Robicheaux (Dave Robicheaux 21)

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IN A.A., WE respectfully refer to normal human beings as flatlanders or earth people. Drunks are space aliens and glow in the dark with phobias and hallucinations and paranoia, at least while they’re on the grog. We also believe that blackouts are a violent neurological reaction to a chemical that an alcoholic’s constitution cannot process, a bit like a firecracker exploding in the brain. As a rule, a person in a blackout has no more governance over himself than a car crashing through the rail on top of a ten-story parking garage.

After work, I went to Clete’s cottage at the Teche Motel and told him everything. He listened quietly, his big hands cupped on his knees. Through the window, I could see chickens pecking in the yard, a family cooking a pork roast on a spit among the oaks on the bayou, ducks wimpling the water. I felt as though I’d been trapped behind a wall of Plexiglas while the rest of the world went about its business.

“You think you did it?” he said.

“Maybe.”

“Did you fantasize about doing it when you weren’t drinking?”

“No.”

“When’s the last time you ripped up somebody while you were drunk?”

“Never.”

“That’s my point. I don’t buy this. Who’s the last person you talked to before you blacked out?”

“A barmaid.”

“At the joint on the bayou?”

“Her name was Babette.”

“You walked home? You didn’t drive?”

“Right.”

“Then you decided to go to St. Martinville?”

“I was thinking about the way things used to be. I was thinking about my mother and father and fishing in a pirogue. It’s just the foolish way I get sometimes.”

“Listen, big mon. I know your thoughts before you have them. Look at what you just told me. You were thinking about the best times in your life. You weren’t thinking about killing a guy. You’re not a killer, Dave. Neither of us is. We never dusted anybody who didn’t deal the hand. You got that? I don’t want to hear any Dr. Freud dog shit.”

“Freud was a genius,” I said.

“That’s why he stuck all that coke up his nose.”

“I applied for a loan on the house.”

“You did what?”

“The banker said it wouldn’t be a problem. If any collectors try to lean on you, let me know. I don’t have a lot to lose right now.”

“I think Jimmy Nightingale is part of this,” he said.

“Why Nightingale?”

“Maybe he thinks you’re on to him.”

“About what?”

“About everything. He’s dirty. Mayb

e you know something about him he doesn’t want other people to hear.”

“I told him what you said about Kevin Penny. About Penny bringing dope and girls to Nightingale’s home.”