AllFreeNovel
Share Us
”Yeah, I got an itinerary, everything. A Japanese travel service put it together. They even give you a booklet tells you how to get along with everybody, what things to watch out for. Don't get on elevators with Iranians 'cause of the BO they got. Don't shake hands with Arabs 'cause they wipe their ass with their bare hand.“
”Sounds great, except I don't believe you,“ I said. I saw the girl go past the corner of my vision, out the door. ”Click on the tape, Clete.“
Clete set the portable tape player on the desk and snapped the Play button. Patsy's scarred face looked confused at first as he heard Mingo Bloomberg's voice, then Clete's and Johnny Carp's and mine.
”What is this?“ he said.
”I'll start it again. We don't want you to miss any of this.
Particularly when they start laughing at you,“ Clete said.
As Patsy listened, the skin on one side of his face seemed to crinkle like the surface of paint in a bucket. He lit a cigarette, one eye watering with the heat of the flame.
”You going to do hits for a guy like that?“ Clete said.
Patsy's teeth protruded above his bottom lip like a ridge of bone. He huffed smoke out of the corner of his mouth.
”I don't want you thinking about whacking out Johnny, either. If Johnny gets capped, this tape goes to NOPD,“ I said.
”I can hurt Johnny in ways you ain't thought about. You're stupid, Robicheaux. That's why you're a cop,“ he said.
Clete and I walked outside and closed the door behind us. The rain was swirling in the wind.
”What do you think he meant?“ Clete said.
2 0
”Who knows?“
”Dave, you going to be okay? You don't look too good.“
”I'm fine,“ I said.
But I wasn't. I had no sooner closed the door to the pickup's cab when I had to open it again and vomit on the concrete. My face was cold with sweat. I felt Clete's big hand on my neck.
”What is it, Streak?“ he said.
”The tattoo.“
”On fuckhead in there?“
”On Sonny's shoulder. A Madonna figure. I saw it in the mortuary.“
Chapter 35
”LATER, I DROVE north of town to the sheriff's house on Bayou Teche and walked around his dripping live oaks to the gallery, where he sat in a straw chair with his pipe and a glass of lemonade. His house was painted yellow and gray, and petals from his hydrangeas were scattered like pink confetti on the grass; in back, I could see the rain dimpling on the bayou.
He listened while I talked, never interrupting, snuffing down in his nose sometimes, clicking his pipe on his teeth.
“Do like Purcel and Helen tell you, Dave. Let Marsallus go,” he said.
“I feel to blame.”
“That's vain as hell, if you ask me.”
“C” }“
Sir?
