Dennis had to think, trying to recall if he'd heard of the man Robert Johnson.
Robert Taylor still talking, telling him, "Thirty seven miles down this highway past Tunica you come to the famous crossroads…" He paused and said, "Shit."
Dennis saw high beams coming at them, headlights and the wailing sound of law enforcement on a dark country road and a pair of sheriff's cars blew past, going toward the hotels.
Robert looked at his rearview mirror. "I know they not after me. How about you?"
Dennis let it go, turning to watch the taillights until they disappeared.
"I expect sooner or later I'll be pulled over," Robert said, "driving around in an S-Type Jag-u-ar 'stead of out in the field choppin' cotton." He glanced at the mirror again, then touched the button to turn off the blues.
"Where they going could be something big. Security man I talk to at the hotel? A brother use to be with the Memphis Police, he say the Isle of Capri 's been held up twice. Two dudes come in the front wearing ski masks in Mississippi, scoop up three hundred thousand from the cage, security cameras getting the whole scene. They take off, run into a roadblock and one of 'em's shot dead. The second heist, the newspaper makes a point of saying was unprofessional. Three dudes walk out with a hundred thousand and disappear into the night. It makes you think you don't need to be a pro, do you? A dude robs both Harrah'ses, the old casino on Sunday, the new one on Wednesday, gets away with sixty thou. Witness say the man's front teeth are gold. You bet they gold, the man's a success. Yeah, Tunica County, Mississippi," Robert said, "use to be the poorest county in the U.S. Jesse Jackson called it our Ethiopia. There still people farm… Look on the backseat, all the pamphlets and shit I've picked up. The one calls Tunica a place where, I think it says, small-town friendliness is still a way of life. That's long as you don't get mugged, your car jacked or nobody passes off any funny money on you. Counterfeiters, man, love casinos."
Dennis had questions, but kept quiet, listening.
"The sheriff they use to have? Went down for extortion, getting payoffs from drug dealers and bail bondsmen. Drew thirty years. A deputy was brought up, but he made a plea deal, testified against the sheriff and only drew two to five. A man running for sheriff, to take the one's place went down? They find him lying in a ditch, shot in the head. They elected a brother as sheriff and now it's cool, least the bad dudes aren't wearing badges."
Dennis was becoming at ease with this Robert Taylor from Detroit, a guy with style and what he called his own agenda. Robert was giving him leads and Dennis felt he could say anything he wanted and Robert would play it back in his own way, showing off, and they'd talk the talk with each other.
"You learned all that from the hotel security guy?"
"Some. Some I had looked up for me."
"Planning your trip."
"That's right."
"See what there is to offer."
"Check it out."
"What to look out for, like the crime situation."
"You can't be too careful."
"Historical points of interest?"
Robert turned his head to look at Dennis. "You being funny, but history can work for you, you know how to use it."
It stopped Dennis for a moment.
"You look into business opportunities?" "You could say that."
"Like mobile homes that aren't mobile?"
Robert said, "Hey, shit," grinning at him in the dark. "You quicker than I thought."
4
"I STARTED TELLING YOU ABOUT this man name Kirkbride," Robert said. "He started his business from what he made owning trailer parks. But you go back a couple of generations the Kirkbrides are farmers. Was Mr. Kirkbride 's grandpa, the first Walter Kirkbride, owned land over in Tippah County and had sharecroppers working it for him-one of 'em being my great-granddaddy. Worked forty acres of cotton, what he did his whole life. He's the one I'm named for, the first Robert Taylor. Lived with his wife and children in a shack, five little girls and two little boys, my granddaddy being number seven, Douglas Taylor."
Dennis said, "This is a true story?"
"Why would I make it up?"
They turned off the highway to approach Tunica, leaving open country and the night sky for trees lining the road and the lights that showed Main Street.
"That's the police station," Dennis said, "coming up on the left. The squad cars we saw were county, they didn't come from here."
Robert said, "Like you been checking up on crime yourself."
"Go up past the drugstore and turn left, over to School Street and turn left again." "You want to hear my story or not?" "I want to get home."
"You gonna listen?"
"You're dying to tell it. Go ahead."
"See if you can keep quiet a few minutes."
Dennis said, "I'm listening." But then said, "Is this how the Taylors came to Detroit and your granddad went to work at Ford?"
"Was Fisher Body, but that isn't the story. I'm holding on to my patience," Robert said. "You understand what the consequence could be, you keep talking?"
Dennis was starting to like Robert Taylor. He said, "Tell the story."
"Was my granddaddy brought his family later on to Detroit. He's the one told me this story when he was living with us. About how my greatgranddaddy had a disagreement with Kirkbride's grandpa-a black man accusing the white man of cheating him on his shares-and the white man saying, `You don't like it, take your pickaninnies and get off my land.' "
"This is School Street."
Robert said, making the turn, "I can see it's School Street."
"The house is on the right-hand side, end of the block."
"You through talking?"
"Yeah, go on. No, wait. There's a car up there,"
Dennis said, "in front of the house."
"Man, what's your problem?" "I don't know whose it is." "Your landlady's." "She drives a white Honda." "Well, it ain't a cop car." "How do you know?"
"It doesn't have all that shit on top." "Stop a couple of houses this side."
Robert crept the Jaguar down this street of tall oaks and old one-story homes set back among evergreens, drifted to the curb and killed the engine. The headlights showed the rear end of a black car. Robert said, `96 Dodge Stratus, worth maybe five," turned the lights off and said, "You happy now?"
"Your grandfather," Dennis said, "got in an argument with Kirkbride's grandfather, and?"
"Was my great-grandfather. They have a disagreement over shares and the man tells my great granddaddy to get off the property."
"With his pickaninnies," Dennis said.
"That's right. Only he didn't feel he should take this shit off the man. Where they suppose to go? He's got his wife and seven children to feed. What he does, he takes a drink of corn and goes up to the house, see if he can reason with the man. Goes to the back door. The man ain't home, but his woman is and maybe Robert Taylor gets ugly with her. You know what I'm saying? Ugly meaning disrespectful, like he raises his voice. The woman becomes hysterical a nigga would talk to her like that. Keeps screaming at him till Robert Taylor says fuck it and walks away. Goes home. He believes that's the end of it, they may as well pack up the few things they own and go on down the road. Except that night men come with torches and set his house on fire, his shack, with his family inside."