The Contract

by JM Gulvin

  ‘You want me to do that?’ Franklin said.

  Tobie shook his head. ‘No, Matthews is a black man. We don’t need that kind of attention.’ He thought for a moment then he said, ‘Go and see Soulja Blue. Have his crew pick up Matthews and take him back to the club. Tell them to hold him. Tell them to wait for me there.’

  ‘Why would that pimp do anything for us?’

  Tobie smiled. ‘There’s an unpaid debt on his books. Tell him we’ll pay what’s due.’

  *

  When Quarrie got back to his hotel the rain had stopped and he spotted the taxi parked outside the American Bank building. He lifted a hand and Franklin drove the block to the light then swung around to pull over.

  ‘So you decided to walk in the rain and you want a cab now that it’s stopped?’ He smiled as Quarrie got in. ‘Mister, that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.’

  ‘It does where I come from,’ Quarrie said.

  ‘So where is that, Oklahoma, Texas maybe?’

  ‘Texas.’ Quarrie felt in his pocket for the bottle. ‘There’s a pharmacist I need to go visit, North Rampart and St Ann.’

  They drove towards the railroad station where a Trailways bus was parked and porters were loading luggage onto handcarts.

  ‘Listen,’ Franklin said. ‘I know this city so if you want to go anyplace special I can almost certainly take you.’ A light in his eye, he glanced in the rear view mirror. ‘I’m talking about anything you might want to do when you’re not working, company, that kind of thing. I can bring you places and I’m not talking about The Storyville.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ Quarrie squinted at him. ‘Kind of young for this job, ain’t you?’

  ‘That’s what everybody says.’ Franklin lifted a hand. ‘The fact is I’m in college right now on a football scholarship. I only do this to make up the extra.’

  ‘Football scholarship, huh, so what are you – running back, wide receiver?’

  ‘No, sir, I’m the quarterback. It’s my job to set up the play.’

  A few minutes later they pulled up outside a small, glass-fronted pharmacy on North Rampart and St Ann. ‘Do you want me to wait for you?’ Franklin said.

  Handing him a couple of dollars Quarrie shook his head.

  From the sidewalk he watched as the cab pulled away then thumbed back his hat where his forehead was sweating at the band. He was between the French Quarter and the 7th Ward here with the buildings clustered tightly together and a haze in the air where St Ann Street led to the river. Matthews Pharmacy occupied the corner, the glass door set on the angle facing across the four lanes of North Rampart. A red Spanish-style window dominated the sidewalk and a wrought iron gate secured the doorway. Inside two black women with their names stitched into knee-length housecoats were serving. In another section stools pressed a counter with coffee, cookies and jars of hard-tack candy.

  Quarrie approached the woman at the cash register. ‘I’m looking for Mr Matthews,’ he said.

  ‘Are you here for a prescription?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking I guess. Is he back there?’ He nodded to the screen that shielded the dispensary.

  ‘Hold on,’ the woman said. ‘I’ll see if he’s available.’

  *

  Franklin drove North Rampart Street as far as the junction with Governor Nicholls then turned towards the river again. Cruising as far as Bourbon Street he parked. A drugstore occupied the corner and he went inside where a young woman was behind the counter. With a nod in her direction he crossed to a doorway hidden behind a metal ring curtain. The girl pressed a buzzer and Franklin waited. A couple of minutes later the door opened and a heavily built black man of about forty filled the gap. His head was shaved to a polished sheen, muscles worked the sleeves of his Nehru jacket and his eyes glinted with the light of steroids.

  ‘Soulja,’ Franklin said. ‘The old man’s got a job for you but first you need to make a phone call.’

  *

  Quarrie laid his hat on a stool at the coffee bar and a young black man appeared wearing a short, white housecoat. He looked at the hat then at Quarrie and smiled. ‘Sir, I guess you’re not from around here, are you?’

  ‘You figured, huh? There goes my incognito.’

  ‘Do what now?’

  ‘Never mind, pour me a cup of that coffee.’

  A couple of minutes later the pharmacist came through from the dispensary, middle-aged with tortoiseshell glasses and curling gray hair. He wore a similar coat to the one the young man was wearing only his did not carry a name tag. ‘Can I help you?’ he said.

  Quarrie looked up from his coffee. ‘Mr Matthews, yes, sir, I hope you can.’ Taking the empty bottle he’d recovered from the hotel room he placed it on the counter. ‘I’m reaching out here, I . . .’

  Matthews looked a little puzzled. ‘You’ll have to forgive me, but who are you?’

  ‘My name’s Quarrie. I’m a Texas Ranger.’ Taking his badge from his pocket Quarrie laid it down next to the bottle.

  A star in a wheel cut from a silver five-peso piece; Matthews took a moment to study it. ‘A little out of your jurisdiction aren’t you, all the way down here in New Orleans?’

  ‘I’m working a murder investigation and I need to talk to this patient.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’m sorry, but drugs are prescribed by a doctor and a doctor’s relationship with his patient is confidential. When a pharmacist dispenses those drugs on behalf of the doctor he becomes part of that confidence.’ Sliding onto a seat next to Quarrie, Matthews waved the boy away. Hands clasped, he looked at Quarrie. ‘I can’t talk to you,’ he said. ‘I can’t break a confidence.’

  Quarrie studied him with his eyes hooded. ‘How about I tell you the drugs were ground into powder, mixed with water and tipped down some poor guy’s throat? Thirty years old, Mr Matthews. He died in a hotel bedroom knowing he was going to.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’ The pharmacist shook his head. ‘But it really doesn’t make any difference.’

  ‘Sure it does. You dispensed the medication and it ended up being used in a murder.’

  ‘Sergeant, really, that is nothing to do with me.’

  ‘You don’t think so, huh?’ Quarrie cocked his head to one side. ‘If this was another pharmacist the patient’s address might well be on the label.’

  ‘But it’s not.’ Matthews’s tone had sharpened. ‘We don’t do that here. Now, I’m sorry but I’ve already explained my position so if you’ll excuse me I have to get back to work.’

  *

  Gigi was in the living room when she saw the Ford pull up outside. She was rooting around in her purse for keys as Earl got out and glanced both ways up and down the street.

  Gigi had the door open as he came up the steps. ‘What’re you doing here, Earl? You never called. I was on my way out. I . . .’

  ‘I need to talk to you. It won’t take a minute.’

  She gazed at him as if from a distance then ushered him into the living room. ‘When you told me not to call I thought that was us over with. What’s going on? For two months I can call that number then I can’t be calling anymore.’

  ‘The number’s been disconnected,’ Earl told her. ‘It’s for the best.’

  Gigi glanced at his wedding finger where there was no ring. ‘You know, in all this time you never told me your last name or what you did for a living. I know you’re married. It don’t matter that you don’t wear a ring. I smell your wife’s perfume on you every time we meet. Women notice that kind of thing.’

  ‘I’m not married,’ he said without conviction.

  ‘Then how come I can’t call?’ She studied him with her arms across her chest. ‘Look at you, like a rat got trapped in the corner. What’s up, Earl? What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing’s going on. I just came to tell you that you can’t call the number anymore.’

  ‘No you didn’t. You done told me that on the phone.’ She looked keenly at hi
m still. ‘This is all to do with the pills you took from my cabinet.’

  His eyes seemed to fix on hers then he gazed out to the street where the front door still stood open. He shut the door and took Gigi’s arm. At the window he scanned the houses on the other side of the road.

  Gigi worked her arm free of his hand. ‘What on earth did you want with meds I take for my thyroid?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Sure you do. You’re the only other person that’s been in the house.’

  He shook his head. ‘Look, never mind your meds. That’s not why I’m here. I came here to warn you, OK?’

  Gigi looked startled. ‘Warn me, what do you mean?’

  ‘Not warn you, tell you.’ Confusion in his eyes, Earl peered out the window again. ‘I’m just saying. I mean, there are people out there who know who you are and . . .’ Breaking off, he sat down in a chair as if he was carrying a weight that his legs just would not take. He stared at the coffee table. He stared at the floor. He worked his palms together then curled his hands into fists. ‘Gigi,’ he said. ‘I need you to listen to me. There’s a cop in town from out of state. Whatever you do, don’t talk to him.’

  Gigi watched him drive away and then she went out to her old station wagon. Making a U turn where the road crew was working, she headed across the ward towards the French Quarter. When she got there she turned onto Orleans Street and glimpsed the fine lines of the Cabildo. She drove a couple of blocks before pulling over outside the gates to her nana’s house. A little further down the road she could see a black Lincoln parked in a bay with a man in a business suit at the wheel who seemed to be checking his door mirrors. Fitting her key in the lock of the small gate Gigi went into the courtyard. Above her the balcony doors were open and she could see her nana sitting at the table talking to an old man with a shock of silver hair. Nana didn’t see her but the expression on her face seemed a little wary. Gigi did not go up; she stepped back out to the street. As she closed the gate she noticed a silver-handled walking cane against the leg of the old man’s chair.

  *

  Nana looked into Tobie’s eyes. A pair of china tea cups on the table, she watched him cut a slice of lemon and place it in her cup then take the knife to another. She watched him pour the tea and stir in a spoonful of sugar. ‘Like old times, Nana,’ he said.

  ‘Ain’t it just, nothing for twenty years and then you visit with me twice in a couple of days. That’s not like you, Rosslyn. In all the years I’ve been in this city I’ve never known anyone as calculating as you.’ She shook her head. ‘You don’t do spur-of-the-moment. It’s a fact you never did.’

  ‘Maybe I’m getting old,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’m more spontaneous than I was. They say old habits die hard but that’s not how it is with me.’

  Nana took a sip of tea.

  ‘How’s Gigi?’ he said. ‘Still singing, is she? Still playing with that band?’

  ‘Yes, she is.’ Again Nana looked wary. ‘That’s twice now you asked about her. Are you going to tell me what it is you want or am I going to have to set here trying to guess?’

  ‘Maybe I don’t want anything,’ the old man said. ‘Perhaps I just like to visit. I always loved this balcony, the view downtown to St Louis. It’s special, Nana; and I’ve not been here in a while. Do you remember the day I came over when all the political shenanigans were going on? The Capitol Building, I mean, that day back in ’35?’

  Nana looked at him with her face a little pinched. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I remember.’

  ‘We had us a wonderful time.’

  ‘Did we? I guess we might’ve done, but we ain’t doing that anymore. I don’t care what you said before, this is my place and it has been for a long time.’ Getting up from the seat she began to clear the dishes away.

  ‘Don’t you want your tea?’ Tobie said. ‘You always used to like lemon tea.’

  She clicked her tongue. ‘I’m busy, Rosslyn. I got a life to live and I need you to say what you came to say and then I need you to go.’

  ‘I told you.’ His eyes had a glaze to them then. ‘I like it here. I’ll leave when I’m ready.’

  *

  Late that afternoon Quarrie took a call from Yvonne at the front desk. Upstairs in his room, he was trying to work out his next move when she told him Lieutenant Colback was on the phone and wanted to see him at his office. Walking out onto Canal Street he spotted the cab parked out front of the American Bank building with the blond guy in the driver’s seat.

  In silence they drove the length of St Charles to where the Old Post Office dominated Lafayette Square. On the phone Colback had told Quarrie to look out for that building, which was empty and about to be remodelled. Situated at right angles was Old City Hall and the NOPD’s organized crime squad occupied the second floor of the building next door.

  ‘Do you want me to wait?’ Franklin said as he pulled up outside.

  ‘I’m good.’ Quarrie opened the door.

  He climbed to the second floor and came out in a spacious lobby with high ceilings that had been partitioned into various cubicles by panels of frosted glass. A young woman in a cotton print dress made copies at a Xerox machine and she directed him along the hall. He could see the lieutenant through the open office door talking to another man wearing a linen suit that looked as if it could do with the touch of a steam iron. Colback motioned for him to close the door and Quarrie considered the second man. He didn’t get up and he didn’t speak. Colback introduced him as Pershing Gervais, chief investigator with the district attorney’s office. Quarrie sat down and hooked an ankle over his knee. ‘So what can I do for you?’

  Sitting back in his chair Gervais looked him up and down. ‘Well, for starters you can stop disturbing the working folks down here.’

  Quarrie cocked one eyebrow.

  ‘I had a call from a pharmacist on North Rampart and St Ann. Black guy running a quiet little place for the Negroes, his name is Matthews and he told me you were in his store earlier today not listening to what you were told.’

  Quarrie looked briefly at Colback.

  ‘Ring any bells?’ Gervais’s tone was testy. ‘Apparently you went in there demanding to know about one of his patients. You unnerved him, Sergeant, so much so, he gave my office a call.’

  ‘The district attorney,’ Quarrie held his eye. ‘Why would he do that? If he wanted to make a complaint, why not call the precinct?’

  ‘Because that store used to be part of my beat when I was pounding the bricks and that’s why he picked up the phone.’

  ‘Part of your beat, uh?’ Quarrie nodded. ‘Looked out for it some, I hear you.’

  Gervais’s expression was suddenly cold. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘You’re from Texas. You have no jurisdiction and you’re only here at all because the lieutenant said he would vouch for you.’ He looked Quarrie hard in the eye. ‘We’re having a friendly chat right now, but you go around upsetting the natives you’ll find yourself back on a plane.’

  Eight

  At six o’clock Claude Matthews closed the door to his pharmacy. His staff had already gone for the day and he fixed the security gate in place before walking to where he’d parked his car.

  Circumnavigating the 700 block he turned back onto North Rampart Street and headed towards the 9th Ward. The radio playing, he was listening to a report from Vietnam where the newscaster seemed to be pointedly avoiding any mention of the day’s body count. Switching stations to something a little more light-hearted Matthews drove towards the Main Outfall Canal.

  A mile or two further he turned into the driveway of a two-story Creole house on Alabo Street and as he put on the parking brake a blue Malibu pulled up behind. For a moment the pharmacist sat with his hands on the wheel and the engine still running. Then he shut it off. Glancing at the empty windows of his house he got out of the car. Behind him a tall, muscular black man climbed from the passenger seat of the Malibu.

  ‘Mr Matthews,’ he said, opening his coat to reveal
the grips of a pistol. ‘I got someone wants to talk to you so come ahead and get in the car.’

  *

  Gigi was eating dinner with her nana in the apartment on Orleans Street, smoked brown trout and Cajun salad. They were at the table on the balcony.

  ‘Are you all right, Nana?’ Gigi said. ‘You seem a little under the weather.’

  Briefly Nana looked up at her then concentrated on the fish before taking a sip of wine.

  ‘I’m just fine, Cherie. Tout c’est bon.’

  ‘No it’s not.’ Laying down her fork Gigi sat back. ‘I know when tout c’est bon and when it’s not and right now I know it’s not. Are you getting sick?’

  ‘No, I’m not getting sick.’

  ‘So what is it then?’

  ‘Nothing, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  With another long look at her Gigi went back to her food. ‘So who was that this afternoon, that older gentleman with the walking cane?’

  Nana looked up sharply.

  ‘He was here when I came by to visit. I opened the gate but you were out here on the balcony so I left you alone. Who was that, Nana? I saw the way you were looking at him. Is it that man bothering you?’

  For a moment Nana peered at her then she placed her knife and fork on the plate and pushed it to one side. Working her jaws as if she had something stuck between her teeth, she sipped once more at her wine. ‘So you saw the way I looked at him. What is it you think you saw?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly, like he’d scared you or something maybe?’

  ‘Scared me?’ Nana snorted. ‘He didn’t scare me. If you saw us why didn’t you come up?’

  ‘I know how you are when you got company,’ Gigi said. ‘You don’t like to be disturbed. Nana, I’ve seen that man before. He was drunk on champagne at a party on Dauphine Street and he was walking around twirling that snake’s head cane.’ She seemed to think for a moment then. ‘Had to be ’63, me and the band were playing Clay Bertrand’s carriage house right around Christmas time.’