by Tony Dunbar
Tania ran past the men and toward the front of the house, through the dining room and living room. It took two hands to open the dead bolt on the front door so she threw down the knife in her haste and let her robe loose.
“Get the damn bitch,” the wounded man commanded. He slumped against the refrigerator and groaned loudly when his partner let him go to run after Tania.
She was already out on the front stoop, then into the street running. Never had it seemed so quiet and empty. Parked cars lined both curbs but all the houses were dark and could just as well have been abandoned. She yelled at the top of her lungs and ran in the direction of Washington Avenue, her mind telling her to race toward her auntie’s. No lights came on, but some dogs started barking. She heard her screen door bang shut and heavy running footsteps. This was her neighborhood, and she scampered around the corner thinking to lose him. But maybe it was his neighborhood, too. There was a good chance he could keep up and would hurt her auntie, too.
Now she was just running and scared—and feeling vulnerable as well with hardly any clothes on and air blowing around her legs. She heard him round the corner onto Annunciation Street and kick over a trash can in his way. She might be a little faster than he was, but she couldn’t last long. There were no people in the street. No one was coming to rescue her.
Tubby was doing some low-key negotiating with Mr. Mike. The bar was open but might as well have been closed since no one had been in the place but the two of them, and Larry the ghost bartender, for the past forty-five minutes. This was a point not lost on Tubby, and though it helped him laugh off Mr. Mike’s claims about the establishment’s profitability, he secretly saw it as an advantage. Nothing wrong with a quiet place, he was thinking. Off the map, you might say. I could really get away from everything here.
They were doing some haggling about the hypothetical sales price, assuming Tubby wanted to own a bar, which he wasn’t ready to concede. But truthfully the first number Mr. Mike had tossed out had seemed pretty fair. Still it might be a good idea to turn on the overhead lights at least long enough to see what all those shadows hid. He was trying to think of a tactful way to make that suggestion when the door buzzer sounded off twice in long grating blasts accompanied by insistent thumping. On the other side of the green glass panel was a woman’s hysterical face.
“For Crissake, buzz her in, Larry,” Mr. Mike said, “before she beats the door down.”
Larry reached under the bar, and the door burst open. A small woman clutching a coat or a bathrobe around her rushed in. She stared blindly around her as the door clicked shut, taking with it all the street light.
“Well, little lady, you need some help?” Mr. Mike asked sweetly, making a halfhearted effort to raise himself from his chair.
Tubby was on his feet and approached the woman.
“Yes, I need help,” she cried. She was shaking and wary.
“Sure,” Tubby said, reaching her and offering his hand. “Are you hurt?” He was suddenly aware that she was almost naked.
“I think I’m all right,” she said, trying to catch her breath. She took Tubby’s hand, and let him lead her to a bar stool. “There’s a man chasing me.”
“Call the cops, Larry,” Mr. Mike ordered. He was in motion now and made it across the floor to inspect the newcomer.
“No! Don’t call the police,” Tania cried.
The men all looked at her questioningly.
She looked back. “I don’t want the police,” she said quietly.
Mr. Mike and Larry could deal with that. It took Tubby another second, but he could deal with that, too.
Someone pounded on the front door, and the buzzer went off again.
“Take the girl upstairs, Larry,” Mr. Mike said, and he pointed her to the back, hooking his index finger to show she was supposed to go behind the bar and through a passageway. She moved fast.
“You’re the bartender,” he told Tubby.
Tubby trotted behind the bar and pressed the door-release button. There was a loaded .45 next to the button and a police billy club with a leather wrist strap beside that. Tubby took the pistol and held it by his side.
A short heavyset man, dark complected, wearing a Saints warm-up jacket, stepped cautiously through the door.
“We’re closed,” Mr. Mike said.
“Young lady just come in here?” the man asked, trying to pick out landmarks in the soft glow of the Budweiser sign.
“Nobody here. Sorry, we’re closed,” Mr. Mike repeated.
The man took a step forward, and Tubby’s thumb played with the safety on the .45.
“No drinks, bud. We’re closed,” he said.
The man studied the bar and the man behind it. He couldn’t see anybody’s hands. Then he made up his mind. He smiled broadly and stepped backward toward the door. He felt behind him for the handle.
“Yeah, well, I’ll come back another time,” he said, and pushed his way outside. The door swung shut, and the lock clicked.
“You’re a natural as a bartender,” Mr. Mike said. “You should see yourself.”
Tubby exhaled and put the gun back on the shelf.
“Come on back down, Larry,” Mr. Mike said, a little more loudly, and in a moment the bartender and Tania appeared from the blackness at the back of the room.
“Have a seat, girl.” Mr. Mike indicated the seat next to his.
“Bring the lady a drink, Mr. Dubonnet.”
Tubby did, one for each of them.
“Young lady, you need some clothes on,” Mr. Mike pointed out.
She smiled and clutched the robe tighter across her breasts. With her other hand she slammed back the shot of brandy Tubby had poured. He refilled her glass and asked, “Is there anything we ought to be doing?” He raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“Do you live near here?” he asked.
“Yes, about three blocks away. This was the only place open.”
“Well, when you get ready I can walk you home, or I can call you a cab.”
She took another swallow and closed her eyes for a minute, “No, I can’t go home tonight.”
“Then is there somebody we can call?” Tubby asked.
She paused again.
“No, there’s nobody I want to call.”
“Larry, go upstairs and see if you can’t find one of Claudia’s coats or something,” Mr. Mike said.
“Well, where do you want to go?” Tubby asked her.
“Can I stay here?” Tania looked at each of them hopefully.
Mr. Mike reached into his shirt pocket to get his Chesterfields.
“You see a lighter by the register?” he asked Tubby. He drummed his fingers on the bar. “You can’t really stay here,” he told the woman. “I got to go home to my wife. These guys got to clear out, too. I mean, we’re not set up for overnight accommodations.” Tubby lit Mr. Mike’s cigarette.
“You want to, you can come home with me,” Tubby said.
She looked at him carefully, and he reciprocated, both of them looking for signs of dementia.
Neither one picked up any obvious indicators.
“I wouldn’t want to put you out,” she said politely.
“You gotta be kidding.” Tubby slapped the bottle on the bar and laughed out loud.
“Hey, Tubby, was you gonna shoot that brother?” Mr. Mike asked.
“You’ve got a whole arsenal here,” Tubby replied, nosing around under the bar.
“Very unfriendly to shoot the customers. Very bad for business. Lock it up, Larry, and let’s get us into our cars.”
Gallantly, Mr. Mike draped one of Claudia’s old winter coats over Tania’s shoulders. After checking his pockets and sticking a leather cash pouch under his belt, he made ready to leave. With Larry watching their departure from the doorway, Mr. Mike got in his Oldsmobile and Tubby and Tania got into his Corvair.
“I live off Henry Clay,” Tubby said.
“I know where that is,” Tania said i
n a tired voice. It was near Persephonie, where Charlie Van Dyne used to live.
CHAPTER 14
Tubby flipped on the lights and showed Tania the way into his house. He took her back to the kitchen and put her at his little white table while he fixed a pot of coffee. He was a bit embarrassed about the dirty dishes lying around, but there was nothing much he could do. By that time they had each other’s names.
“I imagine you’re ready to get some rest,” he said, counting out scoops of Community Coffee.
“Yes, I’m very tired.”
“I think I have some clothes upstairs that will fit you,” he said. She cocked an eyebrow at him.
“It’s stuff that belongs to my daughters. Or belonged. They’ve all grown up and have places of their own, or else live with their mother, but they’re always leaving things here. You can go through them and pick out whatever you want.”
“Thank you. This is all very nice of you.” She had finished her inspection of the room and relaxed. “I know I look very strange.”
Like a hurricane refugee rousted in the middle of the night, hair lopsided from sleep and without any clothes, he thought. He also considered that her dark slender legs, demurely crossed but bare to the thigh, were works of art, but he repressed that thought.
“Why don’t you tell me why that man was chasing you?” he asked.
“I think he wanted to kill me,” she said simply.
“And why would he want to do that?”
“My younger brother got shot just a few weeks ago. I believe the guy who was after me was one of the same men who did it.”
That got his attention.
“What’s all this about?”
“Drugs.” She spat the word out, “My brother was dealing their filthy drugs. Their crack and their chronic. They must have thought Kip took something of theirs. So they just killed him right out on the street and almost got my whole family killed. Maybe that was supposed to be a lesson for the other fools who work for them.”
“And you?”
“And me what?”
“Are you involved with them in some way?” Tubby poured her a mug of coffee and set it in front of her.
She looked disgusted. “No, I don’t have anything to do with anything sick like that.” She held her cup in both hands and blew into it to make steam rise into her eyes.
“Tell me then, why are they trying to hurt you?”
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I’m very tired.”
“Why don’t you want to call the police?”
“Even if they did anything, they’d just make it more of a mess than it is. They wouldn’t know where to start.”
“I think you ought to call them. It’s pretty obvious you’re in danger.”
“No,” she said, “Look, can we talk about this in the morning?”
“Yeah, okay,” Tubby said. “If you’re ready I’ll show you where you can stretch out.”
He led her upstairs and showed her the guest bedroom. It was a lot neater than his. Lots of times one of his girls would sleep over here, and the closet was half full of abandoned apparel. He gave her some good towels, pointed out the bathroom, and said goodnight. He told her he would call her in the morning.
Tubby went into his own bedroom and checked the drawer in the little table by the bed to see if his own pistol was still there. It was, and he picked it up. It was an old and heavy gun, a Smith & Wesson .38. When you ordered shells for it at the gun store it was like ordering a double bourbon at a bar. People gave you respect because you were old. He checked to be sure that it was loaded and then went downstairs and made a tour of the house, looking carefully to be sure that all the windows and doors were locked.
He slipped out the back door and stopped to listen to the neighborhood sounds. A faraway train, a barking dog, and a faint siren were all he heard. The moon was up and very bright. He walked around the yard in a leisurely way, trying to look like maybe he was checking his flowers, keeping his gun down by his pants leg. He didn’t want his neighbors to get excited. But nothing caught his eye except that the grass was wet with dew and glistened where moonbeams touched it.
He went back inside, checked the windows again, and climbed slowly up the stairs. He glimpsed Tania with a towel wrapped around her slipping from the bathroom to her bedroom. Sitting on his own bed he took off his shoes and loosened his belt. Without getting undressed he lay down on top of the covers and went to sleep.
He dreamed about tending bar at Mike’s and having a gunfight with a stocky drug dealer whose name he never knew. The man was in a crouch, guns blazing from both hands. Tubby was fighting to get his safety off.
* * *
What woke Tubby the next morning was the clink of dishes and the smell of bacon frying. For a second he imagined he was still married and that Mattie was fixing him breakfast. Then he remembered, she never fixed him breakfast.
He sat up and noticed that he had slept with his pistol beside him on the bedspread. Not too bright. It went back in its drawer. Tubby washed his face, changed clothes, and went downstairs.
Tania was wearing Debbie’s jeans and Collette’s LSU Tigers sweatshirt, and she was washing the dishes.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” she replied cheerily. “I fixed some coffee and some bacon. Would you like some eggs?”
“Sure,” he said, and sat down at the table. The clock on the stove glowed 6:32, and the sun was coming up outside. Tania brought him a cup of coffee and turned away to feed the toaster. She filled out the jeans a little too well, but he wouldn’t complain.
“Sunny side up,” he volunteered.
“Coming your way. Do you have to work this morning, Mr. Dubonnet?”
“Yes, after a while.”
She cracked the eggs into the frying pan. “What do you do?” she asked.
“I’m a lawyer.”
“Oh,” she said.
“How about you?” Tubby asked.
“I work in a bank, but today I believe I’ll call in sick.”
“Good idea,” Tubby said.
“What kind of law do you practice?”
“Civil, mainly. Some criminal. Whatever walks in the door. I like variety.”
“Maybe you could help me.”
“I’m already helping you,” Tubby pointed out. “I gave you a place to stay, and I advised you to call the police.”
“I need lawyer help.” She set a plate of toast, bacon, and two perfect eggs in front of Tubby.
“Thank you.” He smiled.
She smiled, too, but had a worried look in her eyes. She sat down and watched him eat for a minute.
“Do you believe in revenge?” she asked.
“Sure,” Tubby said. “Somebody beats me in court, even if they deserve to, I get upset. And I hope some other case comes along so I can beat them.”
“I mean real revenge, getting even.” She lowered her head.
“That’s a different business,” Tubby said. “When I was a kid I might let the air out of somebody’s tires, or something like that. In real life, though, if somebody messes me over, I don’t necessarily do anything. I might just take that anger inside myself and put a stop to it. I might not want to keep spreading it around.”
“I think sometimes you have to spread it around.” She lifted her head and her eyes met Tubby’s. Hers were very dark and deep like holes in the earth. The image disturbed him for some reason. “Sometimes if you keep the anger inside, you’ll burst wide open.”
“Hmmm.”
She didn’t continue.
“So, what did you do?” he asked her quietly.
“I’m not ready to tell you yet.”
“Then I’m not ready to be your lawyer yet.”
She took up his plate and carried it to the sink.
“Would it be okay if I stayed here today?”
“What do you do at the bank where you work?” Tubby asked.
“I manage a branch in Gentilly. Look, you don’t know
who I am, but I am extremely honest. You can’t imagine how funny I feel about asking you to let me stay here, but I can’t go home right now, and I’m afraid of involving my family in this any more…. And, well, I’m just asking.”
“I guess it would be okay,” Tubby said. “Just don’t do anything to bring any of those guys over here.”
“I won’t,” she said. “And thank you very much. Most people wouldn’t do this. And there’re very few white men who would do this. You are a very nice man.” She beamed at him and her eyes looked a little misty.
All Tubby could think about was how pretty her smile was and how her chest perked up the LSU Tiger. I ain’t that nice a guy, he thought.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Thirty-one,” she said, looking him over.
Definitely in the right range, Tubby thought.
CHAPTER 15
The ride up to Tulane University by streetcar took about half an hour. Tubby could just as easily have driven, but it was a very pretty morning. He had been standing on the corner when the car rolled to a noisy stop, and on impulse he had jumped aboard. There was a grand feel of luxury about the streetcar. Not only was it constructed of much better material, mahogany seats, stout leather straps, solid hunks of steel, than any form of public transportation put together in the past fifty years, and not only did you pass block after block of mansions oozing romance and old prosperity, but also the ride was slow as summer.
He was supposed to meet Twink Beekman for coffee at the Tulane student center to talk about whatever environmental lawsuit he might have in mind. Tubby had surrendered his place-to-meet argument without a fight. The streetcar ground to a halt in front of the campus, and he set off walking across the tree-lined quad.
It was familiar territory, his alma mater, but things kept changing. They had built a whole new law school, for example. It was about twice as big as the cramped old building where Tubby had learned his Palsgraf and Pennoyer, a shiny glass-and-brick monument to the endless profitability of training more and more attorneys. Inside the student center he was shocked to see that where once there was an Olympic-sized indoor swimming pool now there was the main campus bookstore. The basement underneath must have blue tiles on the walls and racing lanes painted on the floor.
