Bluesman couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so tired. Life had been a blur ever since his last encounter with Doc Mojo. He had traveled aimlessly for what seemed like months and finally ended up in a run down old barrelhouse in Gooseneck Mississippi nursing a now warm shot of bourbon.
The bartender roused him from his daze telling him there was a call for him/ A call? Who knew he was here? Who did he even know that knew how to use a phone?
He got up from his barstool on seasick legs and wandered over to where the bartender stood holding the phone out to him.
Taking the receiver Bluesman suddenly had a sense of dread, he had seen Doc Mojo fall from the bridge into the murky waters of the Mudindanoze River, but he had not seen his body surface… could this be him?
He spoke into the phone, “Hello”
“Well well, you sure are a hard man to track down” It was Doc Mojo, how could this be?
“We have some things to discuss my old friend. I’ll be at the Crossroads at midnight tonight. See you there, if you’re up to it that is”
Have at it boys…….