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The man wore pink tennis shoes and tight shorts and a boxlike white hat with a starched brim and had a smile that made Clete think of red licorice. A small semi-automatic rested on his thigh.
“You hooked me up with my own cuffs,” Clete said. “Pretty impressive.”
“I could have done something else to you. I have the chemicals to do it.”
“Listen, Wimple—”
“No! No! No! It is rude to call people by their last names. Do. Not. Do. That.”
“Sorry,” Clete said. “Let me start over. Listen. Guy. Who. Burns. People. Alive. With. A. Flamethrower, what the fuck are you doing in my cottage?”
“The people I used to work for are after me.”
“Just because you lit up a couple of their guys? I’m shocked.”
“They violated me. With a tree branch.”
“How about unhooking me and we’ll talk about it? You want some ice cream? That’s a big favorite of yours, right?”
“Don’t try to trick me.”
“You know my daughter is Gretchen Horowitz, don’t you?”
“She kills for hire.”
“That’s what she did, past tense. She’s a documentary filmmaker now. But don’t get her pissed off, know what I mean?”
“You mean, don’t hurt you?”
“What I’m saying to you is don’t fuck with the wrong people, Smiley whatever-the-fuck-your-last-name-is.”
“I didn’t give you permission to call me Smiley.”
“Then shove it up your ass.”
“The deputy who shot my friend Hugo Tillinger is named Sean McClain.”
“Tillinger is your friend?”
“Why did the deputy kill him?”
“Tillinger pointed a Luger at McClain. At Dave Robicheaux, too. Dave’s on the square. You know that. I’m going to turn on my side, okay?”
“I took the gun from under your mattress.”
“I’m still going to turn on my side. Look, you got a rotten deal as a child. I can relate to that. But you’re coming down on the wrong people. Diggez-vous on that, noble mon?”
“Dig what?”
“Sean McClain is a good kid. He’s going through a bad time over what happened. Like you said, the Mob is your problem. They’re assholes, not interesting guys who look like Marlon Brando and James Caan. What do you know about the Jersey crowd?”
“They lent a lot of money to a movie company here.”
“You hear anything about Russians?”
“They’re building atomic reactors. They launder money in a place called Malta.”
“How do you know this shit?”
