Dixie City Jam (Dave Robicheaux 7)

'Dave, do you think you should be calling me all those baby names? I'm twelve years old.'

'I'm sorry, Alf.'

'It's all right. Some people just might not understand. They might think it's dumb or that you're treating me like a little kid or something.'

'Well, I won't do it anymore. How's that?'

'Don't worry about it. I just thought I ought to tell you.'

'Okay, Alf. Thanks for letting me know.'

She punched around on the keys of the cash register while blowing her breath up into her bangs. Then I saw her eyes go past me and focus somewhere out on the dock.

'Dave, there's a black woman out there with a gas can. Dave, she's got a pistol in her back pocket.'

I turned and looked out into the shade of the canvas awning that covered the dock. It was Lucinda Bergeron, in a pair of faded Levi's that barely clung to her thin hips, Adidas tennis shoes, and a white, sweat-streaked T-shirt with the purple-and-gold head of Mike the Tiger on it. She wore her badge clipped on her beltless waistband; a chrome snub-nosed revolver in an abbreviated leather holster protruded from her back pocket.

Her face was filmed and gray, and she wiped at her eyes with one sleeve before she came through the screen door.

'Are you okay?' I said.

'May I use your rest room?' she said.

'Sure, it's right behind the coolers,' I said, and pointed toward the rear of the shop.

A moment later I heard the toilet flush and water running, then she came back out, breathing through her mouth, a crumpled wet paper towel in one hand.

'Do you sell mouthwash or mints?' she said.

I put a roll of Life Savers on top of the counter. Then I opened up a can of Coca-Cola and set it in front of her.

'It settles the stomach,' I said.

'I've got to get something straight with you.'

'How's that?'

She drank out of the Coke can. Her face looked dusty and wan, her eyes barely able to concentrate.

'You think I'm chickenshit,' she said.

'You were in a tough spot.'

'But you still think I'm chickenshit, don't you?'

'I know you're not feeling well, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't use profanity in front of my daughter.'

'Excuse me. Did you have a reason for not returning my phone calls?'

'When I called back, you were already gone. Look, Sergeant, I appreciate your coming down here, particularly when you're sick. But you don't owe me anything.'

'You've decided that?'

I let out my breath. 'What can I say? It's not my intention to have an argument with you.'

'You sell gas? I ran out down the road. My gauge is broken.' She clanked the gasoline can on the counter.

'Yeah, I've got a pump for the boats at the end of the dock.'