Don Bruns: Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

“Three years ago?” I asked. “The senator from North Dakota?”

He looked at me with a puzzled expression. “No. About ten years ago.”

“What happened?”

“He was holding a revival meeting, same place. And some young girl who worked for him ended up dead, right there on the grounds.”

I almost choked on the cornbread. “That was Cashdollar?”

“Sure was.”

“Wow! I was there that night.”

He laughed. “You?”

“No, really, I was. My Uncle Buzz took me. It was sort of a guys weekend, and — ”

“You were really there?”

“I was. I didn’t remember the minister’s name, but I was there. I met the girl. She came around with a collection plate.” I could picture her, smell the night itself, and I could see Buzz dropping the twenty in the plate and her big smile afterward.

“Well, my friend, the story was that she was Cashdollar’s underage girlfriend.”

“She was what?”

“Cashdollar’s underage girlfriend. And he was married at the time. Still is.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“So, was he ever implicated in the death?”

Rick wiped up his sauce with a piece of white bread. “I don’t remember, Skip. I mean, the guy’s out there on the circuit so it couldn’t have done much damage to his career. From what I hear, people are still dropping money in the guy’s collection plate.”

More than ever. “Still — ”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinkin’. What were you talking about, this senator stuff?”

“Never mind. Just a story I heard.” I’d finished half the sausage gravy and found out that I’d lost my appetite. I wasn’t in the mood to eat anymore. I said good-bye and drove back to our crappy abode. I wasn’t in the mood for selling either.

James came home about three, begging off early so we could get to the park.

“I ran into Rick Mosely at Esther’s today.”

“Rick? I saw him last week. Told him about our gig with the rev.” James walked to the refrigerator and grabbed one of my long necks. We were fifty-fifty on expenses, but my fifty was usually about seventy-five or eighty.

“Yeah, well he told me something I’d forgotten.”

James pulled a brick of cheddar cheese from the fridge and took a bite off the end. My cheese, his germs. “And what was that?”

“About ten years ago, I took a weekend with my Uncle Buzz.”

“I sort of remember that. You came back and raved about the pleasures of Jack Daniels. Hell, I thought that he was your new best friend.”

“Buzz and I went to a revival meeting.”

“And?”

“And, the girl who took collections from us was murdered. They found her body the next morning in the park. She’d been strangled.”

James took another bite of cheese and washed it down with my beer. “You forgot that?”

“No. I think I probably told you about it.”

“Yeah. I’m sure you did.”

“However, I forgot that it was in Oleta River Park. And even though I was at the revival, I never really knew who the minister was. It was Cashdollar.”

“So what’s your point?”

“Rick said she was Cashdollar’s underage girlfriend.”

“That’s it? The underage girlfriend?”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know. It lacks any passion, romance, or decadence.”

He had a point.

“So Rick was insinuating that the rev killed the girl?”

I joined the party and pried the top off a long-neck beer. I decided against the cheddar cheese. “Rick said he’d never heard anything about that. He figures that if Cashdollar is still on the circuit, it must be because no one ever accused him.”

But, man, Cabrina Washington, Senator Long, the food vendor, and who knows how many other deaths — all happening under the shadow of Cashdollar’s tent.

“Man, we’ve got to go into the tent. We’ll leave now, set up the truck, and we can catch an hour of this guy’s spouting before we have to serve the starving masses.” James swallowed the last of his beer. “Help me get the stuff organized. I went out and got more patties and brats. I think we’ve still got enough peppers, onions, and potatoes to feed a Third World country for six weeks.”

“And once more, tell me why we really care what the reverend has to say. Why do we even want to involve ourselves in the dreams and schemes of a man who may have been implicated in two murders and a mysterious death?” The food vendor that James had mentioned — it bothered me.

My partner was silent for a moment. He tossed his beer bottle toward the kitchen trashcan, it missed with a thud, and rolled across the cheap linoleum floor.

“Why do you want to do this, James?”

“It’s not so much the intrigue of foul play at the revival meeting, amigo. It’s not that I want to see how he’s going to bring down the talk show host, Barry Romans.”

“Then what is it?”

“He’s successful. I think we need to explore success, whenever the opportunity arises.”

It sounded like James. Always trying to find the next get-rich-quick idea. “Okay, I’ll go with you. We’ll see what this man has up his sleeve. But, James, I can’t help but believe the guy is a little crazy.”

“And I make it a rule to never get involved with possessed people. Actually, it’s more of a guideline than a rule.” He gave me a wicked grin.

“So you’re breaking your rule and — ” and then it hit me. “Bill Murray, from Ghostbusters?”

“Let’s do the tent, compadre. Let’s see what makes a possessed man tick.”

J ames was my best friend. We’d known each other since we were in grade school, and we balanced each other well. James was a little headstrong, I was a little cautious. I’m not saying that the balance stopped us from making some pretty big mistakes, but we did have a good relationship.

I also used to have another good relationship. My on-again-off-again relationship with Emily. Emily was what I affectionately call my “Rich Bitch.” Her father was a wealthy contractor in the Miami area and she didn’t do too badly herself. She worked for the old man as they built multimillion dollar mansions in the tonier sections of Miami Beach. Em kept the books and invested the spoils for the old man as he continued to expand his empire. She and I had been through some really good times and some really bad times. Good times when we could laugh, talk about the future, and I could dream a little. Bad times when she found out she was pregnant. It turned out to be a false pregnancy, but she left town for about three months and I hadn’t heard from her since she got back. I knew she was back. I saw her flashy red T-Bird convertible at her condo on Biscayne Bay. I drove by the condo about every other day. The T-Bird just appeared two days ago. I’d driven by only about twenty-two times to make sure it was hers. Twenty-two or thirty, who was counting? I figured she’d call eventually, maybe today or tomorrow.

She had issues to work out. She was back, so I assume she’s worked through them. Of course, I was probably one of the issues and if she didn’t call, then I assumed she’d worked that issue out as well.

I could talk to Em. I could talk about things that I can’t even broach with James. And I miss her company, in every way.

I thought about her as we drove from Carol City to the park. She’d be the first person I would talk to about Cashdollar and the odd assortment of people he collected as vendors. She’d sit back and listen, study the situation, then suggest that I back off. She’d tell me that James was a bad influence, and I was better off distancing myself from anything he was planning. And, of course, I wouldn’t listen to her. Maybe that’s why I’m an issue with her.