A Private Cathedral (Dave Robicheaux 23)

“He wants to control their careers and screw up the Balangies. But the bigger deal is political. All these cocksuckers are. They’ve been with us since the German Bund. They’ve just been waiting for their time in history.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“The cocksuckers I was just talking about.”

A conversation with Clete could be the equivalent of driving a nail into your skull. “Where are you staying?”

He gave me the name of a motel in a small settlement on the south end of Terrebonne Parish, almost to the salt water.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said.

“It better not be about Lizard Man.”

“He may be looking for you, Leslie Rosenberg says.”

“If you see him before I do, tell him to get lost.”

“Maybe he wants your forgiveness.”

“Tell him I’ll meet him on Mars in about five hundred years or so. Dave, I still feel like we’re inside a nightmare of some kind.”

“How’s your weather?” I said.

“What’s the name of that song you like by John Fogerty?”

“?‘Bad Moon Rising’?”

“That’s the weather in Terrebonne Parish.”

* * *

THE FIRST PERSON I saw the next morning at the department was Carroll LeBlanc. “Where you going in such a hurry, Robo?”

“Taking a ride over to Terrebonne.”

“Need some help?”

I waited while two uniformed deputies walked past us, then said, “Mark Shondell is making a move.”

“Yeah?” LeBlanc said.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“How do you know?”

“Clete Purcel told me.”

“Purcel should know.”

“Say again?”

“He’s paid a lot of dues. He’s been around.”

I started to walk away.

“A move how?” Carroll said.

“I’m not sure.”