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He rubbed the pistol barrel along my jawbone.
“Is that it?” I said.
“No, that’s not it, man. Look, nobody’s got a beef with you, Mr. Robicheaux. Nobody had a beef with that cop who walked into Sonnier’s house, either. That dumb fuck Fluck went out of control. We don’t whack cops, you know that, man. So we’re making it right.
“But it doesn’t have to end here. You’re a bright guy and you can have a lot of good things. Nothing illegal, no strings, just good business. Like maybe a nightclub down in Grand Isle. It’s yours for the asking. All you got to do is call the right Italian restaurant on Esplanade. You know the place I’m talking about.”
Through the slashed screen I could see the false dawn lighting the gray tops of the cypress trees in the marsh. I heard a fish flop loudly in the lily pads.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
“Good . . . good. Now—”
I felt him shift his weight, felt the dangling object in his hand brush against my pants leg.
“What?” I said.
“I got to figure what to do with you. You keep walking in on me at the wrong time. Nothing personal but you’ve really fucked up my plans twice now.”
“Like you say, so far it’s not personal. . . . Don’t do the wrong thing, partner.”
I could hear him breathing in the dark. The back of my neck and head felt naked, as though the skin had been peeled away from all the nerve endings.
“What’s inside that door, the one with the lock on it?” he said.
“It’s just a storage room.”
“Well, that’s where you’re going.”
From behind, he put his left hand on my shoulder and guided me toward the door. I felt the sacked object bump back and forth below my shoulder blade.
“Unlock it,” he said.
I found the key on my ring and snapped open the long U-shaped shaft on the lock. I wiped the sweat out of my eyes with the back of my wrist.
“Come on, get inside, man,” he said.
“I want to give you something to think about when you leave me.”
“You’re gonna give me something to think about? I think you’ve got it turned around.” He started to push me inside.
“No, I don’t. I didn’t see your face, so I can’t identify you. That means you’re home free on this one. But I know who you are, Jack. Don’t go near my house. God help you if you get anywhere near my house.”
“You don’t know who your friends are. Hey, the man in New Orleans sent you a present. You’ll like it. He’s not a bad guy. He’s got his own problems. How’d you like to have boils all over the lining of your stomach? Why don’t you have a little compassion?”
With his knuckles he shoved me into the storage room, then snapped the lock shut. I heard him go out the front door, then moments later a car engine start out on the road.
I braced my back against a stack of beer cases and kicked as hard as I could against the door; but it was sheathed in tin, and the lock and hasp were solid. Then in the dark I tripped over an old twenty-five-horsepower Evinrude engine. I balanced it over my head by the shaft and the housing and hurled it against the slat wall next to the door. Two slats burst from the studs, and I splintered the others loose until I could squeeze through a hole back into the shop. I could hear the diminishing sound of Gates’s car on the dirt road that led to the drawbridge over the bayou. I pulled the chain on the light bulb over the counter and started punching the office number on the phone. Both my hands were shaking.
“Sheriff’s Department—”
“This is Dave. . . . Jack Gates just tore out of my bait shop. . . . He’s armed and dangerous. . . . Call the bridge tender and tell him to lift the bridge. . . . I’ll meet you guys at the—”
Then I stopped.
“What is it, Dave?”
I looked at the weighted clear plastic bag hanging from a nail on a post in the center of my shop.
