"Can you tell me why you were over at Baylor?" I said.
"Not today. No more today."
"You're going to close me out? You're not going to let me be your friend when you need one?"
"Do you love me or the past, Dave? Do you think I'm the past? Do I look like the past? Am I the summer of 'fifty-seven?"
Her eyes and her voice were kind, but I had no answer for her or myself, and the room was so quiet that I could hear the rustle of banana leaves outside the window.
Three hours later I was sitting at a redwood table by the side of Tony's tennis court while he hit balls at Jess Ornella on the opposite side of the net. Jess wore a red sweatsuit and blue boat shoes and clubbed at the balls as though he were under attack. Three dozen balls must have littered the clay court, most of them on his side.
"I tell you what, why don't you get us some iced tea?" Tony said.
"I told you I ain't any good at games," Jess said.
"You're doing good. Keep working at it. Your stroke's getting better all the time," Tony said. He sat down at the table with me, patting his neck and face with a towel, and watched Jess walk toward the house. "He looks like a hog on ice, but you ought to see him fly an airplane."
"Jess?"
"His old man was a crop duster during the Depression. Jess can thread a needle with anything that has wings on it. One time he flew us upside down under a power line."
Unconsciously I touched the stitches in my lip. They felt as tight and hard as wire.
"When are you getting them out?" he said.
"Tomorrow."
"Something on your mind, Dave?"
"I guess I was still thinking about my apartment."
"Don't go back there. Stay with me as long as you're in New Orleans. You don't need an apartment."
"I'm still trying to figure out Boggs, too."
"Why? You like trying to put yourself inside the head of a moron? Look, why do you think a guy like me is successful in this business? I'll tell you. A guy who can walk down the street and chew gum at the same time is king of the block. Take Jess there, and remember he's one of the few I trust, he thinks Peter Pan is the washbasin in a whorehouse."
"Boggs is smarter than you think."
"He's a psychopath. Look, the real badasses are in prison or the graveyard. If they're not there yet, they will be. About every two or three months I hear a rumor somebody's going to whack me out. And once in a while somebody tries. But I'm still hitting tennis balls. And a couple of other guys, guys who somebody wound up in Houston or Miami, Jess has driven down into Lafourche Parish and no telling what happened. So if you want into the life, Dave, you don't worry over it. Hey, come on, man, most people grow old and sit on the porch and listen to their livers rot."
"I've got another problem, too, Tony. My people back in Lafayette want a chance to get their money back. A half million is a lot to lose."
He picked up his racket cover and began pulling it over the head of his racket.
"They're not looking for a major buy," I said. "They just want to recover what they lost."
He zipped up the leather cover and rested the racket across his thighs.
"Clete says there's a major score about to go down in the
projects. I'd like to get in on it," I said.
He nodded attentively, his eyes looking off into the trees.
"I hear you talking, Dave, but like I once said to you, I don't do business at my house." Then he glanced into my face.
"I respect that, Tony, but these guys back in Lafayette are turning some dials on me."