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Just south of the capitol was the financial and theater district, and then the Congress Street Bridge, which crossed over Town Lake. A colony of more than a million Mexican free-tailed bats lived in the cracks and crevices on the underside of the bridge. Several fancy hotels lined the banks of the lake—which actually was not a lake at all but a river—and tourists would gather at sundown to watch the bats swarm out from under the bridge as they went in search of food.
They kept the mosquito population under control.
“Is Murdock his first name or his last?” Armpit asked as they drove across the bridge.
A girl wearing very short pants and a bikini top was jogging with her dog.
“Whoo! Whoo!” X-Ray shouted through Armpit’s open window.
The girl raised her middle finger.
South Congress Avenue hardly resembled the street north of the river. Armpit looked out at boarded-up buildings, liquor stores, bars, and tattoo parlors. At night the area would come alive with some of the best music in Austin, but in the heat and glare of the late-morning sun, it seemed as if the entire street suffered from a giant hangover.
“There it is,” said X-Ray.
SMOKESTACK LIGHTNIN was painted in brown letters on the smoky glass of a storefront restaurant located next to the Fingernail Emporium. Armpit could smell the slow-cooked meat as soon as he stepped out of the car. If they hadn’t been there to sell tickets, he wouldn’t have minded a sausage wrap or a chopped-beef sandwich. He had missed lunch, thanks to X-Ray.
“Here, you better hold these,” X-Ray said, handing Armpit the tickets.
He hadn’t seen them since the day they bought them. Once again, he noticed This ticket may not be resold clearly printed on the back.
A bell on the door jangled as X-Ray pushed it open. Armpit followed him inside.
Only a couple of tables were occupied, but it wasn’t noon yet. A roll of brown paper towels stood in the center of every table, along with various bottles of hot sauce.
They made their way to the front.
“What can I get you?” asked the man behind the counter. Various meats were on display behind a dirty glass window.
“We’re looking for Murdock,” said X-Ray.
“You found him.”
He was a black man with gray hair and a gray beard. His apron was splattered with grease and barbecue sauce.
“X-Ray?”
“Yeah, and this is my partner, Armpit.”
Murdock laughed at the name. “Armpit, huh? I used to know a dude who called himself Burnt Toast. He played the slide trombone. You play an instrument, Armpit?”
Armpit wanted to tell him about the scorpion but instead just shook his head.
“Let me see the tickets?”
Armpit felt a little worried as he handed the tickets over the glass case. There wasn’t a whole lot they could do if Murdock decided just to keep them.
Murdock looked them over. “Row M. Not bad. Two hundred and seventy, right?”
“That’s right,” said X-Ray. “And you’re getting a bargain.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Murdock. “But I only get to see my daughter one weekend a month, so I gotta make the most of it. When she heard Kaira DeLeon was going to be playing, it was all she could talk about. Hey, Wiley, you ever listen to Kaira DeLeon?”
“Who?” asked one of the few customers in the place.
“Kaira DeLeon.”
“Never heard a her.”
