Crossroad Blues (The Nick Travers Novels) by Ace Atkins

over one of those collarless shirts. Long black hair and pointed beard. Black eyes with arched upside-down V's for eyebrows. A face long and thin like he was on a hunger strike. Tall and bony. Loose limbed. Cruz reminded him of Satan from all those Baptist comic books he had to read as a kid.
    Kimber pointed to a chair in front of the glass-top desk, and he sat down. Keith swallowed and didn't look at her ass as she left. He needed to be respectful of Mr. Cruz. Keith was sure the bossman took a piece on the side.
    Mr. Cruz said something to the caller about "real bidness in Nawlins" and to come in the club anytime, for whatever they needed. "Carte blanche," he said, or something like that. Keith took a deep breath and his broad chest filled with air as the man hung up.
    "So, Keith, what can I do for you? Want a drink?"
    "No, sir. The reason why I wanted to take up some of your time today, sir, is that the operation or business that we talked about last week has not lived up to the full expectations of what we've, I mean I, have planned. My contact in Mississippi tells me before the business could be concluded that he, well--got sorta broken in on by two men and that the gentleman we talked about is still free.
    "Shit, I'm sorry, sir. I thought Jes-- my contact would've taken care of everything. I'm sorry, sir. I'm real sorry. Shit!"
    "Slow down, Keith. Slow down. Don't get your dick twisted in a knot. Didn't snatch our man, huh?"
    "No, sir," Keith said, not daring to mention the fact that Jesse had tried to kill the man 'cause he was so damned stupid.
    "That's all right," Mr. Cruz said as he leaned back in his chrome-and-black-leather chair and looked at the ceiling. He put a finger on each side of his nose and sniffed.
    "Tell you what, Keith," Cruz said. "Let's go eat. I'm hungry as hell, and we'll talk about it. There's a reason for this. There is a reason for everything."
    Keith exhaled, feeling like his face had been turnin' blue.
    "I'll be right down. And on your way out, tell Kimber that I want her to call Floyd. Tell her I want him to meet us for lunch."
    "Yes, sir."

    ?

    Holy. For some reason that was the way Keith had always thought about Pascal Cruz. It wasn't just the way he lectured on all his Far East philosophy--which Keith thought was total bullshit. It was more in his slow, practiced movements and the way he wore his black, the way the pope wears white. It was almost like you expected Pascal Cruz to lead you to the Holy Land or something. Or be some kind of fuckin' prophet. Whatever it was, it sure as shit made him nervous.
    "Keith?"
    "Yessir."
    "You used to be a truck driver, didn't you?"
    "Yessir. Me and my buddy Jesse both."
    "Floyd's what we call a mechanic. Only it ain't engines he cleans up. Comprende?"
    "Yessir."
    Keith rubbed his sweating hands on the napkin tucked in his lap. He had this little piece of napkin string coming unhinged from the rest of the material real nice, like a piece of dental floss.
    Over Mr. Cruz's shoulder, he could see the heat lamps warm the buffet's food line in the Chalmette restaurant. They were early for lunch, the cooks still setting up the trays of food in the family-style arrangement: turnip greens, fried chicken, biscuits, black-eyed peas and all that shit. Steam rose past the sneeze guard above the heat lamps.
    "Yeah, ole Sweet Boy Floyd and me go way back. Back to Memphis and those sweet soul music days. Sweet Boy used to be a backup singer at Stax Records. Man, that was a time. Otis, Sam and Dave, Carla Thomas, Booker T and the MGs. That was the best music ever been made."
    "Yessir."
    "I want you and Sweet Boy to head out to the Delta and clear this mess up. I think it'd be a good learning experience for you."
    "Yessir."
    "Would you quit callin' me sir. Just call me Pascal. Like the painter, okay?"
    "Yessir."
    Keith was so intent on trying to keep eye contact with Mr. Cruz, or Pascal, that he didn't notice the big black man until he wrapped his arms around his boss's