Harmony in a Box – #01-06

“I knew that would get you – you played with him on that show!” recalled Gigs.

Johnny nodded in agreement as fragments of that show flashed through his memory.

“Well, as I said, it was in Manitoba at a three day festival. We were put up in this hotel, as I recall, The Hope Hotel.   The first night of the show I was alone in the restaurant eating my food, before we started set up for the evening show, when out of the corner of my eye I see this guy who looked like Jamus, but different. I didn’t know him as well as you did. I only did a few shows with you, Jamus and Psychic Blue. I had talked with Jamus on occasion during sound check.   You know you couldn’t mistake him, his six foot, two hundred and seventy pound frame, that long black hair with those huge sideburns and handlebar bar mustache and goatee.”  Gigs paused dramatically before continuing. “Well the man eating at the table near me who reminded me of Jamus was different. Clean shaven, shorter hair, and looked to weigh around one eighty. But something about him was familiar. He was eating at a table close to me with two Aboriginals, one female, one male. I called out his name and he turned to look at me as the others did, not really in recognition of his name but to see who was making the noise. He looked at me as I approached the table, I was sure it was Jamus. Those gray-blue eyes of his are unmistakable. Again I said his name, again no real response from him. With a wave motion the others at the table gave me nods of acknowledgement and the Native guy motioned me to sit down.”

“Do you know this man?” the woman asked me with a look and tone of astonishment. The man I thought was Jamus sat silently looking directly at me. I nodded and I said to her, “I’m sure this is a man I know named Jamus. He was a guitar player and played in a band I was working with. About a year and a half ago he and some others went missing.”

“Are you quite sure this is the man?” she asked me again in an inquisitive tone while pointing at the man at the table. He continued to look at me but said nothing.

I sat at the table and made myself more comfortable. I told her, “I thought he was, but he doesn’t really respond to his name so I must be mistaken.” As I stood to leave the woman put her hand on my arm and gestured me to stay. In a soft voice the woman began her tale.”


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