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Editor's Note:
After writing the last six years' worth of the Best of Knoxville in the exact same manner, this year we decided to do it a little differently. Or, rather, much differently—in fact, we turned the whole thing into a hard-boiled detective story. We're hoping this'll be more entertaining than the usual list of blurbs, while still cluing you in as to why these winners are deserving of their awards. (If you'd like to see the complete list of winners by category, click the "Full List" button below.) Also, our lawyers would like us to apologize beforehand to all those involved.

Special Online-Only Bonus!

When we asked John Mayer to illustrate our Best of Knoxville detective novel, he didn't just throw together some drawings. No, he wrote his own entire story starring Knoxville Confidential detective Solomon Panzer. So please join us now as we enter the alternate-universe version of The Lost Knoxville Caper.

Chapter Six

As they brought me to the main doors at Best Buy, I braced my eardrums for the cacophony of electronic devices as we went in. Just then, however, we a heard a screech across the pavement behind us. Old snake-teeth turned in horror. "Not those guys again," he screamed. It was a rusty old pickup, with a crew of commandos wearing yellow Disc Exchange T-shirts in the back and the V-roys' "Wind Down" blairing from the stereo. The crack squad of independent music store stormtroopers rushed the entrance, scattering the goons aside and pulling me into the back of the pickup. We roared off before snake-teeth could do anything about it, and I thanked my rescuers.

Their leader was Cletus Jenkins, a good old country boy who could handle his drink. Cletus had saved my life once, back in 'Nam. But Cletus doesn't like to talk about those days. He's too modest. Every time I bring it up, he mutters something about being too young to fight in Vietnam. Crazy kid. I reckon we all died a little bit in that damn war.

"Johnny, you old coot. I mighta known you'd stumble your way into this mess like the water leakin' through my mamma's basement," Cletus said, slugging me in the arm. I winced.

"Save the bad metaphors for me," I said.

Best Day Spa: Madison Day Spa

My dogs were beginning to hurt, and I knew it was time for my next pedicure. I know what you're thinking, "Johnny Knox gets pedicures?' Well, until you've tried one at Madison Day Spa, don't knock it buddy.

I struck a match on the bottom of my shoe. The wind blowing over the back of the truck as we sped down Kingston Pike was worse than that indoor skydiving place in Pigeon Forge, so Cletus and his buddies made a little windshield around me. Then he handed me a Mason jar filled with what I assume was East Tennessee's finest moonshine—I didn't ask. I slugged down a mouthful, and it burned the back of my throat like the corroded, old battery from a '57 DeSoto. Just what I needed.

"Who are those goons?" I yelled over the whir of the wind.

"Johnny, you're not going to believe this," Cletus yelled. "They've been trying to take us over for some time. Unfortunately, they don't know their way around a record store. They'd come snooping around every once in a while and try to act all nonchalant, asking for the latest Ray Coniff CD."

"But what are they after?"

"It's a sick, but simple plan. So devious and dumb, no one even realizes what they're up to. People just accept it. Every week, a locally-owned business disappears. And in its place, a chain store pops up. People grumble about the loss of character, but they continue to flock to the newest national franchise that moves into town, taking advantage of the great bargains they have to offer. If we don't stop them soon, they'll eradicate all signs of character in Knoxville—the place will be one big shopping mall with convenient parking."

"But who could possibly be behind such an insidious plan? And why would they want to do it?"

"All we know is their code name: The 12 White Guys. If we could just find their headquarters, we could attack tonight."

Best Furniture Store: Braden's Fine Furniture & Interiors

I could think of about a million things I'd rather be doing right then. Like picking out a new living room set at Braden's Fine Furniture. They have the finest brands to choose from, including Century and Drexel-Heritage, along with an oriental rug gallery. And they have licensed interior decorators to help you pick the right look for your home. But, no. That would have to wait. These 12 White Guys, whoever they were, would have to be tucked into bed and the lights turned out before I could even think about a new sofa.

"We could use your help, Johnny. Are you with us?" Cletus said. How could you say no to a teddy-bear face like that?

"Yeah, I'm in. But there's something I got to do first."

Best Sports Bar: Bailey's Sports Grille

It's hard to do your work during March Madness. I had seen "sports" on the Bailey's sign, and had to stop in. Luckily, the beer selection was pretty good. I knew that would make it a little easier to watch the Vols. I've seen a lot in this crazy world, and faced down a lot of gorillas with potato sacks for arms, but nothing makes me as tense as watching the Vols play. In fact, it made me really want to unwind...

Best Strip Club: Th'Katch Show Club
Best Locally-Produced Webpage: www.beccas.com

Yes, nothing soothes the nerves of a private, ahem, detective more than the wanton display of female pulchritude in a private club setting. And my personal favorite had to be Th'Katch, not only for its beautiful dancers, but for its odd lack of vowels. But I couldn't, really—I just didn't have the time. Perhaps later tonight after I closed the case, I would log onto beccas.com in the privacy of my own home and drink in the charms of our very own webmistress...oh hell, what I really needed was a good martini.

Best Jazz Club: Baker-Peters Jazz Club
Best Cleaners: Prestige Cleaners

And nobody makes Blue Sapphire martinis like they do at Baker-Peters, and the live jazz always makes for fine accompaniment. I took a seat at the bar. Shortly after I sat down, I noticed it: A dark, oily blotch on the cuff of my brand spanking new suit. What do you expect after chasing goons all over West Knoxville? Oh, well. Nothing that Prestige Cleaners couldn't take care of for me. I've never seen a stain yet they couldn't get out. And with so many branches, there's probably one near me. I'd been sitting there for about 15 minutes when a kid in his twenties sat down to my right.

"Johnny Knox, my man," he shouted.

Best Dance Club DJ: DJ Storm
Best Male Vocalist: Dave Landeo

I recognized him from the Old City, when he worked at a classy dance club called the Underground, where I used to hang out before I got ingrown toenails and had to give up dancing. "Hey, aren't you DJ Storm?" I said. "Where you been hiding these days?"

"Well, ever since the heat shut down the Underground, it's been hard to find work. But it's not as bad for me as it is for the hip hop DJs. Knoxville doesn't want anything to do with anything that even suggests African-American culture." Had this whole scruffy little town gone mad, I thought. What were they doing to their city? Where's the heart? Where's the character? I felt for the kid. I would have flipped him a quarter, but I was out. All I had in my pocket was a Sacagowea dollar, and there was no way I was parting with that.

"What's wrong with him," a guy to my right said, nudging me with his elbow. He introduced himself as Dave Landeo and offered to buy me a beer. I never pass up free beer. I asked him where he got all his money, and he said that business had been good. He spun a long yarn about playing all the happening clubs in town. Mostly chains like O'Charley's and Ruby Tuesday. Business couldn't be better, he said. Well, at least somebody's making a living in this crazy town.

Best Florist: Crouch Florist & Gifts
Best Sunday Brunch: Italian Market and Grill
Best Jewelry Store: Markman's Diamond Brokers
Best Romantic Atmosphere, Best Wine List: The Orangery

Times like those, when you're not sure if you'll ever see another dawn, can do something to a man. I got to thinking about Rowena. Maybe I should send her flowers, I thought, a nice little arrangement from Crouch Florist—they've got something for every occasion and you can't really go wrong with a dozen roses. Or maybe I could invite her out to brunch on Sunday. It's a bit of a drive, but it's hard to beat Italian Market and Grill when it comes to brunch. Or...perhaps a nice rock from Markman's Diamond Brokers—they've got great selection and great prices—plus, that 30-day unconditional money back guarantee could come in handy, if things don't work out like you planned.

Ahh, but who had for time for that? I looked around for a pay phone but there weren't any. I was at my limit, and grabbed the cell phone from the ear of some sweet-looking toothpick. Probably an insurance salesman. "He'll call you later, sweetheart," I yelled into the phone. I dialed Rowena's number and told her to meet me at The Orangery in an hour. Told her I needed her help in a big way on a little idea I'd cooked up; plus, the place had great wine and the kind of atmosphere that gets classy dames warmed up. I'd just got off the phone when that toothpick of a salesman clocked me on the right cheek and tossed me out the door.

Best Fitness Club: Court South
Best Bicycle Store: Harper Schwinn

The gravel tasted similar to the grits my grandma used to make. Minus the salt and cheese, though. It was time to start going to Court South again. With the full gamut of exercise equipment and classes, you can get every muscle in your body finely tuned. I had just about dusted myself off, when I heard laughter. I looked up and it was the goons again. I didn't stick around to see if they'd decided to hash out our differences over a game of cards. I borrowed a BMW from a nice-looking couple who had pulled up to Bailey's. I headed east on the I-40, weaving in and out of traffic like a dolphin at Seaworld. But the highway soon dried up and I was stuck in a traffic jam once again. I jumped out of the car and ran off the highway onto Northshore Drive. But this was no good. I needed something faster. I came upon the Harper Schwinn bike store, and they had a choice 21-speed Schwinn mountain bike. Just what I needed. Unfortunately, I only had $50 on me. I talked the owner down on a used BMX with a little horn and flag sticking out the back. And headed toward the Orangery.

April 27, 2000 * Vol. 10, No. 17
© 2000 Metro Pulse