Others before me had tried to ruin Prescott’s lucky streak; none had succeeded. Now it was my turn. The work didn’t exactly thrill me, but it kept my office lights on. It was Tuesday, just after eight, my first night looking for Big Percy. I started my car and let it run a bit while I thought things through. I’d dressed for business in jeans, a light sweater, and Nikes, and in anticipation of a long night, I’d brought along snacks: a banana, granola, and a chocolate doughnut for dessert. All set, I pulled away from the curb in front of my apartment and got to it. Now, if I were a kid-dumping bluesman, where would I be?

I didn’t know jack about blues guitarists. I didn’t get blues. Real life was hard enough. I wasn’t about to pay good money to listen to somebody sing about his runaway dog or faithless girlfriend. But if Big Percy was like any other musician, he was likely ramping up for a late-night set somewhere. I had a list of clubs to check, but before I did that, it wouldn’t hurt to take a pass at his last known address. Big Percy’s ex-wife reported that she hadn’t been able to get a nickel out of him in over a year, and now couldn’t find him at the place he’d been staying. I flipped his file open on the passenger seat, committed the address to memory, then headed there—on the move and on the case for Golden, Sprague, and Bendelson.

I woke up Big Percy’s landlady, Mrs. Ocela Pinkney, by leaning on the bell. The old lady groused some at first at the lateness of the hour, but then calmed down enough to tell me Big Percy had moved out more than a month ago. I got her to show me his apartment and, sure enough, the place was empty, not a stick of furniture in it. Prescott left her high and dry, Pinkney said, without so much as a “lah-dee-dah,” and she passed along a few choice words she wanted me to convey to him when I finally tracked him down.

Back in the car, I hit every legit blues club and hole-in-the-wall masquerading as a legit blues club. Chicago had to have a million of them. Nobody I asked would admit to having seen Big Percy. Half of them were likely lying, but there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. I’d have to keep looking and hope for a break.