The Price of Beauty in Strawberry Land (7 page)

“Yes it is interesting.
 
And if I can get my hands on that file, I believe we’re going to see some big names take a big fall.
 
We both know that our Memphis Mafia friends on Beale Street want no part of this city/county consolidation.
 
The prostitution, gambling, illegal weapons, booze and drug operations would take a real hit – maybe even shut them down.”

“Interesting,” he said again.

“We both know a lot of money is changing hands – it has to be.
 
Otherwise they couldn’t get away with all the things they do.
 
We just don’t know ‘whose’ hands and I think this file might just tell us that.”

 
“Interesting,” he said again.

“Is that all you can say – interesting!” I exclaimed.

“Okay, Carson, what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to check out this guy Bernie Taylor – he works at the Commercial Appeal and I think he knows where this file might be.
 
I also think he might be in danger.
 
Watson has himself hidden away in Arkansas and you can check on him later – he’s so scared we would never get the file from him anyway.
 
I also need you to re-open the investigation into Barry Lassiter’s death.
 
I’ll offer even money that somebody threw him over that rail, and I have a pretty good guess as to who did it.”

“Absolutely not.
 
Think up some excuse to re-open the death investigation and keep everything on a low key – especially concerning Bernie Taylor.”

“Just stay in touch.
 
I’ll be in Humboldt for a few days – you know how to reach me there – I’ll be at Chiefs.”

“Okay – I’ll call if I find anything you need to know.
 
Otherwise, let me hear from you when you get back in town.
 
Now, here’s the check.
 
Thanks for lunch,” he said getting up to leave.

He was finished and I still hadn’t even ordered!

“Larry, one other thing.
 
That fellow named Dollar you sent to the pen for running an auto theft ring – didn’t he make parole and relocate to Jackson?”

“Alfred E. Dollar.
 
Can’t ever forget that name.
 
He had a big operation – stealing cars, changing vin numbers, selling used cars for new, turning back mileage – this guy was a real piece of work.
 
Yes, he made parole and relocated to Jackson, but I’ve not heard anything from or about him.
 
Why?”

“Just curious.
 
I’m working on a case for one of Jack’s clients – in Milan, Tennessee.
 
Embezzlement at a car dealership, but it’s got a bad smell to it.
 
If our friend Alfred E. Dollar is in the area, he might have some information to share.”

“Carson, I suggest you be careful with this guy.
 
His name doesn’t fit his personality.
 
He’s not a nice person and I would be very surprised if he voluntary shared any information with you.
 
And you can also bet that whoever he is currently running with, isn’t of much better character.
 
Just be cautious.”

“Will do.
 
I’ll stay in touch,” I offered as Larry walked away.

I ordered a Sandy’s hamburger to go and pointed the Ford east on Hwy. 70/79.
 
At Brownsville I stayed on Hwy. 70 and drove toward Jackson, rather than Humboldt.

Bemis is a section of Jackson’s south side.
 
If you were looking for trouble, Bemis would a good place to look.
 
I headed for Bemis.

I figured if I had any chance of finding Alfred E. Dollar, Bemis was be my best place to start. Bars and used car lots lined both sides of Hwy. 45 South, and after buying a few beers at
‘Murphy’s’
– I found out what I wanted to know – Alfred E. Dollar was in the area and was a regular.
 
According to the bartender, my best bet for finding Alfred this time of day would be the Bemis Pool Room.
 
That was my next stop.

My problem was that I didn’t know what Alfred E. Dollar looked like – so I really wouldn’t know him if I saw him.
 
This made my questions more difficult and dangerous, as I was about to find out.

I sat on a stool at the pool room bar for 30 minutes and never got the feeling that Alfred E. Dollar was in the room – that based upon the conversations going on around the bar, pool tables and domino games.
 
Expecting the worst, I asked the biggest and ugliest fellow in the poolroom if he knew where I could find Alfred E. Dollar.

He walked over and blew his beer breath in my face as he asked, “Just who wants to know?”

“Me. I want to know. I am the one who asked.
 
What are you confused about?” He visibly did not appreciate my words or tone.

“Mister, are you drunk or just as stupid as you look,” he said leaning over and putting his face only inches from mine. “Would you like for me to break your nose before or after I throw you out?”

“Those are a lot of questions – just let me answer them this way,” I said backing away from his stinking breath. “I don’t know Alfred E. Dollar by sight.
 
But what I do know is that I have two loaded car haulers parked between here and Bolivar, and I need a buyer.
 
I was given the name Alfred E. Dollar and also given the understanding that he might have an interest.
 
That’s why I am asking where I could find Alfred E. Dollar.
 
Does that answer any of your questions?”

“Who’s ‘giving’ all this information?
 
Are you a cop?” His face was once again getting closer to mine – I’m sitting and he’s standing.

“How come you keep answering my questions with more questions?
 
Let’s start over.
 
Do you know where I can find Alfred E. Dollar?”

“No.”

“Thank you for the conversation – it has been interesting. Do you have any suggestions on where I might look?
 
Now, just so we are clear – that is a different question from my original one.
 
Can we skip the foreplay and try for a Yes or No?”

“No.”

 
“Thank you,” I said turning around on my barstool and trying to get him out of my face.

Then he added, “But if you’ll leave your name and number where you can be reached, I’ll see that Al gets it.”

‘Al’? No wonder I wasn’t getting anywhere, I was using the wrong name!
 
Anyone with a handle like Alfred E. Dollar would certainly feel better with just a simple – ‘Al’.
 
How could I have been so stupid!

“Tell you what. You tell ‘Al’ that my name is Carson and I will be staying at Chiefs Motel in Humboldt for the next couple of days.
 
If he is interested, have him call me there.”

“Humboldt?
 
I thought you said your trailers were in Bolivar?
 
And what’s your last name? He’ll need that, too.”

“Here we go with your questions again.
 
No, I said they were BETWEEN here and Bolivar – not IN Bolivar.
 
So, just let me worry about the trailer and cars – OK?
 
And he doesn’t need to know any more than Carson – they’ll know me when he calls.”

“OK.
 
I’ll give him the message.” Finally he got his beer breath out of my face.

“Thanks, it has been a pleasure having this conversation.
 
We must do it again sometime soon,” I said getting off the barstool and heading toward the door.

I left while I still had all my parts.
 
My welcome had been all used up!

~

I
t was already dark when I made my exit from the Bemis Pool Room, and I headed straight to Chiefs Motel and Restaurant to see if I could get a room.
 
Chiefs is a popular local hangout located on North 22
nd.
in Humboldt.
 
It is owned and operated by a couple of close friends, Ronnie and Nickie Woodson.
 
Given the opportunity, you would find it an unusual and terrific place to stay and visit. They offer an indoor restaurant, outside curb service and small cottage rooms for traveling guests. You can’t miss it – it’s located right under the big neon Indian Chief sign!

Nickie and husband Ronnie have owned and operated Chiefs for as long as I can remember.
 
He runs the kitchen and does most of the cooking. Nickie handles everything else – including Cottage rentals, the books, the inventory and keeping Ronnie in line.
 
Ronnie has a ‘wandering eye’, and probably other ‘wandering’ parts too – which does keep Nickie busy.
 
However, along with a couple of waitresses and Nickie’s supervision, everything always seems to go like clockwork.
 
She also manages the carhops who serve outside patrons.

Carhops are a different breed – they are either good or just plain terrible.
 
Tommy was my favorite and had been with Nickie and Ronnie since the beginning.
 
I guess you would call him the ‘team leader’ carhop.
 
Whatever you needed – and I mean ‘whatever you needed’ Tommy Trubush was your man.
 
Everybody knew there was a lot of underage drinking – but Tommy kept it straight and never let it get out of hand.
 
I have many times seen him put tough guys on the ground, and when he asked someone to leave – they left.
 
He ran the outside show – no question about it.

This was a Friday night and Chiefs was busy, as usual.
 
I managed to slip in the door and grab a barstool before Nickie noticed.
 
Never looking up, she walked over and asked, “What can I get for you?”

“A vodka martini – shaken, not stirred.” That made her look up!

“Carson Reno – it’s great to see you – I think.
 
And who do you think you are - James Bond?
 
We don’t do martinis here and you know it.
 
It’s Jack Daniel’s and Coke for you, I know you.
 
Remember?”

“Sure thing.
 
What brings you to town?
 
Oh, wait – I know.
 
It’s that big shindig going on tomorrow night – right?”

“How’d you guess?” I laughed.

“I run a bar – nothing gets by me.
 
And by the way, this town hasn’t been the same since the last time you were here.
 
Please tell me you are just here for the party and not turn this town upside down? Please?” Nickie was smiling, but serious.

“Just for the party.
 
Maybe I’ll call it vacation – would that make you happy?”

“I doubt it. Your vacations are probably just full of loose women. And come to think of it – your whole life is full of loose women!”

“Be nice Nickie.
 
How is Ronnie?” I asked looking around.

“If I don’t kill him tonight, he’ll live to be a day older.
 
But the night is still young – and a lot younger than he thinks he is!”

“Understand, situation normal – right?”

 
“Right.
 
I’m going to put you in Cottage 4.
 
It seems to be your favorite, and I just had a honeymoon couple check out of it this morning.
 
You can probably still smell their ‘bliss’ all over the walls,” Nickie was making sniffing jesters with her nose.

“Honeymoon!
 
What kind of couple in their right mind would spend their honeymoon at Chiefs?
 
Wait – let me ask that a different way.
 
Did they drive here on a tractor?
 
Then I might understand.”