“You’re probably right,” I said. “And don’t call me Dave.”
Jimmy walked up the slope, his golf club propped on his shoulder. “I must have missed out on quite a discussion.”
“I told Bobby to leave,” Emmeline said.
“Better do as she says, Bobby,” Jimmy said. “She’s tough.”
“You’ve betrayed me,” Earl said.
“Two paths diverged in a woods,” Jimmy said. “You should have followed mine, not yours.”
“A pox on both y’all,” Earl said.
“Work on your accent,” Emmeline said. “Everyone knows you’re from Kansas.”
Earl’s face seemed to dissolve. He walked away, trying to hold himself erect. When he got into his car, he looked back at the patio. By then Emmeline was removing a pitcher of iced tea and the glasses from the table, and Jimmy was wiping off the mahogany head of his club with a rag. I had the feeling that if there is an invisible hell people carry with them, Earl had found it.
“What puts you at our door, Dave?” Jimmy said.
“A cop was shot and killed not far from your home. We don’t know why. Nor do we have anything on the shooter.”
“And?”
“You’re a famous man,” I said.
“I heard the cop didn’t have a big fan club.”
“The people he abused are not the kind who smoke cops.”
“I don’t think this fellow’s demise has anything to do with me. Want to hit some balls?”
“Listen to him, Jimmy,” Emmeline said.
“This is how I feel about death,” he said. “I’ve had a good life. If a stranger walks up to me and parks one in my brain, I’ll thank him for waiting as long as he did.”
“The cop’s name was McVane,” I said. “Did you know him?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I thought maybe he took a bullet for you. But who knows? Maybe the guy was trafficking. Or maybe an ex-lover got him. You never know.”
“There are people out there who want to hurt Jimmy, but not because he’s running for office,” Emmeline said. “That gangster in New Orleans is actually putting together an adaptation of Levon Broussard’s work.”
“Tony Nemo?”
“Yes, the same obscene pile you people could never put in jail,” she said. “Jimmy had everything ready to go, then you went along with Rowena Broussard’s lies and destroyed Jimmy’s chances of producing the film. When this is over, I’m going to personally sue you into oblivion.”
“Thank you for telling me that,” I said. “Unfortunately, I’m mortgaged up to my eyes and not worth suing.”
I saw Jimmy laugh silently behind her back.
“What, you think that’s funny?” she said to me.
“No,” I said, barely able to stifle a grin.
I hated to admit Jimmy Nightingale still had a hold on me. I guess that’s just the way it was, growing up in a place like Louisiana, where pagan deities sometimes hide among us and we secretly champion rogues who get even for the rest of us.
* * *