The Best Horror of the Year. Volume 4

I kept Pete’s DAT copy of Bertha Echols and played it again and heard something else different. That line about “You are a lovin’ daughter/My father said to me/But before you wed I’ll see him dead…” That wasn’t transcribed right either. Bertha Echols sings it “You are the Lovin daughter” and not “but”—“So before you wed I’ll see him dead,” like one thing follows the other, and for the Lovins it did.

Once I had all the lyrics in my head, I told my manager about it and he got to work. Boy, did he ever. I’m recording it next week, and Sony’s already offered to buy out my Rounder contract. I’m getting a full hour with Terry Gross on National Public Radio, twenty minutes with Larry King, I’m booked on Prairie Home Companion, but we’re actually gonna spring the song on 60 Minutes. I get the final segment, and they’re flying to Nashville and broadcasting me live singing it for the first time. A straight ahead ballad with guitar, no banjos or bluegrass from now on. Oh no, I’m looking to get back into country, where the money is.

Hell, I can wear a cowboy hat as well as the next guy, and lose a few pounds around my middle, too. Besides, the country crowd aren’t as tough on you as those tightass bluegrass folks if you wanta split from your wife and remarry — or hell, maybe just be a swinger again.

Since Linda left, my love life’s been drier than a west Texas August, but it looks like my luck might be changing. Met a real honey in the Station Inn a few nights ago. Incredible. A ten. Eyes to drown in, sweetest voice you ever did hear, and we been goin’ out every night since. Kinda surprised me she’d be rubbin’ up on a guy my age, but maybe she’s got one of those daddy complexes you hear about. I know she’s got her sights set on this old songbird, because she says she wants to take me home tonight to meet her kin. What the hell, maybe her mama can cook.

A certain chubby mandolin player made a crack about the “old hag” I was with — I knew that boy’s eyesight was bad from the diabetes and the booze, but not that much. He must be near blind as a bat. Or just jealous. Can’t blame him, I guess. It’s pretty damn amazing that a girl like her is sweet on a guy like me. Yep, my luck’s just runnin’ good for a change.

That’s about it, I guess. Tomorrow’s 60 Minutes, and I get famous again. I have to confess, though, I guess my conscience is bothering me a little — not over what I did up there in the mountains, but about whether I should do it or not, you know, take a song that people have loved their whole lives and turn it into something else, something… ugly. But hey, you can’t buy this kind of publicity. If I hadn’t have gotten it, maybe somebody else might’ve. And the money’ll be nice — I got the copyright, and whoever covers it — and there’ll be plenty in years to come — will have to pay old Billy Lincoln.

Yeah, like I say, the luck’s runnin’ good as a spring stream.

But I never did play that last chorus, did I? The last one I heard the old lady sing. Well, okay then, here we go, just in case I get hit by a meteor or struck by lightning before tomorrow night…

    Mother come quickly, Father come quickly,
    Brother and Sister see.
    Every man I ever did love
    Has given more years to thee.

Sweet.

IN THE ABSENCE OF MURDOCK Terry Lamsley

“Oh, it’s you Franz, come on in.”

“I’ve come to see Jerry. Is he at home?”

“Of course he is. Where else would he be? He’s always at home nowadays, remember. He’s upstairs, waiting for you, I expect.”

Franz gave his sister a curious look. “How do you know that?”

“I suggested that he call you or another of his old friends.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Possibly. Probably,” Barbara said, pulling the front door shut behind him.

Franz said, “I can hear it in your voice and Jerry sounded very strange when he phoned.”

“Yes, I expect he did.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“The — problem? Well, I’m not sure about that. I’d better let Jerry explain. It would sound better coming from him.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

Barbara gave Franz a wild, slightly irritated look. “Please,” she said, “go on up. He’ll be pleased to see you.”

“You seem almost embarrassed about something, Barbara.”

“Not really, no — it’s not that, exactly — but we’ve both been under a bit of a strain recently, for the past few days, in fact.”

“It shows.”

“Well, you’re here now. Perhaps you can sort things out.”

Franz started to climb the stairs. “At least I’ll try,” he said.

Barbara waited until he was passing the chair lift waiting at the top of the stairs before she called out, “Thanks for coming, Franz. Jerry will be so pleased to see you.”

Franz said, “So you said, just now.”

He walked along the landing, stopped outside his brother-in-law’s room, and waited a few moments before lifting his fist and rapping rather loudly on the door.

“Is that you, Franz? Come on in.”