Elmore Leonard - Tishomingo Blues

"And you didn't love her enough to stay."

"And get a regular job for the rest of my life, no. You check everybody out, huh?"

"Pretty much. Charlie was the most fun."

"You check on guests?"

"Some."

"What about Germano Mularoni?"

"And his lovely wife, Anne? Yes, I did."

"What does Germano do for a living?"

"He's a gangster. I thought you knew that."

It surprised Dennis that she said it though not to hear that he was.

" Detroit Mafia?"

"No, but that's rather murky. He was in prison once, for tax evasion."

Dennis said, "So Robert-"

"He works for Jerry, but that doesn't really tell you where he stands, does it? Take this battle reenactment coming up," Carla said, "why is Jerry on one side and Robert on the other?"

HECTOR DIAZ ARRIVED FROM DETROITand Robert and Tonto picked him up in Memphis. There he was coming out of the jetway in a black suit buttoned up, Hector less primitive than Tonto but not much. Hector was tall for being Mexican and liked to pose in his sunglasses, the ring in his ear, his hair pulled back into a pigtail, a coleta that was like a matador's. Hector, a long time ago, had caped bulls in Mexico City but never made it to Spain; he was older than Tonto by twenty years, somewhere in his late fifties. And was tired now from sitting around Detroit Metro when the flight was delayed. Robert told him to sit in the backseat of the Jaguar, stretch out and take it easy.

On the road south Tonto gave Hector a Navy Colt cap-and-ball pistol he got out of the glove box. Give him an idea of the kind of weapons they would be playing with. Hector checked it out, spinning the cylinder, thumbing back the hammer.

Robert said to the rearview mirror, "Be sure what you doing, man, it's loaded."

They picked up Jerry in front of the hotel after waiting close to an hour. Jerry came out in a black windbreaker and all four of them were in dark clothes-Robert in dark brown, Tonto in his denim jacket and a black bandanna-because Jerry said you always dressed dark you're going to confront somebody; you dress in light colors you looked like a fuckin twink. Tonto went in back with Hector to let Jerry ride in front. They got on Old 61 again, south, down to the Dubbs turnoff, left, and pulled into the lot in front of the club, Jerry saying, "This is it?"

Not impressed by this big run-down barn of a place, JUNEBUG'S painted to fit across the entire front where cars and pickups were angle-parked. "It's a honky-tonk," Robert said, "what Loretta Lynn sings about." He crept the Jaguar past an open spot and backed in to face out. Robert said to Hector, "Stay where you are, man, and rest. Know what I'm saying? You watching my auto."

It was after ten, the club the only lights out here in the country on a dark night.

They were out of the car now, Robert and Tonto slipping on their shades, Robert saying to Jerry, "They gonna be looking us over."

Jerry said, "Yeah…?”

"Don't say to anybody the fuck you looking at, till we do our business."

"Say please and thank you," Jerry said, "and wash my hands after I take a piss. Come on."

Robert followed him inside, Tonto watching their backs: the three walking in to country swing coming from the sound system but no two-steppers out on the floor, Robert observing country dudes at the bar and some of the tables on this weeknight, not much of a crowd, a drum kit and speakers on the empty bandstand straight ahead, only a few women among the beer drinkers, that little blond whore… Toni? No, Traci, talking to a dude at the end of the bar that was to the left and ran all the way back. Robert followed Jerry toward the near end where a young dude stood resting his back against the bar, elbows on the round edge, baseball cap curved down around his eyes inspecting Jerry coming toward him, the kid hanging in, but then bailed to give Jerry room, Jerry not even looking at him. Jerry had his arm raised, calling to the bartender, "Hey, come here," to Wesley in his undershirt, maybe the same one from the other night. Robert said, "Wesley, how you doing, man?" Wesley looking but not knowing shit who he was looking at. Jerry handed him a business card saying, "You don't have to read it, Wesley. Give it to your boss." They watched him walk down the bar with the card, looking at it again. Jerry said, "Fuckin Wesley. Beautiful guy."

Robert imagined Arlen Novis somewhere in the back, maybe an office, looking at the business card that said Germano Industries , and smaller, Manufactured Home Specialists , a Detroit address and the name at the bottom, Caesare Germano .

Jerry said, "You think he can read?"

"There he is," Robert said as Arlen came out of the doorway next to the bandstand, "the one in the Confederate hat." Following him was a dude with a build, short sleeves tight on his arms, the shirt hanging out. "The other one I'm gonna say is Arlen's gun, Dennis told me about, they call Fish."

Arlen was looking at the card again as he reached them. He said, "Who's Ceezur Germano?" fucking up both parts of the name. Robert thought of helping out, but Jerry stepped in.

Jerry telling him, "It's Che-za-ray," and Arlen, trying to understand what that meant, shook his head.

"Like Julius Caesar," Robert said to him. " Mr. Ger mano 's name. Call him Caesar, be close enough. He wants to talk some business with you."

“What kind of business?” The man suspicious.

"Why don't we sit down at a table," Robert said, "have Wesley bring us some cold drinks? Caesar likes rum and Coca-Cola, working for the Yankee dollah, as they say." Arlen looking at him, not knowing shit what he was talking about. But it got all five of them sitting around a table by the dance floor, away from people watching them, Jerry saying to Arlen, "You're at Southern Living, right?"

He said yeah? Still holding back.

"You do all right?"

"What is it you want to know?"

"You have building materials you don't need?"

"I'm head of security," Arlen said.

"That's why I'm talking to you," Jerry said. "I'm asking do you have anything you want to move, yes or no? I'll make you a good offer."

Robert watched him, the man tempted, thinking of what he could move in the dead of night-shit, a whole house, take the motherfucker apart-but was still suspicious.

Saying to Jerry, "You want to show me some ID?"

They were wasting time. Robert moved on him. He said, "Arlen?" in a quiet tone, almost soothing. "I know what you been up to, don't I? What we talked about in Vernice's kitchen? You got deals going you have to protect. The reason you had Junebug pop Floyd. The reason you had this man here-Fish, they call you?-pop Junebug for telling people your business. Arlen. Haven't I kept all this to myself, as I told you I would?"

Robert paused, giving Arlen, both of them, a chance to speak if they wanted to.

No, they both stared, Arlen looking cold but had to be wondering, shit, what was going on here? In his place of business, people around, Shania Twain belting out country.

"You have to trust some body, the kind of deals you must have going-and it ain't hard to speculate about that. I imagine, for instance, you run the drug business in Tunica County. I bought some fine weed here the other night and could've bought anything, Junebug going down the list-what do I need, crank, blow? All I had to do was name it. I understand why you popped him, the man was dangerous. But there always people you have to trust. You can lose all the Junebugs around as long as you have a man like Kirkbride with you. Am I right?"

Robert laid it out there to see what the name would bring and watched Arlen take his time before saying, "Well, he ain't a bad guy to work for." Shoved that aside and said to Jerry, "Who am I talking to here, Caesar, you or him?"