by David Simms
“Such an ignorant fool, little drummer boy. Did you think you’d be alive right now if I hadn’t shown you what to do?” His dark, wizened hand held up the mug. “Do you think you’d figure out how to whip those chest beaters without my help?”
“Okay, Obi-Wan.” Otis backed away, though he kept eye contact. “You made your point, but make sure you know we’re not a bunch of wusses here.”
“If you want respect, if you want me to take you seriously, finish your training here. Your brother, if he’s still alive, will still be kicking for another couple of days. You wouldn’t go into Iraq without knowing how to drive a tank, shoot a machine gun, know who the enemy was, or even venture into the country’s boundaries without a map, would you?”
“This isn’t Iraq,” Poe said. She had lost a cousin there, the only relative she’d truly gotten along with. “This is a forest with some goons stumbling around. Big difference.”
“Girl,” he said, leaning back in his recliner, face softening, though his gaze never wavered. “Whatever you know about the crossroads, it’s nothing like the Middle East. It’s nothing like anything on any map. What you experienced last night was just a tease of the real thing.”
“I thought we were here to be trained like little Jedis, not listening to some mumbo-jumbo about your adventures.”
Silver Eye just hung back, taking it all in, biding his time. “You kiddies done now? There’s so much wine, but where’s the cheese?”
If anyone else got the joke, they didn’t show it. “My mom used to use that line on me. Took me a few years to get it.” Muddy’s face almost allowed a grin.
“Used to?” Silver Eye asked. “You finally stopped annoying her?”
“No, she died this past year.” His heart hitched in his chest. Even joking didn’t cut the pain. “Unless my prayers get a great long distance plan, I don’t think I’m bugging her anymore.”
“Son, moms always hear. Don’t matter where they are. I’m sure mine has wanted to use those angel wings to fly on down here and give me a whuppin’ for so many of the things I’ve done in my life.”
Muddy wondered, if only she knew what we were getting ourselves into…
“Muddy,” Otis said. “Your mom would kick yours if she found out about last night.”
“Keep it up, Q-tip,” Muddy replied, “and I’ll let big Maggie in on what you do.”
Otis’ mom was a nice woman, but not easily fooled. Cross her once and you might only have endure the “tongue of hellfire.” Cross her twice and you’d likely end up with mental scars that would leave you drooling, trembling and scared of your shadow for life.
“Anyway,” Silver Eye continued, “getting back to un-reality here, you need to know a little story about the crossroads before we go any farther. If there’s to be a journey, a funky trek deep into that other world where most humans have never returned to talk about, then you need to sit your tails down and listen to my little yarn from when I was younger.”
“And had both eyes?” Otis just had to ask.
The mug missed the top of his head by inches.
“Okay,” the drummer said, still ducking. “We’re waiting.”
Chapter Nine
Sucking in a deep breath, Silver Eye leaned forward and began his trip down memory lane. Muddy could swear that when he first spoke, the look in his eye seemed twenty years younger.
“Back in ’45, right after they shipped my crack home from Germany.”
Otis lean in, staring. “Hold up the pooch here. You were in World War Two? But you look—”
Silver Eye waved him off. “The River does many things to many people, some good, some not so.”
Muddy nodded at the others. World War Two vets tended to be about ninety. This guy couldn’t be a day past sixty-five.
“Anyway,” Silver Eye continued, disturbed by something in his memory, “the only thing I could find that would give me money to eat and live in a shack was music. Playing this harp, some guitar, singing, whatever. It got me through when this country said only white veterans were eligible for the pampered treatment.
“Anyways, I digress. So there I was, pulling in the big nickels and dimes at night, slinging away at the blues in clubs that would have us. By us, I mean any group of musical misfits we could slap together into something that sounded good.”
“But how’d you learn about the crossroads and that place?”
“Will you shut your trap already?”
The rest of them just sat and waited. Muddy knew something would spill from those old lips that would gear them up for Zack’s rescue, and scare the heck out of them as well. All color sunk from the man’s eye, when the tide washing away from a moonless beach.
* * * *
“The one steady band that rocked the pants off most of Jersey had this guitarist, Tommy Houston,” Silver Eye began. “This dude, he burned the finish off the fretboard. When he took a header into the River, it was Olympic. With one foot in that deep blue and the other on the pulse of the rhythm section, that man balanced heaven and earth, good and evil, blue and the blackest black in his hands. His mind was a direct connection to the power source of the other side. Of course, that irritated whoever was in charge over there, but I’ll get to that soon enough.
“I finally stopped him one night in the back alley. Asked him how he did it. True, he was talented, but heck, we all were. You had to be the cream on top of the cream just to get a gig back then. But one day, about six months before we spoke about it, everything changed. He went from everyday workman-type blues guitarist to slam-bam wunderkind. It’s like he suddenly became a new person. We let it go long as we could then I broke.
“What happened to you, man?’ I said.
“‘What ‘chu talking ‘bout, one eye?’ He regarded me, not like a friend, but more of a child facing a wise old professor.
“It’s Silver Eye, Houston,” I said, “and you know what I’m talking about. You on something?’
“He just chuckled. Kinda like a kid who finds a hundred dollar bill on the street every day. ‘Yep, but not what you think. Ain’t no wacky weed or snuff or voodoo queen. Found myself a new spring for my soul. My own little fountain of youth, but it juices my playing, like setting my muse on fire.’
“‘You must be on something,’ I said. ‘If you’re serious, show me, don’t snow me.’
“He shook his head. ‘Can’t man, can’t. This comes with a price, and it ain’t one you pay off with cash. This can be bad.’
“‘Man, you gotta bring me to this guy.’
“‘Ain’t no guy. It’s a place. A special place.’
“I grabbed hold of him, thinking of my rumbling belly, empty pockets and shoes with no sole. ‘Tell me,’” I said: ‘I can’t live like this no more. I play music for food. It was easier dodging grenades and tracer bullets than fending off rats at American restaurants and grocers. C’mon, man. Tell me.’
“He inhaled, deep as if he were about to sink to the bottom of some ocean—or if he was already there. Air or water, didn’t seem to matter which filled his lungs at that point. Then he stared right through me as if he saw something far away, something that both amazed and frightened the crap out of him.
“He nodded and agreed to take me there, but refused to talk about it until we reached the destination. We walked the same path you all did last night, he with his guitar and me with my harp in my pocket, right to where the trails crossed. Houston stopped a few steps short of where we played. Only one set of footprints marked the spot and I knew then and there that he was the only man who knew of its power—at least around here—at the time.
“‘Watkins,’ he said, ‘I know this sounds wacky, but we’re standing right there on that X and we’re gonna play like our lives depend on it. Mine does and yours could, too.’
“Course, I figured he was either high or owed money to some mob guys who gave him the dope. But then when he stepped up to the plate with that look, I knew he believed in what he said. And that was good enough f
or me. I had nothing really to lose. Or so I thought.
“‘Man, blues in B-flat. Keep it simple. Eight bar pattern. Real simple, but let yourself go. Let it all go, that’s the key—and this here spot where our feet are—is the lock. Let it go like you never have before. Forget who you are, what ails you and just touch the music’.
“‘What are we trying to open?’ I said.
“‘Don’t screw with me,’ he said. ‘You might not live to regret it.’
“‘Geez, man, I’m just askin’,’ I said. ‘Relax.’”
“‘No, you relax. Close your eyes and just play. Now.’
“So I did. Both of us did. We played tighter and yet looser than we ever did on stage. Soon, the thoughts of confusion and doubt fell away. In a heartbeat, the ground beneath my feet just wasn’t there anymore. I fell—just fell away and down into that place, that River that you swam in last night. I wanted to ask a million questions, but they melted just as fast as they formed in my mind. All that stuck was the music and yet, I didn’t try to play. I just bled music. The current took me and swept me away with Houston, along with any words that tried to voice themselves. The most pleasant drowning sensation imaginable—you probably felt that last night—washed over me and filled every inch of me with its blue ‘water.’
“I heard myself playing, but certainly wasn’t thinking, wasn’t attempting any lines, riffs, solos or songs. It just happened, like someone, or something sliced me open at the soul and bled the music from me like a sieve. And I liked it. The waves kept pushing and rolling me in currents of sweet song until the tide swept back out to sea quicker than Madonna changes her image and politicians lose IQ points.
“We found ourselves in that same spot as last night, probably feeling the same thing as you guys. And of course, within minutes, something came to greet us.”
“‘Holy mother of Ella Fitzgerald!’ I said to him. ‘Where are we, man?
“Houston just grinned and froze me. ‘Science lesson 101, my man. Welcome to the crossroads highway.’
“Where are we?
“‘Wherever the crossroads lead.’
“‘Damn, man, are we in hell?’ I said. ‘Didn’t Rob—’ “‘Old Robert Johnson didn’t meet no devil, at least not the one you’d expect. No deals here, but it’s pretty damn easy to lose yourself here.’ “‘How?’
“He just smiled and started walking away from me. ‘Just wait…you’ll see.’”
A silence followed that ached more than when you watched a horror movie and knew the killer lurked only seconds away.
Silver Eye Watkins smiled that wicked smile as if he held the secrets to the universe behind it. “Go ahead. You can ask questions now.”
Muddy thought they must have resembled the rejects from the Dumb & Dumber movies. He slapped the arms of the beat up recliner and hacked a long, stuttered laugh.
“Something wrong with you?” Silver Eye asked. “I finally want your response and now you act like those idiots on the streets who act but don’t speak?”
“They’re called mimes, Grandpa.” You couldn’t shut up Otis for long, but even his rebuttal lacked spice.
Poe rarely lost focus, however, which seemed sort of ironic. “You didn’t finish the story,” she said evenly.
Silver Eye sighed, head hung low. “I went there with him couple more times, but he got greedy.”
“Where is he now,” Muddy asked, hands white on the guitar.
“Next topic, please.”
Corey whistled to himself.
“If there’s no ‘selling of the soul to the devil,’ then what harm is there in traveling? Besides those drummer apes, of course,” Poe said.
Muddy had a feeling Poe’s tongue was loose because she’d tasted sight for the first time since forever.
“Honey,” Silver Eye cooed, “the devil would be chewed up and spit out if he took up residence over there. That little vignette you breezed through—”
“Breezed through?” Muddy sputtered. “Those oafs nearly killed us!”
“If you think they were tough, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Corey tried looking cool, but his eyes told a different story. “Like what? Jumping thunder sticks? Humongous hungry horns? Hordes of little people tooting flutophones?”
If one eye could pierce someone’s soul, that bluesman accomplished just that as he stared back at their horn guy. “You wouldn’t survive one night there, buddy.”
“Who?”
Silver Eye waved them away. “Don’t matter none. It ain’t like you’ll be getting that far, anyway. By the time you reached the real dangers, the ones you’d have to beat to get your brother back, I’d be able to find you by the trail of body parts the rest of that world’s horrors left behind.”
Muddy sighed, knowing the answer to his question. “You’re not going to tell us, are you?”
“What would be the fun in that? Did Obi-wan tell Luke Skywalker about the trials he’d face in all of the Star Wars movies? No, he let the kid fumble and tumble through those Jedi thingamabobs. Did Morpheus tell Neo how to do all those wacky kicks? Nope, he let Neo fall flat on his face until he was ready.”
The band sat there, allowing it all to sink in, brains brewing, but silent. Of course, the absence of sound could only avoid the vacuum that was Otis for so long.
“So, does this magic work in this world? Or just in the land of the hairy drums? You going to let us in on that secret or what?”
“Your mama ever whoop you? Recently?”
The little drummer shivered. “Um…”
“I thought so,” Silver Eye said, a knowing glint shimmering in his eye. “Maybe if she kept it up, you might learn to think before your lips flap.”
The others giggled, knowing that Otis’ mom was the one person in this world who could zip those lips. Muddy often wondered if something existed in that other world that rivaled the thunder that torched their ears every time she got ticked.
“And the answer is?” Corey asked, hands conducting in the air.
The old man grumbled to himself and tapped out a rhythm on his thighs.
“Umm…”
“Yes?
“Tomorrow’s Friday. Come here after school. We’ll train more, and then I’ll answer your questions.”
A cacophony of mumbled curses drowned out whatever he said next. Why would they have to wait another day just for an answer?
Obviously, Silver Eye knew this was coming. “If you’re serious about this, you’ll have no problem with tomorrow. Luke, Harry, Neo and Frodo didn’t become heroes overnight.”
“But—” Muddy tried to step in.
“Yeah, I know. He’s your brother. He’s over there, I understand that. However, you remember what happened when Luke rushed to fight Vader? Or how Vader became Vader?”
Of course they did. Everyone knew Star Wars, either the first or second trilogy. The group might wind up losing more than a hand over there if Silver Eye wasn’t bluffing.
“The bottom line is, you need to wait. Got it?”
A few mumbled, frustrated but dealing with it.
“You gonna listen to me? Speak up!”
Grumbling a disjointed “yes,” they nodded, four heads in defeat.
Poe stood up, but instead of heading toward the door, she ran her fingers over the odd keyboard-ish thing the old man gave her. “So, what’s the agenda?”
“What?”
“You said we’re not ready yet. Fine. I can deal with that. But tell me what we have to do to get to Zack. You say we haven’t hit the tip of the scary iceberg that comprises that little “crossroads” world of yours. If that’s really true, you’re missing the main point.”
“Which is? Tell me, little angel.”
Even with those cloudy eyes, the fire that sparked in them couldn’t have been missed. “Don’t call me that, old man,” she said and tossed the instrument back to him. “I’m not your angel or anyone else’s.”
Silver Eye raised his hands in mock defeat. “My apol
ogies, Miss Poe. So, do tell, what am I missing here?”
“He’s been there for nearly forty-eight hours and if you’re not shoving a pile through those lips of yours and if scarier things exist than what we’ve seen over there, then there’s a good chance—”
“Don’t,” Muddy whispered, mind already forming images of what could be.
“You’re thinking the same thing, so grow up and deal with it, Edgar.”
He couldn’t believe she’d just said that. He sunk inside.
Otis mouthed the “D” word to him, attempting to lessen the blow. Muddy did understand, but the lash from her tongue still stung. She knew how his mom’s passing had affected him. “He’s not dead.”
“He might be and you have to prepare yourself for that,” she said.
“So, then why do you want to go?” He felt the filter slip off his lips, not typical of him, even with the band. “Want to check out a dead body? You never liked him, anyway. Might be a thrill ride. Right?” Flames nearly followed the words out of his mouth. Regret immediately trailed behind. Instead of spewing fire and brimstone, Poe executed the worst retaliation of all.
She stared right through him, a sheen of salty liquid coating the clouded lenses of blue. Oh crap. Nothing else needed to be said. He’d stepped in it, rolled around in it and had submerged his head until both ears were clogged. He would pay for this. Didn’t know when or where, but it would come.
Silver Eye whistled a dire tune. “Boy, you’ve a lot to learn about women.”
Despite any intended comebacks storming within his head, his lips knew the battle was pointless. “I want all of us there when we go,” the guitarist managed. “Without the whole group, it won’t work, anyway. I really—”
“Shut up,” Poe said, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “I’m going. The band needs me and I don’t let people down.” She refused to make eye contact, which was just fine with him for the moment. “So when do we go?” She looked right at Silver Eye, the tears already burned away.
There it began, the would-be woman who normally reeked of sunshine, was now showing the first signs of a crack in her armor. Whether it would help or hurt her would reveal itself soon enough. Muddy wished that when it did, they’d be there to help her.
