The Rebel Of Jackson Street

Chapter Three- Six Feet Under

Deke walked off, leaving only pain and fear behind him. He never felt remorse for girls. The only thing he thought about girls were that they were too sensitive for Memphis. He couldn't care less about them. Just another thing sent to annoy him.

Vince caught up with him- which was difficult, since Deke walked so fast- panting and sweating.
"What happened back there?" He asked.
"Nothing happened. I just needed to teach a disrespectful harlot a lesson, is all."
"Still, she'd probably go calling the fuzz on us."
"I don't mind a bit of heat. I might as well go down the station myself, save myself the trouble."
"Well, the cops don't like us too much, you know that. They might even put us away!"
"What, for hurting a chick? I doubt it. C'mon, I wanna be alone for a second."
"Well, alright. But I'll come round the gutters checking for you if I can't find you."
"Alright. I'm gonna jet. Have a good one."

Deke kept on walking, passing by shops , barbers and bars. But he wasn't looking for a coke, a haircut or a shot of whiskey right in that moment. He wanted advice. And he went to a place that no one knew he went, not even Vince. None of the Hound Dogs did. A place where he went to chat with a man who changed his life, the one who loved him with all his heart. Deke came to the large, charcoal gates, lightly pushing them open. Strolling down the cobble paths, looking upon all of the sad unfortunates who passed on. And right there, a simple cross with the name 'Walter Ruxton 1936-1953' etched into it. Deke sat lonesomely in front of his father's grave. He stared quietly into the letters. Thinking about everything he had done for him, he started singing songs off the top of his head. Old songs his dad used to sing. Jazz songs from when he was young. His dad was his hero. A hero he couldn't see.

There were footsteps creeping up towards him. Though it was almost like he had shut out all noise. All he could hear was the wind. That was until that someone sit right beside him. It was a girl, no more than 15. Her hair was a bright red-orange flowing down and her eyes were a shining olive-green. She looked delicate, short for her age and quite lanky.
"Do you know him?" She asked him, her voice noticeably un-American.
"He was my old man. My hero."
"Gee. I never thought he had a family. What's your name?"
"Deke."
"Is it short for Deacon?"
"Hell if I know."
"My name's Sallie McCartney."
"Where you from, Sallie?"
"Mississippi. But my parents are from England."
"That's where you got your accent then."
"Well, yes. You picked up on that?"
"I pick upon everything missus."
"That's quite a nifty skill to have."
"I 'spose."
"You're not that talkative. I bet you talk around your friends."
"My pals are all too chicken to talk to me."
"Why? You don't seem too bad." She said, flattening her sapphire dress.
"I'm the town menace. No one likes me."
"Well, I do."

Deke raised an eyebrow at her. That must have been fake. She couldn't have thought that...could she? She must have been new to Tennessee. That just makes sense. Deke straightened his back, popping his collar and pulling out an old box of Lucky Strike. Sallie cast an eye over, clearing her throat for attention.
"You're not against smoking, are you?" Deke asked, pulling one out.
"You're lucky I'm not. My dad smokes Woodbine."
"Never heard of it. You got any?"
"Not on me. I've never had a cigarette."
"Do you want to try?" Deke asked, passing one over to her. Sallie was reluctant at first, hesitating but not turning it down.
"Well, my dad'll be mad if I do."
"One won't hurt. Just don't inhale too much, unless you want to cough up a lung."

Taking the cig, Sallie daintily placed it between her lips and Deke pulled out his lighter. It was a plain silver Zippo lighter with 'The King of Jackson Street' engraved in it. Firing up Sallie's cancer-stick, Deke lit up one himself. Sallie took a small puff, looking at it in confusion as she exhaled.
"That didn't hurt at all." She exclaimed.
"What did you expect it to do?"
"I'm not sure. Something."
"Ah that's just a load of crap they feed you. I heard a lot of rumours that they hurt when they don't."
"Alright, I suppose."
"Anyway, I should get going or else my buddy'll start searching."
"Alright then. I suppose I'll see you sometime."
"Yeah. You're a good chick. See you 'round." Deke said, getting up and moving out. And he meant it. She was a good chick in his eyes, which is a big thing to say.