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I HAD THE DISPATCHER put out an APB on Marcel LaForchette. It was 4:46 P.M. The grotto next to our building was deep in shadow, the sun a red spark in the live oaks overhead.
“Armed and dangerous?” the dispatcher asked.
“No.”
“Then why are we picking him up?” he said.
I had to think about it. “For his own safety.”
The dispatcher’s name was Wally. He was a big fat man who ate candy bars and fried pies all day and seldom missed an opportunity to make a sardonic comment. “You moved a stripper into the nuns’ place?”
“Who told you that?”
“You left the door to LeBlanc’s office open.”
“Thanks for eavesdropping, Wally.”
“What’s your secret wit’ the ladies?”
“Maybe if you took the peach pie out of your mouth, I could understand what you’re saying.”
“The woman in the waiting room,” he said. “I’d go on a diet for something like that. Scout’s honor.” He spread his fingers on his heart.
I walked to the door of the waiting room. I couldn’t believe it. Penelope Balangie was sitting stiffly in a folding metal chair at the back of the room, her knees crossed, wearing a lavender suit and hose and a pillbox hat with a veil, like a woman out of the 1940s.
“That’s who I t’ink it is, right?” Wally said behind me. “Adonis Balangie’s old lady?”
“No, that’s Mother Teresa.” I walked to the back of the room and sat down next to Penelope. She was breathing as though she had run up stairs, which she had not. “If you or Adonis want to file charges against me, do it,” I said. “Then leave me alone.”
“Someone has to help me,” she said.
“I’m not the man for it. I showed that this morning.”
She leaned close to my face, her eyes riveted on mine, her face bloodless. “You’re not understanding me. This is about a man who is going to be killed. Am I supposed to say nothing?”
“Who’s going to be killed?”
“I don’t know his name. People who work for Adonis told him there’s an open something-or-other on this man.”
“An open contract?”
“Yes, that’s what he called it. Does that mean what I think it does?”
“The target has a DOA tag on his big toe. Adonis didn’t explain any of this to you?”
“Mark Shondell is the one ordering the man’s death. I don’t want to talk any more about Adonis. You brought his mistress to New Iberia?”
“She doesn’t think of herself as a mistress.”
“I don’t want to talk in here. Where can we go?”
“I’m very tired, Miss Penelope. Don’t tell me you don’t like to be called ‘Miss,’ either. I’m going home now. I’m going to politely ask that you not come here again.”
“You’re supposed to be a man of conscience. I’m trying to warn you about a man’s impending death.”
“Is the target Marcel LaForchette?”
“I told you, I don’t know the person’s name,” she said.
