Page 5 of Possibly Texas

“No?”

His chest bowed out proudly. “Levi Lee, my good man. Performance artist and all-around handyman.”

His hand shot out. Against my better judgment, I reached out and took it.

“That explains nothing, but nice to meet you,” I murmured. “Levi Lee?”

“That’s me,” he said proudly once more. “Now, the specials today are Café Mochas and Red Eyes. Personally, I’d stick with the mochas. Chocolate hides a lot of sin and coffee tastes like sin to me. Of course, I probably shouldn’t say that to a customer, but—”

“Look, Levi Lee?”

“Yes?” He smiled brightly.

I didn’t get a chance to ask my question. A gunshot rang out nearby and my instincts kicked in; I dropped my suitcases and got low, throwing my arms around my head to protect it. When I looked up at Levi Lee, he was just staring at me quizzically, the lime green hood clutched in both hands in front of him. I prayed he would hold it a little lower to cover…things.

“What is going on?” I barked.

“What?”

“The gunshot?” I asked frantically, glancing up and down the street as I crouched in front of the coffee shop next to him.

“Oh.” Levi Lee chuckled. “That’s Wyatt.”

He gestured vaguely towards the end of the street in the direction of the mosque-like building. I uncovered my head just enough to glance around Levi Lee’s body in the direction he had indicated. A man, dressed like Yosemite Sam—blue jeans, chaps, plaid long-sleeve shirt, ten-gallon hat, with a handle-bar mustache to boot—was strolling up the street towards us, gun in hand. It was hard to tell at such a distance, but it even looked like the gun was a six-shooter.

“His timing’s all off,” Levi Lee said, as though this explained everything. “You’ll get used to it.”

“What?” I looked up incredulously.

“He had a stroke.” Levi Lee gestured for me to rise, and I slowly obeyed, using the hull of the ship to brace myself since my knees felt like jelly. “His timing is off but he’s harmless.”

I watched cautiously, keeping Levi Lee between myself and Wyatt as the weird man marched down the street, swinging his gun. He passed within a few feet of us, paying us no mind, then turned on the road that went down towards the gas station.

“Don’t go buying any candy, Wyatt!” Levi Lee hollered, making me jump. “You know it gets you all riled up!”

The crazy man with a gun and no timing—raised a hand in the air, a single finger rising to respond to Levi Lee’s demand. Levi Lee laughed.

“Grandy won’t sell him any candy anyway.” Levi Lee waved a hand in Wyatt’s direction.

“I’m pretty sure I’d give a guy with a gun anything he asked for,” I muttered.

“He’s harmless,” Levi Lee repeated.

Obviously, I was in a town full of crazy people. People who jumped off of bridges into creeks after screaming some girl’s name. Guys who did performance art in green screen suits outside of a coffee shop that looked like a pirate ship. Men who felt shooting a gun randomly was a perfectly okay thing to do. And then there was the radio station DJ who really, really, really loved Tiny Tim. I could still hear the song playing, but it seemed to be coming from multiple directions. Apparently, my theory about several speakers littered throughout town had been correct.

Where is Jack’s place?

“Levi…Lee?” I asked.

“Yes, my good man?” He beamed.

“I’m looking for a graveyard.”

“You don’t look like you need a graveyard yet,” he quipped. “You’ve still got plenty of years left in you, I’d think. If you want ‘em.”

I paused. “Right. Yeah. The graveyard is supposedly close to a house I’m trying to find.”

“A marker!”