Burning Angel (Dave Robicheaux 8)
Page 21
GAVE ME directions in Morgan City, and an hour later I saw his battered Cadillac convertible parked under a solitary palm tree by an outdoor beer and hot dog stand not far from the docks. The sky was sealed with gray clouds, and the wind was blowing hard off the Gulf, capping the water all the way across the bay. Sonny sat in the backseat of the Cadillac, shirtless, a pair of blue suspenders notched into his white shoulders. His right wrist was extended downward, where it was cuffed to a D-shaped steel ring inset in the floor.
Clete was drinking a beer on a wood bench under the palm tree, his porkpie hat slanted over his forehead.
”You ought to try the hot dogs here,“ Clete said.
”You want to be up on a kidnapping charge?“ I said.
”Hey, Sonny! You gonna dime me?“ Clete yelled at the car. Then he looked back at me. ”See, Sonny's stand-up. He's not complaining.“
He brushed at a fleck of dried blood in one nostril.
”What happened?“ I said.
”He'd rat-holed himself in a room over a pool hall, actually more like a pool hall and hot pillow joint. He said he wasn't coming with me. I started to hook him up and he unloaded on me. So I had to throw him down the stairs.“
He rubbed the knuckles of his right hand unconsciously. ”Why do you have it in for him, Clete?“
”Because he was down in Bongo-Bongo Land for the same reasons as the rest of us. Except he pretends he's got some kind of blue fire radiating around his head or something.“ I walked over to the car. Sonny's left eye was swollen almost shut. He grinned up at me. His sharkskin slacks were torn at the knee. ”How's the man, Streak?“ he said. ”I wish you had come in on your own.“
”Long story.“
”It always is.“
”You going to hold me?“
”Maybe.“ I turned toward Clete. ”Give me your key,“ I called. ”Ask Sonny if I need rabies shots,“ he said, and pitched it at me. ”You're not going to get clever, are you?“ I said to Sonny. ”With you guys? Are you kidding?“
”You're the consummate grifter, Sonny,“ I said, opened the door, and unlocked his wrist. Then I leveled my finger at his face. ”Who were the guys who killed Delia Landry?“
”I'm not sure.“
”Don't you lie to me, Sonny.“
”It could be any number of guys. It depends who they send in. You didn't lift any prints?“
”Don't worry about what we do or don't do. You just answer my questions. Who's theyT “Dave, you're not going to understand this stuff.”
“You're starting to piss me off, Sonny.”
“I don't blame you.”
“Get out of the car.” I patted him down against the fender, then slipped my hand under his arm and turned him toward my truck. “Where we going?” he said. “You're a material witness. You're also an uncooperative material witness. That means we'll be keeping you for a while.”
“Mistake.”
“I'll live with it.”
“Don't count on it, Dave. I'm not being cute, either.”
“He's a sweetheart,” Clete said from the bench. Then he rubbed the knuckles on his right hand and looked at them.
“Sorry I popped you, Cletus,” Sonny said.
“In your ear, Sonny,” Clete said.
We drove past boatyards then some shrimp boats that were knocking against the pilings in their berths. The air was warm and smelled like brass and dead fish.
“Can I stop by my room and pick up some things?” Sonny asked.