A Morning for Flamingos (Dave Robicheaux 4)

"You should appreciate Lionel's efforts on your behalf," Fontenot said.

"Forget the appreciation. Just put it hard against the tires and keep it there till I'm on the ladder," Lionel said.

He laced the life jacket under his chin, then slipped a rope through the aluminum suitcase that contained the money and tied it crossways on his chest.

"I go between the hulls and you're out a half mil," he said.

"We can make the exchange without you getting on their boat," I said. "There's a thirty-foot coil of rope in that forward gear box. Tie it onto the suitcase, throw the other end on the shrimper, and we'll get the stash back the same way."

"I gotta check it."

"We'll check it when it's on board."

"You don't inspect the goods after the fact when you deal with spies," he said.

"Let's not have discord on the Melody Ranch, boys and girls," Fontenot said. "Lionel's an old pro at this, Mr. Robicheaux. He's not going to drop your money."

"I'm going in on the swell," I said. "Get ready."

Two deckhands came out of the wheelhouse and stood by the gunwales in the rain and wind. They were unshaved, and their black hair and beards dripped with water. I came in on the lee side of the shrimper, gunning the engine in the trough, and bumped against the row of tires that were hung along the hull. Lionel grabbed the rope ladder, pushed himself with one foot off the handrail of the jugboat, and scampered on board the shrimper, the aluminum suitcase banging across the gunwale with him.

"What are you going to do with all your money, Mr. Robicheaux?" Fontenot said. He had a lit cigarette cupped on his knee, and he was looking out indifferently at the glaze of light from the shrimp boat on the water.

"Why is it I get the feeling you're not interested in the questions you ask other people?" I said.

"Oh, forgive me, good sir, if I ever convey that impression. That would be a terrible sense to give someone, wouldn't it?"

"I'm going back through Atchafalaya Bay, not to Cocodrie. I can put you guys ashore at several places. You tell me where."

"Not to Cocodrie? But our car is there," he said. And he said it in a whimsical manner, his eyes still fascinated with the patches of yellow light on the waves.

"I think it's smart to off-load in a different spot. I told Tony I've got the access he needs, a couple of bayous nobody uses except in a pirogue."

"I'm sure he'll be intrigued."

I looked at the side of his face in the glow of the instrument lights. Then I saw the color in his eyes brighten and the corner of his mouth twitch in a grin when he realized that I was staring at him.

"Excuse me if I don't bubble up at the perfection of it all," he said. "I'm afraid it's my fate to simply be an old mule. But Tony will love a tour through the bayous. You two can talk about 'nape.'"

I continued to stare at him.

"What are you wondering, kind sir?" he said.

"Why he keeps you guys around."

"We don't measure up, do we? Listen, you lovely boy, we take the risks but Tony gets the big end of the candy cane. Some might think he's done very well by us. Would you like to jump between boats like Lionel just did? I don't think Tony would."

"My impression is the guy can handle the action."

"Oh, you must tell him that. He loves that kind of big-dick talk."

"I don't know what's bugging you, Fontenot, but I think this is our last run together," I said.

"You can never tell," he said, and grinned again and puffed on his cigarette in the luminescence of the instrument panel.

Ten minutes passed, and I kept the jugboat steady in the trough so it wouldn't slam up against the hull of the shrimper. Through the rain I could see the silhouettes of several people in the wheelhouse. Then I saw Lionel talking, but his face was turned toward the front glass, not toward the people around him. I squinted hard through the rain.

"He's talking on the shortwave," I said.