the streets,” I said.
“This is from my in-laws, Dave. They work for Tony Cardo.”
I didn’t answer and tried to grin good-naturedly. Her eyes peeled the skin off my face.
“They say you’re dirty. Don’t they have a wonderful vocabulary?” she said.
I pushed at a piece of piecrust on my plate with my fork.
“They say you want to deal,” she said.
“You have to make up your own mind about people.”
“I know you, Dave Robicheaux. I don’t care what you’ve done in your life, this stuff isn’t you.”
“Then ignore what they say, Bootsie, and stay out of it.”
“I’m worried about you. I work with these people. You can’t believe how they think, what they’re capable of doing.”
“Oh yes I can.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Be my friend on this. Don’t mix in it, and don’t worry too much about what you hear.”
Her face was lighted with the late sun’s glow over the garden wall. She raised her chin slightly, the way she always did when she was angry.
“Dave, you left me. Do you think you should be telling me what to do now?”
“I guess not.”
“I survive among these animals because I have to. It isn’t fun. I’m on my own, and that isn’t fun, either. But I handle it.”
“I guess you do.”
“Why didn’t you marry me?” she said. Her eyes were hot and bright.
“You’d have married a drunk. It wouldn’t have been a good life, believe me.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know that at all.”
“Yes, I do. I became a full-blown lush. I tried to kill my first wife’s lover at a lawn party out by Lake Pontchartrain.”
“Maybe that’s what he deserved.”
“I tried to kill him because I had become morally insane.”
“I don’t care what you did later in your life. Why’d you close me out, Dave?”
I let my hands hang between my knees.
“Because I was dumb,” I said.
“It’s that simple?”
“No, it’s not. But how about suffice it to say that I made a terrible mistake, that I’ve had regret about it all these years.”
Her legs were crossed, her arms motionless on the sides of the cushioned iron chair, her face composed now in the tea-colored light. The top of her terry cloth robe was loose, and I could see her breasts rise and fall quietly with her breathing.
“I do have to go,” I said.
“Are you coming back?”
“If you’d like to see me again, I’d surely like to see you.”
“I’m not moving out of town, cher .” Then her face became soft and she said, “But, Dave, I’ve learned one thing with middle age. I don’t try to correct yesterday’s mistakes in the present. I mark them off. I truly mark them off. A person hurts me only once.”
“No one could ever say they were unsure where you stood on an issue, Boots.”
She smiled without answering, then walked me to the front door, put her palms on my shoulders, and kissed me on the cheek. It was an appropriate and kind gesture and would not have meant much in itself, but then she looked into my face and touched my cheek with her fingertips, as though she were saying goodbye to someone forever, and I felt my loins thicken and my heart turn to water.
It was almost dark when I got off the streetcar at the corner of St. Charles and Canal and went into the Pearl and had a poor-boy sandwich filled with oysters, shrimp, sliced tomatoes, shredded lettuce, and sauce piquante . Then I walked to my apartment and paused momentarily outside my door while I found my key. The people upstairs were partying out on the balcony, and one of them accidentally kicked a coffee can of geraniums into the courtyard. But in spite of the noise I thought I heard someone inside my apartment. I put my hand on the .25-caliber Beretta in my coat pocket, unlocked the door, and let it swing all the way back against the wall on its hinges.
Lionel Comeaux, the man I’d found working under his car on the creeper, was in the kitchen, pulling the pots and pans out of the cabinet and placing
“This is from my in-laws, Dave. They work for Tony Cardo.”
I didn’t answer and tried to grin good-naturedly. Her eyes peeled the skin off my face.
“They say you’re dirty. Don’t they have a wonderful vocabulary?” she said.
I pushed at a piece of piecrust on my plate with my fork.
“They say you want to deal,” she said.
“You have to make up your own mind about people.”
“I know you, Dave Robicheaux. I don’t care what you’ve done in your life, this stuff isn’t you.”
“Then ignore what they say, Bootsie, and stay out of it.”
“I’m worried about you. I work with these people. You can’t believe how they think, what they’re capable of doing.”
“Oh yes I can.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Be my friend on this. Don’t mix in it, and don’t worry too much about what you hear.”
Her face was lighted with the late sun’s glow over the garden wall. She raised her chin slightly, the way she always did when she was angry.
“Dave, you left me. Do you think you should be telling me what to do now?”
“I guess not.”
“I survive among these animals because I have to. It isn’t fun. I’m on my own, and that isn’t fun, either. But I handle it.”
“I guess you do.”
“Why didn’t you marry me?” she said. Her eyes were hot and bright.
“You’d have married a drunk. It wouldn’t have been a good life, believe me.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know that at all.”
“Yes, I do. I became a full-blown lush. I tried to kill my first wife’s lover at a lawn party out by Lake Pontchartrain.”
“Maybe that’s what he deserved.”
“I tried to kill him because I had become morally insane.”
“I don’t care what you did later in your life. Why’d you close me out, Dave?”
I let my hands hang between my knees.
“Because I was dumb,” I said.
“It’s that simple?”
“No, it’s not. But how about suffice it to say that I made a terrible mistake, that I’ve had regret about it all these years.”
Her legs were crossed, her arms motionless on the sides of the cushioned iron chair, her face composed now in the tea-colored light. The top of her terry cloth robe was loose, and I could see her breasts rise and fall quietly with her breathing.
“I do have to go,” I said.
“Are you coming back?”
“If you’d like to see me again, I’d surely like to see you.”
“I’m not moving out of town, cher .” Then her face became soft and she said, “But, Dave, I’ve learned one thing with middle age. I don’t try to correct yesterday’s mistakes in the present. I mark them off. I truly mark them off. A person hurts me only once.”
“No one could ever say they were unsure where you stood on an issue, Boots.”
She smiled without answering, then walked me to the front door, put her palms on my shoulders, and kissed me on the cheek. It was an appropriate and kind gesture and would not have meant much in itself, but then she looked into my face and touched my cheek with her fingertips, as though she were saying goodbye to someone forever, and I felt my loins thicken and my heart turn to water.
It was almost dark when I got off the streetcar at the corner of St. Charles and Canal and went into the Pearl and had a poor-boy sandwich filled with oysters, shrimp, sliced tomatoes, shredded lettuce, and sauce piquante . Then I walked to my apartment and paused momentarily outside my door while I found my key. The people upstairs were partying out on the balcony, and one of them accidentally kicked a coffee can of geraniums into the courtyard. But in spite of the noise I thought I heard someone inside my apartment. I put my hand on the .25-caliber Beretta in my coat pocket, unlocked the door, and let it swing all the way back against the wall on its hinges.
Lionel Comeaux, the man I’d found working under his car on the creeper, was in the kitchen, pulling the pots and pans out of the cabinet and placing
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