CHAPTER 1

"Uh, you gonna play your hand? What you got—or what, Teardrop?"

Maurice "Teardrop" Williams's ears might as well have been tone deafto what Shorty Boy Logan had just said.

"So you got what? A seven and a three showing? Hid up beneath themtop cards, then I'm in trouble—if you sporting you twenty-one, man."

Maurice "Teardrop" Williams's face was handsome, was probably toohandsome for any fifty-two-year-old bluesman. Sharp features. Soft skin.Brown eyes. Brown skin. A great face it seemed for bluffing at blackjacklate at night in Bunky's Better Bunks, a roadside motel, after playing ablues gig at Freddie's Freeloader in Atlanta, Georgia.

Kenneth "Shorty Boy" Logan was the one dealing the playing cards.Shorty Boy Logan looked like his nickname—a bluesman as short as themostly dealt-out deck of cards on the rickety card table in the yellow-litroom. Shorty Boy was holding the cards in his hands as if they werestrangling them. Shorty Boy wasn't a young man, but with his nickname,it tended to keep him just that—young (only, not as young as springtime—noteven close). Oftentimes Shorty Boy Logan felt like his nickname hadjust been handed down to him by Uncle Cirrus (the older brother of hisfather, Clover Logan) just yesterday, down in Justice Alabama, at the ageof four. "Gonna hold, huh, Teardrop? That what you ... Wanna hit? ...I'll take that for ... You ain't got a ace hid up beneath them cards, do you?Hell, man, you bluffing. Bluffing big as a hosed-down hog at a county fair!Probably got you no more than ... what, fifteen, sixteen ... m-most ...Well, you know I got me a eight and a two showing—ten too. Could havean ace, right? Twenty-one," Shorty Boy said, tugging his plaid, brown pubcap that fit his head snug as a rug even if sweat poured from it like NiagaraFalls.

Maurice "Teardrop" Williams was a world-famous blues player, a greatsinger/guitarist/ songwriter. Kenneth "Shorty Boy" Logan played secondguitar and tom-toms. There was a third band member of the TeardropWilliams's Tearmakers band, Johnny "Twelve-Fingers" Eakins who playedpiano. At the moment, Twelve Fingers Eakins was in his room next toTeardrop's, sleeping. Said he was "tired as hell" before turning in for thenight.

"T-Teardrop ...," Shorty Boy said suddenly, seeing that somethingseemed wrong with him since his body was shaking—only, shaking likeit was trying to fight off a two-day old fever that seemed to be grippinghim, obviously shaking him from inside out.

"Teardrop, you're shaking. Your body's shaking like crazy, man!"

Teardrop's hands held tightly to the card table, so the rickety little tablebegan shaking like crazy too, its legs and flat-surfaced top.

Shorty Boy shot up from the card table and got over to Teardrop, butit's when Teardrop stood and his body shook even more, like it was goingto shake all the room's stagnant air out.

"I can't do this anymore. Continue like this. Not without my wife,Shorty Boy. Maureen!"

"It's been seven months, Teardrop. Seven—Maureen's been dead. She'sbeen bur—"

"Seven months too long, Shorty Boy. Maureen, I need her, ShortyBoy. I don't need this, want this kind of life anymore. Living it out of asuitcase. Out of hotel rooms, at my age. Making music with no purpose.Not understanding why anymore. Knowing, always knowing I have to gohome anyway once I'm through. Home, home—carrying it around in melike another piece of luggage out on road trips."

"Shouldn't feel like that, thataway," Shorty Boy said. "A-ain't whatnobody wants to happen to you, man."

"But it's what I'm feeling. All the time."

"Don't know that. Or hear it in your playing."

"Arlene. I must call her. It's what I'll do. Tell her I'm coming home."

Both looked over at the bright-red telephone on the short-leggednightstand.

"Arlene will understand ... She'll—"

"Gonna step out the room. Now k-knock on the wall if you need mefor any reason, Teardrop. Y-you hear?"

"Thanks, Shorty Boy."

"Ain't gonna wake Twelve Fingers. Solid as that man sleeps. How theman ties it on for the night. Leave that alone."

Knock.

Teardrop had knocked on the paper-thin wall. And within seconds,there was a corresponding knock on Teardrop's door. Teardrop laughed."You know you can come in, Shorty Boy, without—"

"Ain't just Shorty Boy, Teardrop. It's me too. Me and Shorty Boy."

"Oh ... oh, sorry about the knock, Twelve—"

"No, was awoke when Shorty Boy come in the room. Tiptoe in. Whyyour knock don't disturb me none."

Twelve Fingers Eakins was heavyset, tall, and with a wide wall of aback. His face was black like a burnt-out sky. His clothes were rumpled.Stylewise, he had a penchant for suspenders (dark blue today). His was anold soul.

"Twelve Fingers got the news, Teardrop. Told the man."

Teardrop sat down on the narrow bed. "I apologize for this suddendecision, Twelve Fingers. Whew." Twelve Fingers and Shorty Boy sat inthe chairs at the card table. "It probably was building up in me. All along.Far before today—"

"And hell, gotta explode. Way it done tonight, Teardrop," TwelveFingers said.

"I've been swimming, I suppose, in dark, murky waters these past fewmonths without actually having any real sense that I was."

Twelve Fingers Eakins eased his heavy back in his chair. "Don't worry,you know," he said, snapping the suspenders and then looking deeper intoTeardrop's eyes.

"Think so?"

"Do. Just don't bring it to the music any. What you going through.Don't mix it in between them notes you playing. Why, don't hear it, atleast."

"What I tell Teardrop, Twelve Fingers, exactly so," Shorty Boy said.

"I think so too, Twelve Fingers. In our lives, we've all had personallosses. There're moments though when I wish I was the one who died andnot Maur—"

"No, man, don't do that. Ain't good wishing on something like that.Seen a man's fortune change from wishing that. Putting that kind of badvibe out there—ain't healthy for nobody," Twelve Fingers said with greatrespect toward Teardrop.

"Everything can go bad, downhill quick on you. Just good 'nough thatyou love somebody like Maureen. And she love you back."

"The memories of her are still too strong for me. It feels as if I'm backto where I was when she died," Teardrop said, looking at Shorty Boy andthen at Twelve Fingers. "I guess I just want to be to myself. I'm still lookingfor answers I still can't seem to—"

"More like find yourself, don't you think, Teardrop?" Twelve Fingerssaid.

Teardrop laughed. "Whoever that is. Wherever Teardrop Williams ishiding."

"All of us gotta go there one time or another to find it."

"I know. But I thought I'd done it—the hard work. I went deepenough after Maureen's death. But it's clear now that I haven't."

"Still better answers to come then."

"You gotta believe that, Teardrop. Where Twelve Fingers's takingyou."

"So Arlene, what she say? When you hit her up with the news that youwas coming home, back to Walker City?" Twelve Fingers said.

"Surprised. But pleasantly so. We had a good ... an excellent talk."

"Good," Shorty Boy said, removing his pub cap while wiping hishead clean with a crimson-red handkerchief he bought in Memphis,Tennessee.

"And don't worry about the rest of the circuit—"

"B-but we have two gigs left, Twelve Fingers, on tour."

"I know you the boss, Teardrop"—Twelve Fingers laughed—"but I'lltake care of everything. You sick, man. Down with the flu or somethingas bad." Twelve Fingers paused. "I'll pull a bunny out the hat, don't youworry. Yeah, you know me, how I do."

"And as far as a guitar picker, don't worry any, Teardrop. Red BallDupree owes me a favor. Perfect time now to collect on the boy. Red Ball'sgetting somewhere in the blues business. Making a name for hisself,"Shorty Boy said, sticking the handkerchief back in his striped shirt pocket."Hop on the phone with the boy tomorrow. Arrange for him to meet us.Hook up with us in Memphis."

"You guys are great. Have really been t-terrific about this."

"Should be no trouble with Mac, Teardrop," Shorty Boy said. "He'sheard of Red Ball Dupree too. Just ain't picking a grape off a vine. Ain'tchancing that."

"Mac ... Mac, he's been a wonderful manager. Between you two andMac. Over the years, truly, I've been blessed."

Twelve Fingers and Shorty Boy smiled.

"You get you some rest now, Teardrop. Put yourself at ease," TwelveFingers said.

"I am tired," Teardrop admitted.

"By the way, Teardrop, uh," Shorty Boy said, "uh, what was youholding? Them cards of yours on the table. Am curious as hell."

"Take a look for yourself, Shorty Boy."

Shorty Boy shuffled off to the table. He looked down at the cardthat was beneath the seven and the three, the two exposed cards, TwelveFingers's staring at them too.

"Man's bluffing, I know it, Shorty, big as day!"

Slowly Shorty Boy lifted the turned-down card up.

"Damn! Damn! Beat you, Teardrop! Beat you! Beat you blind as abat, man! Pay me, Teardrop! Pay me my money. A dollar, Teardrop! Onedollar!"

"Sixteen. Sixteen. Trying to get over, bluff with sixteen. What, whatyou got Shorty Boy?"

"Hell. Ain't much better," Shorty Boy said, flipping his bottom cardover. "But better 'nough to beat Teardrop. Seventeen, man!"

"Blackjack." Twelve Fingers grimaced. "Why I don't play you andTeardrop blackjack. Don't play scared. Can't. Don't try to bluff my waythrough nothing. Ain't good for nobody's nerves. Least not mine."

Shorty Boy stood staring down at the three cards as if his pockets hadbeen picked clean.

* * *

Next morning.

"Woke Red Ball up. Oooo-we, Teardrop, boy used him every cuss wordunder the sun—and then some. Never know a boy to curse like that. Uh,but says he's gonna meet me and Twelve Fingers in Memphis tomorrow.First thing the sun sets."

"Are you sure, Shorty Boy?"

"Red Ball's word's solid. Boy's got that kind of reputation going alreadyin the business. So me and Twelve Fingers ain't gonna have to worry whenwe get to Memphis. Ears still ringing though. Tend to forget how a Alabamaboy can cuss if somebody step on his sleep early in the morning."

Teardrop had his leather suitcase and small vinyl bag and, of course,his smooth black guitar case with Miss Lillian inside. Miss Lillian was thename of Teardrop's light-blue guitar, a guitar that was as faithful and trueto Teardrop as the sun and the moon to the sky.

Teardrop, Shorty Boy, and Twelve Fingers were in Bunky's BetterBunks' tiny, plaster-peeling, pink-painted lobby. A cab was on its way totake Teardrop back to Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson Airport.

"This here is temporary, this situation now, ain't it, Teardrop?"

After breakfast, they took a short walk around Bunky's, saying theyneeded a breath of fresh air and then wound back, trying not to think toomuch but thinking all the time anyway.

"It's not what it feels like now, Twelve Fingers," Teardrop said withcaution.

"What you mean ... p-permanent, Teardrop?" Twelve Fingers's facelooked like it was about to crack open with pain.

"Since I'm talking about time, Twelve Fingers, I don't know how muchtime. It just feels like something that'll take some time for me to work out.To, I—"

"It just that we been playing together for thirteen years. That's a longtime for any band—especially so a blues band," Shorty Boy said. "Longtime, man. Playing together."

"Sounds unlucky now though?" Twelve Fingers said, his chin downon his chest. "Unlucky as hell." Twelve Fingers took a go at snapping hisdark-blue suspenders.

The three sat on a stitch-torn, worn-down couch facing the windowout to the early day Atlanta sky and battered dirt road so they could seethe taxicab arrive to Bunky's.

"Don't think for a second I don't know what this means, Shorty Boy.What I'm asking of you and Twelve Fingers. Breaking us up like this.With such short notice. Last night, I, well, I didn't sleep well. I don't knowwhen I will."

"Don't think none of us do, Teardrop," Twelve Fingers said. "Webreaking up something special. Good as it ever been for me. With a bluesband. Hell ... good as hell."

"Been like a party for thirteen years. One big blowout after the other.Who the hell in they right mind gonna wanna party to end?" Tears hadpooled in Shorty Boy's eyes.

Teardrop hunched forward and began rubbing his knuckles."Blackjack ...," he said.

"Blackjack!" Shorty Boy and Twelve Fingers said jointly, apparentlyjarred by what Teardrop just said in a voice they didn't understand butknew was reliable.

"You said a very interesting thing about blackjack last night, TwelveFingers."

"Which was, Teardrop?" Twelve Fingers said, his thumbs fiddling withthe suspenders.

"Bluffing, Twelve Fingers. About the act of bluffing."

"But, Twelve Fingers, the cat was talking about blackjack. Cards. Notno--our band, man. Teardrop Williams's Tearmakers. Thirteen years ofplaying music together."

"Bluffing, I should state, for the purpose of clarity, and what you saidabout a person playing `scared,' Twelve Fingers."

"Right, do say it."

"What it means. What it causes you to—its cause and effect. Ofcourse, if you bluff with cards you lose, and it's only money. Something ofmonetary value you no longer have. But when you bluff with your feelings,become deathly afraid of them—begin to pretend they're not there—""It gonna swallow you whole. Big as day one day. You playing with lifethen. Don't wanna be scared of that. Short of killing you."

"Probably somewhere, at some time, Twelve Fingers. At some point."Pause.

"I've taken my first step, and already, it feels as if it's a big, really big,important one. That I'm getting one step or ... or two steps closer to whatI must be after."

"Just don't sink in it," Twelve Fingers said. "Just don't let your bodysink down in it, Teardrop. To w-where it begins to feel comfortable. Tillit sinks you down so low you can't—don't wanna move no more. Don'tget to that."

"That won't happen, that I can assure you. I'm smart enough not—"

"Ain't nothing to do with smart. So let me set that straight. 'Causesmart ain't smarter than everything. It's when you careful—it when youbeing smart about something. How I find myself beating most thingsdown that get on top me."

"You're right, Twelve Fingers. I won't argue with that," Teardropsaid.

"Careful ... like common sense," Twelve Fingers said, his chubbyfinger tapping his head.

"Look, hell, look what's here," Shorty Boy said as his voice downgradedto a whisper.

"Said shortly," Twelve Fingers said. "Mean it. Don't mess around witha man's time or money."

The sight of the lime-green taxi dimmed them far more than whatwas anticipated.

"So ... we gonna talk ...," Twelve Fingers said.

"Yes," Teardrop said.

"Keep things going."

"Yes, Twelve Fingers."

"End of a beautiful thing. Beautiful thing ... all I can say, Teardrop.End of a beautiful thing."

"But ... but not our friendship, Shorty Boy," Teardrop said. "N-notthat."

"Uh, no, no not that—but the band. T-the Tearmakers, Teardrop.Org-organization."

The taxi's horn honked loudly outside Bunky's. The taxi driver waslooking through Bunky's front window not angrily but with greaterseriousness.

"This was like a bolt outta the blue. Hit like lightning striking a bottle.

Shattering it all to hell. Smithereens."

"I ... I know, Twelve Fingers."

"Man, if I don't hug you again, then ..."

"Me too ..."

They hugged each other.

The taxi's horn honked again.

"Arlene, she's a good daughter, Teardrop," Twelve Fingers said. "Ain'tshe though ... But just don't let her become a helpmate for you. Seen thathappen too. More than once. That ain't no good neither. That scene."

* * *

Teardrop was in the backseat of the lime-green taxi. It was 10:18 a.m. Hisflight for Walker City, Iowa, was scheduled for ll:22 a.m.

Sitting in the taxi's cream-colored backseat, all Teardrop could thinkof was getting back home. Certainly not on the road with the Tearmakerstraveling up and down highways where he knew he no longer belonged.That time spoke to yesterdays in his life, he thought, when Maureen lethim live that life, be a bluesman. She had to be strong during the tough,daunting, lean years when finances were hard on the Williams family.Maureen never wavered. She stood by him.