Robicheaux (Dave Robicheaux 21)

“You and Sherry Picard getting along?”

“Sure, I dig her.”

Of course, that was not what I’d asked. “I took Spade Labiche to a meeting today.”

“I bet he was a big hit.”

“I think he’s been working for Tony Squid from the jump. I think he sent Penny after me the night T. J. Dartez died. In so many words, he’s told me he has the key to my soul, meaning he knows what happened when Dartez cashed in.”

“I can make a midnight visit on this guy. He’ll be in a cooperative mood, I guarantee it.”

“That stuff is for the other guys,” I said. “We don’t do it.”

Clete took a beer out of a sack by his foot and cracked the tab. “Better look around, noble mon. There’s some bad shit going down. My stomach clenches up when I think about it.”

“Jimmy Nightingale?”

“I know how assassins feel.”

“Don’t ever give these guys that kind of power,” I said.

Homer was in the batter’s box. He smacked a Texas-leaguer into short center.

“Look at that kid go,” Clete said.

* * *

WAY LEADS ON to way.

After the game, we strolled with Homer back to Clete’s Caddy, down by the concrete boat ramp. Not far away, Levon Broussard and Tony Nemo’s film crew were winding up for the day. In the twilight, I saw Alafair standing by Nemo’s limo. The back door was open. Alafair was shouting at someone in the backseat.

“I’d better check this out,” I said.

“Stay out of it, Streak,” Clete said.

“I’ve had it with Nemo.”

“Alafair isn’t going to like it.”

“I’m her father.”

“Homer and I will wait here.”

“Maybe we should go with him,” Homer said, looking up at Clete.

“Dave’s got it covered,” Clete said, patting him on the back.

I walked toward the limo just as Alafair flung the clipboard inside.

“Make your own damn changes!” she said. “You’re an idiot! You have no business in a movie theater, much less on a set!”

She stormed past me.

“Whoa, what’s the deal?” I said.

“Spermo thinks he’s D. W. Griffith.”

“Spermo is Tony?”