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CHAPTER 11
After I left Kim's, I drove into the French Quarter and tried to find a place to park close by Clete's nightclub. But it was Saturday afternoon, the Quarter was crowded with tourists, and I had to park off Elysian Fields and walk back down Decatur to the club. A noisy crowd was at the bar, and a five-piece band was blaring out "Rampart Street Parade" by the dance floor.
"Take a walk with me," I said to Clete, who was behind the bar in a pair of gray slacks and a green Tulane sweatshirt.
"It's a little busy right now, Streak."
"It's important."
We crossed the street and walked down to the du Monde, where I ordered beignets through the takeout window.
"Beautiful day," I said.
"I'm not kidding, Dave, I've got a bar to run. What is it?"
"Come on," I said. We walked over the top of the levee and out onto the gentle green slope that led down to the river. On the far side of the water was the shabby outline of Algiers. "I need a cover story."
His eyes went up and down my shirt.
"What are you talking about?" he said.
"Minos is going to put a wire on me. I need to make Tony talk about a big drug delivery that's about to go down. I have to have some way of bringing it up."
"You might need a cover story about something else," he said, and reached out and removed a long strand of red hair from my shirtfront. "Brush up against somebody on the streetcar, did you?"
"Let's keep to the subject."
"Have you lost your mind?"
"Lay off it,Clete."
"I told you one of the cardinal rules when you get involved with the greaseballs: Don't mess with their broads."
"Have you heard anything about a big delivery?"
"I bet she's one hot item, though, isn't she?"
"I need your help. Will you cut out the bullshit?"
He took a beignet out of the napkin in my hand and bit off half of it. His green eyes were thoughtful as he looked out at the river.
"I hear crack prices are up in the Iberville welfare project, which means the supply is down," he said. "But next week everybody is going to have all the rock they can smoke. That's the word, anyway. What's the DEA say?"
"Same thing."
"That crack is some mean shit. You ever watch them huff that stuff? They remind me of somebody having a seizure."
"You know I'm staying out at Cardo's?"
"I called Dautrieve. He told me. Why is it that guy makes me feel like anthrax?"
"Boggs has been given a contract on Cardo."
"And you're living with him? That's great, Streak. Maybe you ought to look into some real estate buys on the San Andreas fault."
"I'm going to play it one more week, then I'm out."
