by Tony Dunbar
“Is that your girlfriend?”
“Not really. No. What makes you ask that?”
“Just the way you said it, I guess.”
“Well, her name is Faye. We’re in different worlds. She’s clean and upright and does good for people. I’m a sleazeball lawyer. She lives in the country, which I don’t. I live in the city, and she’s not interested. I don’t think it’s fated.”
“I’m sort of in the same fix. Me and Raisin are not exactly on the same wavelength.”
“He’s different from most people, not just you.”
“Tell me about him, please. He’s been your friend for a long time, right?”
“We go way back.”
“Vietnam bothers him a lot.”
“Really? He hasn’t mentioned it to me since I don’t know when.”
“You didn’t go to war, did you?”
Tubby studied the moon. “No. That’s another long story.”
“But you’re still friends?”
“Yeah. I forgave him for going and he forgave me for not going. It’s all history now.”
Sapphire snuggled under his arm.
“Some people are easy to be around,” she said. “Your friend is a challenge.”
“He’s having a complicated battle with his moral center,” Tubby opined.
They counted the stars. She sang a song.
“Like ivy clinging to the wall,
My love for you will never die.
Like stories that two lovers tell,
My tale and yours are a knot you tie.
I think of you each night
Till I fall asleep.
You keep me warm and hold me tight,
Even though I’m counting sheep.
Where are you, baby? Too far away.
My body’s aching for a lay.”
“Very pretty,” Tubby said softly.
“I just made it up,” she said.
They drifted in and out of sleep, picking up their conversation where they had last left it, then dozing off again.
Once she brought him awake by saying, “I think people are a lot like stars.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re so many of them, but each one has its own special shine,” she said dreamily. “You could never visit all of them, even if you were Mr. Spock. But some of them are still very special to you. Even when you can’t see them because of the clouds in the sky, they’re still special.”
Tubby started to slip away.
“And it’s funny. People spend so much of their lives like editing out or something all the really beautiful things just so they can accomplish their little-bitty tasks.”
Tubby went to sleep.
Morning began with the sounds of birds. Ducks flew overhead in great number, announcing a thin pink beam of light across the eastern horizon. Tubby sat up, stiff and wet. Sapphire was rolled into a ball, her head wrapped in her arms. The grass all around them was covered with dew, but when Tubby stood up to stretch, he felt strong and new.
“Is it daytime?” Sapphire asked from under her elbow.
“It will be soon. Here comes the sun.”
She sat up to rub her eyes and watch. She ran her tongue around inside her mouth.
“Look, I think that’s an eagle,” Tubby said, pointing to a dot in the brightening sky.
“I never saw one of those before, or those either.” A flock of brown pelicans floated in a lazy line over the marsh.
“A lovely spot indeed,” Tubby said. “Now let’s get out of here.”
They set off hiking, following animal trails through the grass.
“You know, Mr. Tubby,” she said as they walked through the woods, “I think we’re going to be friends for a long time.”
After an hour they popped up at Fort Pike. The sign said LOUISIANA STATE PARK, HOURS 9 TO 9, NO UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY, but they walked through the parking lot, anyway. There was a pay phone by the ticket booth and, lo and behold, it gave them a dial tone.
Tubby called Cherrylynn first, and got her answering machine. He explained where he was and that he needed a ride, and that he was going to try to track down Raisin next.
“Call my apartment,” Sapphire suggested. He did, and Raisin picked up the phone.
“Serena residence.” The voice was groggy.
“Help,” Tubby said. He told Raisin where to find them.
Another hour passed, during which Tubby and Sapphire enjoyed the Sunday morning watching cars and trucks rush up and down the highway.
Sapphire talked about the work she did and her dreams of being a country music star.
“Music may be your ticket out of here,” he said, intending encouragement.
“Maybe. I’ve always lived in New Orleans though. I might not know how to act anyplace else.”
“I imagine you’d learn.”
“I’m not sure I’d want to. I can just be me here, and people have to learn to live with me.”
Then they were rescued. Raisin was driving his old Mazda, and Cherrylynn was the passenger. They had brought a thermos of coffee and a bag of McKenzie’s doughnuts.
Soon after they were all packed in and headed back to New Orleans they passed the turnoff to Lucky LaFrene’s camp. Flowers’s car was gone. So was Tubby’s.
Raisin did not talk much along the way. Sapphire hummed, and Cherrylynn napped.
***
Back in New Orleans, their first stop was Tubby’s house. Raisin declined the invitation to come in, and Tubby was too worn out to press the point. Sapphire looked cross, but said she would go home with Raisin. They drove away, and Cherrylynn went with him inside.
“Would you mind checking my messages?” he asked her. “I’ve got to get in the shower.”
He was standing in the spray and soaking up stream when Cherrylynn shouted outside the bathroom door, “The only message was from Flowers. He said he woke up with cops all around him but he managed to slip away. He’s got his car but left yours. He says he has some news you should hear.”
Restored and wearing clean clothes, Tubby watched her make coffee while he called Flowers back. He left a message, and soon his phone rang.
“You’re alive,” Flowers said.
“And so are you.”
“With a lump on my head, yes.”
Tubby told him about spending the night in the marsh and repeated Lucky LaFrene’s story about the death of Max Finn.
“Maybe I should go talk to my friend the coroner’s assistant and see if that account is consistent with the way Finn died.”
“Don’t drop the name Dementhe.”
“Hell, no.”
“Because the man is dangerous.”
“Sure. Maybe I should ask him if any unidentified women have shown up because I still can’t find Sultana Patel.”
“Yeah. And another thing you can ask him.”
“What?”
“You told me that the coroner reported finding five thousand-dollar chips in Finn’s gut.”
“Uh-huh.”
“According to LaFrene, there should have been fifteen.”
***
That afternoon, while Tubby was polishing off a dunning letter to Mandy Fernandez, and thinking about Ezra Brooks over ice, the phone rang. It was Flowers.
“Sultana Patel is dead,” he said.
“Oh, no.”
“There’s something you should see. Can you meet me up on Burdette Street?”
“Sure.”
Flowers told him the address. “Wear old clothes,” he suggested. Tubby looked helplessly around the office and decided he was stuck with the pressed suit he had on.
Flowers was waiting for him behind the tinted windows of his Explorer. Tubby got into the passenger seat and closed the door.
“You see that house over there,” Flowers asked. “Well, there’s a man living underneath it. I found him this afternoon. He may be a witness to Sultana’s murder.”
Flowers explained how the coroner had shown him an unidentifi
ed corpse and how Flowers had given the corpse a name. The detective had then come to this spot, where the body had been discovered, to cover the ground the police had missed.
“She was found right there beside the telephone pole,” he told Tubby. “She was there a couple of days and nobody said anything.”
Flowers had knocked on doors but gotten nowhere until he caught Mr. Armstrong rocking on his porch.
“The only thing the old man would say was ‘It’s a mighty hard world,’ but he kept tipping his head toward the house next door, like there was something funny about the place. ‘It ain’t none of my business, but you might look around underneath that house,’ he told me. So I did.”
***
Crawling on hands and knees behind Flowers, Tubby cursed silently. He was trying to keep from getting cut on the rocks and glass and little bones when he encountered Purvis, hiding behind a tilted brick pier staring at the two intruders in terror.
“That ain’t much of a witness,” Tubby said to Flowers, brushing off his clothes. He rarely used that word. He couldn’t get the stench of the crawl space out of his nose.
“He gave us a man and the color of the man’s car. Maybe he could identify the man if he saw him again.”
“Right. Imagine how he’d look in court.”
“You think we should call the city, or get him a doctor or something?”
“What the fuck do I know,” Tubby said, disgusted. “Let’s just get out of here.”
Through her screen door, Mrs. Chin watched the two strange men get in their van and drive away. She wondered what they were doing in this neighborhood.
***
At the Upperline, the reflection of candles flickering in the windows and the quantity of booze in the drinks put everything in a relaxing glow. Sapphire, Raisin, Cherrylynn, and Flowers were all Tubby’s dinner guests. He was thanking everybody for their help. The first course was drinks, which everybody was enjoying except the host, who was sticking to ginger ale. The appetizers pleased him more, fried green tomatoes with shrimp remoulade and spicy shrimp with jalapeno cornbread.
And by the time plates of roast duck, garlic-crusted Gulf fish, and veal grillades with mushrooms, peppers, and cheddar grits had been passed around, the turmoil of the last few days was far from anybody’s mind.
Those so inclined were embarking upon dessert when the door swung open, and a barrel-chested man entered. He came to their table.
“Good evening, Mr. Dubonnet,” he said.
“Good evening, Officer Kronke,” Tubby relied. “Would you join us for coffee?” He hoped the answer was no.
“I’m afraid not. I’ve got your car in the pound, Dubonnet. It was picked up on Highway Ninety, at a crime scene. Now I’ve got orders to pick you up for questioning.”
Before Tubby could protest, Sapphire piped up with, “Mr. Dubonnet had nothing to do with any crime. I was with him the whole time. You cops are the ones who ought to be questioned.”
So Kronke picked her up too. Tubby did not want to create a riot at one of his favorite restaurants, especially with two uniformed policemen glowering though the window at him. He barely had time to toss Cherrylynn his American Express card on his way out the door.
***
“You have an arrest warrant for me?” Tubby asked when they got outside.
“It’s like this,” Kronke said earnestly. “I’ve got a subpoena requiring you to testify before a grand jury this afternoon. Which is now past tense. You didn’t show up. So I can arrest you now.”
“What subpoena? I never was served with any subpoena.”
“I’m serving you now. Get the picture? You want to come with me in my car or go with them to get booked?” He pointed his chin at the two cops leaning against their patrol car.
Sapphire held Tubby’s hand in the backseat of Detective Kronke’s maroon sedan.
“This is like a police state,” she complained. “I’ve seen this kind of stuff in the movies.”
“There, there,” Tubby consoled her. “Think of all the damages you’ll collect for wrongful arrest.”
“There’s no arrest involved,” Kronke said from the front seat. “You’re coming with me voluntarily.”
“Nobody’s going to believe I left dessert sitting on the table at a first-class restaurant to go to the police station voluntarily.”
“We’re not going to the station.”
“Where are you taking us?” Sapphire demanded, before Tubby could.
Kronke didn’t answer. He cruised up Napoleon Avenue to Broad and over the interstate, but he passed the turnoff to the jail. Their destination was a white concrete building a few blocks away.
“Here we are,” he said pulling up to the curb marked LAW ENFORCEMENT VEHICLES ONLY. “You’re so important, you rate a personal audience with Marcus Dementhe himself.”
He held open the back door, and Sapphire got out, followed by Tubby.
“We don’t have to talk to anybody, do we, Tubby?” she asked angrily. They were crossing the lawn. Animals scurried under the bushes.
“No, I suppose we could leave,” he said, glancing up and down the dark, empty street, “but let’s hear what the man has to say.”
“See, I told you it was voluntary,” Kronke chuckled, leading the way up the steps. He had a plastic card that made the doors open. They took an elevator to the top floor. The lights were on in the lobby, when the doors opened, and at the end of the hall the district attorney’s door was open.
Marcus Dementhe was posed behind his desk, reading a stack of papers in blue binders by the light of a green lamp. Tubby waited at the door until he looked up.
“Come in, Mr. Dubonnet, and who is this with you?”
“I brought her along,” Kronke said, “because she said she was with Dubonnet last night.”
“Very well.” The voice was cream. “And what is your name.”
“Her name is Sapphire,” Tubby said, “and what’s the point of bringing us down here?”
“You are on the verge of being charged with several felonies, Counselor, including aiding and abetting an escaping murderer, and I am doing you the courtesy of questioning you first.”
“Who escaped? What murderer?” Tubby fumed.
“Why don’t you wait outside, Detective?” Dementhe instructed Kronke. “I’ll call you if I need you.”
Kronke departed and closed the door behind him.
“The accused murderer, won’t you sit down, is a gentleman named Lucky LaFrene. The victim was a man named Max Finn. We believe Mr. LaFrene may also have killed your so-called client, Norella Finn, and faked her suicide, or else he may have run away with her. I don’t know which.”
“LaFrene escaped?”
“Yes, in a boat. He eluded officers detailed by my department. In the process two police department watercraft were destroyed. Luckily, no one was seriously hurt. Can you please explain for me why your car was parked on the highway near Mr. LaFrene’s fishing camp?”
“Hey, I know you,” Sapphire interrupted.
The district attorney frowned at her.
“What’s that button you’ve got on your coat?”
“It stands for Fully Reliant on God,” Dementhe informed her.
“Yeah, I know you, Mr. Frog. You’re the guy who raped me. It’s you, all right,” she said, leaning over his desk to put her face close to his. “You were a big buddy of Max Finn’s back then. You could just hop right into bed with him and hump his girlfriend.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dementhe said sternly.
“Sure. Let’s hear you say ‘Sweet Mary’ a couple of times. I know your voice.” She turned to Tubby triumphantly. “It’s him, the guy who got into bed with me and Harrell or Finn or whatever his name was and made me have sex.”
“This is preposterous!” Dementhe stood up and wagged his finger at Sapphire.
“Why you holier-than-thou sonofabitch!” Tubby got between them. “You ought to be in jail yourself.”
“Get out of here,” Dementhe yelled.
“I’m going to sue you personally,” Tubby yelled back. “Aiding and abetting something. I’ve got you now. You and Max Finn worked together, huh? What did you do, tell him to hire one of his girls to set up Judge Hughes, and then kill Finn to make him shut up about it? And did you kill Sultana, too, so she wouldn’t talk.”
“I’ve never killed anybody, you idiot! She killed herself!”
“Oh, so it was you who dumped her body. Maybe it was a murder and maybe it wasn’t, but by God it’s your fault either way, and I’m enough of a Louisiana lawyer to know that if you cause any harm by your fault, you pay!”
“Out! Out!” Dementhe ranted.
“You’re going to pay lots,” Sapphire promised.
“Detective Kronke! Get these people out of here!”
Tubby offered his arm to Sapphire, and together they made their exit.
Kronke rode with them down the elevator.
“What did you do to make the old man blow his cork?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you over dessert, Detective. If you can get me back to the restaurant quickly, my party may still be there. I think I have some information that will make your investigation much more productive.”
***
Tubby’s theories left Detective Kronke more than a little confused.
“You tell me Marcus Dementhe is ‘responsible’ for the death of Max Finn, but the coroner admits he doesn’t know how the hell you force gambling chips down a man’s throat. You say the DA is ‘responsible’ for the death of Sultana Patel, which the coroner has not even classified yet. You say my suicide of Norella Finn is not a suicide at all, but a woman terrorized into leaving the country by Marcus Dementhe. Is there any other crime you say the DA has committed?”
“He raped me,” Sapphire said.
“Which you say happened when you were naked in bed with Max Finn having consensual sex, and you know it was Marcus Dementhe because he has a button that says FROG on it—”
“That’s the story,” Tubby cut in. “Do what you want to with it. If the man does not have criminal liability, I bet I can still prove his civil liability for the damage he has caused to all of these victims.”
“What you’ve got here is a murder case without a murder in it. This is not my department,” Kronke said, and left, his coffee cup empty.
