Leavin' Trunk Blues (28 page)

“This stuff tastes like it was made during the bicentennial,” Nick said, grimacing.

“What did you expect, Cafe Du Monde?” she said. “God, it smells awful too. Smells like burnt dog shit.”

“Want a sip?”

Kate scrunched up her face and looked up the landing to the door.

Nick sipped on the sludgelike coffee. He watched the door. A group of roughnecks paused by the car but kept walking. Looked harmless. You could tell the mean ones by their eyes. Eyes radiate anger.

Minutes later, Florida appeared at the top of the landing and trotted down the icy steps to the Nova. Even though Nick had seen the forty-year-old picture, he couldn’t pick her out of the choir. She’d grown thicker and heavier. Her face was flat as a skillet with wide-set eyes, smallish ears, and an ass the size of Texas. Even larger than JoJo’s niece’s.

Florida opened her trunk and pulled out a couple sacks of groceries. Her clothes looked about twenty years out of style. A light blue trench coat and leopard-print scarf around her neck.

Nick got out and strolled over to the Nova. His hands hung loose by his sides and he tried an easygoing grin.

“Need some help?”

Florida ignored him, pulling the paper sacks marked FRANK’S FOODS into her arms.

“My name’s Travers,” he said. “I’m a friend of Ruby Walker’s.”

“Ruby’s in jail.” Her mouth downturned.

“I know.”

“Then you ain’t her friend,” she said, slamming her trunk closed and tossing the rattling keys into her bag. Florida looked away, her eyes hot. She had a thin trail of scars on both cheeks that had lightened her flesh. Almost looked like tears.

“Listen, I’m trying to help her out. I know you’re her best friend. All I want to know is what happened.”

“Thought you said she was your friend. Why don’t you ask her?”

“I need to know where she was the night Billy Lyons was killed.”

“That was a long time ago, mister,” Florida said. “I have the Lord in my life and don’t have time for much else.”

Nick put his hand on her shoulder. The material of her jacket felt like a museum piece. “I just want the truth.”

“The Lord is the truth,” she said, shaking his hand away. “Don’t make me call the police.”

“Why weren’t you at the trial?”

“Oh please. Get out of my way.” She walked by Nick and moved up the steps, balancing the groceries. She missed a middle step and fell to her knees. One of the bags tumbled down to the sidewalk, its contents scattering across the concrete.

Nick picked up the bag, gathered a bunch of cans and a shaken bottle of generic cola, and brought it back to her. She sat down on the icy steps looking at a gash on her shin under bloodied panty hose.

Her eyes were rimmed with tears.

“I’m really sorry, ma’am.”

“Go on! Get out of here!” she screamed.

“I need to know for Ruby.”

Florida grabbed a handrail and looked down at the base of the stairs where Kate stood. She looked back up at Nick and quickly turned away. He was on his own.

“Ain’t no reason to tell you nothin’. Ruby’s in jail and she’s been there a long time.” Florida pulled herself to her feet and grabbed her bags. She limped to the door. Nick could hear the ice and salt cracking under her feet.

“I know she’s innocent,” Nick said. “I know she didn’t kill Billy Lyons. Who would want him dead?”

“I don’t have to listen to this . . . this shit!” she said, cupping a hand to her mouth and then punching a security code on the door. “Get out of my way.”

She pushed by him and slammed the door behind her.

“I know you helped her move his body,” Nick said through the glass door as she waddled down the hall, her Texas-size ass swaying in her dress. “Why weren’t you questioned about the murder?”

She slowed her brusque walk and stopped. Nick’s breath froze on the glass pane as he watched Florida put down her groceries, turn, and stare up at him with supreme aggravation.

She stood there for a moment as Nick felt the blood rush in his ears. Then she walked back to the stoop and cracked the door.

The warmth of the hall flooded into his face. He could smell her breath and feel her thoughts. “Well, come on then. Grab them groceries and make yourself useful. Ain’t got all day.”

--

Stagger Lee could see Travers from the abandoned lot where he stood among the pieces of wet trash, concrete blocks, and broken bottles. So, this was the man who slipped away from Annie and Fannie. Never knew those two to fuck up. Ever. When they were teenagers, he used to send them into Cabrini-Green to shake down some hustlers. Places that a man would’ve gotten cut in two seconds. And shit, Annie would come back, a big smile on her face, with that hustler’s balls in her hand.

A man couldn’t say no to Fannie. And a man couldn’t stop Annie.

Man, he’d trained those women right.

Stagger Lee watched the big woman lead Travers and some white chick into her place. He sat there in the cold lot watching and breathing. Hot blood racing through him.

A white light clicked on the second floor.

He breathed and gritted his teeth.

Shame he’d have to take down the man so fast. Without Travers, he’d still be sitting in The Hole, rotting among the backed-up sewers and frozen shit. Tonight, he’d be reborn.

Florida’s apartment smelled of baking bread and sweet fudge. Her furniture was fake Victorian, stiff and tiny, with framed posters of Bible verses hanging on the walls. Sunsets, wispy clouds, and inspirational words. Baby dolls dressed in international clothes filled a glass case toward the kitchen. Dutch girls to Geishas. A plastic Virgin Mary and a foot-high Marilyn Monroe.

Nick stood by the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, his head almost touching the top door frame, as Kate sat on a bar stool trying to seem like she wasn’t listening. Her eyes wandered about the old-fashioned kitchen. A 1950s refrigerator and a gas stove. Even a stainless-steel toaster that looked like it was out of I Love Lucy.

“1 don’t mean to be rude,” Florida said, putting away the last of the groceries, “but them days are long gone. I wasn’t more than a teenager when me and Ruby come to Chicago.”

“You two grew up together?” Nick asked.

“Mmm hmm,” she said, playing with the rings on her hands. “In Clarksdale. We drank and partied. Guess you could say we ran a little wild. I’m not too proud of them days. Don’t know what else to tell you.”

Florida slowly shook her head. She untucked the scarf from around her neck and took a deep breath. The sweet air in the kitchen was beginning to make him feel dizzy. Several plastic trays of red and green cookies and cakes were stacked on the counter. A sack of sugar by the stove with a fat stainless-steel scoop inside.

“Why haven’t you been to see her?” Nick asked.

“You have to understand, Billy was my friend too. I loved that man about as much as Ruby. When he would send for Ruby, he would send for me. Bought me drinks. Made sure no one messed with me. That kind of thing. Sharp man in his white suits and white Stetson hat. Real sharp man. He had a bad reputation. People said he was tough, but I knew a lot of that was just an act.”

“But he was a gangster,” Nick said.

“He did some illegal things, so I guess you could say that.” She opened her freezer and pulled out some ice. “But I knew other things about Billy. I knew the other side. The one who left roses for Ruby when she would wake up. The man who tried to get her to stop drinking. He …”

“He what?” Nick asked.

“He was so afraid she would be like his mama.” Florida dumped the ice into a plastic Baggie and broke it apart with the end of a screwdriver. “He told me one time, his mama ran a house for prostitutes. Back then, it wasn’t that uncommon in Mississippi. Billy said she drank herself to sleep every night.

“He said he used to hang out with all the girls and the musicians who played downstairs. Lord, he was always talking about this one man. What was his name? Something like Abadabba. I think that’s why he loved the blues. Always talked about Abadabba, the blues piano man. One night, Billy’s mother fell asleep, passed out in her bed. Billy said they had these old oil lamps. I guess she knocked one over and caught the place on fire. He grew up on the streets after that. Guess that’s why I never blamed him for bein’ a hustler.”

Nick took a deep breath.

“You ever have a relationship with Billy?” Kate asked, chiming in at the right moment to ease a little pressure. His Girl Friday.

“No, ma’am. Billy was like my brother.”

“Understand you were close to his child,” Nick said. “And that one time you ran off with her.”

“Where did you hear that?” she asked. She looked like she wanted to laugh.

Kate looked at Nick. He said, “Ruby.”

“You heard wrong. I didn’t steal that child. Billy tole me to take her away. When things got rough around Chicago and people made threats against Billy, we’d disappear for a while.”

Nick nodded. “Maybe those people killed him.”

Florida’s face softened. She clasped her hands in front of her face and closed her eyes. The scars below her eyes looked like canyons.

“What was Ruby like the days before the murder?” he asked.

“Ruby could be difficult,” Florida said, her eyes still closed. She opened them, picked up the crushed ice, and found a kitchen chair. “Even when we were kids, she could get in the blackest mood you ever saw. Get that lip poked out and that girl wouldn’t do nothin’. I don’t know . . . before Billy was killed, I guess she was mad. I know she was drinkin’ real heavy and cussin’ him. But that is just the way it was since she met him. To say she was any different would be a lie.

“Ruby was a jealous soul,” she said. “At the end, she followed Billy around. She would kick any woman’s behind go near him. That night she told me how much she hated him.”

“What time was that?” Nick asked.

“I don’t remember, late. We were drinking at the Palm Tavern with Jimmy Scott and Elmore King. About midnight, I left her there. I was mad. Ruby was drunker than I ever seen her.”

“Too drunk to kill a man?” Kate asked.

“Apparently not,” Florida said.

“What makes you so sure?” Kate asked.

“I helped Ruby dump Billy’s body in the lake.” Florida pressed the ice pack to her shin. “I helped her get it out of her bed, 1 drove her crying, and I helped her clean up. Billy was a bloody heap in those sheets and Ruby was a drunk mess.”

“Did she tell you she killed him?” Nick asked.

“You said Ruby told you I helped.”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you here?”

“We want to know why you weren’t at the trial or didn’t talk to the police,” Kate said.

Florida bit her lip and shook her head.

“How did she get home?” Nick asked.

“I don’t know.”

“1 appreciate you inviting us in but I want to know why you took off before the trial.” Nick asked. “What happened? Why were you running?”

She kept shaking her head, got up, and limped back into her family room. Nick looked at Kate and she shrugged. In a minute, Florida walked back in with a dusty picture frame. The picture was of a black family in their Sunday best in front of stock-photography bookshelves. Mother, father, two kids. Looked like the all-American family.

Nick smiled, “Who’s that?”

“That’s Billy’s little girl, Nat,” Florida said. “I raised her up after Billy died. Billy’s wife had died back in Mississippi, and she didn’t have no other family. His daughter was an honor student, went on to Spelman. I couldn’t be more proud of her.”

“Was she around the night he died?” Kate asked.

“No,” Florida said. “She was with a young friend of hers. I picked her up there the next day and told her about her daddy. She was outside skippin’ rope with her little pigtails and bright smile.” Florida put a hand to her mouth. “Little girl didn’t speak for almost a year.”

The refrigerator buzzed to life. A cat wandered into the room, swished its tail, and left.

“Listen, I know people still talk about Ruby,” Florida said. “We all want to believe she’s innocent. Poor old black woman. Such a sweet, sweet voice. I wish I was half the singer she was. But they have all forgotten about Billy. Billy was a two-time pimp to some people. And that’s just a lie. He was a wonderful man and a wonderful father.”

“I want to help them both,” Nick said.

“I’ve told you all I know,” Florida said. “I got to get started cooking …Y’all excuse me.”

“Ruby’s made some statements to me,” Nick said, not breaking eye contact, wanting her to hear every word. “Still says she’s innocent. You know this will be her fortieth Christmas without seeing the world? You have your choir and your baked goods and Billy’s daughter, and Ruby—excuse me for saying this—doesn’t have shit. For four decades, she’s lived in a concrete cage no bigger than your bathroom. It’s easy, Florida, to put your memories on hold, to coat yourself in religion, and say that time has passed. But Ruby cared for you when you came up here. Probably made you more than you ever could be alone. So, let’s not play games anymore. This is it.”