Johnny Greer’s Blues - Part 19
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Johnny stood at the front of the bus just behind the driver as the old Greyhound rolled down the dark highway. “Sir, you’ll have to sit down,” the driver said. “Anywhere you want is fine.”
Johnny looked back at the mostly empty bus. He could see three other passengers in the dimly lit cabin. The passengers features were obscured by the gloom that the dull yellow lighting could not cut through. Johnny sat down two rows back from the driver. The air in the bus was still and thick with humidity. Johnny was uncomfortable and found it a little harder to breathe than normal.
“Where are we headed again?” Johnny asked.
“Not sure yet,” the driver said.
Johnny looked back. One of the passengers was in the row behind him. He could see the man - or maybe teen - staring ahead. The passengers face was gaunt and the eyes unfocused and empty.
“Where are we going?” Johnny asked the passenger, who did not respond.
“Don’t mind him,” the driver said. “They don’t say too much, but I’m sure they’d all thank you for buying their tickets.”
Johnny looked in the rear view mirror and could see the driver’s cap and eyes. Ahead, the night was obsidian dark, except for a slight orange glow far in the distance.
“When did I do that?”
“Biloxi. You bought their ticket in Biloxi.”
Behind him, his fellow passenger groaned. Johnny turned to see slump forward and his arm grow slack. The passenger dropped a bus ticket on the floor.
“Get that for me, won’t you,” the driver said. “I forgot to collect it.”
Johnny stood up and picked up the bus ticket. He couldn’t make out any of the writing on it. The characters were fuzzy and indistinct.
“Just bring it here,” the driver said.
Johnny turned and saw the orange glow had gotten larger and closer and had lit up the front of the bus. Johnny slowly approached the driver, who turned in his seat to look at him. Johnny noticed the hole in the driver’s head as Charlie Miller grinned up at him from the driver’s seat.
“Good to see you again, Johnny. Want to hand me that ticket?”
Johnny slowly reached out his hand toward Charlie who stared straight at him, ignoring the road. “Go on, give me the ticket.”
Johnny’s hand trembled as he handed the piece of paper over to to Charlie. When Charlie took it, it was no longer a printed out Greyhound ticket. It was a wax paper envelope with a demon’s head printed on it. An empty syringe, the plunger pressed all the way down rolled down the aisle and hit Johnny’s shoe.
Charlie giggled. “You’re luck this time. You were almost on the hook for five tickets, but turns out only three decided to take the trip.”
The orange glow was closer and the bus was getting uncomfortably warm.
“There’s still lots of room on the bus, isn’t there Johnny? But, I have the feeling you’ll be helping to fill this up before you’re done.”
“Where are we going?”
“I told you I don’t know yet. All routes are subject to change. But, if we stick to the current route, I think you and I both know the terminal destination. Don’t we?”
Johnny sweated.
“But, hey, sit down and enjoy the ride Johnny. It’s not the destination that’s fun, it’s the journey, right? No need to worry about where we’ll end up, ‘cause the trip is going to be so much fun. And you, my friend, will have a first class seat.”
Charlie Miller turned back to face the road and pressed the accelerator to the floor. Johnny stumbled back to his seat and gripped the armrest as the driver laughed loudly and he Greyhound bounded into the orange glow.
Johnny woke up covered in sweat and with his heart racing. It was morning, but Johnny felt like he had not slept for even a minute.
That night he played at the University with his parents in the audience. The college kids enjoyed the show, but not as much as his mom and dad. Johnny stayed with them a couple more nights before reluctantly getting back on the road. He promised he would see them again just as soon as he could. Leaving was more difficult that Johnny could have imagined.
His show in Nashville went well, but the Jackson performance blew him away. The small club off the I-40 bypass was packed with a line out the door. The audience was enthusiastic and treated Johnny like a rock star. Johnny played two sets, both with a long encore. The Jackson shows were the best on the tour, but Johnny didn’t enjoy it. He just wanted to get back to Memphis and away from the road.
After the show, Johnny skipped the hotel and took I-40 west to Memphis. It wasn’t too long a drive, and the idea of another hotel bed nearly made him ill. And even if she wouldn’t be ready for him, Johnny wanted to be closer to Honi. Even if she wouldn’t date him, Johnny had the notion that just being in the same city as her would somehow make everything better.
Johnny drove the Impala, his fingers nervously drumming on the well worn steering wheel. Traffic was sparse, and the drive was uneventful until he got about ten miles out of Memphis.
A Greyhound bus was stalled in one lane. State troopers had parked two cars behind it with their lights flashing. A trooper with a flashlight with an orange cone on it had slowed what little traffic there was down, and was making sure the cars went by safely.
Johnny drove past the trooper and eyed the bus. He could see the driver standing by open hood shaking his head. As Johnny passed, the driver turned to face him and wave. He only saw his face for a moment as he passed. He told himself the whole thing was a coincidence, and that the driver was certainly not the deceased county musician Charlie Miller, but he never could quite convince himself that he was right.
The next part will follow.
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