Tony's eyes were dark and friendly, his lashes as long as a girl's.
"Go on, Dave," he said.
"I'm saying these guys are piranhas. They don't attack until they smell blood in the water."
"I look like I'm bleeding?" he said, and smiled with the corner of his mouth.
"I'd watch my back."
"Listen to this guy. He gets beat up, he almost drowns, he loses his boat and money, and he worries about somebody else."
"Take it for what it's worth, Tony. I think they've got a whack out on you."
"What do you think, Jess?" he said to the man with the cannonball head.
"I think they'd better not fucking try," the man said.
"See," Tony said. "This is New Orleans. We don't worry about some gumballs in Miami or Houston. They want to get ugly, we take it into their backyard."
"Lionel used the shortwave on the shrimper to call Boggs. Did they tell you that?"
I saw the pause come into his eyes.
"No, I didn't know that," he said.
"Maybe they didn't speak English. Or maybe they didn't have any way of knowing he was setting up a rip-off."
"What you're saying, Dave, is they probably didn't care."
"Maybe."
"You're a good guy, Dave, but you're still a newbie. There's two ways to run the business-you don't get greedy, you piece off the action, you treat people fair. Then your conscience is clear, you got respect in your community, people trust you. Then when somebody else breaks the rules, gets greedy, tries to put a lock on your action, you blow up their shit. You don't fuck around when you do it, either. It's like a free-fire zone. Nobody likes it, but the only thing that counts is who walks out of the smoke."
I got up to go to the bathroom. The floor felt as though it were receding under my feet.
"You still got the deck pitching under you, huh?" Tony said.
"Yeah."
"Well, you're coming home with us, anyway. You'll sleep better there. I got a good cook, too, fix you some gumbo and dirty rice. How's that, podna?"
"What?"
"You're staying at my place. I already signed you out and paid your bill."
"You can't sign me out."
"You know how much I donate to this place each year? What's the matter, you like the smell of bedpans?"
Just then one of his gatemen came through the door with two ambulance attendants pushing a gurney.
"Now wait a minute, Tony," I said.
"I got a nice room waiting for you. With cable TV, books, magazines, you want a broad to turn the pages for you, you got that, too. Like I told you before, I'm a sensitive man about friendship. Don't be hurting my feelings."
Then the two attendants and his hired hoods went about packaging me up as though I were a piece of damaged china. I started to protest again as they placed their hands gently on my arms, and gray worms danced before my eyes. But Tony put a finger to his pursed lips and said, almost in a private whisper, "Hey, guys like us already got our tickets punched. It's all a free lunch now. You're in the magic kingdom, Dave."
So that's how to the dark tower I came.
Early the next morning Tony, his little boy, and I had breakfast in the glass-enclosed breakfast room, which had a wonderful view of Tony's myrtle-lined tennis court, oak and lemon and lime trees, and blue lawn wet with mist. The back door gave onto a wheelchair ramp that led down to the driveway.
"The bus picks up Paul right here at the door," Tony said. "They're going on a field trip today, to an ice factory, to learn how ice is made."
"It's the gifted class. We get to go on a field trip every Friday," Paul said. He smiled when he talked. He wore a purple sweater and gray corduroy pants and sat on top of cushions in his wheelchair so he could reach the table adequately. His brown hair had been cut recently, and it was combed with a part that was as exact as a ruler's edge. "My daddy says you were in the war, too."
"That's right."
"You think a war's ever going to come here?" he said.
"No, this is a good place, Paul," I said. "We don't worry about things like that. I bet you're going to have a good time at the ice factory."
"Do you have any little boys or girls?" Paul said.
"A little girl, about your age. Her name's Alafair."
"What's she like to do?"
"She has a horse. She likes to feed him apples and ride him when she comes home from school."
"A horse?" he said.
"Yeah, we call him Tex because we bought him over in Texas."
"Boy."
He had a genuinely sweet face, with no recognition in it of his own limitations.
"Maybe we'll go riding with Dave and his daughter one day," Tony said.
"That'd be fine," I said.
"There's a couple of bridle paths here, or sometimes I take Paul on trips over by Iberia Parish," Tony said. "Maybe we'll drive over, take you guys out to eat, go out for a boat ride, something like that," he said.
"Yeah, that's a good idea, Tony."
"I hear the bus," Paul said.
His father hooked his canvas book bag, which had a lunch kit strapped onto it, on the back of the chair and wheeled him down the ramp to the waiting bus. The driver lowered a special platform from the back of the bus, and he and Tony fixed the wheels of Paul's chair to it. Before the driver raised the platform, Tony leaned down and hugged his son, pressed his head against his chest, and kissed his hair.
He came back in and sat down at the table. He wore white tennis slacks and a thick white sweater with blue piping on it.
"You have a fine little podna there," I said.
"You'd better believe it. How'd you sleep last night?"
"Good."
"You like my home?"
"It's beautiful."
"I wish my mom had lived to see it. We lived in Algiers and the Irish Channel. We had colored people living next door and across the street from us. You know what my mom used to do for a living?"
I shook my head no.
"She washed the hair of corpses. She'd come home, and I could smell it on her. Not just the chemicals. That same smell when you pop a body bag. Not as strong, but that same smell. Man, I used to hate it. I think that's why she always talked about lemon and lime trees back in Sicily. She said on her father's farm there was this old Norman tower made out of rocks, and lemon and lime trees grew all around it. When it was real hot she and her sisters would play inside the rocks where it was cool, and they could smell the lemons and limes on the wind."
Two men walked into the kitchen, their faces full of sleep, and began clattering around in the cabinets.
"Where's the cereal bowls at?" one of them said. He was dark and thin; he wore slippers and his print shirt was unbuttoned and hung half out of his slacks, but he hadn't forgotten to put on his shoulder holster.
"Right-hand side," Tony said. "Look, you guys, there's eggs and bacon in the warmer out in the dining room. There's extra coffee there, too."
They shuffled around in the kitchen and didn't reply. Then they went out into the dining room. These were only two of eight hired men I had seen in the house since the night before. They had slept on couches, in the attic, the television den, and guest cottage, and had taken turns walking around on the grounds and driveway during the night.
"They're good boys, just not too sophisticated," Tony said. "Do they make you uncomfortable?"
"No."
"A couple of them made you."
I looked at him blankly.
"They can spot a cop," he said. "I told them you're all right, though. You're all right, aren't you, Dave?"
His eyes took on that strange, self-amused light again.
"You have to be the judge of that, Tony."
"I think you're a solid guy. You know what a solid con is?"
"Yes."
"You're that kind of guy. You've got character."
"Maybe you don't know everything about me."
"Maybe I know more than you think," he said, and winked.
I didn't know his game, or even if he was playing one, but I didn't like meeting his eyes. I took a bite of my soft-boiled eggs and looked out at the mist in the citrus trees.