When my own son was nine or ten, he asked for a magic cabinet. You'd put a ball in there, open doors and it would vanish, then you'd close and open the doors again and the ball would reappear. He'd come across the design for it in an old Popular Mechanics he found somewhere. So, calling upon what little I could rememberof my father's skill, I built the cabinet for him, even painted on mysterious Chinese symbols. The cabinet sat on a shelf in his room for years, Janie told me, never used but always in clear sight.
"You comin' 'long or not?" Keith LeRoy said above me.
I looked up, for a moment disoriented.
"Let myself in, since you wouldn't answer the door. Hand got sore, standing out there knocking. You really oughta get a decent lock, man, you care about any of this shit."
I swung my legs over the side of the couch and sat up.
"Say that 'cause something for sure been goin' on 'round here, way there's eyes behind every window while I'm comin' down the street."
I told him about the juvenile muggers.
"Damn, they do be startin' early nowadays, don't they. So… You coming with?"
I came with.
Keith LeRoy led me to a dark green Mercedes parked in front of the house and when I looked at him questioningly told me, "Friend's car." He turned the key. The engine cleared its throat once, very discreetly, then was purring.
"Your friend takes good care of his car."
"Yeah. He's the kind takes care of everything.
Business. Car."
"Friends."
"Yeah. 'Specially friends."
LeRoy signaled, watched in his wing mirror as he waited for a bread truck to pass, then pulled out. Went up Prytania to Jefferson, then left to Tchoupitoulas.
Twenty minutes later we were seated at a corner table near the door, me with coffee, looking up at the name painted in block white letters on the window outside, FUNKY BUTT, LeRoy with a draft beer, checking out two young ladies drinking margaritas at the bar. Paint had run between thefinal T's, making it look more like FUNKY BUM. I didn't know about the butt part, wasn't sure I wanted to know, butfunky was dead on.
The bartender/waitress/cook, obviously a woman of many talents, dropped hamburgers on the table before us and stalked back towards the bar. Never know what might be going on up there while you were away. The hamburgers came in plastic baskets lined with waxed paper. Already grease was seeping through onto the tables.
I watched steam rise from the hamburger, grease spread below, as I finishedmy coffee. LeRoy downed his hamburger in four truly impressive bites. I'd just started mine when he said "There's your man" and stood.
He walked over to meet him. Neither made any move towards a handshake, anything like that, of course. They stood talking. Delany's eyes cut towards me.
It's not something you see too often on TV or in movies: the detective standing up with grease dribbling down his chin to apprehend a suspect.
I started for them just as Delany turned to leave. LeRoy's hand shot out and clamped on his upper arm.
That was when Armantine Rauch stepped through the door.
"Boy's with me," he said.
LeRoy looked once into Rauch's eyes and let go of Delany, stepping back, amis half-raised, palms out.
Rauch's eyes turned to me. We stood in mutual regard, no expression on our faces. Absolute quiet in the bar.
"We know one another?"
He must have seen something in my eyes like what LeRoy saw in his. A solid, compact little blue-steel22 appeared.
"I sure as hell hope there ain't no goddamn heroes here."
The gun gave him confidence. Now his eyes could let go of mine. They swept the room. Shon Delany, still afraid to move. Keith LeRoy back against the wall. The girls at the bar, swiveled about to watch, skirts hiked high on their legs.
"Had about all I can stomach of heroes."
He smiled. Let the gun fall down along his leg.
"Man get a drink around here?"
"Sure you can, darlin'."
Rauch whirled about-and into the baseball bat that landed expertly just below the supraorbital ridge, at the bridge of his nose. He went back, and down, like a door slammed off its hinges, just as inert.
LeRoy lowered his hands. I picked up the. 22, which slid towards me when Rauch fell. The girls swiveled back to the bar to slurp up the dregs of their drinks through pastel straws.
"Dam sonsabitches. Think they come in here and mess with my customers. Doan never learn." She laughed to herself. "Learned him anyways."
As I said, a lady of many talents. First sign of trouble, she'd gone out the back door and around. With her Louisville slugger.
Not a game I much care for, baseball, but it has its points.
Bartender/waifress/cook/enforcer, she stepped behind the bar again and announced: "Last call, ladies and gentlemen. Might want to order doubles. Cops be here soon enough."
I knew just what she meant.
All kinds of undesirables dropping by this afternoon.
24
"WHO'S THE CIVILIAN?" an officer standing by the door wanted to know. Dressed like that, shiny, salmon-colored polyester suit, short-sleeve white shirt, narrow tie short enough to show the straining button just above his belt, nothing else he could be.
Don looked at him and after a moment, shifting his gaze to the floor, shook his head.
"You hear anyone else in here interrupting me, DeSalle?"
DeSalle grunted.
"You know why that is?"
No responsethis time.
"It's localise they've all acquired your basic manners, DeSalle. Civility. Even this shitbag."
Don gestured towards Ranch.
"Sticks screwdrivers in old men, knocks off a couple of friends, who knows what else he does in his spare time. But you'll notice he doesn't interrupt me.
"As for Lew here, he's directly involved. He's also a guest of the senior officer, here by request. Don't guess you have your invitation there in your pocket, do you?"
Again no response from DeSalle.
"So. We straight on this?"
After a moment the officer nodded.
"Thing is," Don went on, talking now to Armantine Rauch, "we're willing to overlook a lot of things. Have to, all that goes on around here, limited manpower we have."
Don shook his head and leaned closer over the table. Two men in the same business, you might as well say, comparing notes.
"Bodies are different, Rauch. We don't get away with overlooking those for long. Mayor's office, citizens' groups, the paper, TV shows calling us America's murder capital and pushing for federal investigations. Everybody's got a list. And when those lists start getting too long they just naturally get louder and louder about it. Hey, you want some coffee or something? A cigarette?"
Rauch shook his head.
"You sure? Okay, just let me know if you change your mind. So what you think? You think you might be able to help me with this?"
Rauch smiled.
"Your men took my wallet."
"Sony: regulations."
"My lawyer's card is in there. Maybe he'W be able to help you."
Don nodded. "You're probably right. Probably save me a lot of time and effort. Lawyers usually do, bless them. Officer DeSalle?"
"Yessir."
"Will you please go check and be sure this man's lawyer has been notified?"
We all sat looking at one another until DeSalle returned.
"Call's been made," he said.
"Then we're just having a quiet talk while we wait, in the spirit of cooperation, am I right?" Don asked.
"I don't believe my lawyer would want me to say anything until he arrives."