'What do you want, Nate?' I said.
'Guess.'
'You got me.'
'You'd better tell that crazy sonofabitch to come in.'
'Tell him yourself.'
'Great suggestion. Except when we showed up at his apartment with a warrant last night, he climbed out the window and went across the rooftops. You're mixed up in this, Robicheaux. Don't pretend you're not.'
'I'm not.'
'You know how I can always tell when a drunk is lying? His lips are moving.'
'What else can I do for you this morning?'
'Tell that fat fuck you call a friend that he comes in or he gets no guarantees out on the street. You got my drift?'
'This must bother you, Nate.'
'What?' he said.
'Turning on your own people, taking it on your knees from the mob, doing grunt work for Max Calucci after he tried to have you whacked out.'
I could hear him breathing in the receiver, could almost smell the heat and nicotine coming through the perforations.
'Listen to me very carefully,' he said. 'The insurance adjuster estimates that Fuckhead did around a half million dollars' damage to that house. State Farm is not the Mafia, Robicheaux. They're corporate citizens, and they get seriously pissed and make lots of trouble when they have to pay out five hundred thousand large because a lunatic thinks he can wipe his shit on the furniture.'
'I'll pass on your remarks. Thanks for calling.'
'You never listen, do you? If I learn you have contact with Purcel and you don't report it, I'm charging you with aiding and abetting and being an accomplice after the fact.'
'Your problem isn't with me or Clete, Nate. When you took juice from the wise guys, you mortgaged your butt all the way to the grave,' I said, and hung up.
I went to the rest room and rinsed my face. I let the water run a long time. I even rinsed my ear where I had held the telephone receiver. Then I cupped a handful of water on the back of my neck and dried my skin with a handful of paper towels.
'You run the four-minute mile or something?' another detective said.
'That's right,' I said, and looked at him in the mirror.
'Who kicked on your burner?' he said.
Ten minutes later, my phone rang again.
'The wrong kind of people are looking for you,' I said. Through the receiver I could hear seagulls squeaking in the background.
'You heard about it?' Clete said.
'What do you think?'
'It'll cool down. It always does.'
'Baxter's got no bottom. He'll take you out, Clete.'
'You shouldn't try to cut deals with the greasebags on behalf of your old podjo.'
'Do you have a death wish? Is that the problem?'