Burning Angel (Dave Robicheaux 8)
Page 56
”Sure. Look, I heard Patsy got out of jail in Houston and he's back in town. The guy's got the thinking processes of a squirrel with rabies.“
”I need to talk with you, Sonny.“
”Go ahead.“
”No, in person. We've got to work some stuff out.“
”You put me in the bag once, Dave.“
”I kicked you loose, too.“
He was silent. I could hear the streetcar clanging on the neutral ground.
”I'll be in the Pearl at ten o'clock in the morning,“ I said. ”Be there or stay away, Sonny. It's up to you.“
”You got something on Delia's murder?“
”How can I, unless you help me?“
”I eat breakfast at Annette's on Dauphine,“ he said.
I rose early in the morning and helped Batist open up the shop, fire the barbecue pit, and bail the boats that had filled with rainwater during the night. The sky was clear, a soft blue, the wind cool and sweet smelling out of the south, and I tried to keep my mind empty, the way you do before having surgery or entering into situations that you know you'll never successfully rationalize.
He looked good at the table in Annette's, with a fresh haircut, in a lavender shirt and brown suit with dark stripes in it, eating a full breakfast of scrambled eggs with bloodred catsup and sausage patties and grits off a thick white plate; he even smiled, his jaw full of food, when Helen and I came through the entrance with a murder warrant and a First District NOPD homicide cop behind us.
He kept chewing, his eyes smiling, while I shook him down against the wall and pulled the nine-millimeter Smith & Wesson from the back of his belt and hooked up each of his wrists.
Then he said, ”Excuse me, I almost choked on my food there. Don't worry about this, Streak. A Judas goat has got to do its job.“
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Chapter 15
ON THURSDAY MORNING JULIA Bertrand walked into my office, her tan face glowing with purpose. She sat down without asking, as though we were both there by a prearranged understanding.
”Could I help you, Julia?“
”I have a complaint,“ she said, smiling prettily, her back erect, her hands uncertain.
”What might that be?“
”It's prostitution, if you ask me. Out by Cade, I'm talking about.“
One hand fluttered on her thigh, then remained motionless.
”By Cade?“
”I drove our maid home yesterday. She lives on the dirt road by this bar. You know the one I'm talking about.“
”I think I do, Julia.“
”There were white men walking with these black women back to these trailers.“
When I didn't respond, she said, ”Dave, I'm not a prude. But this is our community.“
”Two doors down, there're a couple of guys inside you can talk to.“
”I suspect one of them is the same gentleman I spoke to earlier. He could hardly contain his yawn.“