Free Reach the Shining River by Kevin Stevens

editor’s desk.
    Before she left, Parks thanked her. “You’ll think about what I asked?” he said.
    “I’ll think about it.”
    “Thank you, ma’am.”
    It was the first time a white man had ever called her “ma’am.”
    *
    At the club, Piney Brown greeted her with a bear hug and a toothless kiss.
    “Ain’t you lookin’ good,” he said.
    “I’ve felt better.”
    “C’mon back here.”
    He led her to a rear booth, hand at her back. The club throbbed with the blues. On the bandstand was a piano trio riffing behind a huge, barrel-chested man on tenor saxophone. Arlene had never heard him before, but the guy could play. Big Texas sound. Real swing feel.
    Standing in front of the stage, swaying back and forth, was a young woman who showed up most weeks, trying to make an impression on Piney. She wore a loose dress and a hair band and had her hair teased out like Bessie Smith. She closed her eyes and sang:
    Then I began to fall so low
    Lost my good friends , nowhere to go
    I get my hands on a dollar again
    Gonna hang on to it till that eagle grins .
    “You going to hire that girl, Piney?”
    “Why should I? She already workin’ for free.”
    He served her shredded pork barbecue and okra. She wasn’t hungry but made the effort while he sat across from her, twisting the rings on his misshapen fingers.
    The band took a break. The piano player stayed onstage, vamping blues chords.
    “My new partner?”
    Piney nodded.
    “Not Otis?” she said.
    “You and me both know Otis ain’t right.”
    “I’m not so sure, Piney.”
    The pork went down like a horse pill, but she did not stop eating. Piney was outright proud of his cooking.
    “What you frettin’ for? Think I’d pair my sweet soul sister with jus’ anyone?”
    “Question of familiarity.”
    “Question of swing, I would say.” Piney pointed his chin towards the piano. “Phineas Jordan. Remember that name.”
    She finished eating, got ready, and took the stage. The piano man was good. Knew the songbook and put the singer first. Different enough from Eddie not to spook her.
    But the night lay ahead of her like a hard road. Emotions had been high all day. Apt to cry at any old thing: the wail of a train, smell of honeysuckle when she hung out the wash. How would their tunes affect her? “Lady Be Good.” “I Must Have That Man.” Bedroom songs.
    She turned them into requiem. Forgetting Eddie was impossible, she knew that, so she sang to him, wherever he might be. The Friday night crowd, large and local, heard the sorrow in her voice and responded with respect, more church in their calls than hoedown.
    When the first set was over, she retreated to the dressing room – a storeroom behind the booths full of beer crates and broken chairs. Phineas kept his distance and sat at the bar. Piney brought her a drink and shut the door. His face was pale.
    “What’s wrong?” she asked.
    “You seen ’em?”
    “Who?”
    “Ofays at the back. Pinstripe boys.”
    “It’s a Friday, Piney. Those types like to slum it after making their dollar.”
    He shook his head. “These ain’t your usual downtowners. They got an interest .”
    She sipped her beer. “What do you mean?”
    “You know what I mean. Shit.” He pressed his hand against the door, as if testing for fire behind it. “Tuesdays, same time each week, I get a visit. So much in an envelope. That be police. Thursdays a second visit, different gig. Rackets. So many percent and you be wondering how they know your take. But only a fool think he can hold back any of that juice.”
    Tight-lipped and watery-eyed, Piney rubbed the stubble on his chin and shook his head. “Them weekday boys? They flunkies. Bagmen. Gentlemen outside, they top cats. And with due respect, Arlene, they ain’t here for the music.”
    “This have something to do with… you know?”
    “Somethin’ do with somethin’,” he said. “That’s a fact.”
    He stood and opened the door a crack. Peered out then left, suddenly. He