Ford County_ Stories Part 2

Calvin said, "But won't they charge us with resistin' arrest, and probably drunk drivin' on top of that?"

"So what do you suggest?"

"The deputy's probably gone now. No ambulance means Roger's okay, wherever he is. I'll bet he's hidin' somewhere. I say we make one pa.s.s by the house, take a good look, then get on to Memphis."

"It's worth a try."

They found Roger beside the road, walking with a limp, headed to Memphis. After a few harsh words by all three, they decided to carry on. Roger took his middle position; Calvin had the door. They drove ten minutes before anyone said another word. All eyes were straight ahead. All three were angry, fuming.

Roger's face was scratched and b.l.o.o.d.y. He reeked of sweat and urine, and his clothes were covered with dirt and mud. After a few miles, Calvin rolled down his window, and after a few more miles Roger said, "Why don't you roll up that window?"

"We need fresh air," Calvin explained.

They stopped for another six-pack to settle their nerves, and after a few drinks Calvin asked, "Did he shoot at you?"

"I don't know," Roger said. "I never saw him."

"It sounded like a cannon."

"You should've heard it where I was."

At that, Aggie and Calvin became amused and began laughing. Roger, his nerves settled, found their laughter contagious, and soon all three were hooting at the old man with the gun and the wife who hid his truck keys and probably saved Roger's life. And the thought of Dudley the deputy still flying up and down the highway with his blue lights on made them laugh even harder.

Aggie was sticking to the back roads, and when one of them intersected Highway 78 near Memphis, they raced onto the entrance ramp and joined the traffic on the four-lane.

"There's a truck stop just ahead," Roger said. "I need to wash up."

Inside, he bought a NASCAR T-s.h.i.+rt and a cap, then scrubbed his face and hands in the men's room. When he returned to the truck, Aggie and Calvin were impressed with the changes. They raced off again, close to the bright lights now. It was almost 10:00 p.m.

The billboards grew larger, brighter, and closer together, and though the boys had not mentioned the Desperado in an hour, they suddenly remembered the place when they were confronted with a sizzling image of a young woman ready to burst out of what little clothing she was wearing. Her name was Tiffany, and she smirked down at the traffic from a huge billboard that advertised the Desperado, a Gentlemen's Club, with the hottest strippers in the entire South. The Dodge slowed appreciably.

Her legs seemed a mile long, and bare, and her skimpy sheer costume was obviously designed to be shed in a moment's notice. She had teased blond hair, thick red lips, and eyes that absolutely smoldered. The very possibility that she might be working just a few miles up the road, and that they could stop by and see her in the flesh, well, it was all overwhelming.

For a few minutes there was not a word as the Dodge regained its speed. Finally, Aggie said, "I reckon we'd better get to the hospital. Bailey might be dead by now."

It was the first mention of Bailey in hours.

"The hospital's open all night," Roger said. "Never closes. Whatta you thank they do, shut down at night and make ever'body go home?" To show his support, Calvin found this humorous and joined in with a hearty horselaugh.

"So ya'll want to stop by the Desperado?" Aggie asked, playing along.

"Why not?" Roger said.

"Might as well," Calvin said as he sipped a beer and tried to envision Tiffany in the middle of her routine.

"We'll stay for an hour, then hurry on to the hospital," Roger said. After ten beers, he was remarkably coherent.

The bouncer at the door eyed them suspiciously. "Lemme see your ID," he growled at Calvin, who, though twenty-one, looked younger. Aggie looked his age. Roger, twenty-seven, could pa.s.s for forty. "Mississippi, huh?" the bouncer said with an obvious bias against people from that state.

"Yep," Roger said.

"Ten-dollar cover charge."

"Just because we're from Mississippi?" Roger asked.

"No, wisea.s.s, everybody pays the cover. If you don't like it, then hop back on your tractor and go home."

"You this nice to all your customers?" Aggie said.

"Yep."

They walked away, huddled up, discussed the cover charge and whether they should stay. Roger explained that there was another club not far away, but warned that it would probably stick them with a similar entry fee. As they whispered and pondered things, Calvin tried to peek in the door for a quick glimpse of Tiffany. He voted to stay, and it was eventually unanimous.

Once inside, they were examined by two more burly and unsmiling bouncers, then led to the main room with a round stage in the center, and on that stage, at that moment, were two young ladies, one white, one black, both naked and gyrating in all directions.

Calvin froze when he saw them. His $10 cover charge was instantly forgotten.

Their table was less than twenty feet from the stage. The club was half-full, and the crowd was young and blue-collar. They were not the only country boys who'd come to town. Their waitress wore nothing but a G-string, and when she popped in with a curt "What'll it be? Three-drink minimum," Calvin almost fainted. He'd never seen so much forbidden flesh.

"Three drinks?" Roger asked, trying to maintain eye contact.

"That's it," she shot back.

"How much is a beer?"

"Five bucks."

"And we have to order three?"

"Three apiece. That's the house rule. If you don't like it, then you can take it up with the bouncers over there." She nodded at the door, but their eyes did not leave her chest.

They ordered three beers each and studied the surroundings. The stage now had four dancers, all gyrating as loud rap rattled the walls. The waitresses moved swiftly between the tables as if they might get fondled if they lingered too long. Many of the customers were drunk and rowdy, and before long a table dance broke out. A waitress climbed onto a table nearby and began her routine while a group of truck drivers stuffed cash into her G-string. Before long, her waistline was bristling with greenbacks.

A platter with nine tall and very skinny gla.s.ses of beer arrived, beer that was lighter than light and watered down to the point that it looked more like diluted lemonade. "That'll be $45," the waitress said, and this caused a panicked and prolonged searching of pockets and wallets by all three. They finally rounded up the cash.

"Ya'll still do lap dances?" Roger asked their waitress.

"Depends."

"He's never had one," Roger said, pointing to Calvin, whose heart froze.

"Twenty bucks," she said.

Roger found a $20 bill and forked it over, and within seconds Amber was sitting on top of Calvin, who, at 270 pounds, provided enough lap for a small troupe of dancers. As the music rocked and boomed, Amber bounced and wiggled, and Calvin simply closed his eyes and wondered what true love was really like.

"Rub her legs," Roger instructed, the voice of experience.

"He can't touch," Amber said sternly, while at the same time her rear end was nestled firmly between Calvin's ma.s.sive thighs. Some brutes at a nearby table watched with amus.e.m.e.nt and were soon egging Amber on with all sorts of obscene suggestions, and she played to her crowd.

How long will this song last? Calvin asked himself. His broad flat forehead was covered with perspiration.

Suddenly she turned around and faced him without missing a beat, and for at least a minute Calvin held a comely and quivering naked woman in his lap. It was a life-changing experience. Calvin would never be the same.

Sadly, the song ended, and Amber bounced to her feet and hustled off to check on her tables.

"You know you can see her later," Roger said. "One-on-one."

"What's that?" Aggie asked.

"They got little rooms in the back where you can meet the girls after they get off work."

"You're lyin'."

Calvin was still speechless, totally mute as he watched Amber skip around the club taking orders. But he was listening, and during the gap in the music he heard what Roger was saying. Amber could be his, all alone, in some glorious little back room.

They sipped their watery beer and watched other customers arrive. By 11:00 p.m., the place was packed, and more strippers and dancers worked the stage and the crowd. Calvin watched with jealous rage as Amber lap danced on another man, less than ten feet away. He noted with some pride, though, that she did the face-to-face thing for only a few seconds. If he had plenty of cash, he would happily stuff it in her G-string and get lap danced on all night long.

Cash, though, was quickly becoming an issue. During another pause between songs and strippers, Calvin, the unemployed, admitted, "I'm not sure how long I can last here. This is some pretty expensive beer."

Their beer, in eight-ounce gla.s.ses, was almost gone, and they had studied the waitresses enough to know that empties didn't sit long on the tables. The customers were expected to drink heavily, tip generously, and throw money at the girls for personal dances. The Memphis skin trade was very profitable.

"I got some cash," Aggie said.

"I got credit cards," Roger said. "Order another round while I take a pee." He stood and for the first time seemed to teeter somewhat, then he disappeared in the smoke and crowd. Calvin flagged down Amber and ordered another round. She smiled and winked her approval. What he wanted much worse than the river water they were drinking was more physical contact with his girl, but it wasn't to be. At that moment, he vowed to redouble his efforts to find a job, save his money, and become a regular at the Desperado. For the first time in his young life, Calvin had a goal.

Aggie was staring at the floor, under Roger's empty seat. "The dumba.s.s dropped his wallet again," he said, and picked up a battered canvas billfold.

"You think he's got any credit cards?" Aggie asked.

"No."

"Let's take a look." He glanced around to make sure there was no sign of Roger, then opened his wallet. There was an expired discount card from a grocery store, then a collection of business cards-two from lawyers, two from bail bondsmen, one from a rehab clinic, and one from a parole officer. Folded neatly and partially hidden was a $20 bill. "What a surprise," Aggie said. "No credit cards, no driver's license."

"And he almost got shot over that," Calvin said.

"He's an idiot, okay?" Aggie closed the wallet and placed it on Roger's chair.

The beer arrived as Roger returned and found his wallet. They sc.r.a.ped together $45 and managed a $3 tip. "Can we put a lap dance on a credit card?" Roger yelled at Amber.

"Nope, just cash," she yelled back as she left them.

"What kinda credit card you got?" Aggie asked.

"Bunch of 'em," he said like a big shot.

Calvin, his lap still on fire, watched his beloved Amber weave through the crowd. Aggie watched the girls too, but he was also watching the time. He had no idea how long it took to give a pint of blood. Midnight was approaching. And though he tried not to, he couldn't help but think about his girlfriend and the tantrum she would throw if she somehow heard about this little detour.

Roger was fading fast. His eyelids were drooping and his head was nodding. "Drink up," he said, thick tongued, as he tried to rally, but his lights were dimming. Between songs, Calvin chatted with two guys at another table and in the course of a quick conversation learned that the legendary stripper, Tiffany, didn't work on Thursday nights.

When the beer was gone, Aggie announced, "I'm leavin'. You boys comin' with me?"

Roger couldn't stand alone, so they half dragged him away from the table. As they headed to the door, Amber glided by and said to Calvin, "Are you leaving me?"

He nodded because he couldn't speak.

"Please come back later," she cooed. "I think you're cute."

One of the bouncers grabbed Roger and helped get him outside. "What time ya'll close?" Calvin asked.

"Three a.m.," the bouncer said and pointed to Roger. "But don't bring him back."

"Say, where's the hospital?" Aggie asked.

"Which one?"

Aggie looked at Calvin and Calvin looked at Aggie, and it was obvious neither had a clue. The bouncer waited impatiently, then said, "You got ten hospitals in this city. Which one?"

"Uh, the nearest one," Aggie said.

"That'll be Lutheran. You know the city?"

"Sure."

"I'll bet you do. Take Lamar to Parkway, Parkway to Poplar. It's just past East High School."

"Thanks."

The bouncer waved them off and disappeared inside. They dragged Roger to the truck, tossed him inside, then spent half an hour roaming midtown Memphis in a hopeless search for Lutheran Hospital. "Are you sure that's the right hospital?" Calvin asked several times.

In various ways, Aggie answered, "Yes," "Sure," "Probably," and "Of course."

When they found themselves downtown, Aggie stopped at a curb and approached a cabdriver who was napping behind the wheel. "Ain't no Lutheran Hospital," the cabdriver said. "We got Baptist, Methodist, Catholic, Central, Mercy, and a few others, but no Lutheran."

"I know, you got ten of 'em."

"Seven, to be exact. Where you from?"

"Mississippi. Look, where's the nearest hospital?"

"Mercy is four blocks away, just down Union Avenue."

"Thanks."

They found Mercy Hospital and left Roger in the truck, comatose. Mercy was the city hospital, the princ.i.p.al destination for late-night victims of crime, domestic abuse, police shootings, gang disputes, drug overdoses, and alcohol-related car wrecks. Almost all of said victims were black. Ambulances and police cars swarmed around the ER entrance. Packs of frantic family members roamed the dungeonlike hallways searching for their victims. Screams and shouts echoed through the place as Aggie and Calvin walked for miles looking for the information desk. They finally found it, tucked away as if it were intentionally hidden. A young Mexican girl was at the desk, smacking gum and reading a magazine.

"Do ya'll admit white people?" Aggie began pleasantly.

To which she replied coolly, "Who are you looking for?"