Leo said, “I wasn’t here yesterday. I told you that.” Still not looking up, his shoulders hunched, his rubber fingers working away.
“But you do get young girls who die.”
“Once in a while.”
The colonel glanced over his shoulder at Franklin and gestured for him to go down the hall. “See if she’s in a room somewhere, hiding.”
Jack turned to follow Franklin. He heard the colonel saying to Leo, “When you place a young girl in the coffin, you don’ dress her completely, do you?”
Jack said to Franklin’s back, “Will you please put your gun away.”
He was glad Leo hadn’t noticed it. Leo might have come apart and told them anything they wanted to know. He watched Franklin take a look in Leo’s office, then come back along the hall to the two-room apartment. The door was closed. Franklin stepped aside for Jack to open it. That surprised him. He waited in the doorway as Franklin looked at the old sofa and refrigerator. When he went into the bedroom Jack stepped over to the refrigerator, opened it and looked in, then waited for Franklin to peek in the bathroom and appear once again.
“You want a cold one?”
The guy stared at him.
“That means a beer. You want one? You like beer?”
The guy shook his head and Jack closed the refrigerator. The guy had really weird hair. Not so nappy up close, rounded in a semifro, but all of it was above his ears in sort of a bowl hairdo, no sideburns. He looked as if he’d just stepped off the banana boat and somebody bought him a suit of clothes, guessing the size: a black suit with pointy shoulders, meant to be snug and mod, but at least a size too big, the sleeves almost touching his knuckles. The guy had the hands of a stonemason, the nails cracked and ridged. It was hard to guess his age, other than he was full grown but not too big. Now, with time to look at him, he appeared different than he did yesterday, when Jack was picturing him in the Big Yard. The guy looked like he was out of the fucking Stone Age, wearing a white regular shirt buttoned at the neck but no tie. Jack thought of asking the guy who dressed him, but then came up with a better question.
“What do you carry a gun for?”
“They gave it to me to use.”
There was the accent that made no sense. If the guy had trouble with Spanish, what was he? Maybe Jamaican. Except it wasn’t quite that kind of accent and the colonel had said he was from Nicaragua.
“To use how?”
“To use, to shoot it.”
“Well, I guess that’s what I’m asking. Who you gonna shoot in New Orleans?”
“I don’t know. They don’t tell me if I am.”
Jesus Christ. “You mean if the colonel, Godoy, he told you to shoot somebody you’d do it?”
“That’s why they give me the gun. If I have to use it.”
“Yeah, but it’s against the law. You can’t just shoot anybody you want.”
It seemed as if the guy had to think that one over. Finally he said, “If I’m told to shoot… You understand it isn’t the same as I want to shoot. Uh? It would be I have to do it.”
“If you have to… You realize this is hard for me to understand. What you’re talking about.”
“Why is it?”
A simple question. The guy waiting for an answer.
“Well, I guess it’s different here than in Nicaragua.”
“Much different, yes. But I think I like it here.”
“Well, that’s nice.” The guy seemed so easy to talk to, but he wasn’t, he didn’t make sense. The guy was studying him now, beginning to nod.
He said, “That was you, yesterday.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, in the coach. I know it was you.”
Like stating a simple fact, nothing more to it than that, nothing in his expression… The Creole-looking guy stared at him and then walked out.
Jack waited. He looked at the phone, on the end table next to the sofa. He walked over and put his hand on the phone, then took it off. He couldn’t think of anyone to call who’d do him any good. He thought of Leo’s trocars, in the cabinet in the prep room. He had been good yesterday, wide awake. But a failure today. He was slow today. He wasn’t thinking. He thought, Well, you better start now, quick. And began to think, Take ’em. Just fucking take ’em, that’s all. You see ’em, hit. Take the guy with the gun first. Unless they both have a gun. Shit. Then had to get ready again, work himself up… It was so quiet before the sound from the hall reached him, the hurried steps coming this way…
Leo said, “Hey!” Stopping dead and bringing his hands up as he came in the room. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Where are they?”
“What were you gonna do, hit me?”
“Leo, where are they?”
“They had a cab waiting, they left. What’s his name, that colonel? He seemed like a nice guy.”
“I THINK THEY’RE WATCHING the house,”Lucy’s voice said. “We’ve been sitting at a window most of the day. Dolores and I take turns. She’s there now, writing down what goes by. There aren’t that many-the street doesn’t go anywhere. The trouble is, all the cars look alike, the new ones.”
“The one yesterday,” Jack said, “was a Chrysler Fifth Avenue, I’m pretty sure. But you’re right, they all look alike. It was black.”
“Are you working?”
“I was. I’m at Mandina’s now. I wanted to call you before, but Leo kept coming in. You know Mandina’s, on Canal?”
“I’ve passed by it. Hang on a minute.”
He heard Lucy’s voice, away from the phone, call Dolores and then heard steps on a hardwood floor. Dolores had opened the door last night when he brought Amelita: Dolores a slim black woman in a flowery print dress and high heels, not looking anything like a housekeeper. When Lucy introduced them she said, “Jack Delaney, Dolores Wilson,” and Dolores gave him a nod, closing her eyes, then gave Lucy a strange look-What’s going on here?-no doubt the first time she’d ever been introduced to company. He heard steps again on the wood floor and then Lucy’s voice.
“Jack? The black Chrysler. It drove by twice and then parked down the street, toward the river.”
“How many people in it?”
“Dolores thinks just one.”
“You could tell the police.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. If I cause a scene I’m not sure what might happen. I don’t want the guy in the car to think I’m, you know, sitting in the window. How about you? Anyone come to the funeral home?”
“Only the colonel himself. He’s a little guy, isn’t he?”
“Jack, really? What did you tell him?”
“He was there when I got back from picking up a body. Listen, I think I might have us another guy, too.”
“Jack…”
“I told him we didn’t have an Amelita Sosa. He goes, what’re you talking about? You picked up her body yesterday, at Carville. I said no, it wasn’t us. Must’ve been some other funeral home.”
“But did you put the notice in the paper?”
“No, see, then you’re admitting you have her, or you did. Then they want to know what you did with the body. You say you had it cremated or you sent it somewhere, they can check. There all kinds of records would be involved. I’ve found it’s best, something like this, to open your eyes real wide and play dumb. You don’t know anything. Amelita Sosa? No, I’m sorry, you have the wrong place.”
“But if they check with Carville…”
“So, one of the sisters wrote down the wrong funeral home. They’re human, aren’t they, can make mistakes? I never met a sister who did, but it must be possible.”
“What’d he say, the colonel?”
“He had a guy with him. You remember the other one yesterday who didn’t say anything?”
“He stood in front of the hearse.”
“Yeah, did you get a look at him?”
“I saw him, that’s about all.”
“He’s a weird guy. You didn’t notice his hair? Like he might be part colored?”
There was a pause on Lucy’s end. “Yeah, I did notice him. He looked different.”
“His name’s Franklin. You ever hear of a Nicaraguan named Franklin?”