Jolie Blon's Bounce (Dave Robicheaux 12)

“He fronts points for the casinos,” I said.

“He’s a lobbyist. That’s his job.”

“They victimize ignorant and compulsive and poor people.”

“Maybe they provide a few jobs, too,” he said.

“You know better. Why do you always have to act like a douche bag, Perry?”

“You want to tell me why you’re out here?” he asked, feigning patience. But his eyes wouldn’t hold and they started to slip off mine.

“You’re in with them, aren’t you?” I said.

“With whom?”

“The casinos, the people in Vegas and Chicago who run them. Both Barbara and Zerelda tried to tell me that. I just wasn’t listening.”

“I think you’re losing it, Dave.”

“Legion Guidry blackmailed your grandfather. Now he’s turning dials on you. How’s it feel to do scut work for a rapist?”

He looked at me for a long time, the skin trembling under one eye. Then he turned and walked down the grassy bank to the stern of Sookie’s houseboat and lifted the shotgun from the deck railing. He walked back up the incline toward me, unzipping the case, his eyes fastened on my face. He let the case slip to the ground and cracked open the breech.

“Make another remark about my family,” he said.

“Go screw yourself,” I said.

He took two shotgun shells from his shirt pocket and plopped them into the chambers, then snapped the breech shut.

“Hey, Perry, what’s going on?” Sookie called from the stern of his boat.

“Nothing is going on,” Perry replied. “Dave just has to make a choice about what he wants to do. Right, Dave? You want to shoot? Here, it’s ready to rock. Or do you just want to flap your mouth? Go ahead, take it.”

He pressed the shotgun into my hands, his eyes blazing now. “You want to shoot me, Dave? Do you want to roll all your personal misery and unhappiness and failure into a tight little ball and set a match to it and blow somebody else away? Because I’m on the edge of reaching down your throat and tearing out your vocal cords. I can’t tell you how much I’d love to do that.”

I opened the breech on the shotgun and tossed the shells into the grass, then threw the shotgun spinning in a long arc, past the bow of Sookie’s houseboat, the sun glinting on the blue steel and polished wood. It splashed into water that was at least twenty feet deep and sank out of sight.

“You ought to go out to L.A. and get a card in the Screen Actors Guild, Perry. No, I take that back. You’ve got a great acting career right here. Enjoy your lunch with Sookie,” I said.

“Are you crazy? That’s my Parker. Are you guys crazy?” I heard Sookie shouting as I walked back up the knoll to the cruiser.

But any pleasure I might have taken from sticking it to Perry LaSalle and Sookie Motrie was short-lived. When I arrived home that afternoon, Alafair was waiting for me in the driveway, pacing up and down, the bone ridging in one jaw, her hair tied up on her head, her fists on her hips. “How you doin’?” I said.

“Guess.”

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“Not much. My father is acting like an asshole because he thinks he’s the only person in the world with a problem. Outside of that, everything’s fine.”

“Bootsie told you about my breaking off our dinner plans last night?”

“She didn’t have to. I heard you. If you want to drink, Dave, just go do it. Stop laying your grief on your family.”

“Maybe you don’t know what you’re talking about, Alafair.”

“Bootsie told me what that man, what’s his name, Legion, did to you. You want to kill him? I wish you would. Then we’d know who’s really important to you.”

“Pardon?” I said.