Creole Belle (Dave Robicheaux 19)

“You’re a cop.”

“I used to be. But not anymore.”

“What happened?”

“I had an accident, too. I popped a government witness.”

“‘Popped,’ like made him dead?”

“Actually, getting snuffed was the noblest deed in his career. The DA’s office here made a lot of noise about it, but the truth is, nobody cared.”

She picked a second cherry out of her drink by its stem and sucked on it. “Maybe I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Are you from New Orleans?”

“Sure.”

“Say ‘New Orleans.’ Say it like you regularly say it.”

“‘Neu Or Luns.’”

“It’s not ‘Nawlens’?”

“Nobody from New Orleans uses that pronunciation. TV news-people do it because it gives the impression they know the city.”

She turned her stool toward him, her thighs slightly spread, her eyes roving over his face and body. She pursed her lips. “What are you looking for, hon? An easy lay out here in the swamps? I don’t like people who make comments about the scars on my arms. None of my scars look like they came from tattoo removal.”

“I was just making conversation.”

“If that’s your best effort, it’s a real dud.”

“I think you’re beautiful. I wouldn’t say something to offend you.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. Nor did he know why he had. His face was burning. “Sometimes I say things the wrong way. I bet you like baseball and outdoor dance pavilions and barbecues and stuff like that. I bet you’re a nice girl.”

“You go around saying things like that to people you don’t know?”

“You look like an all-American girl, that’s all.”

“If you’re determined to pick up girls in bars, this is what I suggest: Call Weight Watchers, don’t let your swizzle stick do your talking for you, and change your deodorant. You’ll get a lot better results.”

Clete poured his glass full but didn’t drink. He felt a sensation similar to a great spiritual and physical weariness seeping through his body.

“I was kidding. Brighten up,” she said. “Your problem is you’re a bad actor.”

“I’m not following you on that.”

“I’ve seen you before.” She fixed her eyes on his and held them there until he felt his scalp tighten. “Are you an Orioles fan?”

“Yeah, I like them. I go to baseball games everywhere I travel.”

“You ever go to exhibition games in Fort Lauderdale?” she asked.

“They call it Little Yankee Stadium, because the Yankees trained there before the Orioles.”

“That’s where I bet I saw you,” she said. She moved a strand of hair off her cheek. “Or maybe I saw you somewhere else. It’ll come to me. I don’t forget very much.”