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Jesse Viator was not comfortable in the presence of a police officer.
'You remember that man you told me about, the one wanted you to record, the fellow you said bothered you the way he looked at you?' Brother Oswald said.
'Yeah, dude was up to no good,' he said.
'Why did you think that?' I asked. I smiled.
'Some people got their sign hanging out,' he answered. He pulled at the soft flesh under his chin and looked out at the bayou.
'Why was he up to no good, Jesse?' I said.
'Dude didn't say nothing mean. He was polite. But it was like there was heat in his face,' Viator said. 'Like a dry pan been setting on the gas burner.'
I showed him the composite drawing of Buchalter. He held it in the light from his trailer and studied it. His grizzled pate shone like tan wax.
'You do them composites with a machine, right? So a lot of them look alike,' he said.
'Who's the worst guy you ever met inside?' I said.
'They only get so bad. Then they all about the same. They end up in Camp J.'
'The guy I'm looking for is worse than anybody in Camp J. Do you believe me when I say that?'
He took the drawing back from my hand and tilted it to catch the light from the trailer. He tapped on the edges of the face. 'What's that?' he said.
'You tell me,' I said.
'Dude had dirt in his skin, what d' you call 'em, blackheads or something, made him look like he was wearing a mask around his eyes. Look, it was t'ree, four mont's back. I stopped thinking about it.'
'Tell him the rest of hit, Jesse,' Oswald Flat said.
'There ain't no rest,' he said. 'Dude say he give me a hundred dollars to record. I tole him I ain't interested. That's it. I don't want to talk about it no more.'
'Are you scared of this man?' I said, and kept my eyes on his.
He took a breath that was between anger and exasperation.
'You know the feeling that dude give me? It was like when a guy get made a slave up at Angola. When somebody turn out a kid, rape him, then tell him, Haul your lil ass down the Walk. In a half hour come back with ten dollars. In another half hour, I want ten dollars more, then I want ten dollars more after that, or the next thing go in your mouth got a sharp point on it and it don't come out. That's what that dude's eyes made me think of.'
He became morose and sullen and would say little more. The moon was up, and road dust and a sheen of diesel oil floated on the dead current close under the willows. The air was cool and humid and smelled of bait shrimp someone had left in a bucket. I asked the reverend to wait for me out front.
'What'd you fall for, Jesse?' I said.
'Guy tried to joog me at a dance. I didn't want to, but I put him down. Lawyer tole me to plea to manslaughter.'
'You have a family?'
'My wife's at the Charity. She got heart trouble. Our two daughters is growed up and married, in California.'
'The man I want molested my wife. I'll show you what he does when he gets his hands on people.' I stood up from my chair.
'What you doing, man? Hey, you taking off your—'
'Buchalter used an electrical generator on me, Jesse. That's where he attached the terminals. It's quite an experience.'
He propped his hands on his thighs, twisted in his chair, and focused his eyes on a cane pole that was stuck deep in the roots of a cypress tree.
'Man, I'm serious, I don't want no more to do with this,' he said.
