"Then why don't he stop gettin' drunk?"
"I don't know, partner."
"You mad 'cause I ax a question?"
"Not in the least, Batist," I said, and headed for the back of the shop and began stacking crates of canned soda pop in the storeroom.
"You got some funny moods, you," I heard him say behind me.
A half hour later the phone rang.
"Hello," I said.
"We got a problem down here," a voice said.
There was static on the line and rain was throbbing on the shop's tin roof.
"Elrod?"
"Yeah. We hit some logs or a sandbar or something."
"Where are you?"
"At a pay phone in a little store. I waded ashore."
"Where's the boat?"
"I told you, it's messed up."
"Wait until the water rises, then you'll probably float free."
"There's a bunch of junk in the propellor."
"What are you asking me, Elrod?"
"Can you come down here?"
Batist was eating some chicken and dirty rice at the counter. He looked at my face and laughed to himself.
"How far down the bayou is the boat?" I said.
"About three miles. That bend you were talking about."
"The bend I was talking about, huh?"
"Yeah, you were right. There're some dead trees or logs in the water there. We ran right into them."
"We?"
"Yeah."
"I'll come after you, but I'm also going to give you a bill for my time."
"Sure thing, absolutely, Dave. This is really good of you. If lean—"
I put the receiver back on the hook.
"Tell Bootsie I'll be back in about an hour," I said.