Southern Cross

'My daddy live in the district. My mama don't.'

'Well, who are you going home to, Weed? Your mother or your dad?'

'I don't hardly ever go near him. Just now and then, maybe a weekend every two months so he can go out and leave me alone, which is all right by me.'

'What street does your mother live on?'

'Forest and Skipwith. I can show you." Weed's tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth.

Brazil plucked Weed's right hand out of his lap.

'What'd you go and get a tattoo for?' he said again. 'Somebody talk you into that?'

'A lotta people get 'em.' Weed pulled his hand away.

'Looks to me like you just got it,' Brazil said. 'Maybe even today.'

Chapter Fourteen

Apparently Governor Feuer and his party had gone on to other courses and conversations. They had yet to emerge from La Petite France, and Roop was tired of waiting. He decided he might as well gather a little intelligence on the fish problem and dialed Hammer's home number, thanks to Fling, who had stupidly given it to Roop.

'Hammer,' she answered.

'Artis Roop here.'

'How are you doing, Artis?'

'I guess you're wondering how I got your home number 'It's in the phone book,' Hammer said.

'Right. Listen, Chief Hammer, I'm looking into this fish spill business…" 'Fish spill?' She sounded alarmed. 'Who told you about a fish spill?'

'I can't reveal my sources. But if there's a fish spill, I do think the public needs to know for its own protection, or if for no other reason, so they can choose alternate routes for work in the morning.'

'There is no fish spill that I know of,' Hammer answered firmly.

'Then what are people talking about?'

'This is simply a housekeeping matter you're referring to, Artis.'

'I don't understand.'

Roop was getting anxious as the door to the restaurant remained closed with no sign of activity. It suddenly occurred to him that the governor might try escaping through the service entrance. Maybe he had already gone. Roop unplugged the phone from the cigarette lighter and scrambled out of the car, still talking.

'How can fish or a fish spill be an internal matter?' he persisted.

'A computer glitch,' she replied.

'Oh,' he said, baffled. 'I still don't get it. Is fish some sort of virus?'

'We hope not,' said Hammer, who was always straightforward unless she refused to comment.

'So the COMSTAT telecommunications system is down?' Roop got to the raw nerve of the matter.

Hammer hesitated, then said, 'At the moment.'

'Everywhere?'

'I have nothing more to say,' Hammer replied flatly.

Roop was certain the fish problem was big. But he also had other fish to fry. Executive Protection Unit state police officers were coming out of La Petite France, the governor not far behind. Camera lights and flash guns fired from all sides, the governor gracious and unflappable, as was his wife, because they were used to this shit. Roop listened to governor this and governor that and was pleased that Feuer had no comment. Roop casually strolled over to Jed, the governor's EPU driver.

'I don't want to bother him,' Roop said. 'I feel sort of sorry for him being bothered like this all the time. Can't even eat dinner without everyone stalking him.'

'I wish everybody else felt like that,' Jed said.

'How the hell do you park that thing?' said Roop as he looked over every curve and inch of the gleaming black stretch Lincoln limousine.

Jed laughed as if it were nothing.

'I mean, really,' Roop went on as the governor and his wife were briskly escorted to the car. 'I couldn't be a driver to begin with. I get lost everywhere. You know how hard it is to roll up on a crime scene when you don't know where the hell you are?'

Roop had gathered intelligence on Jed, who was known by all, except the governor, to be directionally compromised and deceitful about it.

'You're kidding?' said Jed as he opened the back door for the first family and they climbed inside.

'Good evening, Governor and Mrs. Feuer,' Roop bent over to say politely.

'And to you,' replied the governor, who was a very gracious man if you could get to him.

'I saw you on Meet the Press,' Roop said.

'Oh, did you?'

'Yes, governor. You were great. Thank God someone's sticking up for the tobacco industry,' Roop gushed.

'It's common sense,' said Feuer. 'Personally, I don't smoke. But I believe it's a choice. Nobody forces it on anybody, and unemployment and black market cigarettes are not a happy prospect.'

'Next it will be alcohol,' Roop said with righteous indignation.

'Not if I have a say about it.'

'There'll be smokes instead of stills, governor,' Roop pitched the line that he believed would win him a Pulitzer Prize.

'I like that,' Feuer said.

'So do I,' said the first lady.

'Smokes.' Governor Feuer smiled wryly. 'As if ATF doesn't have enough to do. By the way,' he said to Roop, 'I don't believe we've met.'

The small house around the corner from Henrico Doctors' Hospital was brick with freshly painted blue shutters, and a well-cared-for yard. The driveway was gravel. There was no car. Brazil pulled in, small white rocks pinging under the BMW. He deliberated over what to do.

'When does your mom come home?' he asked Weed.

'She's home.' Weed was a little more alert.

'She doesn't own a car?'

'Yes she does.'

'It's not here,' Brazil said. 'It doesn't look to me like she's home.'

'Oh.' Weed sat up straighter and stared out the windshield, his fingers on the door handle. 'I want to go to bed. I'm tired. Just let me out now, okay?'

'Weed, where does your mother work?' Brazil persisted.

He was eager to go home and call it a day, too, but he felt very uneasy about leaving this evasive little kid alone.

'She works at the hospital,' Weed said, opening the door. 'She does stuff in the operating room.'

'She a nurse?'

'I don't think so. But she could be here about midnight.'

'Could?'

'Sometimes she's gone longer. She works real hard 'cause what she makes is all we got, and my daddy gambles a lot and got us bad in debt. I wanna go to bed. Thanks for the ride. I never been in a car this nice.'

Officer Brazil drove off the minute Weed locked the front door. He looked around the empty living room, wishing his mother was home and glad she wasn't. There was leftover meat loaf and cold cuts, and Weed wasn't sure if eating would make things better or worse. He gave it a try, grilling a ham and cheese sandwich, which helped calm down his stomach.

He went down the hall, pausing to open the door to Twister's bedroom. Weed stared at all the basketball trophies and posters, the bed unmade, throw rug rumpled, University of Richmond tee shirt on the floor, the computer on the desk with its Bad Dog screen saver. Everything was exactly the way Twister had left it the last time he had been in his room, August 23, a Sunday, the last time Weed had ever seen him alive.

Weed wandered inside and imagined he could smell Twister's Obsession cologne and hear his laughter and teasing talk. He envisioned Twister sitting in the middle of the floor, long muscular legs folded up as he put on his shoes and called Weed his 'little minute.'

'See, it takes sixty of those to make an hour,' he would say. 'Now I know you can't add worth shit, but trust me on this one. Soon you'll be an hour, then a day, then a week, then a month. And you'll be big like me.'

'No I won't,' said Weed. 'You was twice as big as me when you was my age.'

Then Twister would unfold himself and start dribbling an invisible basketball. He would take on Weed, faking left and right, keeping the ball tight against him, elbows going this way and that.

'Time's running out on the clock and I got just one little minute!' Twister would laugh as he snatched up Weed and dunked him on the bed, bouncing him up and down until Weed was dizzy with delight.