At that, my ears perk up. “The Crossroads? You mean Highway 61?”
“Why, yes, yes,” he says. “Highway 61. I was supposed to meet a man there at midnight.”
“Yes,” he says. “That’s when we agreed to meet. But like I told you, I’ve had a lot of problems and now I’m late.”
“The Crossroads at midnight?”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I’ve got to tell you, I’ve been a street singer and traveling blues man for some years now and I’ve probably had a hundred different cats tell me the same tale about meeting a man at midnight at the Highway 61 Crossroads.
I let out a little chuckle. “So what were you planning on doing, Mister Stevens? Selling your soul to the Devil?”