House of Blues (18 page)

"
She did, but she was supposedly over it. I ran
into her at the Monkey Bar—the place here Darryl Boucree works."

"Oh, yeah. The Butterfly Man."

"Oh, Lou-Lou, he is not." For reasons Skip
couldn't fathom, Cindy Lou had taken a dislike to Darryl on grounds
that he was lightweight. "He works three jobs and supports his
kid; he brings over presents for Sheila and Kenny. He's a perfectly
decent guy."

Lou-Lou sniffed. "I know him. He's a type."

"
Anyway, Tricia was waiting tables and looking
fine—she told me she'd had a habit and she was over it."

"Either she lied or she couldn't stay clean.
What's she doing?"

"
You mean what drug? Crystal, she said. And a
lot, I guess. She acted kind of crazy."

"So she'll be doing some kind of downer as
well—-could be alcohol. Probably is, with something else. Valium,
maybe."

"
You mean she's got three different addictions?"

Cindy Lou shrugged. "It's all part of the same
thing. She's in deep. Her dad used to worry like crazy about her."

"Yeah, well, me too now."

"
Do you know the statistics? They say in AA you
have to be sober three years before you have an even chance of
staying that way."

"But she's such a wonderful person. She's a
writer."

"I thought she was a waitress."

"She isn't published yet."

Cindy Lou snorted. "Why do you suppose that is?"

"Come on, Lou-Lou. Help me. You know the family
situation—"

"I know it's fucked up."

"Should I call her dad?" She hesitated.
"And her mom? Isn't there something called an intervention?"

"
I don't know, Skip; I just don't know. Or let
me put it another way—I know things you probably don't; things her
dad told me. I don't think interventions a good idea."

Skip was dying to ask her what she knew, but she had
no business knowing and Cindy Lou wouldn't tell anyway. She sighed,
overcome by a sudden feeling of hopelessness. She said, "Okay.
Let's talk about my case."

Cindy Lou looked relieved. Because she was a
consultancy to the New Orleans Police Department, Skip was free to
tell her anything she wanted, and to ask for her assistance.

When she had run down the case, she said, "Dennis
was supposed to be a pillar of AA too."

"Well, he had a shock."

"Do he and Reed seem an odd match to you?"

Cindy Lou looked placid. "Of course not.
Codependent and druggie. What could be more perfect?"

"
That's what Nina said."

"She sounds like a smart cookie."

"But Reed sounds so damned perfect. It just
seems like she wouldn't let herself be with someone like that."

"You forget—he isn't 'like that,' or at least
he wasn't. She reformed him—evidence of her very perfection."

Skip felt oddly unsatisfied. "People are weird."

"You're not kidding. If they weren't, I'd be out
of a job."

That tickled Skip. "So would I."

"Uh-uh. People are bad. That's what keeps you
employed."

"
Miss Cynical."

"Don't get me wrong, they're good too. Usually
both things in the same body. "

"
Usually?"

"Okay, always. It's the ones who don't cop to
the bad part who keep you in business. Most of us know what evil
lurks—and we control it. But if you decide you deserve what you can
get by dealing dope or maybe you're some kind of missionary, or even
that you're above all that, and what you do is okay because other
people deserve what they get, then you're dangerous."

"Delavon. "

"Who's that?"

"Somebody I hope you never meet—because he's
so truly rotten to the core, you'd probably fall desperately in
love."

"Uh-uh, I don't like criminals; just creeps."

"
And the utterly unavailable. With any luck at
all on my part, Delavon's going to get fifty or so years someday—what
could be more perfect for you?"

Cindy Lou smiled. "I
have to admit it has merit."

* * *

Skip was dog-tired on account of her late night at
Maya's, and she could feel another all-nighter in the works. She
wanted to go home and get some sleep, but it was time to report to
her sergeant. Cappello was glad to see her. "Skip. Making
progress with the heater case? I'm still gettin' calls."

Skip raised an eyebrow. "Joe?" Joe
Tarantino, their lieutenant.

"
No, not Joe. just a bunch of assholes who're
probably on the take and need somebody to make them look good. Can
you believe this stuff in the paper?"

"What stuff? I didn't see the paper this
morning."

"Not one, not two, but three great items. First,
the policeman O'Rourke's platoon arrested for murder. What a
department. Then the vice squad hearings."

Several members of the vice squad were accused of
raiding French Quarter joints, then when all the strippers and
barkers were outside, helping themselves to the contents of the cash
registers.

Skip winced. "I hate that one a lot. Not just
bad and stupid, but crude."

"Then there's this new stuff about that security
firm run by our favorite high-ranking officer. You know: the one with
the fancy cars and the Armani suits."

Skip named him. "What about his firm?"

"
It seems he got booked in by some production
companies making movies here and they say he charged them for
equipment the department normally lends out."

"But the city got the money, of course."

Cappello laughed. "Oh, sure it did. And that
wasn't the whole thing—they also claim he overcharged them for
people's hours, and what really fries me, that he booked officers to
work on those jobs who were scheduled to be working for the
department at the same time."

"
A little double-dipping; very Louisiana."

Cappello snorted. "Don't you ever get tired of
this shit?"

Skip sat down, nonplussed once again at Cappello's
frustration. "Well, yeah, I get tired of it. But we don't even
know if that one's true. Nobody's proved it, right?"

"Skip, Skip, Skip. In what other city does this
kind of stuff even come up?"

She didn't know what to say that would make Cappello
feel any better.

But the sergeant was on a roll. "I bet half the
cops in this building are on the take."

"Oh, come on."

"I mean it. You've got to remember the mob
started here."

"
A lot of Italian-Americans would dispute you on
that."

"Oh, hell, I'm Italian myself. What I'm saying
is, we've got a history here. This casino business has stirred things
up like I haven't seen since I came on the job. When the bottom fell
out of oil, nobody had any money and no way to make any. Now there's
big bucks in town; big things at stake. The state was crazy to say
they'd keep the mob out. Maybe the operators aren't mob, but the
town's suddenly crawling with characters you wouldn't want to meet in
a dark alley."

"
Hey, that reminds me. I met this unsavory dude
who tells me Gus Lozano's on his way out."

"Mr. Kingpin? No shit?" She shrugged.
"Well, it makes sense. There's a lot of new guys in town, all of
them probably wanting hunks of Gus's pie. Anyway, what's the
difference? The new guy might not be named Gus, but he'll be his twin
brother. He'll buy some cops and we'll have to work with 'em.
Sleeping with the enemy as usual."

Skip tried to think of something to say.

"I've got to get out of here," said
Cappello. "I don't know how long I can take this."

"Uh, you want to know about the heater case?"

"
Oh, yeah. Work."

"I found someone who's seen Dennis." She
ran it down for the sergeant, and told her what she planned to do
that night—go find Turan.

"Take Hodges," said Cappello. "He's
good and steady."

"
Why not? We had a good time last night."

She went home, hoping Cappello would pipe down
sometime soon. It wasn't that she didn't sympathize with her; it was
that she didn't like her talk of leaving. Skip liked being on
Cappello's platoon, and there were other sergeants she didn't much
care for—like Frank O'Rourke.

Oh, well. She could get transferred out as easily as
she could leave. So could I for that matter.

Every time a new mayor got in, there was a new
superintendent, and sometimes there was one in between terms if he
embarrassed the department too badly. Each new superintendent did
what he pleased; seemingly random transfers had happened before and
could happen again.

Skip had stepped in the shower that morning without
washing her hair, forgoing beauty in favor of extra sleep. But after
a day in the sauna that was New Orleans in summer, it was a mop of
wet nasty curls she couldn't wait to deluge. After that a nap would
go down well, alongside Steve Steinman if he was home.

But when she opened her door, a great, fanged,
snarling beast leapt at her.

Steve said, "Napoleon! Easy, boy! Hey, it's
okay." But he seemed to be somewhere in Kansas and there was a
large dripping muzzle in Skip's face, a hot smelly one, and jaws that
clipped together every time the creature barked, which was about
eight times a second.

She had already stepped back involuntarily, past her
own threshold, and now stood in the courtyard, which the beast seemed
to be willing to concede to her, as long as it could have the house.

"
Napoleon. Hey, boy. That's Skip; our good
friend, Skip. Hey, boy, take it easy now."

The thing was a German shepherd, she saw now, and she
also saw that Steve was holding it by the collar. She had heard
barking when she arrived, she realized that also, she just hadn't put
it together that it was in her house.

"What the hell is that creature doing in my
house?"

"
You're mad?"

"Mad? Wouldn't you be if you came home and found
the hound of hell in your living room? Which is probably now covered
with hair and God knows what else."

"He's for Kenny. Easy, boy. Hey, Napoleon. She's
a friend, okay? Skip, hold out your hand so he can sniff it."

"Are you crazy? That thing just tried to kill
me."

"Well, I admit that was a little disconcerting.
Maybe you remind him of someone."

"He reminds me of somebody too. Cerberus. The
Hound of the Baskervilles. The monster in every movie I saw before I
was ten."

The dog was starting to calm down, but Skip was
having a delayed reaction. She felt slightly shaky, and didn't want
to admit it.

"
Nice dog," said Steve. "Go say hello
to Skip."

"
Listen, how about if you take him for a walk
while I go in and take a shower? Then you can leave him in the
courtyard while you tell me what the hell this is all about."

"Well, uh . . ."

"What?" She was almost inconceivably tired,
it was ninety in the shade, her hands were still shaking, and she was
getting madder by the minute.

"He just pooped in the kitchen."

She brushed a handful of sticky curls back from her
face and started silently counting, but she only made it to three. If
she ever got this mad on the job, she hated to think what could
happen.

"You take that creature out of here, and by the
time I get out of the shower he better be Rin Tin Tin and you better
have my kitchen clean."

"Okay, okay. I just have to get his leash."

As she wasn't about to walk by those fast—snapping
teeth, that meant she had to wait another century or two before she
could go into her own home. When she did, the smell of fresh dogshit
greeted her.

She stayed in the shower about half an hour—at any
rate, longer than she ever had, because the water was starting to go
tepid, which it never had before.

When she came out, she pulled on a light cotton robe
and lay down on the bed, feeling slightly better, especially since
she heard sounds that sounded like cleaning up down below.

In a while Steve joined her. "I'm sorry. I
didn't know you didn't like dogs."

She sat up. "I don't like dogs? Excuse
me—there's a big difference in not liking dogs and being attacked
in my own home."

"
He's for Kenny. For that little problem he
has."

She was bewildered. "What?"

"He needs a friend. So I got him one—a nice
fuzzy one."

"Wait a minute. You think you can cure Kenny of
bed-wetting by siccing Cujo on him? What do you plan to do—scare
the piss out of him?"

"
I just think having a dog will make him feel
secure."

"
Haven't you noticed that animal is vicious?"