A Morning for Flamingos (Dave Robicheaux 4)

"I told him I wasn't leaving till I got the number. I made a little noise in front of his customers. I didn't touch him."

"It surprises you he doesn't want to see you again?"

"What if I have another talk with him?"

"That's out. The deal has to go through."

"I'm worried about you, mon. You're not seeing things straight. You're doing the grunt work for the DEA, they take the glory. There's something else to think about, too. How's a drug buy out on the salt going to put Cardo away?"

"I've got to get next to him with a wire."

"Why not get a Pap smear while you're at it?" He lit a cigarette and blew smoke off into the dappled sunlight. "We used to call the FBI 'Fart, Barf, and Itch,' remember? Why do you think these DEA cocksuckers are any different? If you ask me, this deal down at Cocodrie stinks."

There was no point in arguing. I also felt that he was more disappointed in being cut out of the sting than anything else. But his eyes continued to wander over my face while he smoked.

"For God's sakes, what is it?" I said.

"I don't know if you need this right now, but a colored kid was in the bar looking for you this morning. He wouldn't give his name, but I have an idea who he is."

"Oh?"

"That kid from New Iberia you were taking up to Angola with Jimmie Lee Boggs."

"What did he say?"

"'Tell Mr. Dave I seen Jimmie Lee yesterday on Bourbon.'" Clete continued to look at my face. "I'm right, that's the kid who got loose from you?"

"Yes."

"You're in contact with him?"

"More or less."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Does he look like a dangerous and violent man to you? You think I ought to send him to the chair?"

"I think you ought to watch out for your own butt once in a while."

"What else did he say?"

"Nothing. A weird kid. If a black ant wore a pizza uniform, that's what it'd look like. You really think he saw Boggs?"

"I don't know."

"Why would Boggs be walking around on Bourbon?"

"I don't know, Clete."

"Come on, don't look so disturbed. The kid's probably imaginative." Then he pressed his lips together in a tight line. "Listen, Dave, keep your attitudes simple about this guy. You see him, you smoke him. No warning, no talk, you just blow his fucking head off. Case closed."

I didn't finish my plate. I rolled it up, dropped it in a trash barrel, then sat back down at the wood table under the tree. Clete kept pushing a ring around on his index finger while his eyes studied me.

"You think you lost your guts?" he said.

"No."

"Like Boggs has got the Indian sign on you or something?"