Leavin' Trunk Blues (23 page)

“Billy Lyons ran the show. I was long gone.”

“And Jimmy’s a liar?”

“Jimmy’s confused.”

Nick added some orange marmalade to his toast and asked the waitress for a refill on his coffee. An elderly couple walked over to the table and introduced themselves to Jordan. He shook their hands, his face beaming with pleasure, as he talked about a youth group’s art projects. The man said he’d love to see their work.

Jordan sat back down and finished the coffee. Nick was sure he’d probably pushed him too much. But he had more questions that had nagged at his mind since he’d woken up with the headache.

“Williams and Dawkins still around?”

“No, sir,” Jordan said. “Died years ago. Both of ‘em murdered. Fine men. Fine musicians who lost their lives because we couldn’t control the streets.”

“What do you think happened?”

“Who knows. I tried and tried to get the police interested. They just checked that robbery box on their reports and acted like we should fend for ourselves. That’s what I’m talking about. Put that in your article. Those men were broken windows no one tried to fix.”

Nick missed the connection but could appreciate Jordan’s passion. He didn’t mind listening; the coffee was great, he was inside, and he could feel the pounding in his brain stop to just an annoying hum. He took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. One more. One more. Asking these questions was like holding your breath and jumping into a cold pool. You just did it.

“You know the name Stagger Lee?”

Jordan looked like he had stopped breathing. Words caught in his throat. He straightened his knit tie and pushed away his plate.

“Yeah.”

“I heard a man that went by the name Stagger Lee took out Williams.”

Jordan slowly nodded.

“Dr. Travers, simple people have simple explanations,” he said. “Who told you that? His son that’s in the junk business? We got all kinds of stories on the street. If it makes him feel better to blame his father’s death on a phantom, then I’ll let him. Lots of folks blame their lives on Stagger Lee. Your car’s stolen? Stagger Lee did it. Your home broken into? Stagger Lee did it. I’m afraid you just got told an urban folk tale.”

“Maybe.”

“No maybe about it. Stagger Lee’s the man who haunts our dreams in the South Side. He runs gangs, right? He brought crack to the housing projects? And started turf wars? Hell, I even heard he organized Saturday night dog fights back in the sixties. They’d throw the loser onto the steps of a church. Usually a church who was tryin’ to clean up a neighborhood. Those tales keep people from getting involved.”

Jordan sipped his coffee and stared into the black day. His hands slightly trembled around the cup as he said, “Yeah, if Stagger Lee was one man, all our lives would be much easier.”

Nick stuck a quarter into a pay phone on Jackson and dialed Kate’s number. He had a cigarette hanging loose in his mouth as he rubbed his hands together and stomped his feet. Shit, he’d dance the funky chicken if it’d keep him warm. His breath clouded in front of his eyes as the phone kept ringing, waiting for a machine to pick up. Kate was good, and he wasn’t too stubborn to admit he needed help.

A few years ago, she’d helped him search for a student of his that had disappeared in the Quarter. Maria, a Haitian exchange student who’d been abducted by some ton-ton macoutes and held in an old warehouse in Algiers. That spring, Kate helped knock on the right doors and eventually track down Maria. Brittle, alone, and scared shitless. He and Kate had spent a lot of time in hoodoo parlors, flophouses, and the projects.

He just remembered all that rain. Seemed like it would never stop.

Just as he was about to hang up, she answered.

“Hey,” he said. His voice sounding gravelly and foreign.

“Apology accepted,” Kate said. “Sometimes I just have to shake you from my leg.”

“Listen, last night—”

“It’s all right. I know you were drunk.”

“Kate—”

“You smelled like Bourbon Street on a summer morning.”

“Last night a couple of girls tried to kill me.”

“What?”

“Can we meet? I’ll tell you about the whole freak show.”

“Two girls?” Kate asked, her voice sounding metallic and biting in his ear. “Was this a fantasy?”

“I’m headed back to Dwight to see Ruby right now. How about I’ll meet you at the paper at two.”

“You sound like hangover city, Travers.”

“Maybe we should make it two-thirty?”

“You need to puke again?”

“I need to find Florida.”

“Do what you need to do. I’ll stop by the paper and bug our researchers. Thomas, right?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a Starbucks right across from the
Tribune
on Michigan Avenue.”

“Sounds good.”

“Or maybe we could meet somewhere and get a big, bloody cheeseburger.”

Nick could feel the bile rise in his throat. He made a gagging noise.

Kate laughed and hung up.

--

An hour and a half after leaving Chicago, Nick had the rare privilege of talking to Ruby in her cell. Her home of forty years. He sat on a bare, blue-and-white striped mattress and marveled at the collage she’d formed on the concrete walls. It appeared she’d spent her days making a shrine to the blues. Magazine cutouts of everyone from Muddy Waters to Koko Taylor. Nick wished he’d brought a camera or would have thought to grab some video. This was incredible. In the center were three large cutouts: Memphis Minnie, Bessie Smith, and Ma Rainey like a holy trinity of female singers.

Ruby had a scented candle burning by a boom box that played some old A1 Green Christmas music. She seemed skittish and agitated he was in her space as she folded and refolded clothes and organized dime-store knickknacks that filled a crooked shelf.

Nick offered her a cigarette and she peered out into a concrete corridor vibrating with prison conversation. The cell door was open and she accepted the cigarette, swiping it from his hand like a frightened animal. The bars on the door were painted light blue filled with countless rusted scratches. An old radiator boiled stale air down the hall.

“I found Peetie,” Nick said. “At the Soul Train, just like you said.”

She nodded as he flicked open his Zippo and lit her cigarette.

“Also talked to Moses Jordan and found Dirty Jimmy.”

“Thought Jimmy was dead.” Her cheeks hollow as she inhaled the smoke.

“He’s still around,” Nick said. He tried to relax, but Ruby’s pacing was making him nervous. He wanted her to feel comfortable, because what he was going to ask wasn’t going to be easy.

“Too bad,” Ruby said. Maybe she meant it as a joke but she didn’t smile. Ruby never smiled.

“You mean because he testified against you?”

“Man sold me out.”

A plump black woman in an orange jumpsuit wandered by the room and stared into Ruby’s cell. She rolled her eyes and asked Ruby, “What’s up with this?”

“Conjugal visit,” Nick said. “Please leave us.”

Ruby ignored the woman and Nick and sat on the floor with his back to the concrete blocks. She puffed on the cigarette as if it provided every pleasure she would ever need.

“Did you hear what happened to Franky Dawkins and Leroy Williams after you got arrested?”

“I know they were killed.” She ashed the cigarette in her hand. Her brown eyes lazy and distracted.

“Did you know they were stabbed like Billy?”

She shook her head, got off the floor, and sat beside Nick. She found the very edge of the bed and peered down at the floor worn from walking. A single tarnished drain stuck in the center.

“Odd coincidence. Don’t you think?”

“I’d never hurt anyone like that.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t hurt him.”

“I know.”

Nick looked up at the walls. “Looks like you’ve kept up with blues.”

“If that’s what you still call it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It ain’t blues. It’s faded blues. All sounds the same to me now. People just repeat things they’ve heard. No one has their own sound anymore.”

“Still a lot of good music out there.”

“Some, but they’re gettin’ old like me,” she said. “Kids want to play it loud. They don’t understand it’s about the guitar speaking for you, no soul left.”

Ruby stubbed out her cigarette on the floor and left it there.

“Guards told me you could move out of this old cell. Find some better housing.”

“To the new place?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? This is mine.”

Nick nodded. “Ruby, how come you didn’t tell me about Florida? Sounds like she was your best friend.”

“She was.”

“That’s pretty damned important.”

“So what, dude?” She twisted up her face. “What do you want to know about Florida?”

“What happened to her?”

“I don’t know … ” She shook her head. “She left the next day. Ain’t seen her since.”

“Never?”

“No.”

“You two mad at each other?”

“Lots of reasons. But I’d guess it had somethin’ to do with Billy’s daughter, Nat. She always wanted that baby for herself. And I guess when Billy died that was her chance.”

“She took his child?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Billy had to sometimes fight just to get his child back,” Ruby said. “Say that for Florida. Sure did love that baby.”

“Ruby, what happened that night with Billy?” Nick asked, playing with a loose thread on the watch cap. “I know you didn’t kill him ... but how do you explain the blood in your bed and the ice pick?”

“You sound like my lawyer,” Ruby said. Her voice grew small as if falling into a deep well. Her shoulders hunched forward.

“What happened?” Nick asked.

He looked into her eyes and saw nothing. A look he’d seen out in the Quarter from derelicts and prostitutes. People who were so low, nothing surprised them. You could kick them and they wouldn’t feel a thing. It was as if the pain had become so immense it had deadened her soul.

“Ruby,” Nick said, taking her shaking hand. He took another deep breath. “Just hang in there. I’m so damned close. All right?”

Her future had closed. Pain did not exist, and the world was becoming a place where she once lived. She stood at the kitchen table, a light breeze rattling a curtain over dirty dishes, her eyes watching the clock. I asked her questions, but she was already a ghost. To her, I wasn’t even there.

“Why not just tell the truth?” Nick said, reaching out for her hand. Establish a reality, a contact. “Let’s get it all out.”

Ruby pulled her hand away and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Let me tell you something,” Nick said. “About ten years ago, I felt the same way. My story can’t compare to yours. I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through. But at the time it seemed like I didn’t have a friend in the world. My mother died when I was ten, and my dad died when I was in college. About the only thing I had back then was my career. When that ended, almost everybody I knew gave up on me.”

Ruby turned to watch him. A single bare bulb burned in the small square cell.

“I found out my friends weren’t true. My money had dried up. I started having pains in my chest because of worry. I would wake up in the middle of the night sweating.”

Ruby clasped her small hands in her laps. Nick grabbed her hand again.

“Then, a great man I know told me to get off my ass. I sold off everything I had. My cars, my clothes, my house. About the only things I kept were my boots, a couple pairs of jeans, some good T-shirts … and an old harp.”

He could feel her squeezing his hand. Her fingers were thick with callouses.

“What happened to your mama?” she asked in small voice.

“She gave up.”

Ruby squeezed some more.

“You ever hear the name Stagger Lee?” Nick asked. He’d delved into that subject about as deep as he wanted to go. It was a place he’d kept locked away, hoping it never saw light.

Ruby shook her head, tears running down her dry cheeks, her gray hair poking from the sides of her head.

“Ruby, I need to know.”

After minutes of stillness—as gates clanged shut and laughter reverberated off concrete walls with narrow windows filled with knives of light—she began to talk in a slow even tone. “Me and a friend. Me and Florida was drinking at the Palm Tavern.”

Nick felt he could breathe again as he pulled out a cassette player from his old coat and pressed record. He tried to remain as still as he could. He tried not to show expression or excitement.

“I did a show at Theresa’s and went to the Palm to calm down. You know? Elmore been recordin’ with Billy. You know about all that mess? About me showin’ Billy my gun and all that?”

“Who was at King’s recording session that day?” Nick asked.