Night Watchman (The Tubby Dubonnet Series Book 8) by Tony Dunbar Page A

whole thing?”
    “What’s that mean, ‘business solution’?”
    “Maybe I don’t have a full enough appreciation of what your business was, or is, but in general terms it sounds like you and President Alonzo are fighting over a particular pot of money, and Caponata, whatever his relationship to this business might be, has ties to you both. Like I say, in big-picture terms, I’m wondering if there might not be a dollars-and-cents solution that could be worked out among all concerned.”
    “Not while that prick Alonzo has me working over in the Fifth District. I think he wants to get me shot.”
    “Tempers are high,” Tubby said. “But maybe it’s a good time to offer a compromise. After all, you got in a pretty good punch.”
    “He has pins in his jaw,” Ireanous said with satisfaction.
    “Give it some thought,” Tubby counseled. “Time heals all wounds. You say you haven’t received a hearing date for your grievance?”
    “No. Not a peep.”
    “I could call someone and see what’s happening.”
    “No. I’m not sure what having an attorney butt in right now would get me. They might want to shuffle this whole thing under the rug.”
    “That’s what you hope?”
    “I guess I do. I need to get Internal Affairs out of this so that I can make my own arrangements. But I do want to have you in the wings for when I need you.”
    “Think about what I said. Maybe there’s a business solution.”
    “I will. Listen, if I get out of this shit hole transfer, maybe I can get your quality of life officer Jane Smith sent somewhere far away, too.”
    “I wouldn’t want you to impact her career negatively.”
    “What career?” Babineaux spat out. “The Fifth District is a dumping ground. Officer Smith is only here because she got in trouble for dating our chief’s daughter.”
    “No! She’s gay?”
    “Call it what you want. But from what I heard, Smith wouldn’t put a ring on it, so she fell out of favor.”
    “Your police department sounds like some old-world duchy or Russian oligarchy…”
    “You lost me. I gotta go.”
    Tubby could hear the policeman’s radio squawking in the background.
    The connection broke.

XVII
    “What’s some lawyer named Tubby Dubonnet doing screwing around in my business?” Carlos Pancera demanded.
    He had Jason Boaz pinned down in a small office in the basement of a church.
    “What? Who?” Jason fumbled for an answer. Carlos and his moral rectitude had always intimidated him.
    “He’s your lawyer, isn’t he?” Pancera yelled. “I’ve heard about that for years. You want some coffee?”
    “Yes, please,” Jason said.
    Carlos rang a bell and a pretty brown-skinned girl, who couldn’t have been more than fifteen, entered from behind a curtain.
    “Bring us each a coffee,” Pancera told her and she disappeared.
    “I got a call from a policeman I know,” Pancera resumed. “Your lawyer is inquiring about me in connection with a shooting that happened to some nameless hippie decades ago. Decades ago! What’s all that about?”
    “Carlos, you may remember…”
    “I remember nothing. What do you remember?”
    “Nothing,” Jason said helplessly. “I wasn’t there.”
    “You were one of us then. You came from a good family. What happened to you?”
    “I make substantial contributions every year. Leave me alone.” Boaz was defending himself.
    Pancera held up both palms to stop such nonsense. “You’ve drifted away from us.”
    “I don’t remember Cuba,” Jason whined. “I have never met a Communist. I have other concerns that are far more important to me.”
    “Like what? Global warming?”
    “Actually, yes. Coastal subsidence is another one. Did you know that the Louisiana coastline is disappearing at the rate of a football field an hour…?”
    “Oh, shut up!” Pancera thundered. “Your family’s home, your inheritance, was stolen by a filthy maniac who is still a dictator and the champion of world-wide socialism. His cancerous ideas are still