by JM Gulvin
‘Did I? What about it?’
‘Your name, Lieutenant: it’s familiar. Korea I’m thinking, 1951, hill 500, I was fighting with 4th Company and we had us a trigger sumbitch who was far too sharp with a long barrel. The way I remember it a sergeant out of 2nd Company called down asking for a sniper. The guy they flew in, I’m sure his name was Colback. Does that mean anything to you?’
‘Could’ve been me,’ Colback said. ‘I was over there for a spell and I was a rifleman, yes. Shot a lot of gooks in my time though, and given it was at six hundred yards mostly, I don’t remember them all.’
‘Well, sir, you might remember this. 2nd Company was an all black unit and that sergeant’s name was Noon.’
He heard Colback take a breath. ‘Yeah, I remember all right. They court-martialled him for cowardice.’
‘Only he wasn’t a coward, was he?’
‘Not according to you. I remember you now, Quarrie: you’re the one wrote the president about him. The letter was in the newspapers and all kinds of hell cut loose; cost you a career in the army.’
‘If I’d wanted one, yes it did.’
‘But it worked though, that newspaper article.’
‘New York Times,’ Quarrie said. ‘Reporter name of Moretti who used to hang around the hospital in Osaka hitting on all the nurses. I was in there on account of being gut shot and it was Noon who brought me off that hill.’
‘And they printed your letter and he got off because of it.’
‘He didn’t get off exactly,’ Quarrie said. ‘The death sentence was commuted to life in prison but in the end he only served five years.’
‘Right, right: I remember now and all because we never declared war in Korea.’ Colback clicked his tongue. ‘So then, now we’ve swapped a couple of war stories what is it you want?’
Six
Tobie ate lunch at his usual table in Broussards. The walls half mirror and half veined marble, he looked up as Franklin opened the door. He didn’t come straight to the table. He waited a moment as the waiter brought Tobie a Martini.
‘What is it?’ Tobie said as Franklin sat down. ‘I like peace and quiet while I eat my lunch and I like to eat alone.’
Franklin stared at him with his lips hollowed into an oval.
Breaking pieces of bread Tobie stirred them into his soup. ‘One of these days you might be in a position to look at me like that,’ he said, ‘but that time is not now. In case any of what’s happened over the last couple of weeks has escaped your notice the 28th is just a few days’ time.’
Franklin didn’t say anything.
‘Let’s assess where we are for a moment.’ Tobie’s voice had dropped to a whisper. ‘In your wisdom you chose to use the man we’d selected for the 28th to take on another job and one too delicate for him. Instead of working alone he decided to recruit some kid we knew nothing about and between them they shot up a state trooper’s cruiser. Right now that kid is sitting in jail having been interrogated by a Texas Ranger.’ His gaze grew a little bitter. ‘Our man is dead and before he was killed he was careless enough to toss an empty bottle in the trash. The label on that bottle not only identifies the pharmacist as being from New Orleans, it gives up the patient’s name.’
‘Let me deal with the Ranger,’ Franklin said. ‘As you keep reminding me, it’s my mistake. I should be the one to take care of it.’
Tobie laughed out loud. ‘Franklin,’ he said, ‘have you any idea how ridiculous you sound when you suggest something like that?’
‘I can take care of him,’ Franklin hissed. ‘So he’s a cop, so what?’
As if he’d lost his appetite suddenly the old man pushed his bowl away. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? There’s a witness in the jailhouse. You can’t kill anybody, not unless you want every Ranger in Texas down here sniffing around.’
‘That kid doesn’t know anything. Wiley just needed the heads up on a gun store so he could get hold of the M1C.’
‘Right.’ Tobie’s tone was derisory. ‘The heads up. That’s all he needed then he decided to take him to Wichita Falls, have him hold a gun on Williams while he made him drink a cocktail of prescription drugs.’
‘Henderson didn’t see anything. He doesn’t know anything. Wiley couldn’t have told him anything because Wiley didn’t know anything. Jesus, how stupid do you think I am?’
The old man did not answer.
‘Look,’ Franklin said. ‘The photograph was hidden in the trouser press. Wiley burned it. There’s nothing that kid can tell the Ranger. I can deal with him and I will.’
For a short moment Tobie toyed with his napkin. ‘No, you can’t and you won’t. You will leave whatever comes of this to me. Kill a Texas Ranger with a witness in jail and you’ll bring the rest of them down here and they won’t give a shit about jurisdiction. Do your homework, Franklin. They’re more like soldiers than cops. The way they are, what they’ve become, they’ve been shaped by the enemies they’ve fought.’ He gestured with the flat of his hand. ‘I’m talking about Comanche and Kiowa, not to mention the comanchero bandits from Mexico and every mother’s son ever since. Think about who those Rangers have been. John “Coffee” Hays, Ben McCulloch, Frank Atlee, not to mention Frank Hamer and Lone Wolf Manuel T.’ He paused to dab flecks of spittle from his lips. ‘Why do you think there’s never been any mafia activity in Texas? Because the Rangers won’t allow it, that’s why. They believe in prevention not cure and as soon as any wise guy shows up in Houston or Dallas they’re loaded onto a plane.’ He drew his soup bowl towards him again. ‘The Mexicans used to call them Tejanos Diablos. They never forget and they never quit. They might be the state police force now but that’s not how they began and the history of where they’ve come from is ingrained in every one. Hamer was Quarrie’s godfather, the guy they brought out of retirement because nobody else could track down Bonnie and Clyde.’ Pausing for a moment he said, ‘Does the “Sherman Riot” mean anything to you?’
Franklin looked blank.
‘1930: George Hughes, a field hand who raped his boss’s wife. A white woman, Franklin: when the people of Sherman tried to lynch the sonofabitch they were repelled by Captain Hamer. Shotgun and tear gas. He was there to make sure Hughes was tried in a court of law. Think about that for a moment, one Ranger protecting the life of a rapist against a rioting mob and that rapist was a nigger. We’re talking the time when the Klan was at the height of its power. Black lives were worth less than they are even now and no county sheriff could give a damn. Most were either Klan members themselves, or agreed with the lynchings anyway. Black prisoners didn’t make it to trial. They were burned and hanged from a tree. That’s why they brought in Rangers. To them the law is the law and a man is entitled to its protection no matter his color or creed. If that’s how they deal with a nigger, how will they react when it’s one of their own?’
Franklin was smarting. ‘All right, you’ve made your point. So what do you want me to do?’
Tobie signalled for the waiter to bring him another drink. ‘When does he arrive?’
‘He’s flying in tomorrow I think.’
‘Moisant Field or the Lakefront?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, find out. When he gets in make sure you’re there to meet him. That’s what I want you to do.’
‘What do you mean?’ Franklin furrowed his brow.
Wearily the old man sighed. ‘You drive a taxi, remember? It enables you to go anywhere in the city without drawing undue attention. Who’s he meeting with – Colback?’
Franklin nodded.
‘All right then.’ Tobie emptied his glass. ‘Your job is to keep tabs on him right from the get-go. Now,’ he said, ‘I want to enjoy the rest of my lunch so go ahead and leave me in peace.’
*
James sat on the chair in his father’s bedroom as Quarrie laid out clean clothes. He selected a canvas Carhartt jacket with ribbing at the waist, and a couple of press-stud shirts. James watched him place them on the bed and then he
packed them into his bag.
‘Bud,’ Quarrie said, ‘Eunice and Mama will look out for you while I’m away and when I get home we’ll see if we can’t sideline that colt Nolo picked out and try to get a saddle on him.’
His son looked a little happier. ‘Where’re you going though, Dad?’
‘I told you already, New Orleans.’
‘And I can’t come?’
‘Not this time. It’s business but we’ll go another time, I promise. They’ve got one heck of a zoo down there and—’
‘Audubon,’ James interrupted.
‘That’s right, Audubon Zoo. Where’d you hear about that?’
‘In school I guess, I don’t remember.’
Quarrie ruffled the young boy’s hair. ‘And how is school? How’s Miss Munro?’
‘She’s all right; yesterday she was teaching us something called ana . . . ana . . .’
‘Anagrams,’ Quarrie finished. ‘Is that what-all she said?’
‘Yes, sir.’ James nodded. ‘I think so. Making words out of letters mixed up from other words. She told me I was doing OK.’
Strapping on his twin-rig shoulder holsters Quarrie led the way out to the yard where Pious was sitting in a Jeep waiting to drive him up to the plane.
‘You hang tough while I’m away,’ he said as James loitered at the kitchen door. ‘Spend some time leaving different footprints in that sandbox and make drawings of what you see. We’ll talk about how to read them just as soon as I get back.’
Fifteen minutes later Pious had the nose up and they were making a sweep over shallow mesquite hills that surrounded the Feeley property. As they banked shafts of sunlight caught on a string of pump-jacks that cut through a low-walled canyon.
‘Place has changed some since Pick passed,’ Quarrie commented.
‘Sure has,’ Pious’s voice crackled through his headphones. ‘So this cop you’re hooking up with, it’s the same guy we had deal with the Chinaman that time back in Korea?’
‘Hill 500, yes it is. Name’s Colback, do you remember him?’
‘Not really, alls I recall is asking the CP for a shooter that day because we were getting pretty beat up and couldn’t get a bead on who-all it was doing the killing. Probably I wrote it up in my diary like I used to but I kind of had my hands full after.’ He stared into clouds where they massed straight ahead. ‘Last time I landed at the Lakefront was when I flew Mrs Feeley in for Mardi Gras. She sure likes to party now, doesn’t she?’
‘That she does,’ Quarrie said, ‘at least since Pick passed anyway.’
Late that afternoon they flew over the causeway that spanned Lake Pontchartrain and a few minutes after that they were on the ground.
Quarrie reached for his bag. ‘Pious,’ he said, ‘why don’t you tie this rig down and stick around for a night or two?’
‘No can do I’m afraid. Much as I’d like to set on a stool someplace and listen to the blues with you, Mrs Feeley wants to go to Houston tomorrow and she wants to go in her airplane.’
*
Franklin sat at the wheel of his taxi with the ‘For Hire’ sign switched on and the vehicle at the head of the line. He saw the small plane sweep in from the lake and opened the glove box to inspect his short-barrelled Beretta. Checking the magazine he put it away again and ten minutes later he saw the terminal doors open and Quarrie step onto the sidewalk wearing tan-colored pants and a pale gray cowboy hat.
*
Damp air seemed to cling as Quarrie signalled the ’65 Impala. The humidity felt far more acute than it had in Texas and his shirt was sticking to his back. Tossing his bag ahead of him he climbed in.
‘Just arrived?’ Franklin looked over the seat.
Quarrie nodded.
‘First time in New Orleans?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘So where is it you want me to take you?’
Quarrie regarded the young man with cropped blond hair. ‘Hotel I guess, I got a meeting in the morning near the International Trade Mart building.’
‘That’s on Camp and Common,’ Franklin said. ‘There aren’t too many hotels over that way but I can take you to a place on Canal Street.’
They drove across town in silence and when they got to Canal Street Franklin pulled into a bay in front of the American Bank. Rolling down the window he pointed across four lanes of heavy traffic to a courtyard next door to a sign advertising the Central Savings & Loan.
‘Hotel Magnolia,’ he said. ‘It’s not the best in the world, but it’s pretty central and it’s not the most expensive around here either. Handy for where you want to go in the morning.’ Reaching into a pocket he took out a business card and passed it to Quarrie. ‘You need to think about whose cab it is you’re getting in. There’re plenty of folk driving taxis in this city who aren’t quite what they seem. I run this outfit myself, so if you want a ride you can trust, all you got to do is call.’
‘How far is it to walk?’ Quarrie asked him.
‘To the Trade Mart? Not far I guess, about a half dozen blocks.’
Grabbing his bag Quarrie crossed the street at the light and passed under the arch into a small courtyard where the doors to the hotel lobby stood open. Inside he found a desk shaped like a horseshoe with a wooden stool behind and a dozen hooks bearing room keys fixed on the wall. Above the hooks were various old photos of black musicians and he could hear jazz music lifting from somewhere in the back. There was no sign of anybody serving so he pressed the bell on the counter. A moment later a middle-aged black woman came through and smiled at him. She told him her name was Yvonne and showed him up the stairs to a cast iron walkway. ‘Looks like it’s fixing to get wet,’ she said, nodding to the reef of low-slung clouds, ‘got us some rain blowing in.’
‘That’s just fine with me, mam. Where I come from we ain’t seen a drop since fall.’
The room was pretty spartan, a window in the front with a pair of thin drapes that hung limply on either side. A double bed seemed to hunch against one wall where the paper was beginning to peel. Other than that the only furnishings were a small table and a high-backed chair. In the back was a bathroom with no shower, just a claw-foot, free standing tub. On the wall to the side of the bed there was a wooden closet where the doors did not shut quite properly. Unhooking his pistols, Quarrie folded the leather shoulder holster and placed it in the closet with his guns in the nightstand drawer.
In the morning he woke early and shaved to the sound of the rain Yvonne had promised rattling the roof above his head. Sweeping in from the gulf the wind brought a chill with it and he put on his hat and coat. Yvonne was at the desk downstairs with a pot of coffee going on a single-ring stove. Pouring a cup for Quarrie she said that if he wanted breakfast the best place was the A&G. Quarrie considered the photographs on the wall above the hooks where the keys to the rooms were hanging. Jelly Roll Morton and Barney Bigard; there was one signed by Lizzie Miles.
‘All of them from the 7th Ward,’ Yvonne informed him with pride. ‘Back of town we call it. That’s where I’m from myself.’
Quarrie decided to walk to his meeting with Lieutenant Colback, it wasn’t far and after so long with nothing but dust in the throat he enjoyed the fall of the rain. Walking a block on Magazine he came to Common Street and spotted the pink painted building Colback had told him about on the phone. The lot next door was being run as a parking garage by two young guys from a wooden kiosk and alongside that was the Trade Mart Café.
When he went in he spotted a man of about fifty with razored hair seated at a window table. He wore a business suit and a fedora lay upturned at his elbow. Quarrie did not recognize him. He had seen him only once and that was just briefly after Pious called the command post sixteen years before. Shaking the rain from his shoulders he took off his hat and crossed to the table. ‘Lieutenant Colback?’ he said.
‘You got to be the Ranger.’ Colback took a moment to look him up and down. ‘I don’t get over to Texas so much. How many of you guys are there?’
&nb
sp; ‘Not a whole lot, we got a lot of country to cover.’
‘Only that country doesn’t stretch to Louisiana.’ He motioned for Quarrie to sit down. ‘So, on the phone you said you got a murder made to look like natural causes?’
‘That’s right.’
‘A bottle of prescription meds that brings you all the way down to New Orleans. Well.’ Colback looked him hard in the eye. ‘Your jurisdiction ended in Texas. You want to talk to anyone in this town you’re going to have to do it through me.’
Seven
On the other side of the road Franklin sat behind the wheel of his taxi. Tobie was in the back, he watched as Quarrie emerged from the café.
‘So that’s him?’ the old man said.
‘That’s him.’
For a moment Tobie stared. ‘All right, I want you to go and wait outside his hotel.’
Resting his arm on the back of the seat Franklin looked round.
‘Take him wherever he wants to go.’ Still watching, Tobie chewed his lip. ‘You’ve spoken to Earl Moore, told him what I said?’
Franklin nodded.
‘He’s the only one I’m concerned about. Right now the client still has need of him and we did a lot of work back in February. For the time being at least he has to remain alive.’ Still staring the length of the street he watched till Quarrie disappeared at the corner. ‘Tell him to talk to the girl. Tell him to make sure she stays away from anyone who wants to speak to her.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’ Again Franklin looked back at him.
‘Then believe me, she’ll wish she had.’
‘What about Williams? His real ID, I mean. We could talk to the supplier; ask him to make a call?’
Tobie shook his head. ‘We use the supplier for one purpose and one only. If that Ranger’s asking questions there’s a way we can find out what we want to know without anyone being aware.’
Franklin looked puzzled.
‘Franklin, just do what I tell you. Quarrie’s first port of call will be the pharmacist on St Ann Street. I doubt Matthews will tell him anything, but we’ll deal with him just in case.’
