Officer Elvis (7 page)

T
HE NEXT NIGHT

Tommy's cousin in Fish Belly, Arkansas, could not be located, nor any of his second or third cousins. The responsibility for the funeral arrangements, for better or worse, fell to Cill.

As the site for Tommy's wake, she selected Higginbotham & Higginbotham Funeral Home (Higgie & Higgie, the locals called it), with services to be held the following morning at Tommy's church, the Southern Church of the Holy Redeemer, where Brother Tommy had been not only a member in good standing, but also the featured singer in the choir, and when he pushed for it, the soloist, and always in one of his glittering Elvis costumes.

Since Tommy's remains were in short supply, Cill had elected to dispense with a coffin and have what little there was cremated. In place of a coffin, in the viewing room, center stage, so to speak, was a life-size cardboard cutout of Tommy, dressed, of course, as Elvis, in both Tommy's and Elvis's younger days. The cutout was flanked on the left and right by four free-standing horseshoe floral arrangements, with photomontages of Tommy chronicling Elvis's career as a performer.

The walls of the viewing room were decorated with photos of Tommy (dressed as Elvis) having his picture taken with various Mississippi luminaries—most of them, even the politicians, looking a bit uncomfortable.

There was no visual reference to Tommy's career as a member of the Hinds County Sheriff's Department, only a one-paragraph blurb in the leaflet that was handed out at the door.

Darla had come to pay her respects to her onetime partner and longtime frenemy, but also to touch base with her friends, Kendall Goodhew and Lulu Brister, neither of whom she'd seen in over a month, due to an unusually heavy caseload recently at MBI.

It wasn't just social. After living in Jackson for five years Darla understood that a gossipy friend or two who'd resided in the area all their lives could be a source of valuable information for a homicide investigation. There was invariably a wealth of background material that all longtime Jacksonians knew and talked about, but that never found its way into an official report. All Darla had to do was ask a question or two and be ready to listen. Kendall and Lulu were always up for gossip.

The three women made their way around the room, taking in the various photos along the way. They stopped in front of one of Tommy with Darla's deceased husband, Hugh, taken during Hugh's football days at Ole Miss. Tommy wore an embroidered fire- engine-red jumpsuit, with matching cape. Hugh was in his Rebels uniform.

“Well, that's a shocker,” said Lulu. “No disrespect to the dead, either one, but I thought Hugh Cavannah had better taste.”

“Hugh was generous that way,” said Darla, remembering his willingness to please his fans. “He'd let anyone take a picture with him. He thought he owed it to them.”

“Tommy always loved to capitalize on other people's fame, whenever he could get away with it, the self-aggrandizing little prick,” said Kendall. “Bless his heart.”

“So, we're having a
bless his heart
evening, are we?” asked Darla.

Like most women in northeast Jackson, Kendall adhered to the time-honored tradition of following disparaging remarks about foes—or friends, for that matter—by blessing their heart. The blessing of someone's heart also had gender-specific social protocols. For a man, it was always simply “bless his heart.” For a woman the preferred wording was “bless her sweet heart,” or one could go a step further and say, “bless her sweet little heart,” or even “bless her pretty little heart.” The reference to “little heart” was not meant as a comment on the woman's generosity, but rather the delicacy of her nature.

“Blessing someone's heart wipes the meanness of what you're saying off the books,” said Lulu, sticking up for Kendall.

“Catholics go to priests for that,” said Darla. “We call it confession.”

“Baptists, we're more of the DIY type,” said Lulu. “Wash away the sin right on the spot and move on.”

“This is a streamlined way of dealing with transgressions,” said Darla. “I may have to resort to that if my schedule gets any tighter.”

“Yeah, give it a try,” said Kendall. “Understand, I'm not a recruiter for any church.”

“No, I don't see you that way,” said Darla.

Kendall's blunt speech and tendency to employ intemperate language, even in the presence of clergy, had resulted in her ouster from both the Central Methodist and Northwest Baptist congregations.

Lulu, by contrast, was quite ladylike and was considered a valuable asset to any religious or social group—principally based on her encyclopedic memory for the intimate details of the lives of friends and acquaintances, and her propensity for sharing such.

Kendall and Lulu were Darla's closest friends. They'd been there for her when Hugh died. Kendall had invited Darla to stay with her and Lulu had hushed up the local gossip surrounding Hugh's death. Kendall and Lulu had also been matrons of honor at Darla's marriage to Stephen.

The three women stood side by side, surveying the crowded room—a better turnout than most of Tommy's gigs.

“I have been doing a head count since I got here,” said Lulu. “I'd say there's around two hundred, more or less.”

“Is the number important?” asked Darla.

“Are you kidding?” said Kendall. “This is Jackson.”

“Two hundred isn't really a number you'd be proud of,” said Lulu. “Four or five hundred, those are the kinds of numbers you're looking for. The price of entry for any kind of social consideration.”

“I'll have to bow to your expertise on the subject,” said Darla.

A funeral aficionado, Lulu was just getting started. “Basically, I see four groups here tonight. The first group are what you would call Tommy's fan base. See those senior ladies in the pink T-shirts with the words ‘Officer Elvis Forever' on the front.”

“Kendall and I are part of the second, smaller group,” Lulu continued, sounding like a tour guide. “We're mourners by avocation—Southerners who believe attendance is required at all death-related arrangements. The third group, of which you, Darla, would be a member, is the law enforcement community.”

“Even your boss, fatso Shelby Mitchell, has showed up,” said Kendall. “I saw him hanging around outside with a few of his favorite county cops, chewing his wad and spitting onto the asphalt parking lot at will. The odious old fart. Bless his heart.”

“Then there's the fourth group, the other Elvis impersonators,” said Lulu. A confederation of eight Elvis impersonators, all in costume, were busy working the crowd, especially the old ladies. Handing out their business cards, they were hoping to get their share of Tommy's customers.

Sitting in the front row of chairs, in front of Tommy's urn, Cill was attired in her black cocktail dress, with black fishnet stockings, her hair poufed up to look like you know who. She was quietly accepting condolences with great dignity, but then abandoned that during the photo taking when she decided to get in the picture. Jumping up to the cutout of Tommy, she struck a pose, looking up adoringly at the cardboard image of her former sweetheart.

“I've never used drugs in my life, not even pot,” said Darla, “but sometimes in Mississippi I'd swear I must be tripping on LSD.”

“Down here,” said Lulu, “we regard funerals as more or less a form of performance art.”

A half dozen of the elderly women took their a cue from Cill and formed a line to take a selfie with the Elvis cutout, caressing his cardboard hair, kissing the cutout on the cheek, and leaving lipstick traces. A few even did a cardboard crotch grab, which Darla was guessing might end up on Facebook.

“This is Armageddon,” said Darla.

“I'm surprised you haven't been over to interrogate me about the murder,” said Kendall, “considering my general disdain for the departed, that no-good mule. Bless his heart.”

Kendall and Tommy did have bad blood, going back to a high school date, wherein Kendall was said to have struck Tommy with his Gibson guitar after Tommy had tried to feel her up. Fast-forward a couple of decades and we have Tommy arresting Kendall for murder one. The arrest proved to be without foundation and Tommy was forced to apologize. Whereupon Kendall flipped him the bird in the lobby of the Hinds County Sheriff's Department, with Darla and most of the detectives in the department present.

“I'm sure you have motive, Kendall,” said Darla, “but I doubt you have the requisite understanding of explosive devices.”

“I can pop popcorn in the microwave,” said Kendall. “I usually don't scorch any, either. Except if I get distracted.”

It was time to get down to business. Darla needed information. “What do you girls know about a place called the Adonis Club?” she asked.

“Cunthound Conway's place? Bless his heart,” said Kendall. “The one that was only open for a month?”

“I went to the Adonis Club opening night, girl.” Lulu fanned herself. “For a certain kind of woman, and I'd count myself as one of them, there's nothing that can compare with getting yourself all worked up over a gorgeous man that you have absolutely no chance of attracting, no matter how hot you look or how unladylike you're willing to be.” She looked at Darla, her nostrils flared. “I know you're married to one of the sexier men in Jackson, but really, little sister, a gay man dancing sexy for other gay men, it's a sight to behold.”

“And Conway was doing a brisk business?” asked Darla.

“Packed them in every night,” said Lulu.

“Then Tommy and a bunch of his holier-than-anybody friends at the First Self-Righteous caught a couple of state senators getting lap dances,” said Kendall.

“You know about this?” asked Darla.

“It may not have been on the Internet,” said Lulu, “but it was on the hairnet.”

“You're thinking Conway could have lit the torch on that piece of shit Caddy Tommy drove around?” Kendall asked Darla. When Darla didn't answer, she said, “I heard that Continental Conway has come into some money, the prick, bless his heart.”

“What kind of money?” asked Darla.

“Here's the story, if you're really interested,” said Lulu, eyes glowing. Then without waiting for them to respond she said: “You know Conway's brother?”

“Which brother?” asked Kendall. “The younger or the older?”

“The half brother,” said Lulu. “The one everybody calls Brother.”

Darla thought about asking why everybody, not just Conway, called this particular brother Brother, especially since he was only a half brother, but she wasn't about to interrupt the flow of the story. “I'm listening,” she said, taking out her recorder.

“Conway's brother, the half brother, the one they call Brother, is married to Mary Lou Kittle, the one everybody calls June Bug,” said Lulu.

“The one with the uneven Botox that makes her look like she got beat up by her boyfriend?” asked Kendall.

“That's all evened out,” said Lulu. “But yes, that June Bug. She and I aren't really friends, as such, since she's a devoted Bulldog and I'm Rebs all the way.” This meant June Bug went to Mississippi State and Lulu went to Ole Miss. “But we both go to Chez Randy's to get our hair done. And sometimes we get to talking during colorings. So June Bug tells me how Conway has just lately come into some major capital.”

“This was the bribe Conway got from the church bunch for letting the Adonis Club go quietly into the night?” asked Kendall.

“I don't think so,” said Lulu. “June Bug heard the tale from Chez Randy, who also does Loretta Bedso's hair. Loretta is the head teller at the First Bank of Jackson, where Conway deposited the bribe money. Loretta told Chez Randy the bribe money was a onetime thing and it wasn't all that much. But then, all of a sudden there's more money, a lot more.”

“What's a lot more?” said Darla.

“Here's the latest,” said Lulu, positively glowing. “My sorority sister Colt—see, Colt's daddy was fond of firearms—well, Colt was married to one of the Hardcastle brothers, I forget his first name but he's a Realtor over in Hawaii now, Maui. And from what Colt heard from her husband's brother—now, I'm not talking about Conway's brother, the one they call Brother. You with me?”

“Of course,” said Kendall.

“I think so,” said Darla. “It would be easier if I had a scorecard with all the players' names on it.”

“The report is that Conway has bought himself some oceanfront property, multiple building sites in South Maui,” said Lulu. “We're talking a couple of million just for the sand and seashell part of it.”

As crazy-quilted and convoluted as all of this sounded, Darla found herself buying into Lulu's story. Lulu was right about these matters more than she was wrong.

“So where's all this big money coming from?” Darla asked.

“Well, according to Loretta,” said Lulu, “whom I may have mentioned is the teller Conway always goes to for
all
his deposits because Loretta's really put together upstairs—actually she's talking about a reduction operation—but that's a different story. Anyway, she's Conway's favorite teller, and she says, even though Conway is putting a lot of money away, the deposits coming from Continental Conway's are way off lately. That Conway is probably losing money on his one remaining strip club.”

“Probably just holding on to the place because of the free pussy he gets,” said Kendall. “Bless his heart.”

“Where's the money coming from then?” asked Darla.

“A company nobody has ever heard of called Trace Enterprises,” said Lulu.

Over in the corner, Cill was dabbing at her eyes with a black silk handkerchief. One of the younger Elvis impersonators, tall and good-looking, knelt beside her. Taking the handkerchief, he wiped her tears.