which conjured up images of Napoleon Bentley and Lucas Matthews, her former lovers and bodyguards. They had both protected her at crucial times in her life, when she needed protecting. And when they were unable to protect her, a young attorney named Jay Goldstein picked up the baton. Now, it seemed as if she had found another guardian, one who would stop evil, malicious men if they tried to harm her.

“Scotty, listen, buddy. You know I would never start trouble in your respectable restaurant. It’s the yahoos you serve spirits to. If you keep the yahoos in line, I’m sure this beautiful creature will be on her best behavior, too.” He looked at Johnnie. “More so, won’t you sweetie?”

“Hello, Miss Wise. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Paul Masterson’s the name. And this is Scotty the bartender and owner of The Flamingo Den.” He looked at Scotty. “Now . . . Johnnie here thinks she can’t eat here. That’s not true, is it?”

Scotty cut his eyes to Johnnie for a second or two. She looked just as afraid of what might happen as he felt. He knew it wasn’t her idea to come in there and start trouble. It was Masterson’s idea. His body tensed and became rigid when he thought about going for his double barreled shotgun, but he knew that if he so much as flinched, he would feel Masterson’s fists long before he saw them coming, having seen him dismantle men bigger and tougher-looking right there in his restaurant. He looked at Masterson who was smiling from ear to ear, like he knew there was no way he would say no to him. If he did, Masterson would break his jaw, go into the kitchen, make whatever he wanted, bring it to his colored friend, and then watch her eat it in his restaurant. He felt the eyes of his customers watching. He looked at them and smiled, hoping there wouldn’t be a mass exodus before they paid their collective bills. He looked at Masterson again. Fear registered. “I suppose it’ll be okay
today
, Preacher.”

Masterson smiled devilishly, shifted his toothpick, and said, “Now, Scotty, that don’t sound friendly at all. What if I’m still in town tomorrow, will it be okay then, too?”

Scotty nodded once. “As long as you’re with her, she can eat here whenever she likes.”

Masterson said, “See, Scotty, I just knew you could be hospitable. Since you’ve had a change of heart, she’ll have a nice bowl of your scrumptious chili and a grilled cheese sandwich. And if it’s not too much trouble, throw in a few bones of your delicious barbecue.” He looked at Johnnie. “What are you drinkin,’ sweet thang?”

“Lemonade.”

Masterson looked at Scotty, shifted his toothpick, and said, “Make sure it’s ice cold. We’ll be over there,” he tilted his head, “in that booth by the window. Is that okay with you?”

Scotty nodded once. “It’ll be up in a second. And please, Preacher, leave as soon as she’s finished. I don’t want no trouble, okay?”

“Sure, Scotty, sure,” Masterson said, smiling, and then pulled Johnnie over to the booth he spied from the bar. He waited until she sat down, then he removed his Stetson and set it on the table. “So . . . you ain’t from around these parts, are ya, honey?”

Johnnie looked at the table and said, “No, sir. I’m from New Orleans.”

“Ahhhh, I thought I recognized the accent. “So what y’all doing up here in Jackson? Can’t be visitin’ relatives, right? They would know better than to let you come to a joint like this by yourself.”

“Now you listen to me . . . any white man, or woman for that matter, that requires you to look at the ground, the table, or anywhere when addressin’ ’em, is weak on the inside, and they know it. So, as long as you don’t look ’em in the eye, they can feel superior, but not in the eyes of Almighty God. Ya understand, little lady?”

She looked him in the eyes for the first time and noticed that they were a hypnotic, grayish-blue. She said, “Mr. Masterson . . . can I ask you a question?”

“Go right ahead, but I know what you’re gonna ask before you even open your pretty little mouth.”

“Really, sir? What am I going to ask?”

“You wanna know if I’m a real preacher, right? You heard ol’ Scotty call me preacher, and you heard me call the Creator, God Almighty. So, you put two and two together, right?”

She nodded. “So, are you, sir?”

“I’m an evangelist, Johnnie. I travel around the country preaching the word of God.” He smiled and said, “Now you wanna know why Scotty’s so afraid of me, right?”

She smiled and nodded several times.

“He’s not really afraid of me. He’s afraid of what his stupid customers might do. Here comes several of ’em now. Excuse me a second, sweet thang.”

Chapter 34

“
If anything else happens, don’t hesitate to call.”

T
ony Hatcher was still in the phone booth, talking to his people in New Orleans when he saw Johnnie come in with the tall man. He had seen the tall man finishing his meal when he was making his calls but didn’t pay much attention to him. He was just one man in a restaurant full of people. He even noticed when the man paid his bill and was leaving the restaurant. He was about to leave the phone booth when he saw the man and Johnnie come into the restaurant together. He sat back down, dipped his fries into some ketchup and stuck them into his mouth while he watched the man and Johnnie go up to the bar, exchange what looked like a few uncomfortable lines, and then walk over to the booth and began another conversation. Now, he was watching the three bikers he had passed on the way into the restaurant. They looked like they were looking for trouble when they walked over to the booth Johnnie and the tall man were sitting in. They were wearing sleeveless leather biker vests. The leader looked like a small head on a thick mass of muscle. He was bald and had a long, black goatee. Hatcher remembered seeing a tattoo of a bikini-clad girl on his right bicep, and what looked like an Ace of Hearts on his chest. He opened the phone booth, so he could hear the conversation. Before speaking, the leader flexed his chest muscles and said, “The nigger can stay, but uh, you gotta go, Tex.”

All three bikers laughed.

The biker on the leader’s right said, “We gonna take her out back and party with her for awhile.”

The biker on his left looked at Johnnie who had laced her fingers together, clasping them tightly and said, “Yeah, you’ll love it.”

The tall man said, “Gentleman, I advise you to return to your seats before someone gets hurt. Or, better yet, why don’t you three sissies get on your Harley Davidson’s and ride on outta town?”

“Goddammit, Masterson!” Scotty yelled. “I told you I don’t want no trouble in my place. Get her outta here. Now!”

Without taking his eyes off the biker leader, Masterson said, “Johnnie’s not going anywhere until after she eats her chili, the grilled cheese sandwich, and the ribs. I suggest you corral these she devils before I have to put a serious hurtin’ on ’em.” He looked at Scotty for a quick second. “And don’t let me hear you take the Lord’s name in vain again.”

All of sudden the bikers stopped laughing. The leader looked into Masterson’s eyes. What he saw in them made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He looked at his guys and said, “It’s not worth going to jail over. Let’s hit the road, boys. We gotta get to Memphis by mornin’.”

Smiling again, Masterson said, “I feel like you heard me. But just in case you’re as stupid as that unkempt goatee makes you look, I said . . . not so fast, punk. I’m afraid I can’t allow you to leave without a sincere apology.”

“They don’t have to apologize,” Johnnie said, fearing for Masterson’s life and whatever sacred honor she had left. She had been raped before, and she knew that’s what they intended to do once they dispensed with Masterson.

“Don’t worry, Johnnie,” Masterson said without looking at her. “These she devils are sissies, sodomites that like men, not women. That’s why they were trying to walk away. They know deep down that they like to stick their hard flesh into unnatural holes. And that’s why they don’t have the courage to stand up to a real man. There are three of ’em, and they know I’ll clean their clocks—every last one of ’em . . . me . . . all by lonesome. That’s why they’re goin’ to apologize.”

The leader unleashed a quick right that landed flush on Masterson’s square chin and would have flattened nine out of ten men. Masterson saw the blow coming. He expected it, but he didn’t bother ducking or slipping the punch. Instead, he stood there, watching the leader put as much power behind the punch as he could. The blow sounded off when it landed. Smack! By taking the blow, he sent all three men a clear message. He wanted them to know that he could take the best punch their leader delivered, and then they would have to deal with a man they could not hurt—intimidation.

Masterson’s head barely turned when he absorbed the blow. Instead, he smiled, turned his head to the left, offering his attacker the other side of his face and head. Again, he saw the blow coming, but he stood there and waited on it. Again, it sounded off. Smack! Masterson looked at the leader who had thrown the punches. His eyes bulged as he took a step or two backward. Masterson took two steps forward, anticipating the attack from the man on his left. He caught the blow in the palm of his hand and squeezed until the man screamed. Then, Masterson twisted the man’s wrist, which forced his elbow to rise as he bent over in an attempt to alleviate the pain in his wrist and shoulder.

The biker on Masterson’s right moved forward to attack, but caught a left hook for his trouble. His legs carried his upper body backward until he fell against the bar counter. The biker he was holding was still screaming. The leader went for Masterson’s legs. He let the biker go and brought his elbow down on the back of the leader’s neck a couple times. Then, he kneed him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He grabbed the leader by his vest and stood him up. He was about to punch him in the face when he saw the biker he’d just let go about to swing. Masterson turned the leader into the blow. Teeth landed in several customers’ food. The leader was on the ground— dazed, groaning, and holding his mouth as blood squeezed through his fingers.