A Morning for Flamingos (Dave Robicheaux 4)

"You still got the deck pitching under you, huh?" Tony said.

"Yeah."

"Well, you're coming home with us, anyway. You'll sleep better there. I got a good cook, too, fix you some gumbo and dirty rice. How's that, podna?"

"What?"

"You're staying at my place. I already signed you out and paid your bill."

"You can't sign me out."

"You know how much I donate to this place each year? What's the matter, you like the smell of bedpans?"

Just then one of his gatemen came through the door with two ambulance attendants pushing a gurney.

"Now wait a minute, Tony," I said.

"I got a nice room waiting for you. With cable TV, books, magazines, you want a broad to turn the pages for you, you got that, too. Like I told you before, I'm a sensitive man about friendship. Don't be hurting my feelings."

Then the two attendants and his hired hoods went about packaging me up as though I were a piece of damaged china. I started to protest again as they placed their hands gently on my arms, and gray worms danced before my eyes. But Tony put a finger to his pursed lips and said, almost in a private whisper, "Hey, guys like us already got our tickets punched. It's all a free lunch now. You're in the magic kingdom, Dave."

So that's how to the dark tower I came.

Early the next morning Tony, his little boy, and I had breakfast in the glass-enclosed breakfast room, which had a wonderful view of Tony's myrtle-lined tennis court, oak and lemon and lime trees, and blue lawn wet with mist. The back door gave onto a wheelchair ramp that led down to the driveway.

"The bus picks up Paul right here at the door," Tony said. "They're going on a field trip today, to an ice factory, to learn how ice is made."

"It's the gifted class. We get to go on a field trip every Friday," Paul said. He smiled when he talked. He wore a purple sweater and gray corduroy pants and sat on top of cushions in his wheelchair so he could reach the table adequately. His brown hair had been cut recently, and it was combed with a part that was as exact as a ruler's edge. "My daddy says you were in the war, too."

"That's right."

"You think a war's ever going to come here?" he said.

"No, this is a good place, Paul," I said. "We don't worry about things like that. I bet you're going to have a good time at the ice factory."

"Do you have any little boys or girls?" Paul said.

"A little girl, about your age. Her name's Alafair."

"What's she like to do?"

"She has a horse. She likes to feed him apples and ride him when she comes home from school."

"A horse?" he said.

"Yeah, we call him Tex because we bought him over in Texas."

"Boy."

He had a genuinely sweet face, with no recognition in it of his own limitations.

"Maybe we'll go riding with Dave and his daughter one day," Tony said.

"That'd be fine," I said.

"There's a couple of bridle paths here, or sometimes I take Paul on trips over by Iberia Parish," Tony said. "Maybe we'll drive over, take you guys out to eat, go out for a boat ride, something like that," he said.

"Yeah, that's a good idea, Tony."