Dennis said, "The two guys standing there."
"Yeah, looking up like they talking to you."
Dennis said, "Yeah, they were watching," and right away said, "They wanted to see a triple somersault." Dennis shrugged, telling himself, Jesus, relax, will you, as Robert Taylor kept looking at him with his pleasant expression.
"You waited till they left. Man, I don't blame you. Dangerous occupation, you don't do it for free."
The guy wasn't exactly smiling-it was in his tone of voice, mild, sociable, giving Dennis the feeling the guy was somebody and he knew something. "I'm paid by the week or the season," Dennis said, "but you're right, you can't put on a show for anybody happens to come by." He paused and said, "Like those two guys. I never saw 'em before in my life."
He waited for Robert to pick up on it, mention he saw them around or coming out of the hotel.
No, what he said was, "You did perform for Chickasaw Charlie."
And the two guys, Dennis hoped, were left behind.
He said, "Yeah, well, Charlie's a good guy. You try your arm over there?"
"I threw some," Robert said. "But I think that radar machine the man has favors him. You know what I'm saying? Except I don't see how he'd work it. You know, set the speed up for when he throws. So I give him the benefit, say fine, this old man can still hum it in-till I study what he might be doing."
"You're staying here a while?"
"Haven't decided how long. Came down from Detroit."
"Try your luck, huh?"
"We got casinos in Detroit. No, you have to have a good reason to come to Mississippi, and losing my money ain't one of 'em."
He let that hang, but Dennis wasn't going to touch it-as much as he wanted to know what the guy was up to. He didn't like the feeling he had. He said, "You know Charlie pitched for Detroit in a World Series?"
"Uh-huh, he told me. Went in and struck out the side."
"Well, listen," Dennis said, "I gotta get going. It was nice meeting you."
They shook hands and he walked off, reached the door to go inside and heard Robert behind him, Robert saying, "I meant to ask you, you don't stay at the hotel, do you?"
Dennis held the door for him. "I'm at a private home, in Tunica. I rent a room."
Robert said, "I thought you might be staying in town. You ever run into a man name Kirkbride?"
"I've only been here a week."
"Walter Kirkbride. Man has a business over in Corinth, makes these mobile homes aren't mobile. They called manufactured homes, come in pieces and you put 'em together on your lot, where you want. There's one called the Vicksburg has like slave quarters in back, where you keep your lawn mower and shit. There's one, a log cabin-I know it ain't called the Lincoln Log, this man Kirkbride's all the way Southron." Robert telling this to Dennis following him along a back hall.
Dennis said, "If he lives in Corinth- "
"I forgot to mention, he's putting up like a trailer park of these homes near Tunica he calls Southern Living Village. For people work at the casinos. Kirkbride stays in one he uses for his office."
"You want to see him about work?"
Robert said, "I look like I drive nails, do manual fuckin labor?"
With a different tone, sounding like a touchy black guy who believes he's been disrespected, and it rubbed Dennis hard the wrong way. Shit, all he was doing was making conversation. He didn't look at Robert as they came to the employees' entrance; Dennis pushed through the glass door and let Robert catch it, coming behind him.
Outside on the curb Dennis turned to him in the overhead light. He said, "I'll believe whatever you tell me, Robert, 'cause it doesn't make one fuckin bit of difference to me why you're here. Okay?"
He got a good look at the guy now in his pale yellow slacks and silky shirt that was dark brown and had a design in it that looked Chinese, the shirt open to his chest, the gold chain… the guy giving him kind of a sly look now saying, "So you come alive, the real Dennis Lenahan, huh?" Robert 's mild tone back in place.
"We out there talking I feel you hanging back. I'm thinking, a man that puts his ass on the line every time he goes off, why's he worried about me, what I saw? Ask was it from my window. Did I get a good look at the ones watching you."
"I never asked you that."
"It's what you meant, what you wanted to know. How much did I see of what was going on. One thing I did wonder about-the man that was working for you all day? I see him finish up. I go in the bathroom, take a quick shower, I come out he's gone. Now those redneck dudes by the tank are talking to you. I'm thinking, what happened to your helper? He didn't want to see you dive?"
Dennis said, "You know who he is?" feeling his way, but ready to give up the two guys if he had to.
Robert shook his head. "Never saw him before."
"Then why're you asking about him?"
"I thought it was funny he seem to disappear."
"You don't do manual labor," Dennis said. "You want to tell me what you do?"
It brought Robert's smile back, Robert taking his time before saying, "You think I'm the man, huh? Not some local deputy dog, you think I might be a fed, like some narc sniffing around. Hey, come on, I'm not looking into your business. I saw you dive, man, I respect you." He said, "Listen, I bet I've been in your shoes a few times. You know what I'm saying? I think we both had our nerves rubbed a little. You ask me am I looking for work and I jump on it, 'cause I don't seek employment. Any given time I got my own agenda. Like I ask if you know this man Kirkbride."
Dennis said, "You're talking, man, I'm through."
"You want to get a drink?"
"I'm going home," Dennis said, felt the pocket of his jeans and said, "Shit."
"What's wrong?"
"I'm suppose to take Charlie's car. He forgot to give me the keys."
"You going home, I'll drive you."
"My truck's over there," Dennis said, looking across this section of the lot where the help parked, rows of cars and pickup trucks shining under the lights, "but I can't leave it where I'm staying, Vernice has a fit."
"I don't blame her," Robert said, "that's a big ugly truck. Come on, I said I'd drive you."
Dennis hesitated. He needed to get away from here but didn't want to walk around to the front and run into Charlie, and maybe sheriff's people arriving. He said, "I'd appreciate it. But could you get the car and meet me by my truck? I have to get something out of it."
No problem.
He couldn't tell the year of Robert's car, new or almost, a black Jaguar sedan, spotless, shining in the lights, rolling up to Dennis still wondering what the guy did.
They kept to themselves driving away from the hotel, leaving behind the neon Dennis didn't think was as tiring as amusement park neon; this was quiet neon. He began to relax in the dark comfort of leather and the expensive glow of the instrument panel. He closed his eyes. Then opened them as Robert said, "Old 61. Yes." And turned right onto the highway to head south.
He said, "Down there's the famous crossroads." He said, "You like blues?"
"Some," Dennis said, starting to think of names. "What's that mean? Some."
"I like John Lee Hooker. I like B. B. King. Lemme think, I like Stevie Ray Vaughan… "
"You know what B. B. King said the first time he heard T -Bone Walker? He said he thought Jesus himself had returned to earth playing electric guitar. They cool, John Lee and B.B., and Stevie Ray 's fine. But you know where they came from? What they were influenced by? The Delta. The blues, man, born right here. Charley Patton from Lula, lived on a cotton plantation. Son House, lived in Clarksdale, down this road." Robert's hand reached to the instrument panel and pushed a button. "You don't get off on this you don't know blues."
The sound came on scratchy, a guitar setting the beat.
Dennis said, "Jesus, how old is it?"
"Recorded seventy years ago. Check it out, that's Charley Patton, the first blues superstar. Listen to him. Rough and tough, man. Hits you with it. He's doing `High Water Everywhere,' about the flood of 1927, changed the geography of the Delta around here. Listen to him. `Would go to the hilly country but they got me barred.' Turned away by the law, the high country for whites only. They made songs out of what was going on, their life, how they were getting fucked by the law or by women, women leaving 'em. All about man and woman, about living on plantations, on work farms, chain gangs… This man, Charley Patton, his style begat Son House and Son House begat the greatest bluesman ever lived, Robert Johnson. Robert Johnson begat Howlin' Wolf and all the Chicago boys and they put their mark on everybody since, including the Stones, Led Zeppelin, Eric Clapton… Eric Clapton use to say, you don't know Robert Johnson he won't even talk to you."