Imagine the phone rings in the middle of the night; it's your best friend.

"You asleep?"

Check the watch.  "It's two in the morning."

"I got a job for you."

"I don't want it."

"Yes, you do, you big layabout."

"What is it?"

"Dead drag queen in a pentagram; topless dancers stuffed in a trunk--a pretty blue Buick; somebody's wife is missing--maybe . . ."

"Fine, don't tell me, then."

"I'm telling you.  Am I gonna see you at the Majestic in an hour?"

You don't want to, but curiosity gets to you.  "Okay." It's a promise.

Mythology is what other people believe; religion is what you believe.  And reason doesn't enter into it: Faith is the answer to everything.  Pure reason is nothing but a phantom.  Experience is the only truth.  So here's what I believe; this has been my experience: I can find anything you can lose.  That's my religion.

I was born Flap Tucker in a little town in Georgia; moved to Atlanta when I was eight.  The best friend is Dalliance Oglethorpe--curly dark hair never looks combed, still looks like a million bucks; green eyes always a little amused; tall enough to know better.  Believes neither one of us had a chance at normalcy, growing up with our names.  We never argue, it's why we're best pals.

The Atlanta we grew up in doesn't exist anymore--and in most ways thank God.  We were just little kids in the early sixties, but there were still colored and white drinking fountains in the downtow...