Robicheaux (Dave Robicheaux 21)

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I PULLED MY trailer around his Caddy and parked it on the grass. The leaves crackled under my feet as I crossed the yard. He sniffed.

“You have a cold?” I asked.

“I smell beer.”

“I was sitting next to some guys at a bait shop.”

His eyes searched my face. I looked away, down the street. The streetlamps were on, rain dripping from the oaks. The sidewalk was arched in the places where the oak roots had broken through the concrete. The only sound was the whir of automobile tires on the street.

“I told Nightingale to stick his deal,” Clete said.

“You’re not going to work it out with him?”

“You don’t work out things with a guy like Nightingale. You park one in his ear.”

“When did you get this bright idea?”

“Last night. I couldn’t sleep. I felt dirty all over.”

“What are you going to do, Clete?”

“Nig and Wee Willie will front me a hundred thousand.”

“At what interest rate?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“How much do you owe?”

“Altogether, with loans all over the city and back interest and my maxed-out credit cards and the vigorish and principle with the shylocks, close to two hundred and fifty thou.”

“How’d you do this, Clete?”

“Why don’t you try to make me feel bad?”

I sat down next to him. “I’ll get a loan on the house.”

“Not for me, you won’t.”

“I’ll do it whether you like it or not.”

He shook his head, his hands between his knees. “What can they do?”

“You know what they can do.”

“I’ll go out smoking.”

“Why did you change your mind about Nightingale’s offer?”

“This skip I had to pick up in Jennings is a pimp and meth dealer. His name is Kevin Penny. Ever hear of him?”

“No.”

“This is the third time I’ve had to go after him. I almost capped him once. In custody. His little boy told the welfare worker what Penny did to him. I knew what he was going to do to his kid when he made the street.” He stopped and tapped his fists up and down on his thighs.

“What is it?” I said.