In the Electric Mist With Confederate Dead (Dave Robicheaux 6)

"I'm taking a new boy out on his route today. I have to lock up now. Do you want to stay around and talk to anybody else?" he said.

"No, I'll be on my way. Here's my business card in case you might like to contact me later."

He ignored it when I extended it to him. I placed it on his desk.

"Thank you for your time, sir," I said, and walked back out onto the loading dock, into the heated liquid air, the blinding glare of light, the chalky smell of crushed oyster shells in the unsurfaced parking lot.

When I was walking out to my pickup truck, I recognized an elderly black man who used to work in the old icehouse in New Iberia years ago. He was picking up litter out by the street with a stick that had a nail in the end of it. He had a rag tied around his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes, and the rotted wet undershirt he wore looked like strips of cheesecloth on his body.

"How do you like working here, Dallas?" I said.

"I like it pretty good."

"How does Mr. Twinky treat y'all?"

His eyes glanced back toward the building, then he grinned.

"He know how to make the eagle scream, you know what I mean?"

"He's tight with a dollar?"

"Mr. Twinky so tight he got to eat a whole box of Ex-Lax so he don't squeak when he walk."

"He's that bad?"

He tapped some dried leaves off the nail of his stick against the trunk of an oak tree.

"That's just my little joke," he said. "Mr. Twinky pay what he say he gonna pay, and he always pay it on time. He good to black folks, Mr. Dave. They ain't no way 'round that."

When I got back to New Iberia I didn't go to the office. Instead, I called from the house. The sheriff wasn't in.

"Where is he?" I said.

"He's probably out looking for you," the dispatcher said. "What's going on, Dave?"

"Nothing much."

"Tell that to the greaseball you bounced off the furniture this morning."

"Did he file a complaint?"

"No, but I heard the restaurant owner dug the guy's tooth out of the counter with a screwdriver. You sure know how to do it, Dave."

"Tell the sheriff I'm going to check out some stuff in New Orleans. I'll call him this evening or I'll see him in the office early in the morning."

"I got the impression it might be good if you came by this afternoon."

"Is Agent Gomez there?"

"Yeah, hang on."

A few seconds later Rosie picked up the extension.

"Dave?"

"How you doing?"

"I'm doing fine. How are you doing?"