Street?
Maybe Percy Verlaine had some answers for me.
I made a mental note to myself to find out if Iris’s fiancé was back in town yet, and I needed to talk to Darrin Verlaine as well.
But as I crossed the street, I saw Blaine and Venus enter the Pub, and I remembered that Percy Verlaine was very rich. I’ve dealt with a lot of rich people in my line of work, and one thing they all have in common is an incredible self-absorption. Of course you’re free when they need to see you. They don’t mean anything by it; it’s just what they are used to. Rich people are terribly spoiled, and the privilege that comes with their wealth doesn’t help in that regard. My landlady, Barbara Castlemaine, was like that too—she inherited Crown Oil from her husband. Of course, she was also my biggest client, and I was her security consultant, and Crown Oil not only paid the bills but was going to be my retirement as well, so I was always available when Barbara needed me for anything. And Percy Verlaine owned Verlaine Shipping outright—no stockholders, no board of directors to answer to—so he’d been making people jump when he snapped his fingers his entire life. And curiosity would eventually win out over my irritation. What did he want, and what information would he have to share with me?
*
“Percy Verlaine is a world-class grade-A bastard,” Paige said when I mentioned the phone call. Our burgers had already come—they were out of French fries so we had to make do with small bags of Zapp’s Cajun Crawtator potato chips—when I brought his name up, after listening to their recaps of their days. “He’d sell his mother to make a buck.”
“Maybe, but he donates a lot of money to charity,” Blaine replied. The Tujagues were an old-line New Orleans society family. They weren’t in the same financial league as the Verlaines, but Blaine’s father belonged to both Comus and Rex, and his mother was one of those women who are always raising money for this charity or that charity. “All Mom has to do is call him up and he writes a big check for whatever she wants.”
“Buying his way into heaven.” Venus looked tired, even more tired than she had the day before. She swung her head to look at me, and I noticed her eyes were rimmed with red. “What did you do today, besides get a call from the great and terrible Oz?”
“I went out to Lakeview.” They all recoiled and looked away from me. “Yeah, I know, but I wanted to see Iris’s place and take a look around.”
“You should go down to the Lower Ninth Ward.” Paige took another bite from her burger. “Lakeview is bad, but it’s nothing compared to what you’ll see down there.” She put her burger down. “Everyone in this country needs to go down there and see what it looks like for themselves. Not on television, but in person.” She shuddered. “I swear, you can still sometimes hear the people screaming for help.” She reached for her second glass of Jack Daniels and downed half of it. She raised her glass. “Here’s to you, Mr. President and your asshole cronies, may you all fucking burn in hell for eternity.”
“Hear, hear.” Venus raised her own glass. “Here’s to FEMA and the Army Corps of Engineers. May the ghosts of your victims haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.”
I decided to change the subject before the conversation turned into what apparently was becoming the conversation in town—how much we all hated the federal government and the Army Corps of Engineers. “So, Paige, why don’t you like Percy Verlaine? How do you know him?”
She finished her glass and signaled for another. Her eyes were starting to get a little glassy. “Percy? I dated one of the grandsons for a little while. Not long, maybe once or twice.” She shrugged. “Darrin. Man, was he a lousy lay. But the second date was a dinner at the big house in the Garden District. Oh my God. What a fucking nightmare. The old man wheezing with his oxygen
Maybe Percy Verlaine had some answers for me.
I made a mental note to myself to find out if Iris’s fiancé was back in town yet, and I needed to talk to Darrin Verlaine as well.
But as I crossed the street, I saw Blaine and Venus enter the Pub, and I remembered that Percy Verlaine was very rich. I’ve dealt with a lot of rich people in my line of work, and one thing they all have in common is an incredible self-absorption. Of course you’re free when they need to see you. They don’t mean anything by it; it’s just what they are used to. Rich people are terribly spoiled, and the privilege that comes with their wealth doesn’t help in that regard. My landlady, Barbara Castlemaine, was like that too—she inherited Crown Oil from her husband. Of course, she was also my biggest client, and I was her security consultant, and Crown Oil not only paid the bills but was going to be my retirement as well, so I was always available when Barbara needed me for anything. And Percy Verlaine owned Verlaine Shipping outright—no stockholders, no board of directors to answer to—so he’d been making people jump when he snapped his fingers his entire life. And curiosity would eventually win out over my irritation. What did he want, and what information would he have to share with me?
*
“Percy Verlaine is a world-class grade-A bastard,” Paige said when I mentioned the phone call. Our burgers had already come—they were out of French fries so we had to make do with small bags of Zapp’s Cajun Crawtator potato chips—when I brought his name up, after listening to their recaps of their days. “He’d sell his mother to make a buck.”
“Maybe, but he donates a lot of money to charity,” Blaine replied. The Tujagues were an old-line New Orleans society family. They weren’t in the same financial league as the Verlaines, but Blaine’s father belonged to both Comus and Rex, and his mother was one of those women who are always raising money for this charity or that charity. “All Mom has to do is call him up and he writes a big check for whatever she wants.”
“Buying his way into heaven.” Venus looked tired, even more tired than she had the day before. She swung her head to look at me, and I noticed her eyes were rimmed with red. “What did you do today, besides get a call from the great and terrible Oz?”
“I went out to Lakeview.” They all recoiled and looked away from me. “Yeah, I know, but I wanted to see Iris’s place and take a look around.”
“You should go down to the Lower Ninth Ward.” Paige took another bite from her burger. “Lakeview is bad, but it’s nothing compared to what you’ll see down there.” She put her burger down. “Everyone in this country needs to go down there and see what it looks like for themselves. Not on television, but in person.” She shuddered. “I swear, you can still sometimes hear the people screaming for help.” She reached for her second glass of Jack Daniels and downed half of it. She raised her glass. “Here’s to you, Mr. President and your asshole cronies, may you all fucking burn in hell for eternity.”
“Hear, hear.” Venus raised her own glass. “Here’s to FEMA and the Army Corps of Engineers. May the ghosts of your victims haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.”
I decided to change the subject before the conversation turned into what apparently was becoming the conversation in town—how much we all hated the federal government and the Army Corps of Engineers. “So, Paige, why don’t you like Percy Verlaine? How do you know him?”
She finished her glass and signaled for another. Her eyes were starting to get a little glassy. “Percy? I dated one of the grandsons for a little while. Not long, maybe once or twice.” She shrugged. “Darrin. Man, was he a lousy lay. But the second date was a dinner at the big house in the Garden District. Oh my God. What a fucking nightmare. The old man wheezing with his oxygen
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