Johnny Greer’s Blues - Part 15

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Johnny headed out of Jackson, south on I-55 around 11, after mostly shaking off the hangover he’d inflicted on himself the night before. The sun was bright, and he couldn’t have picked a better day for the long drive to Biloxi. He had placed the envelope Stone gave him under the spare tire in his trunk, which he thought was a smarter choice than his suitcase. Carrying that small package made his car seem heavier and slower on the road, and Johnny felt it somehow drew attention to the car like he had a lit up sign on the back.

Every time Johnny drove by a state trooper in the median, his breath hitched and his hands gripped the steering wheel, only to loosen when the trooper’s car vanished from his rearview.

A few miles south of Crystal Springs, Johnny spotted a trooper on the side of the road. As he passed, the car’s spinning red lights kicked on and the siren started to blare. Johnny looked at his speedometer. He was going a little over the limit, but not enough to get pulled over, he thought. He hoped. Johnny eyed the rearview mirror, sweat beading on his forehead. Maybe the trooper was just going to blast past him after a serious offender. Instead, the car pulled behind Johnny, and it was clear the officer wanted him to pull over.

Johnny took a little too long to slow down and park on the shoulder, and when the officer, a tall, broad-shouldered white man with a Smokey the Bear hat stepped out of his car, Johnny could see in the mirror that he was not happy.

Johnny cranked down his window as the officer approached. His name plate over the breast pocket on his shirt announced his name was M. Curtis; his face announced that he was not making a social call.

“Give me your license, son,” the officer said.

Johnny slowly reached to his back pocket and extracted his wallet. He handed the officer his license.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods from Birmingham, Mr. Greer?”

Johnny had not gotten around to changing to a Tennessee license, but he didn’t explain that to the officer.

“I’m a musician, sir. Traveling between shows.”

“A musician, huh? What do you play?”

“Guitar, sir.”

“You play as fast as you drive?”

“Was I speeding, officer?”

The officer glowered at him. “You being funny?”

“No, sir. I just didn’t know.”

“Uh huh. You want to show me your guitar, Mr. Greer.”

‍ ‍

“What? Why?” Johnny asked, a mixture of confusion and panic creeping into his voice.

“Just like verifying people’s stories. You wouldn’t have been lying to me now, would you?”

“Oh. No, sir. My guitar is…well, it’s in my trunk.”

“Well, why don’t you get out of your vehicle and show me?”

Johnny took a breath, then nodded. He slowly got out of the Impala as a truck whizzed by on the blacktop.

The officer backed up to the trunk, and stood a few feet away.

“Go ahead, and open her up,” the trooper said in a tone with an edge of menace to it. His hand rested on the butt of his service weapon.

Johnny opened his trunk and stood aside. His suitcase and guitar case were plainly visible. When the officer asked Johnny to pull out the case, Johnny did so, and showed him the electric guitar inside.

“Well, looks like we do have us a wandering minstrel here, don’t we?” the officer said. “Let me guess, you are one of those rock and roll types. Probably carrying a bunch of reefer in the suitcase, aren’t you?”

“No, sir,” Johnny said flatly.

“I’m sure you won’t mind if I take a look see then?”

“Come on, man, why are you hassling me? I didn’t do anything.”

“Sounds like a yes to me,” the officer said. “Pull out the suitcase and open it up.”

The two men stared at each other for a moment, Trooper Curtis tapping his fingers on the butt of the pistol. Johnny thought of a dozen things to say, but didn’t think a single one of them would improve the situation. Johnny blinked and turned to pick up his suitcase.

“Good move. Now, hand it to me and back away.”

‍ ‍Johnny handed his suitcase to the trooper and then stepped back a couple of steps. The officer put it on the hood of his patrol car, and opened it, rifling through the contents. He pulled out a flask and shook it at Johnny.

“You been drinking on the road, son?”

“It was in my trunk, how was I going to be doing that?”

“Maybe I should run you in and just check, how’s that sound?”

“Look, I don’t mean no harm, officer.”

“Me either. Just trying to keep everyone out here safe.”

“I appreciate that.”

The trooper chuckled and continued his search of Johnny’s bag. Satisfied that there was nothing more potent in there than the flask, the officer closed it and tossed it on the ground towards Johnny.

“Now, maybe I should just take a quick look in the car to make sure you don’t have anything in there?”

“Go ahead,” Johnny said, resigned.

The trooper grinned and opened the passenger side rear door. He looked through the backseat for a few minutes and then moved to the front, one eye staying on Johnny. He cleared out the glove compartment, not finding anything.

“Well, what do you know. Nothing in the glove compartment. Color me surprised,” the trooper said.

“Don’t mean to disappoint….sir.” Johnny said as the trooper fixed him with a glare.

“You being cute, boy?”

Johnny inhaled, clenched his fists, and didn’t respond.

“Tell you what, you are acting all kinds of suspicious. I think I’m going to call me a tow to pick up this piece of crap car of yours so we can have it thoroughly checked out. And I think your failure to comply with my lawful orders has earned you a night or two as a guest of the state.”

“I didn’t refuse nothing!” Johnny said, his voice raised.

The trooper fixed his gaze on Johnny, and slowly with a steel edge in his voiced said, “Get in the back of my car.”

“Wait!” Johnny said, his hands raised. “I need you to call my manager. He can clear up any misunderstandings.”

“Manager? You playing with me?”

“No, sir. I’m just going to reach into my wallet again, and give you his card.”

Trooper Curtis’s hand went to his gun again, his thumb flicking the safety strap open. “Nice and slow.”

Sweat was pouring down Johnny’s face now, and he could feel panic flowing through him. With a shaky hand, he passed over Gold’s business card.

“Please just have your people reach out to him.”

“Alright. Hand me your keys.”

Johnny fished them out of his pocket and gave them to the trooper. “Sit your ass down in your car and wait for me. You step out of there and we got us a problem. You hear me?” Curtis’s hand tightened around the pistol’s grip.

Johnny nodded and backed away, then got in his car.

Curtis strode back to his cruiser. Johnny could see him in the rearview mirror talking into his radio’s handheld. After a few minutes, the trooper walked back to Johnny’s car.

“Alright, Mr. Greer. You are good to go,” Curtis said, dangling Johnny’s keys into the window. Johnny took them. “You may want to get your suitcase off the side of the road before you go. Just wait for me to drive off.”

Johnny nodded. “Word of advice. You watch your smart mouth next time. Not all my fellow officers are as tolerant as I am. You have yourself a good day. Oh, and here.” Curtis tossed Gold’s card through the window. “Seems like you have some good friends, son.”

The trooper walked off, got back into his car and pulled away. After the car disappeared over the horizon, Johnny got out of the car and picked up his suitcase. He placed it back in the trunk over the spare tire. It would have been so easy to have moved that tire. A few more seconds of effort and Curtis would have discovered the envelope.

Johnny slammed the trunk. Gold had saved him this time, Johnny thought, even if he wasn’t sure how he had done it. But of course, Gold had also put him in danger in the first place. Johnny got back in the car. He felt the foul sweet bile rise up in his throat and barely managed to keep it down.

He kept to the speed limit the rest of the way to Biloxi.

The next part will follow.

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