Sunset Limited (Dave Robicheaux 10)

"We're heading back in a few minutes. Thanks just the same," I said.

"Sure. My daughter's with me," he said, as though there were a logical connection between her presence and his invitation. "I mean, maybe we'll have a late-night dinner later."

Neither Clete nor I responded. Holtzner touched the boat pilot on the arm, and the two of them roared back across the bay, their backdraft showering the water's surface with willow leaves.

"How do you read that?" I said.

"The guy's on his own, probably for the first time in his life. It must be rough to wake up one morning and realize you're a gutless shit who doesn't deserve his family," Clete said, then bit into his sandwich.

THE NEXT DAY TWO uniformed city cops and I had to arrest a parolee from Alabama by the swimming pool at City Park. Even with cuffs on, he spit on one cop and kicked the other one in the groin. I pushed him against the side of the cruiser and tried to hold him until I could get the back door open, then the cop who had been spit on Maced him and sprayed me at the same time.

I spent the next ten minutes rinsing my face and hair in the lavatory inside the recreation building. When I came back outside, wiping the water off my neck with a paper towel, the parolee and the city cops were on their way to the jail and Adrien Glazier was standing by my pickup truck. Out on the drive, among the oak trees, I saw a dark blue waxed car with two men in suits and shades standing by it. Leaves were swirling in eddies around their car.

"The sheriff told us you were here. How's that stuff feel?" she said.

"Like somebody holding a match to your skin."

"We just got a report from Interpol on the dwarf. He's enjoying himself on the Italian Riviera."

"Glad to hear it," I said.

"So maybe the shooter who did Ricky Scar left with him."

"You believe that?" I asked.

"No. Take a walk with me."

She didn't wait for a reply. She turned and began walking slowly through the trees toward the bayou and the picnic tables that were set under tin sheds by the waterside.

"What's going on, Ms. Glazier?" I said.

"Call me Adrien." She rested her rump against a picnic table and folded her arms across her chest. "Did Cisco Flynn confess his involvement in a homicide to you?"

"Excuse me?"

"The guy who got chucked out a hotel window in San Antonio? I understand his head hit a fire hydrant. Did Cisco come seeking absolution at your bait shop?"

"My memory's not as good as it used to be. Y'all have a tap on his phone or a bug in his house?"

"We're giving you a free pass on this one. That's because I acted like a pisspot for a while," she said.

"It's because you know Harpo Scruggs was a federal snitch when he helped crucify Jack Flynn."

"You should come work for us. I never have any real laughs these days."

She walked off through the trees toward the two male agents who waited for her, her hips undulating slightly. I caught up with her.

"What have you got on the dwarfs partner?" I asked.

"Nothing. Watch your ass, Mr. Robicheaux," she replied.

"Call me Dave."

"Not a chance," she said. Then she grinned and made a clicking goodbye sound in her jaw.

THAT NIGHT I WATCHED the ten o'clock news before going to bed. I looked disinterestedly at some footage about a State Police traffic check, taken outside Jeanerette, until I saw Clete Purcel on the screen, showing his license to a trooper, then being escorted to a cruiser.

Back in the stew pot, I thought, probably for violating the spirit of his restricted permit, which allowed him to drive only for business purposes.