Rockabilly Hell

by William W. Johnstone

  Katti’s expression softened, and she put her hand on top of the sheriff’s hand. “Because he is your son.”

  Al Pickens tried a smile. “I imagine you’d like to kill Albert, wouldn’t you, Miss Baylor?”

  Katti didn’t hesitate in replying. “Yes, I would, sheriff.”

  “I couldn’t blame you, if you did. Not really. But I’m as much to blame, or more, than he is.”

  “But you’re filled with regret about it,” she told him. “Genuine sorrow. And that makes you a better man.”

  Pickens was silent for a moment, then said, “You people watch yourselves around my chief deputy. Win’s a bad one. He’s a good investigator, but he’s got a mean steak in him. We grew up together, went to school together. I know him. If it comes down to you or him, he won’t hesitate to drop a hammer on you. Win knew about these ghost clubs long before I did. I was a little bit rowdy in my youth, on the fringes of it. But Win was all the way rowdy for a time. If he hadn’t turned cop, he’d be in prison right now. You see, Miss Baylor, a lot of very good cops have just a touch of the rogue in them. And Cole will back me up on that.”

  Cole nodded his head in agreement. “Some of the best lawmen I ever knew were rowdy in their younger days.” He smiled. “I wasn’t exactly an angel myself.”

  Katti patted his hand and smiled sweetly. “Thank heavens for little favors, dear,” she said, and those around the table broke up in laughter.

  Eleven

  Jim and Bev returned from Memphis, and the five of them sat in Cole’s motel room and talked for a time.

  “These things are nationwide?” Bev said. “Is that possible?”

  “With the supernatural, anything is possible,” Katti echoed the words they all had either uttered aloud or thought since becoming involved with the ghost clubs.

  “But why are the ghost clubs found mainly in the South, along that old highway?” Gary asked.

  “Questions on top of more questions,” Jim said. “Hell, I don’t know. I’m still having a very difficult time actually believing everything I’ve seen thus far. But I do think that Sheriff Pickens is on the level with us. Cole?”

  “Oh, I do, too. I think basically the sheriff is a good, decent man.”

  “With a prick for a son,” Katti said.

  Bev laughed. “Well, at least the sheriff admits that now, right?”

  “Says he does,” Cole said. “And I think he means it. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to turn in his son, even if the punk would agree to it, which he will probably never do.”

  “So what do we do now?” Jim asked.

  Cole spread his hands. “I’m out of ideas.”

  “Go back to the club,” Katti suggested.

  “Why?” Gary asked. “Why put yourself through that torture, Katti?”

  “Because if we’re going to unlock this mystery, that’s where we’ll find the key. I think.”

  “I have some questions,” Bev said. “When does the . . . devil,” she stumbled over the word, “contact the people he or she or it, has chosen to, ah, forfeit their soul? And how is contact made? The devil can’t very well take out an ad in the local paper, or buy radio or TV time.”

  “Those are good questions,” Cole said. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the answers.” He didn’t think the devil had a thing to do with it, but he kept that to himself, for the time being.

  “Let me do some guessing,” Gary said. “Maybe the devil never makes personal contact. Maybe it’s a gradual thing, over a period of years. Maybe the people don’t even know what is happening, until they’re dead.”

  “That’s as good a theory as any,” Cole admitted.

  “Why don’t we all just admit we’re operating in the dark?” Jim said. “And none of us have the vaguest idea what we’re doing.”

  Cole said nothing. He had a hunch about what was going on, but he had no idea how he was going to prove it—yet.

  * * *

  They were having supper in the cafe, when Jim looked toward the door and said, “It just keeps getting more and more complicated.”

  Cole cut his eyes to the door and sighed. The veteran cop from Memphis who had interviewed Cole, Katti, and Jim at the diner was standing there, smiling at them.

  “Bob Jordan,” Katti said. “I’ve known him for years. Now, what’s he doing here?”

  Jim waved the sergeant over to their table, and he sat. “Well, well,” Bob smiled, picking up a menu. “What a happy little gathering. What’s good on the menu?”

  “Chicken fried steak,” Gary said.

  “My favorite.” He waved to the waitress and ordered.

  “Are you lost, Bob?” Jim asked.

  “Oh, no. Not at all. I just had a lot of accrued time due me, and decided I’d better take it before I lost it.”

  “This is not exactly the garden spot of the state, Bob,” Bev said.

  “Actually, I’m from around here,” the Memphis cop said. “Born in Hayti and raised up on a farm outside Kennett, Missouri.” He smiled. “Forty-five years ago.” He looked at Cole and then at Jim. “That makes us about the same age.”

  “Just about,” Cole said.

  “But I got me an older brother; he’s older by fifteen years. He doesn’t live around here anymore. Moved to Jackson years ago. He was quite a hell-raiser in his day. Used to tell me all sorts of wild stories about the roadhouses he used to hang around.”

  “Is that right?” Katti asked sweetly.

  “Sure is. My brother now, he was a hard-drinkin’, hard-ramblin’ man in his time. I bet he made every joint between Cairo, Illinois and West Memphis in his day. But you know, he quit all that about twenty years ago. Just . . . quit one day. ’Course, we were all proud of him for doing that, but it surprised us all somethin’ fierce when he did.”

  “Is there a moral or a point to this story, Bob?” Jim asked.

  The Memphis cop smiled. “Oh, yeah. I’m getting to it. Day before yesterday, I drove down to Jackson to see my brother. I asked him some hard questions about this country, and why he moved away so abrupt-like. Now, my brother used to spin some wild yams in his time. But what he told me was just about the wildest thing I ever heard of.”

  “And you’re going to tell us about it, Bob?” Katti asked.

  Bob chuckled. “Oh, I ’spect y’all know more about it than me. But I’ll play your game for a while longer.”

  “What game, Bob?” Bev asked.

  “Oh ... how about ghosts?”

  No one spoke as the waitress began setting their plates of food in front of them. That was followed by a basket of fresh baked rolls and more iced tea.

  “Y’all enjoy your supper now, you hear?” the waitress said, and walked away.

  “Ghosts, Bob?” Jim said. “Have you been hitting the bottle?”

  Bob again smiled. “I do enjoy a drink now and then. But not this day.” He met each pair of eyes around the table. “Katti, your brother vanished not five miles from this spot. Ten years ago. I had just made detective. You haven’t been back here in years. I know. I checked. Then all of a sudden, you team up with the Outlaw here,” he looked at Cole, “and, yeah, I did some checking on you, too. You’re ’bout rough as a cob when you want to be, aren’t you?”

  “I have been known to take a rocky road from time to time,” Cole replied.

  Bob nodded. He was a stocky man, with salt and pepper hair that had once been dark brown, and big hands and big wrists. He was barrel-chested and still maintained a trim waist. Jim, Gary, and Bev knew that Bob Jordan was not a man to play deadly games with.

  “Then,” Bob continued, “Katti girl, you suddenly hire the services of Jim, here, and two of his top guns. I find that all very interesting.”

  “I’m writing a book,” she told him.

  Bob tasted his chicken fried steak, smiled in approval, and chewed for a time. “Sure, you are, Katti. I’m sure that much is the truth. And you’re paying these high-priced private investigators to help you do research, right?”

&
nbsp; “That’s right, Bob.”

  Bob smiled. “You folks seen any old honky-tonks materialize out of the night yet? Any ghost music floating through the night air?”

  “We have heard rumors about sightings over the years,” Cole told him.

  “Uh-huh,” Bob said, after swallowing a mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy. “Me, too. So I decided to use that accrued leave time of mine and just poke around some. You never know what you’ll find poking around.”

  Jim lifted his eyes. “I never knew you were interested in ghosts, Bob.”

  “I’m more interested in files back in Memphis. A box filled with files about mostly unsolved disappearances that goes back twenty-five years. And I’m also interested in two old men from around here who were murdered recently, days apart. I’m sure you all are familiar with those murders.”

  “We’ve heard about them,” Katti said.

  “I just bet you have,” Bob replied, making no effort to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. “When we’re finished eating, we’ll all just take a little walk to help this fine meal digest. And while we walk, we’ll talk some. I don’t trust motel rooms. Not since the chief deputy of this county almost had a heart attack when he spotted me gassing up about an hour ago. I’ve had more than one run-in with Win Bryant over the years. He’s a really lousy cop.”

  “What’s your opinion of the sheriff?” Cole asked.

  “Al Pickens is all right. He was a good chief deputy.”

  “And his son?” Katti asked.

  Bob stared at her for a couple of heartbeats. “Albert is an asshole—spoiled and arrogant. Sheriff Pickens is not a poor man. He owns several thousand acres of good bottom land around here. And he married into money. Hell, he doesn’t have to be sheriff. He just enjoys the job. He gave his son fifteen hundred acres of the best soybean and cotton land in the county, in an attempt to straighten the punk out. Didn’t work. Personally, I never figured Albert would live this long. I gather none of you have met Albert?”

  “Not yet,” Jim said.

  Bob took a sip of iced tea. “I’ve met him three times, in Memphis, when his dad drove down to get him out of jail. Albert’s runnin’ buddy is a half-ass thug named Nick Pullen. He’s a bad one. We think he killed a man in Memphis five years ago, outside a honky-tonk. Couldn’t find a single witness to point the finger at him. You see, Albert’s style is to pick a fight, and then give it to Nick to finish. Albert’s really a coward. Nick is his bodyguard.”

  “Why is the name Nick Pullen familiar to me?” Gary asked.

  “Star high school football player. Went on to the University and played there for two years. Both he and Albert were busted out because of grades. He would have gone pro, but he has a bad knee. He’s Albert’s foreman on the farm.”

  “How come you know so much about Albert and Nick?” Jim asked.

  “Because I want that little bastard. And I want Nick Pullen. Both of them have caused a lot of trouble around Memphis. They can’t get into the better clubs in the Memphis area. Barred. I want the satisfaction of being the person who slips the iron on both of them. Then, after talking with my brother, I figured this was as good a time as any to come up here. Here I am.”

  “You seen Jane lately?” Jim asked.

  Bob shook his head. Like many cops, his marriage had collapsed. Being married to a dedicated cop is not easy. “She moved to Nashville. I see the kids every now and then. Hell, they’re all grown up except for Cathy. And she’s a junior in high school.” He smiled. “Stop trying to get me off the subject, Jim. I’m here, and you people are stuck with me.” He glanced at Cole. “You might be able to take Nick Pullen. You’re sure big enough. You got a fighter’s hands and a mean look in your eyes. ”

  “I never much believed in this fair fight crap,” Cole replied.

  The Memphis cop grinned. “Me, neither!”

  * * *

  Victoria Staples stilled the ringing phone and listened for only a few seconds. She didn’t have to ask who it was; she recognized the voice. “It goes down tonight.”

  “Fine,” she said, then hung up. She smiled and looked down at Arlene Simmons, lying naked on the big bed. Arlene had three fingers jammed up her cunt. “Your man will take care of the problem tonight.”

  “Good,” Arlene said. “Now you come here and take care of me.”

  * * *

  “If this is not handled right, we could all end up in prison,” Federal Judge Warren Hayden said.

  Federal Judge Jefferson Parks nodded his head. “We were fools to ever get involved in that stupid club. And speaking quite frankly, Victoria and Arlene frighten me. Those are two of the most ruthless people I have ever encountered. And after twenty-five years on the bench, I have encountered some real dillies.”

  “All of us have,” district judge Silas Parnell said. “The person who worries me the most is Roscoe. He’s the weak link. And if his . . . ah ... sexual habits were ever made public, anyone standing close to him would be tarred with the same brush.”

  “Victoria will keep him under control,” state senator Conrad Wright spoke up. “Right, Maxwell?”

  The state representative cut his eyes. “Maybe. But I’ve got a bad feeling about this whole thing. I think it’s coming unraveled, and there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.”

  “It’s being taken care of tonight!” Warren said. “I told you. Captain Wood is seeing to it.” Warren Hayden picked up the ringing phone and listened for a moment. He slammed the receiver down and said, “Shit!”

  “What’s the matter?” Silas asked.

  “A cop from the Memphis PD has checked in at the motel. He’s having supper with the others as we speak. This is getting too complicated, people. If he’s with them when Wood’s people strike, we’ve got real problems on our hands. Killing a cop is bad business. Real . . . bad . . . business.”

  “Can it be stopped?” Judge Parks asked.

  “No. It’s too late. Everything is in motion. It’s out of our hands now.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Conrad said.

  “Just settle down,” Warren told them all. “We’ve been playing poker on this night for years. Must be several hundred people know that.” He put his hands together and moved them from side to side. “We play poker here, our wives play bridge there. We cook our meat, we drink our bourbon, we play cards. Tonight will be no different. Let’s get to it, boys.”

  * * *

  Sheriff Chuck Reno, Sheriff Paxton, Chief of Police Dick Austin, Chief of Police Paul Mallory, and chief deputies Win Bryan and Sam Rogers sat in the living area of the hunting camp and looked at one another. Sheriff Reno finally broke the silence.

  “Al Pickens has gone turncoat on us. I’m pretty sure he’s working with that Baylor bitch and her friends. No telling what all he’s told them.”

  “Relax,” Win Bryan said. “It’ll all be over tonight. I met Arlene last evening out at the barn for a quick fuck, and she told me everything was taken care of.” He smiled. “That’s the horniest bitch I ever met in my life. And it don’t make no difference where you stick it, any hole will do.”

  “I think it’s disgusting,” Chief of Police Austin said. “She’s over at Victoria’s right now, the two of them doing only god knows what.” He shuddered. “I can’t stand queers.”

  “Me, neither,” Chief Deputy Rogers said.

  Win laughed at them. “You mean you guys never had a man suck you off? When I was in high school, little Petey Watson used to polish my knob regular out behind the gym. Hell, if it feels good, do it, that’s my philosophy.”

  “You’re disgusting, too,” Austin told him.

  “Knock it off,” Sheriff Paxton said. “We’re not here to discuss personal sexual habits. I’m going to say this again: I don’t like the idea of killing cops. It’s wrong.”

  “It’s too late to stop it,” Win said, opening another can of beer. “It’s in the works. Just like a blow job: lay back and enjoy it. In a few hours, it’ll all be over and we can relax.”r />
  Chief Austin grimaced. “You know, Win, if someone were to cut open your head and look inside, all they’d see is a bunch of little pussies working. That’s all you can talk about.”

  Win chuckled. “I ain’t never found nothin’ better than sex, Dickie baby.” Win picked at his nose and found a bugger. He inspected it as if he were looking at a cultured pearl. Then he flipped it against a wall.

  * * *

  Bob Jordan had walked with the group and listened to them intently. His mind just would not accept everything they had told him during their stroll.

  They walked in silence for a few minutes. Standing outside the motel, Bob said, “It’s ... well . . . Hell, I don’t know what to say.”

  “It takes some time to grasp it all,” Bev told him. “I’m not sure I have, as yet. I haven’t seen those . . . things. I’m not sure I want to.”

  “I do,” Bob said. “Tonight.” He looked at Cole.

  “All right,” Cole said. “Tonight.”

  Twelve

  It was full dark when the six of them pulled out, heading for the site of the old honky-tonk. Katti and Jim rode with Cole, Gary and Bev with Bob. There was no moon, and the sky was filled with low, moisture-heavy clouds, obscuring the stars. It was very humid; the car air conditioners were working on high.

  Katti noticed immediately that Cole was tense and unusually silent. Before they left the city limits, she asked, “Other than the obvious, Cole, what’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling in my gut. It probably amounts to nothing, but it’s there.”

  Katti turned in the seat to glance at Jim Deaton. “How do you feel?”

  “Well, I’m a little nervous about confronting ghosts, but other than that, fine.”

  A couple of miles from where the old club once sat, Cole noticed county highway equipment parked on the side of the county road, but thought nothing of it. As soon as the two-car caravan had passed the highway trucks, several men ran out from behind the trucks and put detour signs up, closing the highway and rerouting any traffic to another road that led off to the north. A highway truck was backed into place, completely blocking the road. Miles ahead, another crew was doing the same. Cole and Katti and friends were now sealed in.