Sailor & Lula (60 page)

“Sail, is that you? It's Lula!”

“Hello, peanut,” he said.

“ 'Nough, woman!”

Kitty Kat snatched the telephone from Lula.

“This her old man?” she shouted into it.

“That's my wife you got,” said Sailor, “if that's what you mean. You fixin' to turn her loose?”

“Check this out one time, daddio, 'cause I'm gone make it shit simple. Prob'ly she cost you plenty so far an' now she gone cost you some mo'. Ain't sayin' you gots to pay, though. You say no, okay, we put the barrel up her nose, pop go the weasel, then dump in a bayou. You listen?”

“How much?”

“Hun' thou, sma' bill. Put it in a duffel, kind you get in a army surplus. Forty-eight hours from now, this same time, one-thirty, you leave the bag front the gate Judge Perez Park in Arabi. That in St. Bernard Parish, past Tupelo Street. You think you be able find it?”

“It'll be there. What about Lula?”

“Oh, she be turn up theyafter. You leave the money, go 'way. Cops come, y'own posse, anyone, your wife, instead she turn up the
here
after.”

The line went dead.

“What's the price, Daddy?” asked Pace.

Sailor hung up the phone.

“A hundred thousand.”

“You got that much?”

“Between what we got in the house and what I can borrow from Bob Lee, prob'ly I can raise it.”

“You gonna call Dupre?”

“Ain't sure, son. Figure I'll sleep on it and decide in the mornin'.”

“Wish our ol' huntin' companion Coot Veal was still alive,” Pace said. “He'd help us out. Coot's the one taught me to shoot.”

Sailor nodded. “I sure do miss that old boy. Couple others, too, who're no longer around, who I could count on. Sparky and Buddy, friends of your mama's and mine from way back. They was damn resourceful.”

“Them the ones located the kidney donor for Uncle Johnnie, weren't they?”

“Uh huh. Just after Lula and I run onto 'em in Memphis. Them two guardian angels kept turnin' up in our lives in some mighty strange circumstances. They both prob'ly passed on by now, though.”

“Phil's a stand-up guy, Daddy. Three of us can handle it.”

Sailor lowered his head to the table and buried it in his folded arms. Sailor fell asleep and Pace sat there, listening to his father breathe. After a few minutes, Pace leaned over and kissed Sailor on the top of his head.

“I love you, Daddy,” Pace said. “Even without Mama you ain't alone in this world.”

“I tell you how people like me an' Archie Chunk come up, maybe you get the picture. My mama worked as a aide in a nursin' home, cleanin' after old folks' dirt. Had me an' my two brothers to care for herself after our daddy disappeared. Mama out cleanin' up piss, shit, vomit, wipin' drool off they half-dead faces, proppin' 'em in they wheelchairs for next to no money an' no benefits. She was too proud to take the welfare, she wanted to work. Wouldn't let the state take her kids for no foster homes. She was for keepin' the fam'ly together, even when Daddy gone.

“Mama made us go to school long as we'd mind. We lived in a closed-down motel without no runnin' water or heat. Had us a wood stove but no ice box. Mama got up four ev'ry mornin' fix our clothes, breakfast. She an' me sleep together in one bed, Yusef an' Malcolm in another. We walk with Mama five miles each mornin' in rain an' dark to school. I get sick an' tired walkin' in rain an' dark.

“When Yusef break his arm, fall through a hole in the floor, Mama had to pay cash to fix it, but after his cast come off he never had no pin put in keep the shape, like he suppose to, 'cause Mama ain't had enough money. His arm bent wrong and dangle weird.

“I was twelve a drug dealer hung out around the motel got me pregnant. After I had the baby, I leave it with Mama and go. Malcolm, he drown. Mama, Yusef and my baby, girl name Serpentina, burn to death when the motel catch fire one night.

“Ain't was no diff'rent for Archie. Black or white don't make no diff'rence you down so far. He be on the street since he six, chil' alcoholic. Stealin' all he know, or lettin' some ol' sick fool pinch his peepee fo' a meal at Mickey D.

“I know you scared, lady. Maybe this work out. It don't, least you know there tougher roads than one you been on.”

“This is 3099. Any messages?”

Phil was checking in with his answering service in Hollywood.

“Yes, sir. There's one from a Miss Reynolds. She'd like you to call her at your earliest opportunity.”

“That's all?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks.”

Phil direct-dialed Flower's number. She answered on the third ring. “Philly, where are you?”

“In New Orleans, Flower. What's up? How was Mexico with Westphal?”

“That's what I called you about, Philly. I happened to mention to Clark that you were back in town and he got all excited and started talkin' 'bout how you always been a hero of his and how he'd love to work with you. I just couldn't believe it!”

“I find it a little difficult to believe myself. So?”

“So, he wants to set up a meeting. When y'all comin' back?”

“I'm not sure. We've kind of run into a situation here. Maybe I can talk with Westphal on the phone.”

“It'd be a good idea, Philly. I ain't certain Clark got much of an attention span.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just one of my correlations. Attention spans is linked up with sexual habits, I think. Clark comes too quick, so my guess is he got the attention span to match.”

“Exactly what did he say, Flower?”

“Just if you had a good idea, he'd listen. You got somethin' beside that
Mute
story?”

“Actually, I do. A love story, like Romeo and Juliet, sort of, only the characters are older.”

“Could Clark and I do it together?”

“You two might just be perfect.”

“Oh, Philly! Do I get to laugh? You know how much I love to laugh.”

Phil laughed. “Of course. What would a Flower Reynolds picture be unless you laughed in it?”

“I didn't get to in
Dog Parts.
”

“That was a mistake not to be repeated. Give me Clark's number, Flower. I'll call him.”

Phil wrote it down and said, “This is nice news, honey. It's a good thing you had such good-looking parents.”

“You don't think it's my brain Clark's attracted to, huh?” Flower laughed. “Oh, well, I guess it's just the way the good Lord intended the world should work.”

“Wouldn't surprise me. Listen, Flower, if you speak to Clark, tell him I'll call him as soon as I have a chance. There's something going on here that needs to be taken care of first. Tell him I'm a big admirer of his.”

“Why lie?” asked Flower.

“Why not?” Phil said.

DuMont Dupre was fifty-two years old, five-nine and a nose-tackle-thick two-thirty. The lower region of his jaw rolled over on itself twice whenever Du Du looked down. His wife, Lexa Ray, once commented to Commissioner Fange's wife, Floridanna, that nobody had seen the knot in her husband's tie for fifteen years. Du Du had preferred a four-in-hand during their courtship and early years of marriage, Lexa Ray said, but for all she or anyone else knew he could have switched to a half-Windsor by now. Du Du was at his desk in midmorning, lighting up his second Macanudo of the day, when his secretary buzzed him on the intercom. Du Du made sure the entire circumference of his cigar tip was fired and drawing properly prior to responding.

“Yes, Miss Pulse,” he said, having depressed the TALK button on his unit.

“Mr. Luneau, the principal at Saint Beverly Carothers High School, is holdin' for you.”

“I'll take it.”

Du Du punched up line one and said, “
Bonjour,
George,
ça va?
”

“Not very well, I'm afraid, DuMont,” said the principal.

“What's the problem?”

“It's your son, Larry Gene.”

“L.G.? What's the boy done now?”

“He brought a gun with him to school today, DuMont, pulled it out of his pocket durin' English class and shot himself in the mouth. Back of his head splattered all over Marcy Simmons, girl sittin' directly behind him, but the bullet went past her clean into the blackboard at the rear of the room.”

Du Du put the Macanudo into an ashtray and rubbed his free hand over his face a couple of times.

“He's dead, then.”

“ 'Fraid so, DuMont. Don't understand it, myself. Larry Gene been doin' excellent work this semester, I'm told. Had his grades up to about a C average and he just been named All-Conference tackle.”

“L.G. never did care for English. What type firearm he use?”

“Believe Sergeant Hoog mentioned it was a .357-caliber Magnum revolver. The students that seen him do it are pretty shook up, as you could imagine. I'm real stranged out myself. You don't believe how sorry I am to have had to tell you the news, Du Du, but I figured I ought to do it, me bein' the principal.”

“Lexa Ray know?”

“Don't believe so. I ain't called her. It's just damn unbelievable. Why on earth he'd do this thing, Du Du? We ain't had no evidence of drug use. You?”

“I suppose I ain't paid close enough attention to L.G. lately to know, George. I 'preciate it was you called.”

“Larry Gene was a right decent boy, DuMont. Boy with a future.”

“I'm goin' home now, be with Lexa Ray. Where's the body?”

“Police ambulance takin' him to the Orleans Parish morgue.”

Du Du hung up and stared at the framed photograph on his desk. In the picture, he and Lexa Ray were seated with Larry Gene and his sister, Taura Beth, standing behind them, each with a hand on one of their parents' shoulders. Du Du inspected the photograph more closely, noticing for the first time that Larry Gene's left ear stuck out almost perpendicular to his head, while the right one was more normally attached. Du Du wondered why this physical peculiarity of L.G.'s had never been apparent to him before.

The police captain slumped back and down in his chair. He unbuttoned his collar and loosened the four-in-hand knot in his tie.

Pace heard the front door open and close and he jumped up from the kitchen table, where he'd been sitting with Phil drinking coffee, and hurried toward Sailor.

“Daddy, you okay?” Pace said, seeing his father set down a large canvas bag in the foyer.

“I'm all right, son. Just out collectin' the cash.”

“You got it, huh?”

Sailor nodded. “Didn't even have to redo the deal on the house. Bob Lee took the whole hundred K right out the Gator Gone main account.”

“I guess to hell he's your friend, Daddy.”

“Never have one better. You know how close your mama and Beany been all their lives. She and Bob Lee took us in when you was kidnapped, and it was him give me the opportunity to turn my own life around. Now here they come backin' us up again. They're rare folks, son.”

“Made some coffee, Daddy. You want some? Phil's in the kitchen.”

Sailor followed Pace back through the house and sat down at the table. Pace filled a cup and placed it in front of him.

“Mornin', Phil. Thanks, son.”

“Daddy got the money, Phil.”

“I have about ten thousand I can spare, Sailor, if you need it.”

“Thanks, Phil, but we're set.”

“What about Dupre, Daddy?”

“Called his office from Bob Lee's, but he was out. Apparently there was some family emergency. I'd decided to not bring the cops into it, anyway. Was just gonna check in again with Dupre, pretend I hadn't heard nothin', and ask if he had. Just as well he weren't in.”

“Sailor, I want to tell you how much I admire you,” said Phil. “Also that I'm with you all the way on this. Just tell me what you'd like me to do.”

“That's great, Phil,” said Sailor. “I'm workin' up a plan but I ain't got all the pieces in place yet. Think I'll take a nap and dope it out with you-all later. Bob Lee's comin' over this evenin'.”

Sailor stood up and walked out of the kitchen.

“Your daddy's a brave man, Pace,” said Phil. “He's a cool one.”

Pace stared at Sailor's coffee cup, which his father had not touched.

“He been through a bunch, Phil, as you know. Time just don't seem to settle things down, though, the way you'd figure would happen.”

The doorbell rang and Pace got up to answer it. He opened the front door and there was Rhoda, his ex-wife, holding a garment bag over her left arm. A suitcase was on the ground next to her.

“Hello, Pace,” she said. “I just had to come.”

Pace was stunned. He looked at Rhoda, ran his eyes over her dark brown curly hair, down the length of her slender five feet seven inches and then stared directly into her big black eyes, which were shiny and wet.

“Hell, Rhoda, this prob'ly weren't your best idea.”

She lifted up her suitcase with her right hand.

“Pace, I'm a psychotherapist. If I didn't act on impulse every once in a while I'd be even more neurotic than I already am. The last unexpected move I made was when I married you. Are you going to invite me in?”