A Stained White Radiance (Dave Robicheaux 5)

the steel surfaces of the pistol and the clip. I could hear him breathing loudly through his nose and smell the odor of fear that rose from his armpits.

“You weren’t in the service, were you?” I said.

“Who gives a shit?”

“Did you ever kill anybody close up?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes went from my hands to my face and back to my hands again. I inserted the clip in the magazine, pulled back the receiver, and slid a hollow-point round into the chamber.

“I’m going to give you your chance,” I said.

“What?”

“To do me. Right in this cell. I lied to the guard and told him I’d already checked my weapon. So everybody will believe you when you tell them I tried to kill you, that you got the weapon away from me and did me instead.”

“I ain’t playing this game.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I want the screw.”

“It’s just you and me, Joey. Here,” I said, and I laid the .45 on the striped mattress next to his arm.

His hands were shaking. A drop of sweat fell from the point of his chin.

“I ain’t touching it,” he said.

“It’s the only chance you’ll get at me. If you send anybody back to Iberia Parish to square a beef, I’ll be coming through your door two hours after it happens. It’ll be under a black flag, too, Joey. No warrant, no rules, just you and me and maybe Clete Purcel as a Lucky Strike extra. Are you going to pick it up?”

He pressed one hand against his naked stomach and grimaced with a spasm that made his eyes close.

“You quit doing this to me. You fucking lay off,” he said hoarsely.

I reached out and took the .45 back and eased the hammer back down. I tried to hide the deep breath that I drew into my lungs.

He leaned his head over the bunk and vomited into the wastebasket. The hair on his bare shoulders was damp with sweat. I wet some paper towels in the washbasin and handed them to him.

“Any vendetta you have against the Sonniers ends here, Joey,” I said. “Are we understood on this?”

He sat up on the bunk and took the crumpled towels away from his mouth.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he said.

“I’m not quite following you.”

“I’ll give you the guy you want. You get the guy.”

“Which guy?”

“I’ll deliver him up. Packaged. You get the guy.”

“?‘Packaged’? What do you mean ‘packaged’?”

“Don’t act like a stupid fuck. You know what I mean.”

“You’re coming to some wrong conclusions. You don’t make terms, you don’t do our job.”

“You got a dead cop. You want it squared. So the beef gets squared. Now, you stop pulling my insides out.”