“No, I don’t.”
“Jimmy Carter let all the boat people in. It took Reagan to stop it.” He squinted across the street at the square and the sun glinting on the Teche. His forehead was shiny, his upper lip beaded. He cleaned the humidity out of his eyes with his fingers. “Don’t look right now, but do you see a guy over there?”
“Which guy?”
“He’s wearing red tennis shoes.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t see anyone like that.”
Labiche turned slowly, his arms over his chest. He stared at the square, his lips a tight button. “There’re a lot of weirdos around. This guy looked like a perv.”
“Are you talking about the man who stole the ice cream truck and killed Maximo Soza?”
His face blanched. “Yeah. We got an all-points on him.”
“I don’t see anybody in red tennis shoes.”
“Let’s go inside. I’ll buy you something cool to drink. Or maybe you want something stronger.”
“There’re some people down by the bayou. You don’t want to check them out?”
He put a fresh cigarette into his mouth and lit it. He shook the front of his shirt with his fingers as though ridding it of the heat rising from the sidewalk. “I got to quit these. No, there’s nothing down by the bayou. About the movie—”
“Two things,” she said. “Don’t be giving my father nicknames. I’m surprised he hasn’t broken your jaw by this time. Second, stay away from me. It’s not your fault that you’re ignorant and stupid. In fact, you give the lie to the notion of white racial superiority, and for that reason, society owes you a debt. But please stop bothering me.”
He stepped into the shade. He widened his eyes, his profile as jagged as broken glass, his teeth showing. “Maybe you’ll need a friend down the track. That friend could be me. But I won’t be there. Think about that.”
“You’d better rephrase your words, trash.”
Two people walking by looked over their shoulders.
“I might put something in that smart-ass mouth you’re not expecting,” he said.
“What did you say?”
He opened the door of his cruiser. Before he shut it, he turned toward her and squeezed his phallus, his lust and iniquity undisguised.
That evening she told me what had happened.
THE SUNSET WAS like pools of fire inside clouds that were turning into rain. The crowd at the bar-and-grill up the bayou was a happy one. Before going inside, I stood at the deck railing and gazed at the live oaks on the lawn of the old convent, the people of color who were pole-fishing on the bank, the raindrops chaining the bayou’s surface. Then I went inside. People who knew me glanced away, either out of embarrassment or in fear.
Babette, the young Cajun woman who had told me she’d seen Labiche with Kevin Penny, was working behind the bar. She was serving a highball to Spade Labiche. In the shadows at the end of the bar, Clete Purcel was eating a bowl of étouffée and drinking from a mug of beer caked with ice. He looked straight into my eyes but didn’t stop eating.
“Hi, Miss Babette,” I said.
“Hello, Mr. Dave,” she replied. “You want to order some food, suh? If that’s what you’re having, I mean.”
“Not right now. Just a diet drink. Any kind is fine.”
“You here to talk to me, Robicheaux?” Labiche said. “If you are, that’s a mistake.”
“Why is that?”
“You got a beef, do it by the numbers, at the office. That’s what offices are for.”
I took a glass of iced Diet Coke and lime slices and cherries from Babette’s hand. I had not asked for the lime and the cherries, but she had put them in just the same. I sat down next to Clete.
“Care to tell me why you’re in here?” he said.