days.”
“Yeah.”
“Man called you a saint.”
“He said I once played for the Saints.”
She skimmed her hand over her short gray hair. It was if she was searching for the glistening tresses she once owned. He had an hour for this interview and was losing time fast.
“Tell me about growing up in Mississippi,” Nick said.
“Why?” she asked. “Nobody cares.”
“Your music was and is important. People still listen to it.”
“Who? No one knows me.”
“I do.”
“And you want to hear my story from the beginning. Everything?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ruby looked down at her hands and inhaled a long breath. She blew it out and looked back at the masculine guard. The female guard rolled up on her toes and looked away.
“I’ll make you a deal, dude,” Ruby said. “I’m tired. Look at me. I’m a mess. That’s another thing. Don’t want no pictures. You hear me? I want to be remembered for what I was.” She pulled the denim material from her chest. “Not this.”
“What’s the deal?” Nick asked.
‘You find out what happened to Billy and you get my story.”
Nick laughed. He could feel his face flush with embarrassment. “That was forty years ago.”
“You tellin’ me?”
Somehow this always happened. He had a weakness for involving himself with his subjects. He knew he’d helped Will Roy get his cash back from his manager, done odd jobs for friends like tracking down Jesus for Fats. But what Ruby was asking was something altogether different. He should learn from his mistakes. Willie Brown, Henry.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Ruby leaned her head to the table. He could see the top of her matted hair and the chaffed skin that had formed on her elbows. Ruby was eroded. Her body, her soul. Everything about her seemed to have been stripped away. It was a state Nick had seen before. So clear, it appeared like a photograph from his past.
“You still keep in contact with anyone from the old days?” he asked.
“Just one. But hadn’t seen him for a couple years. Peetie Wheatstraw. He hasn’t done nothin’ but suck up every last cent I made on the outside. Said he was my agent. That he’d take care of me and all that kind of mess. We ain’t talkin’, but Peetie knew all them folks.”
“Where can I find him?”
“Last time I heard, he was workin’ at a men’s shop on the South Side called the Soul Train,” she said. “Been doin’ that ever since he got out of the business … Other than that, don’t know what to tell ya.”
Ruby cocked her head and watched Nick’s face. “So, you gonna do it?”
“I’ll ask around during my research,” Nick said. “That’s all I can promise.”
She stretched out her hand. Nick shook it. She felt warm and small. He smiled at her again. She looked down at the concrete floor dabbed with cigarette butts.
“So your family were sharecroppers?” Nick asked.
“Slaves more like it. We worked on a plantation outside Clarksdale. Beautiful place. Still think about it. Can just see the way thunderstorms would roll over the Delta. Looked like big black islands that would beat the dirt for hours …”
Chapter 10
Nick decided to loop back through the South Side and search for Peetie Wheatstraw early that afternoon. Peetie was about the only lead he had on King Snake and shouldn’t be too hard to find. You start with the easy ones and work backward. After a few minutes of searching though a soggy White Pages by a Burger King and consulting a folding map, he was on Forty-seventh Street, riding low in the stubby Tic Tac, heater cranked in the slushy gray cold, as the dilapidated brick buildings and crumbling Eastlake homes whizzed by in his peripheral vision.
He tried to imagine the neighborhood in the forties and fifties. He thought of the days when Forty-seventh cut through the heart of Bronzeville, a working-class neighborhood of hotels, shops, and theaters. He thought of the excitement of when Cab Calloway played the Regal and
“Yeah.”
“Man called you a saint.”
“He said I once played for the Saints.”
She skimmed her hand over her short gray hair. It was if she was searching for the glistening tresses she once owned. He had an hour for this interview and was losing time fast.
“Tell me about growing up in Mississippi,” Nick said.
“Why?” she asked. “Nobody cares.”
“Your music was and is important. People still listen to it.”
“Who? No one knows me.”
“I do.”
“And you want to hear my story from the beginning. Everything?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ruby looked down at her hands and inhaled a long breath. She blew it out and looked back at the masculine guard. The female guard rolled up on her toes and looked away.
“I’ll make you a deal, dude,” Ruby said. “I’m tired. Look at me. I’m a mess. That’s another thing. Don’t want no pictures. You hear me? I want to be remembered for what I was.” She pulled the denim material from her chest. “Not this.”
“What’s the deal?” Nick asked.
‘You find out what happened to Billy and you get my story.”
Nick laughed. He could feel his face flush with embarrassment. “That was forty years ago.”
“You tellin’ me?”
Somehow this always happened. He had a weakness for involving himself with his subjects. He knew he’d helped Will Roy get his cash back from his manager, done odd jobs for friends like tracking down Jesus for Fats. But what Ruby was asking was something altogether different. He should learn from his mistakes. Willie Brown, Henry.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Ruby leaned her head to the table. He could see the top of her matted hair and the chaffed skin that had formed on her elbows. Ruby was eroded. Her body, her soul. Everything about her seemed to have been stripped away. It was a state Nick had seen before. So clear, it appeared like a photograph from his past.
“You still keep in contact with anyone from the old days?” he asked.
“Just one. But hadn’t seen him for a couple years. Peetie Wheatstraw. He hasn’t done nothin’ but suck up every last cent I made on the outside. Said he was my agent. That he’d take care of me and all that kind of mess. We ain’t talkin’, but Peetie knew all them folks.”
“Where can I find him?”
“Last time I heard, he was workin’ at a men’s shop on the South Side called the Soul Train,” she said. “Been doin’ that ever since he got out of the business … Other than that, don’t know what to tell ya.”
Ruby cocked her head and watched Nick’s face. “So, you gonna do it?”
“I’ll ask around during my research,” Nick said. “That’s all I can promise.”
She stretched out her hand. Nick shook it. She felt warm and small. He smiled at her again. She looked down at the concrete floor dabbed with cigarette butts.
“So your family were sharecroppers?” Nick asked.
“Slaves more like it. We worked on a plantation outside Clarksdale. Beautiful place. Still think about it. Can just see the way thunderstorms would roll over the Delta. Looked like big black islands that would beat the dirt for hours …”
Chapter 10
Nick decided to loop back through the South Side and search for Peetie Wheatstraw early that afternoon. Peetie was about the only lead he had on King Snake and shouldn’t be too hard to find. You start with the easy ones and work backward. After a few minutes of searching though a soggy White Pages by a Burger King and consulting a folding map, he was on Forty-seventh Street, riding low in the stubby Tic Tac, heater cranked in the slushy gray cold, as the dilapidated brick buildings and crumbling Eastlake homes whizzed by in his peripheral vision.
He tried to imagine the neighborhood in the forties and fifties. He thought of the days when Forty-seventh cut through the heart of Bronzeville, a working-class neighborhood of hotels, shops, and theaters. He thought of the excitement of when Cab Calloway played the Regal and
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