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"We've got some guys behind us," he said.
"What guys?" Tony said.
"Two guys in a Plymouth. Behind the limo."
"Can you make 'em?" Tony said.
"No."
"They look like talent?"
"I don't know. What d'you want to do, Tony?"
"Pull into the park and stop."
"You want to do that?" Jess said, looking sideways at him.
"They'll cut and run. Watch. Come on, the day's starting to improve."
"Bad place if it goes down, Tony. Everybody gets pissed when it goes down in a public place," Jess said.
"Hey, is it our fault? Now, turn in here. Let's have some fun with these guys."
Kim was looking backward out the window. Tony reached over the seat and touched her on the knee, then winked at her and grinned.
"Tony, I don't need this shit," she said.
"Will you guys mellow out? Why is everybody trying to drive me nuts today?" he said. Then he slapped open the glove box and took out a chrome-plated .45 automatic.
The white limo followed us into the park. We drove along the side of a grassy lake and stopped under a spreading oak tree. The dry leaves under it blew in the wind and clicked and tumbled across the grass. Jess reached under the seat and took out a double-barrel .410 shotgun pistol wrapped inside a paper bag. He rolled down his window and held the shotgun pistol below the level of the window jamb.
When the Plymouth turned in after us, Tony put the .45 in his right-hand coat pocket and stepped out on the cement, smiling across the top of the car as though he were welcoming guests.
"What a day," Kim said.
"Hey, give it a break," Jess said, without turning his head.
The Plymouth followed along the grassy lake, passed the limo, and stopped abreast of us. The man in the passenger's seat hung his badge out the window, then stepped out in the sunlight.
Nate Baxter had changed little since I had last seen him. He still wore two-tone shoes and sports clothes, but as his styled blond hair had receded he had grown a narrow line of reddish beard along his jawbones and chin. He had worked for CID in the army, and as an investigator for Internal Affairs in the New Orleans Police Department he had combined a love of military stupidity with a talent for dismembering the wounded and the vulnerable.
Jess looked straight ahead, lowered the shotgun pistol between his legs, and pushed it back under the seat.
"Put your ha
nds on top of the car, Tony," Baxter said.
"You're kidding?" Tony said.
"You see me smiling?" Baxter said.
"I don't think this is cool, Lieutenant," Tony said, his hands now resting casually on the waxed maroon hood of the Lincoln. "We've been out for some golf. We're not looking to complicate anybody's day."
"Go tell that limo full of meatballs to get out of here," Baxter said to his partner, who was now standing behind him. Then he turned back toward Jess and said, "Get out of the car, Ornella."
"Why the roust, Lieutenant?" Tony said.
"Close your mouth, Tony. Did you hear what I said, Ornella?"
