Crooked Man: A Hard-Boiled but Humorous New Orleans Mystery (Tubby Dubonnet Series #1) (The Tubby Dubonnet Series)

by Tony Dunbar

  Now here was—guess what—another recalcitrant insurance company creating another mess that was headed for trial in two weeks. The judge ignored those seated before him for a minute, then he raised his eyes.

  “What can I do for you today, gentlemen?”

  Protocol dictated that the plaintiff talk first, so Tubby began.

  “You’ll remember this one right away, Judge. My client, Sandy Shandell, went to see Dr. Feingold for cosmetic skin treatments. The treatments were supposed to darken his skin color. This was for cosmetic purposes. There is no medical basis for performing treatments like these, still…”

  “Your Honor,” Guyoz, the insurance company’s lawyer, interrupted, “that’s absolutely not true. It’s experimental, but Sandy Shandell signed all of the necessary disclosure and consent forms.”

  Judge Maselli held up his hand and stopped Guyoz. “One at a time. Mr. Dubonnet can finish what he has to say. Then you’ll have your turn.”

  “All right, Judge,” Tubby resumed. “In any case, the treatments—if that’s what they were—were a disaster, and Mr. Shandell is left with these grotesque splotches all over his body. He’s an entertainer…”

  “He’s a transvestite stripper,” Guyoz interrupted.

  Tubby spread his arms and put on a helpless look.

  “Let him finish, Mr. Guyoz,” the judge snapped.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Guyoz said.

  “It’s true he’s a dancer, but he’s a popular one. He makes an excellent income. Now, as a result of what the doctor did, he is often too inhibited to perform and needs reconstructive surgery. Even with that he’ll never be the same. We calculate his lost income to be in the neighborhood of two hundred fifty thousand dollars and change, his corrective surgery to be at least that much, and for pain, and obviously the tremendous embarrassment he has suffered, three million dollars.”

  “Now, there’s your side.” The judge turned his head, making Tubby think of the turret of a tank. “You can have your say now, Mr. Guyoz.”

  “Thank you, Judge. What we have here is an outrageously inflated claim. Mr. Dubonnet’s client is a sex show stripper…”

  “Dancer,” interrupted Tubby.

  “Dancer, whatever. He or she, whichever may be correct, works in various French Quarter establishments, where people go in for that kind of thing, and she makes tips or whatever people stick in her garters.”

  “Wait a second…” Tubby began.

  “At least that’s what she was doing the night I went there.”

  The judge looked interested.

  “Yes, Your Honor, I went to see how her supposed injuries were affecting her performance.”

  “And?” Judge Maselli raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

  “As far as I could tell, those freaks will pay as much to see a splotchy transvestite as one who looks normal.”

  “Judge…” Tubby began, but he was cut off by Maselli’s raised palm.

  “Mr. Guyoz. We are not going to let this matter, or this trial if we have to have one, degenerate into name-calling, insults, or the use of words like ‘freaks.’”

  “Sorry, Your Honor.”

  “Let me finish. Whether you approve of them or not, these clubs give a certain atmosphere to our city that we appreciate. I understand that you may not be aware of this. In Baton Rouge, where you practice law, they may not do things this way. But you do your cause no good when you use expressions like that. I probably shouldn’t say this, but you also do your cause no good when you acknowledge to me that the plaintiff has a splotchy appearance and when you distinguish that from a normal appearance. If you are conceding that he, or she, is no longer normal, is this case only about the measure of the plaintiff’s damages?”

  “Judge, I do practice in Baton Rouge, but I also keep an office here which I will be frequenting until this trial is concluded. And I am not conceding anything. You should not take my remarks to mean that Shandell has been made any less normal by Dr. Feingold. I’d say she never was normal. What we do know is she wanted to undergo a new and experimental procedure to darken her skin, knowing full well, after being adequately informed, that it had a good chance of failure and that, plain and simple, it didn’t work as well as she wanted. She is not ruined, Judge, and these splotches probably make her even more attractive to the customers of these unique joints.”

  “Mr. Dubonnet, I see you want to talk.”

  “It’s not really about how her customers feel, Judge, it’s how she feels. This is a person with feelings like you or me. She is embarrassed and humiliated about the way she looks, and she can’t do a thing about it. She wanted to be attractive to her friends and loved ones, and now she’s not, or at least so she feels. The disfigurement of her complexion is obvious to anyone, Judge. Maybe she can perform for Mr. Guyoz’s ‘freaks,’ but she wanted more from life than that. She…”

  “I see what your case will be, Mr. Dubonnet,” the judge said. “Okay, let’s see where we are. Mr. Guyoz, you heard Mr. Dubonnet suggest that his case is worth more than three million dollars. What do you say to that?”

  “I think fifteen thousand dollars is more like it, Judge, and that’s just to get rid of it.”

  “That’s a big gap. Eddie, do you have anything to add?”

  Eddie Rodrigue had been sitting quietly, bobbing his head in apparent agreement to everything anybody said.

  “It seems to me, Judge, that this is a real tough case from all points of view, but I don’t think the claims are big enough to touch my client, so like my daddy said I’m gonna ‘zip da lip.’”

  “Your father was a wise man, Mr. Rodrigue.” Judge Maselli closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them and said, “It seems to me that both sides here have a problem. You have a problem, Mr. Guyoz, because the disfigurement is apparent. You have a problem, Mr. Dubonnet, because we don’t know what value a jury might place on lost love in a case of this sort. Go out in the hall. If you work anything out, let me know. If you don’t, be here at eight-thirty Thursday-a-week for jury selection.”

  “Thank you, Judge,” all three said in unison.

  The talk in the hall did not amount to much. Guyoz said he still thought Shandell’s case stunk, and Tubby said he was going to be surprised how sweet it smelled to a jury.

  “We’re going to get a jury of the kind of people who understand a guy like Sandy,” Tubby told him. “They’re going to understand how he’s been damaged, and let me tell you, if you don’t know it, that you’ve got another big problem. There is no way that Dr. Feingold can’t look rich and conceited. He is rich and conceited, and the man is no actor. The jury will have no pity on him. Plus he knows he botched this up, and he feels sorry for Sandy. That’s going to come through to the jury loud and clear.”

  “So what are we talking about here, Dubonnet? Fifty thousand dollars? Seventy-five thousand?”

  “A lot more, Guyoz. Think three hundred thousand as a settlement amount. I believe a jury will give me a lot more.”

  “I’d send my son to Southern before I’d recommend paying that much to Sandy Shandell.”

  “That stuff doesn’t work in Orleans Parish, man. You might as well get your checkbook ready. And you’re not doing Dr. Feingold any good. The jury is going to hurt you so bad you’ll probably cancel his insurance.”

  “Like I told you before, you want to talk to Feingold and try to work something out, be my guest,” Guyoz said. “He’s got a twenty-five-thousand-dollar deductible to be concerned about. What I’m concerned about is the Goodhealth Insurance Company, and they’re not paying two hundred seventy-five thousand to a male stripper with adjustable boobs. You can tell that to Mr. Shandell, and he can stuff it wherever it feels good.”

  Guyoz twisted his mustache menacingly. He stuck his briefcase under his arm and marched away.

  “That man needs to learn to lighten up,” said Eddie.

  “He’s a prick,” Tubby said. Tubby tried to maintain an attitude that any opponent who did not wish to settle with
him was a prick, but he thought Guyoz probably really was a prick. And he had hair growing out of his ears. Fuck him.

  Tubby made himself a quick salad at a little place near the courthouse that charged you by the ounce. He stared discontentedly at his nutritious plate and thought of finer things. He conjured up sautéed shrimp with roasted peppers and bright little roma tomatoes, and some pasta with a light buttery sauce, like he could be eating at Romairs if the world were just a little less imperfect and there were just a bit more time in the day. Surely, however, there was nothing better for the soul than lettuce, cucumbers, and sweet onions. Feeling pure of heart, Tubby hurried on his way.

  Back at the office he scooped his messages from the clip on Cherrylynn’s desk. He flipped through a couple. There was one to call Clifford Banks. He went to sit at his desk. Cherrylynn had moved in one of the chairs from the conference room while Tubby’s leather chair was at the shop. He drummed his fingers on the armrest while he stared at the message. Then he made the call.

  “This is Tubby Dubonnet. Is Mr. Banks in?”

  “Just a second, sir, I’ll see.”

  A few moments passed before Banks took the call.

  “Hello, Tubby, how are you?”

  “I’m peachy, what’s the deal?”

  “If you would like to meet, let me suggest a spot Uptown. ‘’

  “All right.”

  “There is a K&B drugstore not far from your house where Napoleon and Claiborne Avenues intersect.” Tubby was sure he had never mentioned where he lived to Banks. There was no big secret, of course, since he was in the phone book.

  “Yeah, I know where it is.”

  “Go there this evening around eleven o’clock. Park away from the store and wait in your car.”

  “Okay. Who do I look for?”

  “Somebody will find you. It will only take a minute.”

  “You can bet the place I’ll be waiting will be well lit.”

  “As you wish. All they want is the money, Tubby. That’s all they ever wanted.”

  And the son of a bitch hung up.

  The phone rang again.

  “Hello, Daddy.”

  “Hi, Debbie, what’s going on?”

  “I’m going to come downtown in a little bit to see if Hiller’s can fix the gold chain you gave me for Christmas. I thought maybe you would have time for a cup of coffee.”

  “Why, sure I would. What time do you think you’ll be here?”

  “Maybe three-thirty. Should I come up?”

  “Yeah, sure. Come on up and rescue me. We’ll go out and get something to eat or drink, you name it.”

  “All right, Daddy, see ya.”

  And the phone rang again.

  It was Cherrylynn, reporting that Jynx Margolis wanted to talk to him. He said he would take the call.

  “Hello, Tubby. What the hell is that?”

  “What?” Tubby was confused.

  “Some kind of damn roach just ran through my kitchen. Just a minute. Arlene! Arlene, did you see that enormous roach over there? See if you can’t capture that creature and show him the way home. Tubby, doesn’t this city drive you nuts? My house is clean, but they come in off the streets.”

  “They must know where the best places are to eat. Take it as a compliment, Jynx.”

  “I guess I might as well. Tubby, the reason I called is I need some money. You can understand that, I know. When are we going to make that pissant pay me?”

  “The hearing is,” Tubby checked his calendar, “the sixteenth. But look, toots, you need to get all your bills together. You need to be able to lay it all out why three thousand-dollars-a-month alimony pendente lite isn’t enough to get by on.”

  “I’d like to see you, or Byron, or Judge whatever-his-name-is get by on that.”

  “I didn’t say we could, but you need to get your bills together anyway. Byron is paying the mortgage, and I can’t promise you that the judge will think you’re getting shorted. You’ll have to make a case.”

  “I have plenty of bills, but they’re all in a box.”

  “Well, get them out. You know, your hairdresser bill from Salon Senoj, your manicure bill, the French spa, all those important expenses.”

  “Tubby, you’re fantastic.”

  “Come see me next week. I’ll take you to lunch.”

  “Okay, dear.” She hung up. Tubby started to plan his evening, but the phone rang again.

  Debbie suggested La Madeleine in Jackson Square, but Tubby did not want to go so near the scene of last night’s violence. There had been nothing about it in the newspapers. He was still shaking, and it would have helped him to see the whole thing objectified in print. Instead, he and Debbie walked to a pastry shop on Gravier Street, where both ordered coffee and almond croissants. Tubby slathered butter on his.

  “You don’t seem like you’re really here today, Daddy.”

  “Sorry, lots of work. Ignore it.”

  “Mother said you’re paying for Christine’s trip to Europe.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I think it’s so neat she’s getting to go.”

  “Me, too. I wish you’d had the chance in high school.”

  “I’m thinking of going next year after I graduate.”

  “Let’s talk about it when the time gets a little closer. How is summer school going?”

  “Okay, I guess. Lots of term papers to write. My problem isn’t with school.”

  “What’s your problem with?”

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you. I’m not sure Mom wants you to know, but it’s Harold. He’s been staying at my apartment for nearly a month now. I told him he could stay there while he looked for a place to live, which I thought might take him a week or two, but he’s moved in nearly everything he owns. I can hardly walk around in there, and I don’t know what to do.”

  You would think if you got divorced you wouldn’t have to worry about your ex-wife’s deadbeat brother, but no such luck.

  “Have you tried asking him to leave?”

  “Yes, but he’s very good at ignoring me. It’s hard to evict your uncle. But I’m going to have to get him out of there, or my landlord is going to kick me out.”

  “What for?”

  “This is the part I’m probably not supposed to tell you. Evidently Harold has been dealing drugs, which I knew nothing about, honestly. He got in a big fight with some guys he brought to my apartment last week while I was at school. The landlord called the police.”

  “Did they come out?”

  “Yes, and they got everybody to quiet down. They didn’t arrest anybody or anything, but my landlord is really uptight about it, and really, Daddy, I don’t need this going on at my apartment.”

  “You want me to help you throw him out?”

  “I feel so bad saying it, Daddy, but what else am I supposed to do?”

  “Look, you tell him he has to move out immediately. If that doesn’t work, I’ll come over this weekend and put his stuff on the street. You can mention that to him.”

  “Thanks, Daddy. It’s just that it sounds so mean. I don’t know where he’s going to go.”

  “Harold is almost thirty. He can figure it out.”

  “I guess.” She was happier now. They finished their coffee, and Tubby walked her back to her car.

  Over the throb of “Shake Your Body for Me,” Ali heard one of the girls scream in the back. He moved fast, leaving the bar and its sad-eyed customers to fend for themselves. He stepped past the sign marked PRIVATE and pushed open one after another of the doors to the rooms where the girls got dressed and sometimes gave quickies to the men who wanted them. Behind the third door a black girl named Jodi was sprawled on the floor, bleeding from her nose, shaking the cobwebs out of her head.

  Standing over her was the short, fat deputy named Freddie.

  Freddie swung around menacingly. “Get the fuck out of here,” he yelled at Ali.

  “I know you, asshole,” Ali said to Freddie as he stepped in and swung his big rig
ht fist, holding a banana-sized leather-covered blackjack in a wide arc that ended right between Freddie’s eyes. Freddie’s legs gave way, and he collapsed with a soft thud on the floor.

  “Go somewhere else,” Ali told the lady.

  He picked up Freddie and slung him over his shoulders. The back door opened onto an alley. In the daytime, when the ice-cream shop next door was open, it was a tourist byway. At night, only things with four feet skittered through. Ali stuck his head outside and saw no one. He ran with the body about twenty yards and dropped it in a pile on the cobblestones. Then he ran back inside his club and bolted the door.

  A little later a city policeman on horseback clopped slowly down the street. The horse, more than the officer, found the body, and lowered his nose to investigate. After inspecting the heap from his saddle for a full minute, the policeman dismounted. He rolled Freddie over, compared notes with his horse, and then radioed for backup and an ambulance to the morgue.

  For an hour, the alley was full of people and flashing lights, then it was empty and dark again.

  “The little fat fuck had an accident,” Ali told Monique on the telephone.

  SEVENTEEN

  Tubby pulled in to the parking lot at the K&B drugstore and cruised around to a space some distance away from the store as he had been told. He parked directly under a street lamp. He waited, watching cars come and go. Some kids, who should have been home at that hour, coasted through on bikes. Last-minute shoppers went in and out of the store. On the streetcorner a fat lady with a pink dress, wearing a frayed straw sombrero, was selling hot tamales from a banged-up wagon. Her stand was illuminated by the hot phosphorous glow of a camping lantern. Tubby was checking out an old man pushing a shopping cart up the broken sidewalk, when a tap on the passenger window startled him. His partner, Reggie, opened the door and got in beside him.

  “Hello, Tubby,” Reggie said softly.