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“Hey, where you going, little guy?” I said.
“To play kickball.”
“Don’t blind anyone.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Then she turned and plunged into the midst of the game, knocking another child to the ground. I sat down in the shade with Bootsie and ate a piece of fried chicken and two or three bites of dirty rice before my attention wandered.
“Did something happen this morning?” Bootsie asked.
“No, not really. Joey Gouza’s probably having his day in the Garden of Gethsemane, but I guess that’s the breaks.”
“Do you feel bad about him for some reason?”
“I don’t know what I feel. I suppose he deserves anything that happens to him.”
“Then what is it?”
“I think he’s in jail for the wrong reasons. I think Drew Sonnier is lying. I also think nobody cares whether Drew is lying or not.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Dave. If he didn’t do it to her, who did?”
Out on the field the kids had torn loose a base pad from its fastening in the sand, where it served as the home base for one side. Alafair had the volleyball under one arm and was trying to replace the wooden peg in the sand without anyone else taking the ball from her.
“I don’t know who did it,” I said. “Maybe Gouza ordered it done as a warning to Weldon, then Drew lied to put him at the scene. But a guy like Gouza doesn’t go out on a job himself.”
“It’s the city’s case. It’s not your responsibility.”
“I twisted him. I made Bobby Earl think Gouza was going to drop the dime on him, then I told Gouza about it. The guy’s experiencing some real psychological pain. He thinks a hit’s out on him.”
“Is there?”
“Maybe. And if there is, I might be responsible.”
“Dave, a man like that is a human garbage truck. Whatever happens to him is the result of choices he made years ago. . . . Are you listening?”
“Sure,” I said. But I was watching Alafair. She couldn’t hold the wooden peg with one hand and tamp it down in the sand without releasing the volleyball with the other, so she balanced the peg against her folded knee, then knocked it down with the heel of her free hand.
“What is it?” Bootsie said.
“Nothing,” I said. “You’re right about Joey Gouza. It would be impossible to be more than a footnote in that guy’s life.”
“Do you want another piece of chicken?”
“No, I’d better get back to the office.”
“Let the city people handle it, cher.”
“Yeah, why not?” I said. “That’s the best idea.”
She squinted one eye at me, and I averted my gaze.
TEN MINUTES AFTER I was back at the office, my phone rang.
“Dave?” His voice was cautious, almost deferential, as though he were afraid I’d hang up.
