drawn, her eyes hooded. “I didn’t kill him at all. Don’t you know that yet? Didn’t you read my letters?”
He should have realized what this was about. An interview granted after you listened to some long, hard bullshit story of innocence. Most prisoners had spent so much time alone and in law libraries that they really believed they never committed the crime. Nick could play the game. He had before. When they got tired of repeating the stories, they finally tell you things you want to know about their music. Besides, Elmore King thought she was treated unfairly. Maybe that was a story in itself.
“Who would want to set you up?” Nick asked, trying to seem sincere. Maybe not looking too good doing it.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Any ideas?”
She shook her head and looked at her hands. Short nails. Winter chapped.
“Billy owed a lot of folks money. I was just standin’ in line. Could of been a lot of people. He used to run numbers, hookers, you name it. Made A1 Capone look like a mama’s boy.”
“What about appeals?”
“Done ‘em all. Hope can be mean, so I quit . . . Used to think I deserved what I got. I took my sentence but always thought I’d get out.”
“What about parole? Seems like you’re the model prisoner. You’ve cooked, served forty years.”
“Yeah, well, there was some trouble ‘bout fifteen years ago.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Guard. Man guard was messin’ with me. Tryin’ to touch me and things.”
“Did you complain?”
“Yeah, I complained. I stuck a fork right up his ass in the kitchen. Had to have surgery to get it out and got me in solitary for a month. Had some cross-eyed psychologist tell me I had a problem with men and pointed things. Said I had issues with my daddy. Ain’t that somethin? I never knew my daddy.”
“And that was the end of parole?”
She took another deep breath, staring at the floor and rocking in her chair. “The board told me 1 was still a threat on the outside. Hell, took me three years just to get back into the kitchen.”
“Listen, we don’t need to get into all that yet,” Nick said. “I want to hear about when you were young, your recordings, leaving Clarksdale.”
“What do you mean, you don’t want to hear all that yet?”
“Your guilt or innocence isn’t my business. I’m a historian. I want to know about your life.”
“And bein’ innocent ain’t a part of my life?” Ruby asked.
“Not all of it.”
She stared straight into his eyes. She wasn’t mad. Just worn. She looked like a person suffering from severe sleep deprivation begging a doctor for a pill or some advice. Her eyes dropped somewhere into an open space and again nodded with an understanding only she knew.
“Ruby, I’ve been on a train from New Orleans all night. We’ll get to your story … be cool.”
“Don’t be coolin’ me, dude,” Ruby said. “Uh-ah. Why do you think I gave you a chance? Spent my days tellin’ you my story in those letters? That was my insides I wrote.”
“You heard about how handsome I was?”
Ruby blew out her breath and leaned back into her chair. “Look like that face been in some fights to me.”
The guard behind her laughed. Nick looked up at the guard and raised an eyebrow.
“Where’d you get that scar?” Ruby asked. “Fightin’?”
“Quarterback kicked me in the face.”
“Reason I answered you is I checked you out. I keep up with blues. I know what’s goin’ on out there and the sad state of things. Reason they ain’t deadened my mind yet.”
“How did you check me out?”
Ruby had her shoulders pinched together and her head in her hands. She rubbed her rough brown hands over her face and said, “I read about you helpin’ that man in Memphis.”
Nick looked away and down at his notes.
“That old dude whose manager left with everything he owned. Said you found the man at a strip club in Jackson.”
“Biloxi.”
“Said you went to jail for a few
He should have realized what this was about. An interview granted after you listened to some long, hard bullshit story of innocence. Most prisoners had spent so much time alone and in law libraries that they really believed they never committed the crime. Nick could play the game. He had before. When they got tired of repeating the stories, they finally tell you things you want to know about their music. Besides, Elmore King thought she was treated unfairly. Maybe that was a story in itself.
“Who would want to set you up?” Nick asked, trying to seem sincere. Maybe not looking too good doing it.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Any ideas?”
She shook her head and looked at her hands. Short nails. Winter chapped.
“Billy owed a lot of folks money. I was just standin’ in line. Could of been a lot of people. He used to run numbers, hookers, you name it. Made A1 Capone look like a mama’s boy.”
“What about appeals?”
“Done ‘em all. Hope can be mean, so I quit . . . Used to think I deserved what I got. I took my sentence but always thought I’d get out.”
“What about parole? Seems like you’re the model prisoner. You’ve cooked, served forty years.”
“Yeah, well, there was some trouble ‘bout fifteen years ago.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Guard. Man guard was messin’ with me. Tryin’ to touch me and things.”
“Did you complain?”
“Yeah, I complained. I stuck a fork right up his ass in the kitchen. Had to have surgery to get it out and got me in solitary for a month. Had some cross-eyed psychologist tell me I had a problem with men and pointed things. Said I had issues with my daddy. Ain’t that somethin? I never knew my daddy.”
“And that was the end of parole?”
She took another deep breath, staring at the floor and rocking in her chair. “The board told me 1 was still a threat on the outside. Hell, took me three years just to get back into the kitchen.”
“Listen, we don’t need to get into all that yet,” Nick said. “I want to hear about when you were young, your recordings, leaving Clarksdale.”
“What do you mean, you don’t want to hear all that yet?”
“Your guilt or innocence isn’t my business. I’m a historian. I want to know about your life.”
“And bein’ innocent ain’t a part of my life?” Ruby asked.
“Not all of it.”
She stared straight into his eyes. She wasn’t mad. Just worn. She looked like a person suffering from severe sleep deprivation begging a doctor for a pill or some advice. Her eyes dropped somewhere into an open space and again nodded with an understanding only she knew.
“Ruby, I’ve been on a train from New Orleans all night. We’ll get to your story … be cool.”
“Don’t be coolin’ me, dude,” Ruby said. “Uh-ah. Why do you think I gave you a chance? Spent my days tellin’ you my story in those letters? That was my insides I wrote.”
“You heard about how handsome I was?”
Ruby blew out her breath and leaned back into her chair. “Look like that face been in some fights to me.”
The guard behind her laughed. Nick looked up at the guard and raised an eyebrow.
“Where’d you get that scar?” Ruby asked. “Fightin’?”
“Quarterback kicked me in the face.”
“Reason I answered you is I checked you out. I keep up with blues. I know what’s goin’ on out there and the sad state of things. Reason they ain’t deadened my mind yet.”
“How did you check me out?”
Ruby had her shoulders pinched together and her head in her hands. She rubbed her rough brown hands over her face and said, “I read about you helpin’ that man in Memphis.”
Nick looked away and down at his notes.
“That old dude whose manager left with everything he owned. Said you found the man at a strip club in Jackson.”
“Biloxi.”
“Said you went to jail for a few
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