Tony Dunbar - Tubby Dubonnet 02 - City of Beads (17 page)

He was glad, however, that he had decided against going straight home, because Tania called. Cherrylynn asked her to wait while she saw if he was in, but he immediately picked up the phone. She said she wanted to talk to him in person. He said not at the office, and after they tossed some ideas back and forth they settled on Mike’s Bar.

As he was saying goodbye to Cherrylynn, Twink Beekman also checked in. When Tubby’s daughters were little and asked him what he did for a living, Tubby said, “I just talk on the phone.” This was one of those days when he wished it were true.

“I’ve tracked down Bayou Disposal, Mr. D. They’ve set up shop on Highway 39 way out past Chalmette. I think it’s all the way into Plaquemines Parish.”

“How’d you find that out?”

“I just picked up the phone and called their number in the phone book.”

“Oh, good thinking.”

“I’m going to drive down there myself. Maybe take Debbie. We’ll check it out.”

“Just the two of you?”

“Sure, Mr. D. Listen, I have a fiancée and everything. I’ll be on good behavior.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that, Twink. I was thinking it might be a little dangerous. You know, out in the parish people don’t like investigators snooping around.”

“Have no fear. I’ll take care of everything.”

“I’m sure you can, Twink. Still, I’d like to send one of my associates along with you. I’d feel better.”

“That’s fine, too. You’re the lawyer.”

And the father, you dipstick, Tubby thought to himself.

Tania arrived at Mike’s Bar before Tubby did and she was greeted warmly by Mr. Mike. He didn’t actually get up from his chair, but he made his nephew get up and give her his seat at Mike’s table, where a couple of sportsmen were cutting for high card.

“Look who’s here,” he said. “Little Orphan Annie in from the cold again.”

“I brought back your wife’s coat,” she said. “I had it cleaned.”

“You should have kept it. It looks a lot better on you. So who’s chasing you this time?”

“Nobody, I hope. I’m supposed to meet Mr. Dubonnet here.”

“Tubby’s coming over? Good, ’cause I need to speak to him. How about a drink? You want something to drink?”

She said no, but finally settled on a rum and Coke because it was a special occasion, Mr. Mike said.

Tubby got buzzed in and got a loud reception from Mr. Mike, too. He was served the same drink, and an earful from Mr. Mike. It seems Ernie had been found, hiding out in a “cabana,” Mr. Mike said, in the Atchafalaya swamp. And guess what! The whole $55,000 had gone into video poker. Who would think it was possible to lose that much. The cousins were putting Ernie to work to pay Mike back, but that would take years. What a family.

Finally Tubby was permitted to adjourn with Tania to a table in the corner where they could talk.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Tubby said, sipping his fizzy drink. He put his elbows on the table and leaned a little closer to her. He did not feel like telling her about the shooting in his building.

“Yes, it’s nice to see you,” she said.

“You left my house in rather a hurry.”

“I had to get back to work, and I knew eventually I had to face up to my own house again.”

“Have you got things straightened up?”

“Pretty much. There were some important things I had to throw away. You mustn’t get too attached to things.”

“There hasn’t been any further trouble? No threats?”

“No, but I did think a car was following me yesterday when I drove home from work.”

“What do you have that these guys want?”

She took her time. “You said once you were not my lawyer, but I wonder if I can hire you to help me.”

“I suppose so,” Tubby said. “Why don’t you tell me what the trouble is.”

“How much do you charge?”

“You want to be serious about this?”

She nodded.

“How about five dollars? And for that you can tell me what is going on with you. After that I’ll decide if I need to charge you more.”

“Very well.” She fished around in her purse and took out a $10 bill, which she put on the table.

“I don’t have a five,” she said.

“We can make change later. So tell me.”

While Tubby finished his drink in silence, she told him. She covered the murder of her brother, her identification of Charlie Van Dyne’s house, her nights on patrol, and the way she had fired her brother’s pistol at the Bouligny Steak House.

Tubby was shocked, and strangely fascinated.

“I know the name Van Dyne” was all he could think of to say. “He sold some bad drugs to a man named Jerome Rasheed Cook.”

Tania just stared at her hands. They were picking apart the wet napkin under her glass.

“Do you actually feel what you did was right?” Tubby asked.

“I feel it was right.” Tania looked up. “But I think it was wrong, if that makes sense. I’m still praying about it.”

“These men are after you for what? To pay you back for what you did?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say “for shooting a man dead.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“The police haven’t shown any interest in you?”

“None at all.”

“I think I’m going to keep the whole ten dollars. You want another drink?”

Tania said no.

“Me neither,” Tubby said. “Okay. Let me think about this a minute.”

God, what an incredible situation. Tubby searched his memory for a point of reference in the rules of professional conduct. He was familiar with them, but only the big rules, like zealously representing your client and keeping her confidences, came to mind. His thought process kept getting knocked off track by aftershocks from the revelation that pretty, petite, pious Tania could actually shoot a man. Premeditated. At close range.

“Was it, uh, hard for you to pull the trigger when he turned around and looked at you?”

“I’d be lying if I said it was hard. It scared me because it was so easy. I’m sad that I have to carry it around with me for the rest of my life. I’ve been talking to the minister at my church about it.”

“You’re not planning to shoot anybody else, are you?”

“No,” she said simply.

“That’s good,” Tubby said.

“It felt like something or someone was guiding my hand. Now that it’s done, that power isn’t there anymore. I’m back to being me.”

“It wouldn’t be proper for me to help you conceal your crime, but I’m curious. What did you do with the gun?”

“I threw it in the trash, and the garbage men took it away.”

“Oh. What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to defend me if I’m caught.”

“I’ll certainly do that.”

“Or if I decide to turn myself in to the police.”

“I would defend you then, too. But my job isn’t to tell you whether or not to turn yourself in.”

“I understand that.”

“While you think about it, I’d say you have bigger problems, like staying alive. Is there any reason to think there won’t be more attempts on your life?”

“Well, I did hurt one of the men pretty bad, I think. I believe they will come back after me, and I won’t lie, I’m very scared.”

“Do you have any idea who they are?”

“I think their names are Coco and Hambone, but they work for someone else.”

“Do you know who that someone else is?”

“I wish I did. When the people talked about ‘the man,’ they were talking about Charlie Van Dyne. Everybody in the neighborhood thought he was like the godfather, you know. I haven’t any idea who is above him.”

“Did you ever think, Tania, that you might have been wrong? That Mr. Van Dyne might not have been the godfather at all? I mean, I have heard from someone else that he was involved in dealing drugs, so he probably was. But to kill him? Do you ever think that maybe he didn’t deserve that?”

“No, I didn’t really ever think that. People knew it was him. The folks in my neighborhood are wrong sometimes, but not about things like that. They are very streetwise. He was the man who killed my brother. And you may not understand what I’m saying, but I was guided to him.”

“Fine. As long as you’re not guided to anybody else. I’ll be your lawyer, but it won’t be much of a job right now. You call me if you need me. If you find out anything about who Charlie Van Dyne reported to, let me know. And I’ll ask around, too.”

“Okay.”

They both stared at their glasses, watching the ice melt.

“I was always a good girl,” Tania said. “I always tried to please my mama and papa, and do the right things. I tried hard to make a success of myself.”

“I understand,” Tubby said.

“I just want to get my life back on track.”

“I can’t forgive you, Tania. That’s not in my department.”

“I know that,” she said, and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue wrapped around her finger. “Only Jesus can.”

Tubby paid at the bar.

* * *

Tubby arrived at his office early the next morning, even before Cherrylynn. An acquaintance of his, Nick Nicarro, also known as the Newsman, was on the job early, and Tubby wanted to talk to him on the phone. Nick sold newspapers, magazines, racing forms, and dirty books in the French Quarter, and he tried to read everything that passed through his store. Nick’s mind was a biological filing cabinet of the grotesque, the bizarre, and the outrageously criminal. He digested police stories by the ream and could relate the facts of beheadings, dismemberments, and mutilations from North Carolina to Oregon. He especially liked stories with a local twist, and he could tell you plenty about New Orleans sickos.

Nick knew his underworld. He did not, however, have much of a file on Charlie Van Dyne.

“The guy who got killed at Bouligny’s Steak House?” he asked.

“The same,” Tubby said.

“I seem to think like he hangs around with the wrong crowd.”

“You mean like crooks?”

“Oh, no. I think he’s connected with a lot of cops. He’s some kind of upright citizen.”

“I heard he had street pushers working for him.”

“I heard the same,” Nick said.

“Any idea who Charlie worked for? I mean, he couldn’t have been the top of the heap.”

“Top of the heap? There’s still plenty of dope on the streets, right. Nobody ever gets to the top of the heap. Van Dyne worked for somebody, sure. It could be any one of three or four different people.”

“You’re not sure which?”

“I just know almost everything, Tubby. I ain’t God.”

“Yeah, but you’re the smartest guy in the world, Nick, when it comes to getting the real nitty-gritty on crime. We all know that.”

Nick was flattered. “Well, maybe I can ask around and turn something up. If I do, I’ll call you.”

“I’d appreciate it. You’re a pal.”

“Yeah, but you don’t ever come by, Tubby. I’m forgetting what you look like. You getting any thinner?”

“Whatcha mean? I’m in great shape.”

“Come by the store so I can admire you then. We got some real good exercise books you might like. Richard Simmons, for example, would be perfect for you.”

“Give me a break.”

“I’m just thinking about your health.”

“You and everybody else. I’m in the prime of life.”

“Anybody breathing can say that. Hey, I got a customer. I’ll call you if I find something.”

“See you,” Tubby said.

After he hung up, Tubby paused to look out his window at the city and river below him. A long yellow tanker with the name STOLT painted in huge letters along its length was being turned in the river and pushed toward a wharf by three tugboats. From up here, this rearrangement of massive tonnage against a powerful current looked as effortless as a twig drifting around in a stream. The beads hanging from his desk lamp captured the day’s early sunshine.

Tubby quickly tired of the liquor license project. This was not his strong suit, but from what he could see, the casino had so many permits to sell alcoholic beverages that Leo could open up twenty sidewalk cafés and hang three more off the balcony and still be legal. Surely there was more to the assignment than this. His conscience would bother him if he billed for more than a day’s work. His original concept had been to bill for lots of days’ work. He laid the file aside with a dejected shake of his head and called up Monster Mudbug.

“Adrian,” he said. “Is your old man still a poll watcher? Is he still active in the Old Regulated Democrats?”

“I think so,” Adrian said. “He goes to a lot of meetings. I don’t know what they’re for.”

“I think there’s something you need to check out with your dad.”

“Okay,” Adrian said.

“Go tell him the judge in your case is Calabrissi. Ask him has he made any contributions to the judge’s reelection effort. Ask him who the Old Regulateds are supporting.”

“He’s watching TV in the living room. You want me to go ask him now?”

“No. I don’t even want to know the answers. Just lay it out for him, and see if he can’t think of something to do about your situation.”

“Okay, Mr. Tubby. Whatever you say. Sounds like one of them New Orleans kinda things to me.”

“Yeah, you’re right, Adrian. I’ll see you in court.”

There was rarely a shortage of things for Tubby to do in the office. He did, however, sometimes complete all of the interesting tasks he could think of and had to decide which boring or difficult project to resurrect from the bottom of the heap. He pulled open his desk drawer, idly hoping for a distraction. He found some old parking receipts and a letter he had never mailed to his ex-wife, but nothing to do. Reluctantly he scanned the various piles of files on the couch and floor, and his eyes stopped at the expandable brown folder that was labeled “Save Our River.” Unexciting though the matter might be, it was at least a file he had not yet read. He got up and brought it over to his desk, emptied its contents, and sorted the folders into neat stacks. Then he sat down to digest.

Ten minutes into it he had a pretty good idea about what the students were up to. In commendably organized fashion, they had broken the Orleans Parish riverfront, together with the Industrial Canal, the Harvey Canal, and the Intracoastal Waterway as far as the Gulf Outlet, into sections, and had created an “inventory” of all the shippers, warehousers, grain elevators, and stevedores that conducted their dirty and venerable businesses there. Just producing the list must have required a great amount of labor. It was all stored on a computer and updated every six months. Apparently someone had compiled descriptions of what each company did, and scored its “hazard potential,” but Tubby’s file contained only the summaries, not the volumes of lists and raw data.