Crossroad Blues (The Nick Travers Novels) by Ace Atkins Page B

stomach.
    "Tell you what, baby," Floyd said, as he chewed on his toothpick and tossed them a hundred. "Y'all come over to see us after the show and show us them lil ole titties of yours, and I'll buy a whole mess of them tickets."
    Pascal Cruz winked at Keith. "You're gonna like workin' with Sweet Boy. This man is the master. You just might learn something. Just keep your eyes open, son." But all Keith could see was his own reflection in Pascal Cruz's black Ray-Bans, his satanic smile spreading wide.

Chapter 17
    Two days later, Nick still hadn't found out shit. Willie Brown wouldn't let him talk to Cracker, who was still in the hospital. So he spent his time at the Purple Heart with Virginia, making love, drinking, and going over the remaining names on the contact list. No luck. He drove all around Greenwood within a twenty-mile radius to talk to old blues singers or their relatives and friends.
    It was something to do while he waited, like playing solitaire or working a crossword puzzle. But he knew he needed Cracker.
    That morning, he lay on a musty bedspread in the Dixie Motel and mindlessly flipped television channels. Oprah. Love Boat . Soap operas. He threw the remote on the floor. A commercial came on from the Jamaican tourist board showing a white woman having her hair braided by a poor young girl. The young girl smiled and danced. Nick groaned and closed his eyes. Pathetic.
    Why would anyone want to kill an old man like Cracker? He knew why they'd want to kill Baker; the man could've given Mother Teresa a conniption. Maybe Baker pissed off Elvis, and Cracker witnessed it. Hell, it could be just a simple robbery and murder from that psycho.
    Brown took down the description Nick gave him but refused to put out an APB on a young Elvis Presley. He even asked Nick if he'd been smoking some shit before the other night and he wasn't even joking.
    Nick reached over with a blind hand for the phone, pulled it over to his chest, and called JoJo in New Orleans. He was already missing the rhythms and cadence of his New Orleans circle: coffee at Louisiana Products, night jams in the Quarter, and JoJo's gruff voice.
    Felix, the bartender, answered the phone and told him to hold on.
    Nick had known JoJo since he was a freshman at Tulane. Back then, he already had an appetite for the blues and the natural place to filter in New Orleans was JoJo's. Nick used to go there at least three nights a week, sitting and watching Loretta, Fats, or the house band.
    JoJo knew Nick and his friends played football at Tulane and would send them over a round of Dixies. Their friendship never progressed over a polite nod, a named greeting, or the regular "how's the team doing?" questions.
    But a woman changed all that--not just any woman, but a blonde-haired siren in a sundress. It was during the football season of Nick's sophomore year. Tulane had lost to LSU again, and he'd gone to JoJo's for another blues-driven Saturday night.
    The woman, she was actually only in her early twenties, decided to dance by herself close to the band. That night it was Chicago Bob, and he was playing some covers like Little Walter's "Dead Presidents" and a little of Elmore James's "It Hurts Me Too."
    This blonde was moving her hands all over her body and really feeling the music. She mimicked all of Bob's licks that night. It was one of the most erotic things Nick had ever seen. Then her dreamy eyes turned to Nick and watched him the whole way through a hip thrust.
    A man would've had to have medical problems not to feel something at that moment. When Bob stopped and the jukebox started back up, Nick followed her outside to Conti Street, where she dried her sweat in the cool spring wind. Her freckled chest was soaked and her hair damp.
    She didn't even hesitate when Nick offered her a smoke. She grabbed the back of his head and gave him a long, sloppy kiss. She moved his hands down to her ass and stuck her tongue in his ear. They didn't even make it back to his car