I walked up through the shade of the pecan trees to the gallery. Bootsie was sitting in the swing with Alafair beside her. Alafair looked up at me from under the brim of her ball cap, her face filled with a pinched light.
“It was just a drunk man, little guy,” I said. “He thought I was somebody else.”
“His voice, it was—” she began. “It made me feel bad inside.” She swallowed and looked out into the deep shadows of the trees.
“That’s the way drunk people sound sometimes. We just don’t pay any attention to them,” I said. “Anyway, Bootsie had the call traced to New Orleans, and the cops went to pick this guy up. Hey, let’s don’t waste any more time worrying about this character. I need you to help me get ready for our lunch customers.”
I felt Bootsie’s eyes searching my face.
I went inside the house, took my .45 out of the dresser, slipped it down into my khakis, and pulled my shirt over it. At the dock I put Alafair in charge of turning the sausage links and split chickens on the barbecue grill. Her shoulders barely came above the top of the pit, and when the grease and sauce piquant dripped onto the coals her head and cap were haloed in smoke.
I put the .45 on a top shelf behind a stand-up display of Mepps spinners. I wouldn’t need it, I told myself, not here, anyway. Fluck had too many problems of his own to worry about me. His kind took revenge only when they had nothing at risk, when it came to them as a luxury they could savor. I was sure of that, I told myself.
CHAPTER 14
THE SHERIFF LEARNED OF Fluck’s phone call early Monday from the dispatcher. As soon as I walked into my office, he tapped on the doorjamb and followed me in.
“Jewel Fluck called you at your house?” he said.
“That’s right.” I opened the blinds and sat down behind my desk.
“Why do I have to hear that from the dispatcher?”
“I didn’t see any point in disturbing you on the weekend.”
“What’d he say?”
“Most of it was douche water. His clock’s running out.”
“Come on, Dave, why’d he call you?”
“He wanted to give up Joey Gouza for immunity on Garrett and Eddy Raintree. I told him the store’s closed.”
“You did what?”
“I indicated that cop killers don’t get any slack, sheriff.”
He sat down in the chair across from me and brushed one hand across the top of the other. He puffed out his cheeks.
“Maybe that’s not yours to decide, Dave. There’re a half-dozen agencies that want Joey Gouza salted away. The DEA, U.S. Customs, the FBI, Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms—”
“Cut a deal with the lowlifes and in the long run you always lose.”
“In law enforcement every man’s vote doesn’t count the same. Wyatt Earp belongs in the movies, Dave.”
“I tried to keep him on the phone so we could trace the call. You lose the edge on these guys as soon as you let them think they have something you want. That’s the way it works, sheriff.”
“What else did he say?”
“He believes Gouza’s got a five-grand open contract on him. If you want, you can tell NOPD about it, but I don’t think they’ll wring their hands over the news.”
“It’s still Bobby Earl, isn’t it?” he said.
“What?”
He scratched his clean-shaven soft cheek with a fingernail.
“Fluck, Gouza, this button man Jack Gates, I think they’re all secondary players for you, Dave. It’s Bobby Earl who’s always on your front burner, isn’t it?”