"I got enough troubles without getting my head shrunk by a bunch of ex-drunks."
"Make your own choice. It's your life, kiddo."
"Yeah, but you're always up to something on the side. You should have been a priest. You still go to Mass?"
"Sure."
"You remember the time you took me to midnight Mass at St. Louis Cathedral? Then we walked across the square and had beignets at the Café du Monde. You know, I thought maybe you were serious about me that night."
"I have to ask you a couple of questions before I go."
"Sure, why not? Most men are interested in my jugs. You come around like a census taker."
"I'm serious, Robin. Do you remember a guy named Victor Romero?"
"Yeah, I guess so. He used to hang around with Johnny Dartez."
"Where's he from?"
"Here."
"What do you know about him?"
"He's a little dark-skinned guy with black curls hanging off his head, and he wears a French beret like he's an artist or something. Except he's bad news. He sold some tainted skag down on Magazine, and I heard a couple of kids were dead before they got the spike out of their arms."
"Was he muling for Bubba Rocque, too?"
"I don't know. I don't care. I haven't seen the guy in months. Why do you care about those dipshits? I thought you were the family man now. Maybe things aren't too good at home."
"Maybe."
"And you're the guy that's going to clean up mommy's act so she can wipe off tables for the tourists. Wow."
"Here's the airline ticket and the two hundred dollars. My friend's name is written on the envelope. Do whatever you want."
I started to get up, but she pressed her hands down on my arms. Her breasts were large and heavy against her T-shirt, and I knew secretly that I had the same weakness as the men who watched her every night at Smiling Jack's.
"Dave?"
"What?"
"Do you think about me a little bit sometimes?"
"Yes."
"Do you like me?"
"You know I do."
"I mean the way you'd like an ordinary woman, somebody who didn't have a pharmacy floating around in her bloodstream."
"I like you a lot, Robin."
"Stay just a minute, then. I'll take the plane tonight. I promise."
Then she put her arm across my chest, tucked her head under my chin like a small girl, and pressed herself against me. Her short-cropped, dark hair was soft and smelled of shampoo, and I could feel her breasts swell against me as she breathed. Outside it was raining hard on the courtyard. I brushed her cheek with my fingers and held her hand, then a moment later I felt her shudder as though some terrible tension and fear had left her body with sleep. In the silence I looked out at the rain dancing on the iron grillwork.
The neon lights on Bourbon looked like green and purple smoke in the rain. The Negro street dancers, with their heavy metal clip-on taps that clattered like horseshoes on the sidewalk, were not out tonight, and the few tourists were mostly family people who walked close against the buildings, from one souvenir shop to the next, and did not stop at the open doors of the strip joints where spielers in straw boaters and candy-striped vests were having a hard time bringing in the trade.