boulevard. Man, the fountain was lookin’ mighty strange through all them blurry flowers and wreaths and things.
But this was a special spot for E and he needed to concentrate. Made him feel important, like them Bible people who used to debate scripture, when he sat along the wall of arches in that little curve of brick wall. Jon heard that first time He’d seen it, that tears of joy washed down His face.
Jon remembered that story he’d heard from one of the ole timers durin’ Elvis Week a few years back when he just come up from Hollywood, Mississippi to make somethin’ of himself. Heard that E sent a man all the way to Italy to buy statues of Roman soldiers and to Spain to buy all them pretty stained-glass windows set into the curved wall.
He watched the big round fountain beyond the graves, some skinny wrinkled woman bawlin’ like a baby, and them gray skies overhead. E left a world that needed Him too much.
Jon folded his hands and bowed his head.
Dear Lord God E, please hear my worried prayer for that I may know the full potential of my worrisome mind. I have wandered from my skills. I have become soft in the eyes of You, much like the days of Hollywood when the government took away Your sideburns and powers over the world. I want to be reborn as You were in 1968 when the Holy Spirit entered You and sat You upon the throne of the world. Lord God E, make me into a man. Brand me with Your knowledge and power so that I am me once again in You. In Your name I…
Jon was about finished prayin’ when he saw about the most God-darned gorgeous woman he’d ever laid his eyes on walk in front of Jesse Garon Presley’s grave, pick a flower from the wreath, and tuck it behind her ear. She was blond and blue-eyed and had this body on her that was nothin’ but curves. Had on tight faded blue jeans frayed at the bottom and some kind of tight low-cut white sweater that showed a good bit of chest.
Jon thought he was just gonna burst when she sucked on that lower lip, real impatient like, and looked around the garden. He knew he should just leave her alone and keep on takin’ care of the business at hand. But man, those hips, eyes, lips. She was shaped like a God-dang Coca-Cola bottle. Probably could wrap just his hands ’round that little waist.
The woman tossed back her blond hair and sat on the fence as everyone else kept lookin’ at the grave. Just a bit of her stomach showed from beneath her tiny little sweater and she looked down at the skin. Jon’s blood hammered out a pulse in his ears when her lips slightly parted in a smile.
She then lowered her blue eyes to her chest, sweater stretched tight across her, and smiled some more. Woman was watchin’ herself. Watchin’ all them curves and bumps.
Dang!
As Jon walked toward her, the wind scattered a thick strand of blond hair across one eye. She blew it away with a quick breath from her movie-star lips.
“Ma’am?”
The smile disappeared. She hooked her feet in the low fence, placed her hands on the rail, and looked away.
“Ma’am, I jes had to come over when I seen you, to tell you you’re the prettiest girl I think I ever seen.”
The woman raked her long red fingernails over her puffy lips and smiled.
“Well, I’m sure you get tole that a lot. And I’m jes a stupid little country boy. But I was wonderin’, there’s this little malt shop across the road there called Rockabilly’s. Wonder if you’d allow me the pleasure of buyin’ you a blueberry milk shake. Taste like a cloud up in heaven, ma’am.”
“Are you stoned?” she asked. Real lazy like. She didn’t say it sexy, more like she didn’t have no time for his mess.
“No, ma’am,” he said, feeling himself breathe through his hooded eyes.
She folded her arms across her chest and kept looking through the loose crowd that was floating back to the front of the mansion. Jon always liked this part of the day best. He liked to be the final person to leave the garden and the last to say good-bye to E and the family before night coated their lonely bodies.
“You lookin’ for someone special?” Jon asked.
“Maybe,” she said. “I don’t know.”
He watched her eyes move across the crowd and focus on an old man in a blue leisure suit carrying a purse. His hair was dyed so black that it looked blue. He was white and pasty and looked like he’d lain with other men.
The woman shook her head.
Jon smiled, his face flushing with excitement.
“You lookin’ for a man called Deke Rivers?”
Her eyes slowly turned back to him, her mouth tight like she was real annoyed, and unfolded her arms. “And what would you know about Deke?”
Chapter 21
After being shot at, killing another man, and ultimately being called a liar, about the only thing I could think of that would really soothe the problem, mend my psyche, and possibly motivate me to find the answers I was looking for was simple: a plate of ribs from the Blues City Cafe. I know most real hard-core barbecue folks swear by Cozy Corner on North Parkway or Payne’s down on Lamar. But although I have to admit Payne’s makes a truly beautiful pork sandwich, there is nothing like dipping your steak fries in some of that sweet molasses-fused sauce down on Beale.
I ordered a large slab. U refused to eat anything deep-fried or barbecued. Abby ordered a Coke.
“You sure you don’t want some gumbo?” U asked, polishing off the last spoonful of his. It looked like a mean batch, but I sure missed Loretta’s cooking.
Abby shook her head. She fiddled with the old watch on her wrist. It was gold and tarnished and looked like it was made for a man.
Apparently, she never quite warmed up to Bubba Cotton. He’d kept Days of Our Lives cranked to volume eleven while she stared out his window and played a little with his cat. But U said Bubba didn’t mind. U said he’d only known Bubba to say a couple of sentences in the last ten years. Bubba grunted all he wanted you to know.
I looked over at U as he pushed away his bowl and smiled.
“Better than tofu?” I asked.
“Much. Although, a little teriyaki sauce can make a tire taste good.”
He stared over at Abby and then back at me. He nodded. Slowly, keeping eye contact. It was time.
“Abby, look, I know this is tough as hell. I can’t imagine what you went through at that casino. But we need to know about those folks.”
Abby kept on with the watch. She suddenly stopped, letting it hang loose, and pulled out a couple of sugar packets from a bin on the table. She poured them into a small mountain before her and then raked through the mass with a fork. A tiny Zen garden on the table.
She never broke concentration as she shook pepper on the pure cane and mixed it through the white. She clenched her jaw as if grinding her teeth would stop whatever pain she’d endured.
“What was it?” I asked. I grabbed her hand and she pulled away. The Zen garden swept away under her hand and onto the floor.
U kept silent. He leaned back in the chair pretending not to pay attention.
“Can we walk?” she asked. “If I stay here another moment I’m going to puke. I need some air.”
“Sure,” I said, pulling out my wallet and dropping money on the table. She was already gone, through the restaurant and out the front doors to the mouth of Beale Street. I pushed through a couple of drunk businessmen in ties and plastic derbys and found her walking down a pathway. She was hugging herself. Head down.
Beale was the black business district that had recently become tourist central for the city. I loved the stories of the old sin dens, told by blues musicians who’d played Handy Park back in the day. Pool halls. Whiskey joints. Grocery stores. Pawnshops. Now the historic street was just a neon strip mall filled mainly with bars that exuded
