Tony Dunbar - Tubby Dubonnet 06 - Lucky Man (14 page)

She glanced at him, then away to the clock on the wall.

“Who told you?”

“Mom did. It came up when I told her I was pregnant. She thought maybe I should give my baby away, since I wasn’t married yet.”

Tubby rubbed his forehead.

“It wasn’t really a secret. We always meant to tell you, when you got older. And then it just never seemed very important. We both loved you very much, and we were a family, so… it never came up.”

“You should have told me.” Her eyes were suddenly moist.

“What difference would it have made, really?”

“My God, Daddy, don’t you think somebody should know who their parents are?”

“We are your true parents.”

“You know what I mean.”

“And you know what I mean. You change little Bat’s diapers and wipe his runny nose for a few years and see if you don’t get pretty damned attached to him.”

“That’s different. He came from my body.”

“That’s an overrated connection, in my opinion. Look, I’m sorry you didn’t hear it from us earlier. What else did your mother tell you?”

“Not much. That you took me from the hospital and that you don’t know where my biological mother is today.”

“That’s true. I haven’t even thought about your so-called biological mother in twenty years.”

“Did you know her?”

“I met her. She was pretty, like you. She was in high school and got pregnant and wasn’t able to care for a child. I talked to her once or twice at the most. She was a nice kid.”

“Who was my father?”

“That hurts, kid. I’m your father. I was never introduced to the guy you’re talking about. He probably had to sign something. I honestly don’t remember. To me it never mattered.”

“You and mom couldn’t have a baby of your own?”

“At that time, it didn’t look like it.”

“What about Christine and Collette? Are they adopted, too?”

“Did you ask your mother?”

“She said it was none of my business.”

“She may be right for once. Anyhow, I’d want to talk to them before I talked to you. Do you care?”

She thought about it.

“Not really,” she said finally.

“So. You see why I don’t care.”

“I suppose, intellectually. I know you raised me and all, but it was just such a surprise. I mean Mom says, ‘You know, you’re adopted,’ and I’m like, ‘What?’ It was kind of weird, that’s all. And I felt very bad. I kind of lost it. Some friends took me over to Biloxi for the weekend and when they came back I just stayed. I don’t know what I was thinking about— maybe an abortion or maybe doing something to myself to hurt the baby. It only lasted a few days.”

“That’s when you met Buddy?”

“I remember I was sitting on a concrete bench looking at all the kids playing on the beach and feeling completely numb. He saw me and sat down. We talked and he conned me into going out to the farm with a promise of free food. Anyway, they were really nice, and I got over it and came home to Marcos and we decided to get married.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“Does that make us even?”

Tubby shook his head and reached across the table to grip her hand. Then they both stood up and hugged.

They were like that, sharing a good cry, when the baby started screaming and bouncing loudly in his crib.

“Duty calls,” she said, rubbing her eyes on his sleeve.

“I’ve loved you from the first time I saw you,” Tubby said hoarsely.

Debbie nodded and composed her face. She laughed.

“Life sure is funny,” she said.

“If you’re lucky,” he said.

She led him into the bedroom.

“Look who’s here, little boy. It’s your grandpa.”

The baby took one look and wailed.

“What’s your vision of things, speaking spiritually?” Sapphire inquired, eyes wide.

Raisin had been around her long enough by now to know that this was a serious question. He swatted a bug on his jeans and tried to think of something relevant to say. His “vision” was off, never properly restored, in fact, since the rave concert.

A low, mournful ship’s horn sounded somewhere on the river, and he craned his neck to try to see the vessel above the trees that lined the bank. He and Sapphire were sitting on the top of a grassy levee upriver from Hahnville. Behind them were endless fields of sugarcane. In front was a wet meadow, bearing signs of recent flooding, and the potential for a glorious sunset. Mosquitoes were a problem. They were attempting a picnic, complete with wine, cheese, and a crusty French loaf as long as a baseball bat. It had been Raisin’s idea.

“Vision, let’s see.” Raisin groped for some good words. He hated questions like this.

“Can you give me an example of what you’re talking about?” he asked finally in desperation. He intently studied the plastic cup of Cabernet Sauvignon in his hand.

“Sure, like for me, the universe is this great big wide-screen TV, with pictures that keep changing, you know, like when a computer is just sitting there with nobody using it and all these images of planets and deserts and blue skies just roll across the screen.”

Raisin closed his eyes and tried to imagine, for a second, what she was talking about. “Yeah,” he commented, uncertainly.

“And it puts off an electrical charge. If you ever saw a biofeedback thing of your brain waves, that’s what I mean. And you change the universe just with the way you change your thinking. You can get more serene, or more excited, and when you do the picture changes. When you cry it gets black or purple and scary and full of flying rocks, and—”

“You don’t like the cheese?” Raisin asked.

She clenched her teeth. “That’s just like you, trying to change the subject.”

“No, it’s just that we’re out here having a picnic with a river, and a sunset, and you’re talking about biofeedback machines.”

“To me it’s all connected. That was just an image anyway.” She pouted.

“I’m sorry.”

“The world around us is just a little piece of a much bigger thing, you know.”

“Sure. I know that.”

She lay back and put her head in his lap. Her finger traced a cloud.

“When you were younger, Raisin…” She paused. He winced. “Did you ever take LSD?”

“Why sure,” he said. He did not think she believed him.

“Did you ever go to rock and roll concerts? Or get naked and run through the woods? Or count all the ants in an anthill?”

“When I was younger, baby, my biggest concern was trying to keep my ass from getting shot off in a rice paddy.”

“That seems like such a long time ago.” Her voice had a dreamy quality. Her hair was the color of clover honey, and her face was as innocent as a blue sky.

“Uh-huh.”

“When I make music, I can sometimes imagine things like wars and bombs, but I’d rather go to other places. Places where people are trying to fill in the blanks in their lives and to love each other.”

Raisin bent over to kiss her lips, but she turned away.

“You’re not going to be around for a long time, are you,” she said. It was a statement. She picked a blade of grass and twisted it around her fingers.

A little later, when they were packing up and loading stuff into the car, she told him that the picnic had been a nice date. In the twilight, Raisin felt more lonesome than he could ever remember.

***

There is a hole-in-the-wall tavern behind Moskowitz Memorial Laboratory where doctors and nurses can drown their troubles after work. Flowers found Todd Murphy in a dark corner, playing pinball by himself.

“That machine’s a real bitch,” he said companionably when Murphy tilted out.

Murphy looked up and grinned. His black plastic glasses slid down his nose. He was surprised to have somebody to talk to.

“You work for the coroner. Am I right?”

“I’m an assistant,” Murphy slurred. He raised an empty glass as if it was his excuse.

“Yeah. I think we met before. My name is Flowers. You told me some interesting stories about the bodies you cut up and all. Can I buy you a beer?”

Tubby was dreaming about Faye Sylvester. For some reason they were driving together on a winding road in Mississippi. He knew it was Mississippi because of all the pine trees and crows. Unexpectedly they entered the scenic perimeter of what apparently was a vast chemical plant. To his right, into the forest, a sign pointed the way to GATE 5. HYDROCHLORIC POLYMERS. “AUTHORIZED ENTRY ONLY,” it added. Tubby had the uncomfortable sense that his movements were being recorded by a camera somewhere and he slowed down. A Jeep was trailing behind him.

He was reaching for his security in the glove box when suddenly Faye and he emerged from the restricted compound into open farmland. The Jeep turned off into the woods.

The telephone rang.

“Tubby, help me,” a hysterical voice sobbed.

“Norella, is that you?” Tubby struggled to wake up. The sounds of metal clanging and men shouting orders came from somewhere in Norella’s world.

“Yes, of course. I am in jail. These pigs have arrested me.”

“What for,” he asked, sitting up in bed.

“They say I was trying to leave the country. They put some drugs in my luggage. It is called a frame-up, I think.”

“Where exactly was this?”

“At the airport. You think the zoo?”

“But what were you doing there?”

“I was taking a trip!” she screamed. “Come get me out of here now!”

“Okay, have they set your bail?”

“How do I know? This place is disgusting. It’s crowded and dirty!” she shrieked.

“Let me speak to somebody in charge.”

“There is nobody in charge. I am on a pay phone. There are other women in here with me. They are prisoners, too, just like me. They gave us wet tuna-fish sandwiches to eat,” she bawled.

“Well, just calm down. Get off the phone. I’ll find out what’s going on and get you out as soon as I can.”

“I want you to sue them all,” she proclaimed fiercely, and Tubby hung up.

He dialed Central Lockup and got put on hold. He thought about carrying the phone downstairs and fixing himself a drink. He could justify it. He had made five weeks without any booze. Who else could say that? It would be okay to start tomorrow. According to his watch, it was already tomorrow. Tubby was struggling, soberly, with this when a tired voice said, “Jail.”

“You’ve got a prisoner named Norella Peruna Finn. Can you tell me what her bail is and what’s the charge?”

Back on hold, Tubby started toward the stairs.

“Possession of a controlled substance and attempted flight from the jurisdiction. No bail yet. She’ll go over to see the magistrate in a couple of hours.”

“What time will it be when she gets back?”

“Sometimes it’s ten o’clock.”

“I guess I’ll see you then.”

The guard hung up, and Tubby went back to bed.

***

Properly outfitted in a navy three-piece suit and black wingtip shoes, Tubby Dubonnet presented himself in the courtroom of Magistrate Hampson at eight-thirty. It was one place in the building where lawyers were overwhelmingly outnumbered by civilians, all manner of them, bleary with lack of sleep, some cowed, some made belligerent by the sights and smells, disinfectants and discomforts, of their past few hours in a jail cell. Most wore orange jumpsuits with OPP stenciled across their chests.

The magistrate plowed through most of it by rote, in a practiced monotone. DWI? Bail $250. Armed robbery? Bail is $25,000.

Norella, slumped in a pew with a hand covering her eyes, was waiting her turn with the mostly male congregation. Tubby tried to get her attention by waving, but she wouldn’t look up. Finally he prevailed upon a well-endowed police officer to tap his client on the shoulder. She jumped and her eyes followed the pointing finger to her attorney. He motioned for her to join him at the barricade.

Norella looked past the policewoman’s blue chest to see who might object. Since no one was paying attention, she stood up, shook out her orange jumpsuit, and came to him with as much dignity as possible— difficult considering that her suit was at least five sizes too large and was bunched in comic cuffs around her elbows and ankles.

“I am not so attractive, am I?” she inquired sheepishly.

“Actually, orange pajamas look good on you,” he told her. “Have you been before the judge yet”

“No, I have just been waiting.”

“Have they treated you all right?”

“I could not sleep. Everything here smells like roach spray. When can I go home?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out. Who arrested you?”

“That man over there.” She pointed out a square-headed detective wearing a baggy gray suit in the back of the courtroom. Tubby recognized him as LaBoeuf Kronke, who had been in charge at the boathouse the day of Max Finn’s death. Kronke smiled at Tubby and wiggled an index finger at him by way of saying hello.

“Go back to your seat, dear,” he instructed Norella. “Let’s see what’s what.”

Reluctantly she rejoined the accused while her lawyer approached the law.

“Good morning, Mr. Dubonnet. I’m surprised to see you here so early,” Kronke said pleasantly.

“You arrest ’em, I come. What brings you down here for a bail hearing, detective?”

“Considering that Mrs. Finn is presumably well-connected and that she started screaming for a lawyer the moment we laid a hand on her, I thought you would probably show up. I didn’t want the magistrate to get all confused and decide we didn’t have any probable cause and maybe let her go home by herself.”

“So don’t be coy. What did she do?”

“Attempted to flee the jurisdiction— specifically on a jet to someplace I can’t pronounce in South America.”

“You may be speaking of Tegucigalpa in Honduras. That’s Central America.”

Kronke frowned and shook his head. “I was afraid this was going to be difficult,” he said.

“Not at all. Why can’t she leave New Orleans?”

“She’s a material witness to a murder.”

“Oh, come on. Nobody gets arrested for that. And did you say murder? I thought that was still an open question. How did you know she was taking a flight anyway?”

“I had her tailed.”

“Why?” Tubby displayed indignation.

“I told you,” Kronke said calmly. “She’s a material witness.”