A Private Cathedral (Dave Robicheaux 23)

“Straight about what?”

“Getting into the wrong bread box. I’m not talking about Penelope Balangie, either.”

“So who are you talking about?” I said, trying not to clear my throat before speaking.

He took a piece of notepaper from his shirt pocket and looked at it. “Leslie Rosenberg, who evidently is his regular punch. He says you not only got it on with her, but you told her to quit the job he gave her. You know this broad?”

“She’s not a broad.”

“Excuse me. Did you pork this lady who probably graduated from Sophie Newcomb?”

“I’m not going to talk to you on this level.”

“Answer my question, Dave.”

“I don’t know. I was at her house. It was raining. I had some kind of blackout.”

“That’s convenient. I got to try that the next time I get caught milking through the fence.”

“Maybe I did.”

“Got it on?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I remember the rain and a voice that said, ‘I’ve waited for you a long time. I was born to be with you.’?”

“Don’t do this to me, Dave. One of us has got to stay sane.”

“Then the voice said, ‘Oh, oh, oh.’?”

He looked at me, an alcoholic shine in his eyes. “You mean like—”

“Yeah, a climax.”

“I hope she took snapshots. You can send them to Adonis. You know how to do it, big mon.”

“I don’t care about any of this, Clete. I may have shot a child in Henderson Swamp.”

I told him everything. His face drained. His voice sounded like a bucket of rust. His eyes were damp. “That guy Richetti is real, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he is,” I said.

“I’m going to bring this shit to an end.”

“It’s not that easy. You know it, too,” I said.

“What if I just take Mark Shondell off at the neck? What if I put his head on a spike?”

“You’re serious?”

“You weren’t hung upside down from a wrecker hook,” he said. “I can’t get that out of my head.”

“We don’t know that Richetti is working for Shondell.”

“Mark Shondell is putting the blocks to a teenage girl everybody has deserted, including her mother and stepfather. I say we cap him. I also say we cap anybody who gets in our way, starting with Adonis Balangie. In the meantime, you stay away from his punch, what’s-her-name?”

“You shouldn’t drink for the rest of the day. Let’s hammer down some bacon and eggs.”

He threw me his cell phone. “Call Victor’s. They’ll deliver. I need something from the car.” He went to his Caddy and came back with another beer. He twisted off the cap and sat down. “You’re not going to say anything?” he said.