Black Cherry Blues (Dave Robicheaux 3)

“Maybe so.”

“I didn’t want it to go like that. You know that.”

“I believe you, Cletus.”

“But why do you have to scratch a match on their scrots, man?”

“I thought I was pretty well behaved.”

“Oh fuck yeah. Absolutely. Dave, a half dozen like you could have this whole state in flames.”

“What’s Dio’s gig here?”

He snuffed inside his nose.

“I take his money. I don’t care what he does. E

nd of subject,” he said.

“See you around. Thanks again for the lunch. Say good-bye to Darlene for me.”

“Yeah, anytime. It’s always a kick. Like having a car drive through your house.”

I smiled and started toward my pickup.

“Stay in your truck a few minutes. Dixie’ll be down,” he said, walking up a gravel path toward his house.

“How do you know?”

“Because even though he acts like a drunk butthole, he wants to help. Also because I told him I’d beat the shit out of him if he didn’t.”

I sat in my pickup for ten minutes and was about to give it up when I saw Dixie Lee walk down from Sally Dio’s. He had put on a yellow windbreaker and a pair of brown slacks, and the wind blew strands of his blond hair on his forehead. He opened the door on the passenger’s side and got in.

“How about we go down to the restaurant on the water for a brew?” he said. “I’m so dry right now I’m a fire hazard.”

“All right, but I want you to understand something first, Dixie. I don’t want you to talk to me because of something Clete said to you.”

“Clete didn’t say anything.”

“He didn’t?”

“Well, he’s a little emotional sometimes. I don’t pay him any mind. He don’t like to see you in trouble.”

“But this is what’s going to happen if I don’t hear what I need from you. I’m going to take down Mapes one way or another. If that means getting you locked up as a material witness, that’s what’s going to happen. I can’t promise I’ll pull it off, but I’ll use all the juice I can to turn the key on you, Dixie.”

“Oh man, don’t tell me stuff like that. Not this morning, anyway. My nerve endings are fried as it is.”

“That’s another item. I don’t want to hear any more about your drinking problems, your theological concerns, or any of the other bullshit you spoon out to people when you’re in a corner. Are we clear on this?”

“You come down with both feet, son.”

“You dealt me into this mess. You’d better be aware of that, partner.”

“All right. Are we going for a brew or are you going to sit here and saw me apart?”

I started the truck and drove up the dirt lane through the pines to the main road, which was bordered on the far side by a short span of cherry orchards and then the steep rock face of the mountain. We drove along the lake toward the restaurant that was built on pilings out over the water. Dixie Lee had his face turned into the breeze and was looking wistfully at the sandy beaches, the dense stands of pine, the sailboats that tacked against the deep blue brilliance of the lake.

“Why don’t you let me get you some real estate here?” he said.