The Levee: A Novel of Baton Rouge

by Malcolm Shuman

  A car was entering the boulevard from a side street and she lurched toward the neutral ground.

  “He paid no more attention to that stop sign … Well, no matter.”

  “I could walk the rest of the way,” I said but she ignored me.

  “The way people drive in this city, there ought to be a law.” Her head swung in my direction: “How is Stanley? What did his mother say about what happened the other night?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Surely you talked to him.”

  “He didn’t come to school today.”

  “Oh.” For a moment she seemed genuinely surprised. “Did you call?”

  “Nobody answered.”

  “Now isn’t that odd? Of course, his father’s never there, that’s understood. Doctors are never home, especially his kind. And maybe that’s the reason …”

  I waited, but she pursed her lips, as if determined no other word would sneak out.

  We came to my house and I saw the car in the driveway, indicating my father was back from the university. A curtain moved in the front window and I knew he was watching. A few seconds later, before I could close the car door, he was striding down the sidewalk, tie flapping loose, and there was something in his face I couldn’t read.

  He leaned down before I could shut the door and looked in.

  “How are you this evening, Blanche?”

  I heard her answer, but before I could hear anything else he turned to me.

  “You can go inside now, Colin. You can take out the plates and glasses for supper.”

  I went in, but once the front door was closed, it was my turn to peek through the front window. He was still hunched over, talking with her, and I wondered what they were saying. Nothing very secret, if Blaize was in the back seat.

  Five minutes later I heard the car door shut and he came back in, his face serious. While I set the table and heated the dish that our maid, Delia, had prepared, he seemed preoccupied. Finally, after supper, he called me into the living room and packed his pipe.

  “Colin, I understand that while you were camping on the levee Saturday night Toby left you and Stanley and disappeared.”

  I gulped. “Yes, sir.”

  “Is there some reason you didn’t tell me this?”

  I shrugged. “I guess it didn’t seem important.”

  “No? Murders don’t happen down there on the levee every day. If I’d known Toby was going to abandon you and Stanley I’d never have let you go with him.”

  I waited, breathing in the sweet smoke from his briar.

  “So what happened, son? Did you boys have a disagreement?”

  “Nothing important.”

  “Son, when somebody gets killed, everything’s important.”

  “It’s just Toby wanted to go into town and we wanted to stay and camp.”

  My father nodded, sucking on the pipe. “I should have known. What did he want to do, go get some beer? Pick up some girls?”

  “Something like that,” I mumbled.

  He nodded. “I’m not surprised. And it’s not that abnormal. There’ll come a time …” His voice trailed off. “But not quite yet. I think it would be better if you stayed away from Toby. The boy has problems. I don’t say they’re of his own making. Still …” His head gave a little shake. “Blanche St. Martin has a way of finding out everything, and once she finds something out, everybody knows. That’s why I wanted to talk to her, to head off any talk.”

  “Dad, she said something about Stan’s dad, how he was never there, something about his kind never was, and …”

  My father tapped his pipe on the crystal ashtray. “Well, he’s in obstetrics and gynecology. Women pick the strangest times to have babies. You, for example: I took your mother to the hospital at two in the morning and you came at four.”

  “That was Stan’s dad?”

  “No, but I hear he’s a fine doctor. Very popular. I’m sure it puts a strain on Stan, having his father gone so much, but that’s a doctor’s life. Did Blanche … Mrs. St. Martin … say anything else?”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, nothing in particular. But look, son, if she does … Don’t take it too seriously. She’s had a hard time, trying to rear poor Blaize on her own, and, well, it probably gives her a certain view of the world …”

  “You’re raising me on your own. You don’t have any special view.”

  “How do you know?” He chuckled. “Now go get on with your lessons. I have to go back out to school. We’re having a special faculty meeting. I may be back late, nine or so. I want to find you ready for bed.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, but I knew it was a chance I couldn’t let pass.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As soon as I heard the car leave the driveway I called Stan’s number. This time his mother answered.

  “Stan can’t come,” she snapped. “He doesn’t have time to talk, goodbye.” The phone went dead and I stared at it, nonplussed. I’d never heard her sound like that before. Had Stan done something that had caused him to be punished? Leaving the canoe down at the levee? Was that why he hadn’t come to school today? But the deputy had said it was all right to leave the boat. What the hell was going on?

  I figured there was only one way to find out.

  My father had said he wouldn’t be back until late, and it wasn’t quite seven now, so that gave me a couple of hours. Stan’s house was in College Town, three miles away on the other side of the campus. I could walk there in an hour, less if I caught a ride.

  Five minutes after I stuck out my thumb I got a lift from a college boy on his way to pick up his date at Evangeline Hall. Things like that happened back then. He took me an extra couple of blocks to the South Gates and I walked the three blocks to Stan’s place, the two-story Spanish home with a pool and garconiere, behind it, where Stan lived. He was the youngest of three brothers and when the first two had left for college, he’d moved in and now stayed there by himself, twenty yards behind the main house, a situation all of us envied.

  As I walked down his drive, I saw both cars were present, and lights were on in the main house, as well as in Stan’s little cabin. Something came romping out of the darkness and I steeled myself as Stan’s black lab, India, jumped me, trying to wash my face with her tongue.

  I pushed her away, giving her head a pat, and I continued toward the backyard. The canoe, I noticed, was in its usual place, on two sawhorses, beside the little dwelling. I walked around it to the front of the cabin. The door was closed and I heard the radio blasting “Sea of Love.”

  I started to knock, then changed my mind and pressed my face against the window.

  Stan lay face down on the bed, not moving. I thought at first he might be sick but he was fully dressed, and his books were on the floor, as if he’d been studying. But there was something about his posture that seemed unnatural. I moved to the door and knocked.

  No answer, so I knocked harder.

  Seconds later I heard his muffled voice.

  “Go away.”

  “Hey, Stan, it’s me, Colin.”

  No answer, then there was a movement at the window. Then the door opened a crack and I started forward but he made no move to let me in.

  “What do you want?”

  His face was drawn, as if he were ill, and wetness streaked his cheeks.

  “Hey, man, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just leave me alone, okay?”

  “Stan …”

  “Please …”

  It was like he was begging, and it took me by surprise. I shrugged.

  “Sure.”

  He closed the door again and I stood outside for a long time, battered by the loud music.

  I’d never seen him like that and I didn’t know what to do. But after I’d stood there for five minutes I knew he wasn’t going to change his mind, so I turned and started back up the driveway. I’d only gotten halfway when I heard the voices.

  Somebody inside, a woman, was screaming. At first I thoug
ht it was the TV and then I realized, with shock, that it was Stan’s mother. I couldn’t hear what she was saying but every few seconds, when she paused for breath, I heard a low mumble that I knew must be Stan’s father, answering.

  I stood rooted, not sure what to do. I had no idea what the argument was about and I’d never heard either of them raise their voices before, though Mrs. Chandler frequently seemed haggard, as if she hadn’t gotten enough rest. As for Dr. Chandler, I hardly saw him at all.

  I waited a few more minutes, wondering if I should go back to comfort Stan, but I finally decided there wasn’t anything I could do, so I started forward again. When I got to the edge of the house, though, the front door flew open. Dr. Benson Chandler hurtled toward me, head down, and I flattened myself against the side of the house, feeling the bushes stick my skin.

  “Go on!” his wife yelled, following him out the door. “Go to whichever one it is now, you bastard. But this time don’t come slinking back.”

  Chandler jerked open his car door and a second later the engine roared to life. The car rocketed backward, toward the street, and I saw Helen Chandler silhouetted, her back to me as she faced the street, fist upraised. The car leapt into gear and then shot away down the street, without headlights. For another second Helen Chandler’s fist remained raised and then it fell limply to her side, as if she was giving up. She turned and walked slowly back into the house.

  I waited until I was sure she wasn’t coming out again and then I hurried off, keeping to the shadows as I made my way up to Stanford Avenue, in case Dr. Chandler have second thoughts and come home.

  That night I lay awake for hours, trying to make sense of what had happened. Married people argued, but even when my mother and father had argued on that long-ago day when he’d bought the car, there hadn’t been name calling. I wondered what Stan’s father had done. And I wondered if Stan would be at school tomorrow. I hoped he would, and then I hoped he wouldn’t, because how could I look him in the face? Of course, he didn’t know I’d heard his parents arguing, but I doubted I could keep it from him. All he’d have to do was look at my face.

  When I finally drifted off to sleep I dreamed of the screaming voices, only this time when the doctor came rushing out of the house I didn’t make it into the bushes quickly enough and he saw me. And as I tried to melt into the side of the house I realized the man coming toward me with upraised fist wasn’t Dr. Benson Chandler at all: It was Rufus Sikes.

  CHAPTER TEN

  But the next day Stan was at school and when I saw him between classes he acted as if nothing had happened. He sought me out at lunch.

  “You think you could come over after school?”

  I shrugged. “I reckon. Is everything okay?”

  “Fine. I was sick yesterday is all.’”

  When school ended, Toby appeared at my locker:

  “What’s the story with Stanley? Was he really sick?”

  “What do you mean really?”

  “Come on, let’s go for a ride.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I have something to do.”

  “Like what? You going to fairy boy’s house?”

  “I told you Blaize isn’t a fairy.”

  “Fuck you, man, I can tell one when I see one.”

  I left him laughing and made my way out to the parking lot, where Stan and I were supposed to meet. He’d said his mother was going to pick us up and I wanted to hurry, before Toby saw us. But I was too late, because as Stan and I got into the station wagon I saw Toby watching from the sidewalk.

  “How are you today, Colin?” Stan’s mother asked. She was trying to sound upbeat but I couldn’t get last night’s memory out of my mind.

  “Fine.”

  “I hope you didn’t think I was abrupt on the phone yesterday. Stanley wasn’t feeling well and I was worried.”

  I nodded and Stan looked away.

  “I’m fine,” Stan said. “I just wanted to show you my last. Guns and Ammo. There’s a Ruger in there I’d like to get.”

  “Of course,” his mother said.

  When we got to the house we went to Stan’s cabin.

  “It’s not true about the Guns and Ammo, is it?” I asked.

  “No. They wouldn’t let me have a pistol anyway.”

  “So?” I flopped in his chair and waited. He looked from the Yogi Berra poster on the wall to the LSU pennant, licking his lips.

  “Nothing. I just wanted to know what went on at school yesterday.”

  “That’s why you didn’t want to talk to me last night?”

  “Colin, for God’s sake, please leave it alone …”

  “Sure.” I went over to the bookcase, picked up the plastic model P-51 Mustang. “Well, Cornwall called me in, and I guess he talked to Toby, too—wanted to know if we saw anything.”

  “Yeah, he talked to me today, too. But what were the kids saying about what happened?”

  I shrugged. “Nobody knew what to say, except Toby. He said Cornwall and Senorita Gloria were screwing.”

  “That fat, red-headed fuck.”

  “Yeah. But she did have a way, you know? I mean, you got to admit, even if she was as old as she was, you wouldn’t have minded getting a piece.”

  “You’re full of shit,” Stan said. “She was a teacher, damn it.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I mean, look, suppose she wasn’t a teacher and you just met her somewhere. Are you telling me you wouldn’t put it in her if she gave you the go-ahead?”

  “No, goddamn it.”

  I could see it wouldn’t do any good to argue. After all, he wasn’t the one who’d run into her in the hallway that day at school, smelled her perfume, stared down her cleavage as she bent to help me pick up my books, and watched her hips sway as she walked away.

  “Only other thing is we went up on the levee after school with Toby.”

  “What?” He straightened on the bed, frowning. “You went back there with him?”

  “Me and Blaize.” I told him about going by Gloria’s home, and then the visit to Bergeron’s store, and what Bergeron had said about Sikes most likely being the killer.

  “But he didn’t even know her,” Stan said.

  “He didn’t have to. Maybe she went there to wait for somebody, Cornwall, say, and Sikes just came along. Then, when Cornwall came and found her, he took off.”

  “Maybe.” He pursed his lips. “But I just don’t think she’d do something like that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re teachers.”

  “And teachers don’t fuck?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just don’t think she would. I had her for homeroom last year. She just wasn’t that way.”

  “How the hell would you know?”

  “You have to believe in some things, Colin. And you’ve got to believe in people.”

  “I do. That doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Yes, it does. If you’re like Toby, and believe the worst about everybody, then you’re no better than the person that did this.”

  “Who said I’m like Toby? He’s the way he is because his old man cheats and he’s fat and he hates the world, and I feel sorry for him. But that doesn’t mean I have to close my eyes to everything that happens.”

  “Well, let’s just not talk about Toby, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Then I understood. It was my mentioning Toby’s father’s infidelities.

  “Look,” I said, changing the subject, “You ever heard of somebody called Drood?”

  Stan shifted on the bed, pulling up a sock. “I think that’s the family that owns Windsong. Why?”

  I told him about our going up on the levee and how Sikes had caught us, and threatened us with Drood.

  “That goddamned Toby,” Stan said.

  “Yeah.”

  A car door slammed in the driveway and a few minutes later Benson Chandler stuck his head in the door.

  “Hi, guys. What’s happening?�
�

  “Just talking,” Stan said, looking away.

  “Your mom inside?” Dr. Chandler asked.

  “Far as I know,” Stan said.

  “You men take it easy,” Chandler said, smiling, and disappeared toward the back of the main house.

  “He’s home early,” I said.

  “He probably brought Mom a present,” Stan said.

  There was an awkward silence. Finally I said:

  “I guess we won’t be going back out there until they catch whoever did it.”

  “No. And they may not ever catch him.”

  “You don’t think so? If it was Sikes …”

  “It wasn’t fucking Sikes, I told you.”

  “Okay, whoever. But …”

  The slam of another car door, followed by a second door shutting, brought me up short.

  “Now who the fuck’s out there?” Stan muttered. “If that goddamned Toby came here …”

  I followed him through the door and into the yard. He walked up the drive and then stopped short.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “Cops,” he said, nodding at the plain white Ford parked behind his father’s car.

  “Cops?”

  “Yes, damn it, look at the antenna.”

  “Oh, crap.” I thought of Toby’s bravado at cursing Sikes as we left. Even Sikes could get a license number …

  “You think they already picked up Toby?” I whispered.

  Stan shrugged. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t put it past that shit to throw the blame on you or Blaize, or even me.”

  A chill froze through my bones. I knew what he was saying was true.

  “What should I do?” I asked.

  “Take off. If they ask, I’ll say I haven’t seen you. Maybe they’ll give up if they don’t find you right away.”

  “Stan …”

  “Get the hell out of here.”