Authors: Mike Jastrzebski
“Constantly,” Cathy said. “It’s what makes the car so much fun. Does it bother you?”
“It’s a bit disconcerting,” I admitted.
We turned onto Interstate 10, and by the time we reached Highway 65, three cars and a truck had honked at us. I found myself slouching a little in my seat, which aggravated the cuts on my shoulder.
The Blues Cafe was a rundown concrete box that didn’t quite fit in among the retail stores and car dealerships. It was six-thirty and the parking lot was just beginning to fill. Cathy pulled in between a new Harley and a Dodge Ram pickup, turned off the car, and faced me.
“Just so you know, Wes, this is who I am. I like the attention this car brings me. I like you, I think we can have some fun together, but what you see is what you get.”
“I can handle it.”
“You sure? I saw you scooting down when those cars were honking at us.”
My insecurities were battling my hormones at the moment. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So maybe it will take a little while to get used to riding around in a cow car.”
Cathy nodded and swung open her door. She looked up at the sky and climbed out of the car. “I think I’ll leave the top down. It doesn’t look like it’s going to rain tonight.”
Inside, the cafe was dark and smoky, the tables clustered close together. A small dance floor and band stage cluttered the front of the room. Behind the dance floor another room opened up where two pool tables sat, and a third room led off to the right. We chose a table next to the bar, ordered a couple of beers, and asked when the mudbugs would be served.
“It’s self-serve, honey.” The waitress who set our beers in front of us looked like she wasn’t old enough to be out alone at night. She wore low-rider jeans, a cutoff t-shirt, and sported a jeweled belly ring. “When you see ‘em starting to line up over to the right there, y’all know they’re fixing to eat. Follow the crowd and you can’t go wrong.”
Like an angry genie trapped in a bottle, Clarence “Frogman” Henry wailed out from the jukebox. Cathy leaned close to me, touched my hand, and whispered, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many middle-aged men with ponytails walking around in one place. And every woman seems to come equipped with a pack of cigarettes and a long neck bottle of beer.”
I nodded. “Bikers and rednecks. This was your pick, remember. I assumed you’d been here before.”
“Nope. I heard some of the regulars at the bar talking about this place and I thought it would be interesting. It’s obvious I’m not in Mazo anymore.”
“Mazo?”
She laughed, moved her hand from my arm, and picked up her beer. “Mazomanie, Wisconsin. Population one thousand four hundred and eighty-four.”
“You still have family there?” I asked.
“Nope.” Cathy’s smile turned to a frown and she slammed her empty beer bottle down and stood. “Looks like the line’s forming.” She reached out for my hand, urged me up, and led me across the room.
We drifted up to the serving table, heaped spicy crawfish, steamed corn, and potatoes onto paper plates, and made our way through the gathering crowd back to our table. Cathy didn’t say much, and it was obvious to me that I had hit a sore spot when I asked about her family. While I debated whether I should apologize, she set her plate down, put her hands on her hips, and stuck her tongue out at me. I couldn’t help smiling.
“Look, I have issues with my past. I know it, and now you know it. What say we talk about something else? Maybe after I get to know you a little better, we can get back to that subject.”
“Fair enough.” I sat down, caught the waitress’s attention, and ordered a couple more beers. “Now, how about if you show me how to eat these buggers. I’m starving.”
She gave me a sleepy smile and reached for a mudbug. “First you grab the head, snap it down and off, then you pinch the tail here.” She grabbed the tail where it bent, squeezed it, caught the meat in her teeth where the head had been pulled off, and mumbled, “Now you pull out the meat and voil
á
. The locals suck the juice out of the head. I tried it once and decided to stick with the tails.”
Once I felt comfortable with the process I glanced over at her. “They’re good, but it seems like a lot of work for a little meat.”
“I know what you mean, but they can be addictive. I chow down on them at least once a week,” she said.
We finished our mudbugs and hauled the shells to the trash as the band started playing. The man on keyboard, a gray-haired, heavyset fellow who appeared to have been around, was great. The lead singer was a bit young and a little off key, but he could play the harmonica. The bass player was more than adequate and fit my image of a blues-man the best. He wore a floppy, full-brimmed hat, and an oversized jacket. He tended to tug on his beard when he wasn’t playing, and possessed a mournful aura that had etched itself upon his face.
An aging black couple wearing matching leather jackets moved out onto the floor and began dancing. They held each other close and swayed together with a well-practiced rhythm. A big-breasted young woman with short cropped hair and dressed in jeans that pulled across her rear end dragged a tall, gangly man with skinny tattooed arms and a pinched, ugly face away from his beer and joined them.
“Do you dance?” Cathy asked.
I leaned forward, so she could hear me over the band. “I do a pretty good Two Step, and I can do an East Coast or West Coast Swing.”
“That’s great,” she said. “Nobody down here seems to do West Coast Swing. Want to give it a whirl?”
We headed up to the dance floor where we spent much of the next three hours. Despite the pain in my shoulder, I was enjoying myself and felt at ease with Cathy. As we headed back to the marina, Cathy asked me what brought me to Mobile.
“Two weeks ago I learned that my father, who I never met by the way, was born and raised around here. My mother never told me much about my father and I was curious, so I sailed up here. Seems I have a whole set of relatives I didn’t even know existed.”
“Is that good or bad?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet. Ask me in a week or so.”
Cathy wasn’t finished with her questions though. As we pulled into the lot Cathy parked the car and shifted her body to face me. “So you’re here to meet your family?”
“Let’s just say curiosity drew me here. You know what they say about curiosity. The truth is, if I hadn’t met you I’m not sure I’d still be hanging around.”
Cathy swung her door open and stepped out of the car. “Walk me down to the river, will you?”
“Sure,” I said. As I came around the car she took my hand and we headed for the river.
Cathy gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “I had a good time tonight, Wes.”
“Me too,” I said. And I had. I also had high expectations of where the conversation might lead us until I saw who was sitting at the gathering table under the restaurant.
Without thinking I took her arm and started to steer Cathy around the other side of the building when a voice called out, “Hey Cuz, come on over and join us.” As she lifted a beer bottle in greeting the person across from her turned so that I could see him. It was Rusty Dawson.
Chapter 5
Cathy pulled away from me and stopped. “I should get back to my boat.”
“It’s just my cousin and Rusty,” I said. “We’ll say a quick hi and then we can go sit by the river.”
“Some other time.” Cathy spun away and hurried toward the far dock where she kept her houseboat.
I walked over to the table and Rusty stood. “I was just keeping the lady company until you returned.” He picked up several empty cans and started toward the parking lot.
“See you Rusty,” I called out to his back as I sat down opposite my cousin. “It’s almost midnight and you just ruined what promised to be a pleasant night.”
Jessica raised her beer. “Sorry I can’t offer you one but Rusty emptied the pack. The man sure can drink.”
I glared at her until she lowered her eyes, and then I reached out and took the bottle from her hand. I downed what was left in two gulps and set the bottle aside. “What are you doing here, Jess?”
Her head snapped up. “The name’s Jessica. Not Jess. Not Jessie. Jessica.”
“Let me rephrase my question. What are you doing here Jessica?”
“You know how to pick a lock, Cuz?”
I knew I shouldn’t ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “What are you planning, Jess?” Her nose flared and before she could say anything I added, “I mean Jessica.”
“I spent the afternoon trying to track down Sam Quinlin. I drove by his office and there were three newspapers sitting in front of the door. I don’t think he’s been around for a few days. I thought if we could get inside we could look for the book.”
“That’s crazy,” I said.
“Why?”
“You don’t even know that Quinlin was involved.”
Jessica chewed on her lower lip and gave me a look that seemed to question my sanity. “Why won’t he return my calls?”
“Because you’re a pest.”
Jessica jumped up, knocking over her chair in the process. “I was hoping because you were family you would help.”
“I don’t think you’ve really thought this out, Jessica. Why don’t you go to the police and let them handle it.”
“I’m gonna get the book back with or without your help. Just like Granddaddy asked.”
“You’re liable to end up in jail.”
Jessica moved around the table to stand in front of me. “I wouldn’t want you to take any chances, Cuz. I’ll figure out how to get into the building myself.”
As she started off toward the parking lot I thought I heard her sniffle. Was she crying? Would she really break into the building by herself? I decided she would.
“Wait,” I called out.
Jessica stopped and as she turned she reached up and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
I stood. “If I agree to this there are some ground rules.”
“Such as.”
“I’ll go in and check the place out while you stand watch.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I need to know if anyone shows up.”
“You don’t know what the book looks like.”
“How many five-hundred-year-old books is Quinlin likely to be keeping in his office?”
“All right, we’ll do it your way.”
“I really don’t expect to find the book lying around Quinlin’s office.”
“Then why are you agreeing to come along?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I have Batman syndrome or something. But just because I’m not willing to let you do this on your own doesn’t mean I think this is a good idea.” I paused for effect and added, “You’ll have to drive. I don’t have a car.”
It began to rain as we drove away from the marina. With the rain came cooler temperatures. Thunder rattled the night. Spasms of pain ran through my shoulder and I began to shiver. I wondered if it was the cold, or the anticipation of what I was about to do.
I’d made my decision to go along with Jessica’s plan reluctantly. I knew the chances of finding anything useful were small in comparison with the possibility of being caught breaking into Quinlin’s office, but I couldn’t let Jessica do this alone. She wasn’t equipped for this type of action. All I could do was hope that this trip would give me at least a clue as to what was going on.
It was a little after midnight when we drove by Sam Quinlin’s office. “That’s it.” Jessica pointed to a small house that must have been converted into an office somewhere along the line.
“Turn there.” I pointed to a side street a half block past the parking lot.
Jessica turned, drove another half block and swung into a parking space across from a small park. We climbed out of the car and walked back to the office.
“It looks like there’s a light on in the back,” Jessica said. “Do you think Sam’s working late?"
“Let’s go around to the front,” I said. “We may get to talk to the elusive gentleman after all.”
We moved from the back of the building to the front. There were two curtained windows along the side of the building. One was lit. The other was dark. My heart raced like an out of control engine, and my hands were clammy by the time we reached the front of the building. Adding to my anxiety, the lot was well lit and two cars drove by as we crept up to the door.
The door was ajar, the latch holding it from closing. I reached for the doorknob. “It looks like someone didn’t pull the door tight when they left.”
“Are you going in?” Jessica asked.
“Remember our deal,” I said. “You can watch the lot from around the corner of the building. If the police or anyone else shows up, knock on the window and head for the car. I’ll find the back door and be right behind you.”
Jessica reached out and touched my arm. “Be careful, Wes.”
I patted her hand, pushed open the door, and stopped to listen. Nothing, but the gut-wrenching smell emanating from somewhere within caused me to hesitate.
“What’s wrong,” Jessica asked.
“Go around to the back of the building and wait for me there.”
“Why.”
“Goddamn it Jessica. Will you just do what I ask for once?”