headlights— The Blue Suede Shoes Tavern —I turned into the lot, past a couple battered pickups, and drove toward the dilapidated garage in the far corner. Just as I remembered, a pink Cadillac was parked there; I pulled up behind it. In the headlights through the streams of rain I could make out the Elvis pompadour bumper sticker that the electrician had mentioned on the phone. The only problem was that the plumber’s informant had described an old beat-up Caddy. This one was brand spanking new.
It was time to show where I excelled beyond all others. As I located a flashlight and took off everything that I didn’t want drenched, Gustavo again woke up.
“We’ze low on der drinky. And I … I need to take a leaky,” Gustavo tried to rhyme. He was grinning with his eyes closed. Even though he was slurring and his bladder was filled beyond capacity, he still wanted to squeeze more alcohol into his system. Since this was more characteristic of me than him, I knew he was still trying to blot out his profound grief.
“I’ll be back in a flash and we’ll get a new bottle together.”
Opening the door was like popping the hatch of a submarine. I was grateful for the relatively mild winds as I walked over to the pink Cadillac and looked inside: two shiny, empty seats. There was nothing in there indicating an abduction, let alone a murder, had taken place. In fact, it looked like it had just been driven off a 1960s car dealer’s lot. Still, I knew that if a crimescene unit were able to dust and scour the vehicle, they’d turn up some print, fiber, or telling residue. So I didn’t even try opening the door lest I should inadvertently wipe any of it away. I went over to the wooden garage and tried the warped door; it was padlocked shut. Walking around back I looked into one the cobwebbed windows. Again, no great secrets were yielded. It seemed plausible that the body might turn up under that fresh mound of dirt in the hillside. Taking a deep breath, I trudged up the same hill I had climbed a few days before. After getting hit by countless pelts of Spanish moss dangling from the many oaks like nature’s own car wash, I was utterly soaked. In the muddy darkness, I eventually located that rectangular plot of quicksand. While stomping around in it, my right foot sunk deep into the earth and rose up shoeless.
With no shovel in sight, I got on my knees in the warm mud and started slinging handfuls of black water downhill, looking both for my missing shoe and the possible remains of one Missy Scrubbs. Thanks to the driving rain, the mud from the sides of the hole kept rushing back in with every scoop. Five, ten, fifteen minutes later, having found neither my shoe nor her body, it felt as if I hadn’t actually dug any deeper; I was merely diverting the slow flow of a mudslide. I would’ve kept digging, at least for my shoe, had the gun blast not brought me to my feet.
Scurrying down the hill, I could see a red light spinning through the trees. In the foreground a flashlight was pointing uphill in the woods toward me. A walkie-talkie broke through the pitter-patter of rain.
“Yeah, I need an ambulance pronto!”
Relieved to see that whatever was happening was nowhere near my car, I called out as I approached.
“Hands up!” I heard a sharp voice shout out. Two flashlights from different angles caught me coming down that dark hill.
“What’s going on?” I asked, lifting my drenched hands above me. As I stepped closer I could see the body not far from where I had seen the dead Elvis impersonator a few days ago. Moving closer, I made out Gustavo splayed out over the walkway, groaning. A large old man was bent over him trying to compress his wounds. It was Jeeves.
“NO!” I raced over and pulled his large wet head into my lap.
“Who the hell are you!” a cop shouted.
“His wife!” Only by saying that would they allow me to help him.
“Just hold on!” another cop said, trying to grab me.
“I can vouch for
It was time to show where I excelled beyond all others. As I located a flashlight and took off everything that I didn’t want drenched, Gustavo again woke up.
“We’ze low on der drinky. And I … I need to take a leaky,” Gustavo tried to rhyme. He was grinning with his eyes closed. Even though he was slurring and his bladder was filled beyond capacity, he still wanted to squeeze more alcohol into his system. Since this was more characteristic of me than him, I knew he was still trying to blot out his profound grief.
“I’ll be back in a flash and we’ll get a new bottle together.”
Opening the door was like popping the hatch of a submarine. I was grateful for the relatively mild winds as I walked over to the pink Cadillac and looked inside: two shiny, empty seats. There was nothing in there indicating an abduction, let alone a murder, had taken place. In fact, it looked like it had just been driven off a 1960s car dealer’s lot. Still, I knew that if a crimescene unit were able to dust and scour the vehicle, they’d turn up some print, fiber, or telling residue. So I didn’t even try opening the door lest I should inadvertently wipe any of it away. I went over to the wooden garage and tried the warped door; it was padlocked shut. Walking around back I looked into one the cobwebbed windows. Again, no great secrets were yielded. It seemed plausible that the body might turn up under that fresh mound of dirt in the hillside. Taking a deep breath, I trudged up the same hill I had climbed a few days before. After getting hit by countless pelts of Spanish moss dangling from the many oaks like nature’s own car wash, I was utterly soaked. In the muddy darkness, I eventually located that rectangular plot of quicksand. While stomping around in it, my right foot sunk deep into the earth and rose up shoeless.
With no shovel in sight, I got on my knees in the warm mud and started slinging handfuls of black water downhill, looking both for my missing shoe and the possible remains of one Missy Scrubbs. Thanks to the driving rain, the mud from the sides of the hole kept rushing back in with every scoop. Five, ten, fifteen minutes later, having found neither my shoe nor her body, it felt as if I hadn’t actually dug any deeper; I was merely diverting the slow flow of a mudslide. I would’ve kept digging, at least for my shoe, had the gun blast not brought me to my feet.
Scurrying down the hill, I could see a red light spinning through the trees. In the foreground a flashlight was pointing uphill in the woods toward me. A walkie-talkie broke through the pitter-patter of rain.
“Yeah, I need an ambulance pronto!”
Relieved to see that whatever was happening was nowhere near my car, I called out as I approached.
“Hands up!” I heard a sharp voice shout out. Two flashlights from different angles caught me coming down that dark hill.
“What’s going on?” I asked, lifting my drenched hands above me. As I stepped closer I could see the body not far from where I had seen the dead Elvis impersonator a few days ago. Moving closer, I made out Gustavo splayed out over the walkway, groaning. A large old man was bent over him trying to compress his wounds. It was Jeeves.
“NO!” I raced over and pulled his large wet head into my lap.
“Who the hell are you!” a cop shouted.
“His wife!” Only by saying that would they allow me to help him.
“Just hold on!” another cop said, trying to grab me.
“I can vouch for
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