The Neon Rain (Dave Robicheaux 1)

"Why are you so obnoxious, Motley?" Clete said. "Is it because you're fat and ugly, or is it because you're fat and dumb? It's a mystery to all of us."

"Except I hear the broad says you told Segura he was going to take a big fall. Not smart of the Bobbsey Twins in homicide," Motley said.

"Here's to the rapid spread of sickle cell," Clete said, and toasted Sergeant Motley with his coffee cup.

"My dick in your ear," Motley said.

"Lay off it," I said.

"With this guy you've either got to use some humor or a can of insecticide," Clete said.

A few minutes later Captain Guidry told me to come into his office. I wasn't looking forward to talking with the captain, but I was relieved to get away from Clete.

Captain Guidry scratched the hair implants in his head and looked up at me from behind his horn-rimmed glasses. My report and Clete's were side by side on his desk.

"The lab found some marijuana ash and grains of cocaine in the car," he said. His voice was flat and reserved.

"Motley just told us."

He picked up a pencil and began drumming it on his palm.

"They also said a round fired from inside the car bounced off the window frame and blew glass out into the street," he said. "A second round went up through the roof, which would indicate the shooter was hit by that time. A yardman across the street says he heard a sound like a firecracker inside the Cadillac, then he saw you two start shooting. It's all working for you, Dave."

"What's the dwarf say?" I asked.

"Nothing. All he wants is an airplane ticket to Managua."

"Something's not getting said here, Captain."

"I've been over your reports. Very neat stuff. I think they'll get you by Internal Affairs."

"That's good."

"My own opinion is they stink. Tell me why a guy with no arrests, who Whiplash Wineburger would have had back on the street in thirty minutes, would throw down on two armed cops."

I didn't answer.

"Do you think he had a suicidal personality?" the captain asked.

"I don't know."

"Did Segura tell him to do it?"

"No."

"Then why did this guy pull his own plug?" His hand closed on the pencil.

"Internal Affairs gets paid to sort that stuff out."

"To hell with Internal Affairs. I don't like reading a report on two deaths that says 'fill in the blanks.'"

"I can't tell you anything else, Captain."

"I can. I think something else happened out there. I think also you're covering Purcel's butt. That's not loyalty. It's stupidity."

"The essential fact of my report is that somebody pulled a pistol on a police officer and fired it at him."

"You keep telling yourself that. In the meantime, let me tell you a couple of my observations. The guys in Internal Affairs will mutter around over this stuff, ask you a few hard questions, make you feel uncomfortable a little while, maybe even really try to stick a finger in your eye. But eventually they'll cut you loose and everybody around here will ask you guys out for a beer. But you're going to take the suspicion of a wrongful death with you. It's like a cloud you drag along everywhere you go. Sometimes it even grows into a legend. How about Motley and those guys on the wrist-chain that suffocated to death in the elevator?"