Crooked Man: A Hard-Boiled but Humorous New Orleans Mystery (Tubby Dubonnet Series #1) (The Tubby Dubonnet Series) by Tony Dunbar Page A
Authors: Tony Dunbar
Tags: Humor, Mystery, Hard-Boiled, cozy, funny, legal mystery, New Orleans, Noir, lawyer mystery, Tubby Dubonnet series
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quickly and quietly as she could and opened the French doors to the balcony. She closed them behind her and crouched in a corner by the railing. If they came that way, she planned to jump into the lake.
She heard the sound of wood splintering. That would be the office door. There were more thuds and sounds of things being thrown around. It seemed to go on for a long time, but maybe it was just a few minutes. Then she heard heavy footsteps running down the stairs. Five minutes later, she pushed the doors open slowly and tiptoed across the floor. It was all quiet below, and she slipped downstairs softly. The bar was a mess. The front door was broken open. There was busted glass everywhere. She ran over to Darryl, and there was just lots wrong with him. Blood was pumping out of his chest, and there were large red holes in his shirt and big pieces of flesh hanging off and his eyes were wide open and crossed and his tongue was sticking out of his mouth. He looked horrified. She was horrified. She tried to push his chest back together but it wouldn’t go, and she cried.
A young couple, thinking they might each have a Corona and lime on a pretty afternoon, came in and found them like that. After they got over the surprise, they called the police.
ELEVEN
Tubby liked to have a small breakfast at a coffee shop on Maple Street uptown called PJ’S. Back when he was married, Mattie made a big morning meal for the whole family. The divorce had ended that, of course, and for some strange reason it also seemed to have robbed him of his morning appetite. He did enjoy being served, however. He stopped uptown because it was a quiet oasis on his way to the office. One of the nice things about PJ’S was that he hardly ever saw anyone he knew, except the congregation of regulars who were starting to recognize him and would sometimes nod.
The array of blends and flavors was confusing to him. Tubby was not much on variety in his coffee. He tried hazelnut once, and it put him in a bad mood, so he stuck with what they called “French roast with chicory.” Sometimes a muffin, sometimes not.
This morning he was trying a banana pecan muffin while reading the newspaper. He sat on the outdoor patio, which was separated from the street by a low fence. His attention wandered to a black guy wearing jeans and a basketball jersey, leaning against the rail with a quarter stuck in his ear. Tubby wondered if that were functional, like the man was ready to use a pay phone, or purely ornamental. Must be a fad, he decided, better than a penny in the loafers but cheaper than gold stars on the teeth. The breeze from the river nearby blended with the smell of coffee roasting and carried with it the familiar jarring sounds of freight trains coupling by the levee.
He finished the front section of the Times Picayune and picked up the metro news. On the first page, in the bottom right-hand corner, the headline read: TAVERN OWNER SHOT: POLICE SEEK KILLERS. He read the story quickly.
Police are seeking leads to the identity of two men seen leaving the scene of Monday afternoon’s fatal shooting at Champs, a popular lakefront bar.
According to a witness, two white males, both described as being in their late thirties or forties, entered the establishment on Sunset Boulevard before it opened for the evening and shot manager Darryl Alvarez to death. Police report that he was shot four times, three times in the chest and once in the face, after an apparent struggle. The motive, police say, may have been robbery. Two men were seen leaving the restaurant shortly before four o’clock p.m. by a woman arriving for work. According to a man delivering pizza in the area, they reportedly drove away in a dark red or maroon car with Louisiana license plates. Mr. Alvarez was under indictment in Federal Court in New Orleans, stemming from his arrest for marijuana smuggling in July. When arrested near Caillou Lake in Terrebonne Parish he was allegedly loading 15 bales of
She heard the sound of wood splintering. That would be the office door. There were more thuds and sounds of things being thrown around. It seemed to go on for a long time, but maybe it was just a few minutes. Then she heard heavy footsteps running down the stairs. Five minutes later, she pushed the doors open slowly and tiptoed across the floor. It was all quiet below, and she slipped downstairs softly. The bar was a mess. The front door was broken open. There was busted glass everywhere. She ran over to Darryl, and there was just lots wrong with him. Blood was pumping out of his chest, and there were large red holes in his shirt and big pieces of flesh hanging off and his eyes were wide open and crossed and his tongue was sticking out of his mouth. He looked horrified. She was horrified. She tried to push his chest back together but it wouldn’t go, and she cried.
A young couple, thinking they might each have a Corona and lime on a pretty afternoon, came in and found them like that. After they got over the surprise, they called the police.
ELEVEN
Tubby liked to have a small breakfast at a coffee shop on Maple Street uptown called PJ’S. Back when he was married, Mattie made a big morning meal for the whole family. The divorce had ended that, of course, and for some strange reason it also seemed to have robbed him of his morning appetite. He did enjoy being served, however. He stopped uptown because it was a quiet oasis on his way to the office. One of the nice things about PJ’S was that he hardly ever saw anyone he knew, except the congregation of regulars who were starting to recognize him and would sometimes nod.
The array of blends and flavors was confusing to him. Tubby was not much on variety in his coffee. He tried hazelnut once, and it put him in a bad mood, so he stuck with what they called “French roast with chicory.” Sometimes a muffin, sometimes not.
This morning he was trying a banana pecan muffin while reading the newspaper. He sat on the outdoor patio, which was separated from the street by a low fence. His attention wandered to a black guy wearing jeans and a basketball jersey, leaning against the rail with a quarter stuck in his ear. Tubby wondered if that were functional, like the man was ready to use a pay phone, or purely ornamental. Must be a fad, he decided, better than a penny in the loafers but cheaper than gold stars on the teeth. The breeze from the river nearby blended with the smell of coffee roasting and carried with it the familiar jarring sounds of freight trains coupling by the levee.
He finished the front section of the Times Picayune and picked up the metro news. On the first page, in the bottom right-hand corner, the headline read: TAVERN OWNER SHOT: POLICE SEEK KILLERS. He read the story quickly.
Police are seeking leads to the identity of two men seen leaving the scene of Monday afternoon’s fatal shooting at Champs, a popular lakefront bar.
According to a witness, two white males, both described as being in their late thirties or forties, entered the establishment on Sunset Boulevard before it opened for the evening and shot manager Darryl Alvarez to death. Police report that he was shot four times, three times in the chest and once in the face, after an apparent struggle. The motive, police say, may have been robbery. Two men were seen leaving the restaurant shortly before four o’clock p.m. by a woman arriving for work. According to a man delivering pizza in the area, they reportedly drove away in a dark red or maroon car with Louisiana license plates. Mr. Alvarez was under indictment in Federal Court in New Orleans, stemming from his arrest for marijuana smuggling in July. When arrested near Caillou Lake in Terrebonne Parish he was allegedly loading 15 bales of
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