Dixie City Jam (Dave Robicheaux 7)

'I guess that'd be up to you.'

He smiled and lowered his eyes.

'You don't think' I'm too good, do you?' he said.

'You just went three rounds against a pro. That's not bad.'

'I know what you're really thinking, though. You ain't got to make me feel good. Like I say, I do it for fun.' He touched at the corner of his puffed eye with one fingernail.

'You said you were going to tell me something about the vigilante murders,' I said.

'It's gang bangers. They fighting over who's gonna deal tar in the projects. Tar's real big again, Mr. Robicheaux. Lot of people don't want to mess with crack anymore.'

'How do you know it's the gangs, Zoot?'

'I get around. I got friends in the projects—the St. Thomas, the Iberville, the Desire. They all say there ain't no vigilante.'

'Is there a particular murder you have information about?'

He thought for a moment. 'Yeah, last spring,' he said. 'A dealer got thrown off the roof acrost from our school. The gang bangers said he was working the wrong neighborhood.'

He watched my face expectantly.

'Are there any names you want to give me?' I said.

'I'm just telling you what my friends say. I ain't got no names.'

'You come from a good home, Zoot. You think you should be hanging around gang bangers?'

'I got the friends I want. People don't tell me who I hang with.'

'I see. Well, thanks for the information.' I stood up to leave.

'Ain't you gonna he'p out?'

'I'm afraid I don't have a lot to work with here.'

'Mr. Robicheaux, my mama's gonna lose her job.'

I sat back down. 'Where's your dad?'

His eyes became unfocused, then he looked over at the jukebox as though he had just noticed it.

'I ain't got one. Why you ax that?' he said.

'No reason. Your mother's a tough lady. Stop worrying about her.'

'Easy for you to say. You ain't there when she come home, always telling me—'

'Telling you what?'

'I ain't nothing but a big drink of water, I gotta be a man, I gotta stop slouching around like somebody pulled my backbone outta my skin.' He rolled up a paper napkin in his palm and dropped it in his plate. 'It ain't her fault. They get on her case where she works, then she just got to get on mine. But I'm tired of it.'

For the first time I noticed how long and narrow his hands were. Even his nails were long, almost like a girl's.

'You feel like putting your trunks back on?' I said.

'What for?'