Little Boy Blues (25 page)

“Wouldn’t want to line up with the hoi-polloi,” I said.

“Don’t knock it, Tiger. You’ll be glad not to be standing downwind of twenty guys after they’ve had a couple of beer.”

He had a point.

We passed the Gospel Tent, which was practically swaying to the beat of the music inside. We zigged and zagged towards the Main Stage, on our way to The Louisiana Stage. Acres of grass were covered with low festival chairs, plastic lawn chairs, folding camp chairs, picnic blankets and canvas armchairs with beer holders. If I took a guess, many of the people would have been pushing fifty, but kids spilled around, lying on blankets, working on puzzles or quiet games.

I sniffed the air and got a whiff of illegal herbs. If Alvin had been there, he would have approved.

I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure this was the place to be. After all, Jimmy Ferguson wouldn’t be hiding out in one of the Clubhouse tents. And while the views would be great and the sound even better, it lacked the scouting opportunities I’d have in the milling crowd. On the other hand, we would be making tracks between Clubhouse tents if we were going to catch the performances I’d picked for the evening. Dr. John at the Louisiana Stage, followed by John Hammond up the hill at the Acoustic Stage, and the big Main Stage performance, George Thorogood and the Destroyers.

P. J. didn’t mind me doing the picking, which was wise on his part, but he wasn’t thrilled to have me handing out posters to everyone we passed either.

“I can’t believe you put your telephone number on them, Tiger. Why not just write your name on the bathroom wall?”

“Funny.”

We settled into chairs in the Clubhouse by the Louisiana Stage, and I made myself comfortable. P. J. got us drinks (I said anything but Corona), then headed off to score some appropriate food. I’d handed out a dozen more “Have You Seen Our Jimmy?” posters to the other people in the Clubhouse by the time he got back with Blackened Chicken Salad for me and BBQ Brisket Po Boy for P. J.. The band was late, as usual. At an outdoor festival with four stages, no one should be too surprised if performances run late, or bands have last minute substitutions. In spite of it, everybody stayed mellow.

P. J. said. “This is about relaxing and cutting loose. Right?”

“I can’t really cut loose until we find Jimmy. You’ll have to relax for both of us.”

“I think I’m going to do that,” he said. “Nicholas is taking the weekend off to take care of personal and spiritual matters.”

“Nicholas? Excuse me while I throw up,” I said. “You’re on a first-name basis with Nicholas Southern now?”

“You don’t know the guy, and you let your knee-jerk liberal prejudices close your mind.”

“That’s me, pinko commie all the way. You’re letting bad values slip in by osmosis. I thought you guys in the media were supposed to keep an open mind.”

“More open than yours. In fairness, the guy has good ideas and values. He made a ton of money by working hard and using his brains, and he’s got real leadership qualities. At the same time, he’s an urban guy, not a hick. Don’t snort, Tiger, it’s not flattering.”

“Hard work? The guy makes over a hundred million in a dot.comedy, and you call it hard work? Blind luck and a knack for pulling a fast one is more like it.”

“Come on. He built a company and sold it. Someone valued it enough to buy it.”

“Oh, yeah. I bet they’re real happy now. Where is that company? Oh right, in the toilet. But
Nicholas
still has the big bucks. How many shareholders would like to tar and feather him?”

“
Caveat emptor
. You know that, Tiger.”

“No kidding. But you know something, P. J. I don’t like what’s happening to your politics.”

“Seriously, you have the same views as Nicholas does on people taking responsibility for their own actions, on criminals serving sentences that match the seriousness of their crimes. A lot of the things you go out on a limb for are the same principles he has.”

“Next you’ll suggest I could vote for someone like him. Be
careful unless you want your mouth washed out with soap.”

“You and whose army? What are you doing?”

“Sorry, I thought I saw someone.”

“Jimmy?”

“No such luck. It’s someone else from Sydney. And I’ve got to track him down.”

“What? We just settled in. Where you going?”

I didn’t hear any more since I had scrambled out of the Clubhouse tent, trying to catch up with a jeaned backside as it vanished into a sea of people.

• • •

“I’m sorry, P. J., but I had no choice.”

“You were gone forty-five minutes. You missed Dr. John, who is someone I actually enjoy. Who the hell were you chasing?”

“I was chasing after a certain Reefer Keefer from Sydney. One of the people Jimmy spent time with the afternoon of his disappearance. He’s a small-time dope dealer, an ex-con, and I guess some kind of musician. Oh, and a liar. Anyway, he slithered away.”

“I gathered by the fact you don’t have a prisoner that you didn’t catch him. How come you’re limping?”

“I tripped over a tent wire. At least I got close enough to see he had a blue wristband, so we know he’s got a pass for the whole festival. He’s probably planning to be here every day. So that’s someone else we’re on the lookout for. Besides Jimmy, of course.”

“You are.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not keeping an eye out for Jimmy.”

“Of course I am, but I don’t even know what this other
guy looks like.”

“He looks like your Lord and Saviour in faded blue jeans.”

“Don’t mock me. Come on up to the Acoustic Stage, we might be able to catch the last bit of John Hammond. If we’re lucky.”

I wondered if Jimmy would be at the Acoustic stage and decided with the complex program and huge crowds it was as likely as anywhere else. You could have a good time anywhere. “Don’t rush, P. J. These things always run late.”

• • •

By 9:30 I had distributed every one of my Jimmy posters, had had four false spottings of Reefer Keefer and, for reasons that didn’t seem sound in retrospect, had consumed two more beer.

P. J. and I settled into the Main Stage Clubhouse to wait for George Thorogood and the Destroyers to make their appearance. P. J. gave me a little pep talk about personal responsibility and the potential effects of societal change on our soggy economy.

I yawned, pointedly.

“Laugh all you want, Tiger, but this guy is on to something. I think he really could end up with a new political party people would be proud to join. He’s got a definite appeal to younger voters.”

“By any chance, P. J., have aliens eaten your brain?”

“Plus Nicholas Southern has integrity, which is undervalued.”

“Certainly undervalued by reporters, which you seem to have forgotten you are.”

It takes more than that to get P. J. off a high horse. He droned on for the next little while, even as the band set up on
the stage. Once we got comfortable, the effects of several nights of lost sleep, my frantic hour-long race around Lebreton Flats, the two beers and P. J.’s channelling of Nicholas Southern’s right wing ravings combined. In the middle of a show with one hell of a decibel level, my head flopped back, and I started to saw logs.

I will regret that to my dying day. There’s no such thing as just a concert when you’re talking George Thorogood.

• • •

This is Ottawa. We have noise bylaws. As Alvin had mentioned earlier, you can hear the Bluesfest clear across the Ottawa River in Hull, so the whole thing shuts down by eleven o’clock. P. J. and I waited until the last possible minute before we joined the throng flowing towards the parking lots. I knew many people would be heading off for after hours concerts, but all I could think of was my bed.

“I can’t believe you slept through that,” he said, as we wove our way towards my place. “It’s not even possible. You’re like the date from hell. First you want to fight over politics, then you snore.”

I didn’t say anything. My eyes were closing again. They popped open when he pulled up in front of my apartment.

I said, “Did you really think this was a date?”

“Like I said, from hell. We have all day tomorrow to try again and see if we get the hang of it.”

• • •

I stumbled through the foyer to the elevator. On the sixteenth floor I tiptoed past Mrs. Parnell’s place. For once, she wasn’t in
her doorway, and no sliver of light showed under the door. I figured if she had good news or really bad news, she and Alvin would let me know. I wanted to pitch head first into my bed. Therefore, the sight of Vince Ferguson sitting on my sofa at midnight was the emotional equivalent to having a piano dropped on my head.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

“I have to stay somewhere.” He was peevish as always. “Not my idea. Violet insisted.”

I blurted, “But you’re supposed to be at my sister Edwina’s.”

“Everyone else is at your sister’s. I got into town about twenty minutes ago. I drove straight here by myself. I’m beat. Allie is out somewhere, so Violet told me to settle here. Allie’s on her sofa tonight. I’ll head out tomorrow. It’s not like you didn’t stay at our place.”

I guess Vince had drawn the short straw. Me or the street. He probably had to think long and hard before making his decision.

“Fine. You get the sofa.”

By now I’d been jolted wide awake. Worse, I would have to wear bedclothes, something else to be resentful about. As I was about to toss my Bermuda shorts into the hamper, I spotted the splash from Honey’s spilled Corona. That reminded me. Maybe it wouldn’t be a wasted night after all. Now I had an opportunity to ask a few tough questions of Vincent Ferguson, Ph.D.

Of course, I had to get dressed again first. I knocked on my living room door before coming out and telling a big lie. “I’m glad you’re here, Vince. I’m sure Alvin appreciates it too. He’s pretty exhausted.”

“Aren’t you helping him?”

Typical Vince with that accusing tone in his voice. “That’s not
the point. Naturally, I’m helping him.” More than you are, I thought. “Remember, Jimmy might not want to be found.”

“I don’t see how he can evade you, if you’re all really making an effort.”

Sure, like he hadn’t evaded Vince and his mother in Sydney. A moment of silence fell before I played the offensive. “Speaking of evading. How about you fill me in on one bit of information. You said Jimmy had been questioned in connection with the alleged assault on Honey Redmore.” Dead silence. It wasn’t like I’d invented the story. “I understand the assault never happened.”

“Correct. I told you that.”

“But you also told me Jimmy was questioned by the police.”

“What does this have to do with anything? We’ve been all over it. It’s old news.”

“Bear with me, Vince. So he was questioned.”

“Yes. And released.”

“Look, we both accept the assault never happened. I spoke to Honey Redmore, and I believe she’s as outraged as you are about Jimmy being questioned.”

“You spoke to her about it? You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“I suppose I do, although I don’t know why that should bother you. But the fact is the police did interview him.”

“Listen, we are going through a very difficult time here since Jimmy disappeared. We don’t need you upsetting people even more.”

“Guess what. I don’t give a shit if people get upset. You are not the only one feeling the impact. Your own brother, Alvin, has been in a state of near collapse, and I don’t see anyone in your family giving a thought to how he’s doing, although I hear that’s nothing new. Mrs. Parnell is seventy-nine years old, and she thinks he’s worth dropping everything for. I don’t even
have time to go in to my office to get my own work done, so stop with the goddam stonewalling and tell me what happened.”

I was expecting a slammed door but actually got an answer.

“I told you. They interviewed him about breaking into the Redmore house.”

“Not assault.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What exactly did they ask him?”

“I don’t know. It was all over by the time I got to the station.”

“What did your mother say it was about?”

“She wasn’t present during the interview. She arrived when I did.”

“What? Was anyone in your family with him?”

“Not until afterwards.”

“But the police couldn’t interview someone like Jimmy on his own. It’s not even legal. He would have needed to have an intervener.”

“I think they slipped up because of the seriousness of the events.”

I said, “You mean they took it seriously because the complaint came from the Redmores. It’s a small place, and the Redmores were well-known and respectable.”

“So are the Fergusons. They said they had to check it out. They had no choice.”

“Fair enough. I guess they have to follow up on complaints. But what were they checking out? Honey Redmore made it very clear there had been no kind of assault on her person.”

“Did she?”

“Yes. She was adamant. You said she claimed Jimmy tried to rape her.”

“She did say that.”

“But I believed her. She seemed genuinely upset that Jimmy had been questioned.”

“Not so sure that’s true.”

“Knock it off, Vince. What the hell happened?”

“That’s all I want to say.”

“You’d better say a bit more than that. I want to get to the bottom of this. I can’t believe the police didn’t give your family some indication of why Jimmy was brought in.”

“They did.”

“Quit acting like a jerk. Get it over with. What did they say?”

“They said it had been a break and enter with violence, I believe that’s the term, and that they had to follow up.”

“What violence are we talking about?”

“They said Jimmy had been in the Redmore house during an incident, and the Redmores had chased him away.”

“But Honey said there was no break-in.”

“I talked to the police. A couple of the officers were classmates of mine. They felt they had no choice, considering what happened.”

“But seriously, even if Jimmy had been in the house, was that the end of the world? Did he break a window or something? What did he say to you?”

“He said he didn’t do anything.”