by Tony Dunbar
But the secretary said Mr. Caspar was too busy to talk to him. When he called again an hour later it was the same thing, and an hour after that.
In the meantime Tubby tried to concentrate on Bubba Pender’s contract to transfer his rights to his miracle potato peeler to Magnabuks, the international dicer and slicer conglomerate, but without much luck. He ordered up a Ferdi from Mother’s to take his mind off things, but even thick slices of turkey, blackened ham, roast beef, and hot debris gravy on French, though momentarily and monumentally gratifying, couldn’t make him stop thinking about Caspar and how he kept appearing at the center of things.
He tried a third time and got the same message, so he told Cherrylynn to hold the fort and set off walking to the casino. His face was recognized, and he was admitted to the office area, but Leo was not around. He found Nicole sitting at her desk. She said she didn’t know where Leo was, but once more she invited Tubby out for a cup of coffee.
“Sure,” he said, concealing his impatience, “but not here.”
She got her purse and they squeezed through the garment workers to the traffic-flavored air outside. Good coffee had never been hard to find in New Orleans, but nowadays it was hard to miss. Coffeehouses were popular again, and a new one had just opened up on Natchez Street near the casino. At the counter Tubby asked if they had any coffee with chicory and was told that chicory was a special flavor available only on Tuesdays. Just a bit annoyed, he ordered what the chalkboard described as Colombian Java. From the ceiling a foreign-accented PBS commentator relayed the latest news from eastern Europe.
“Tubby, you seem distracted,” Nicole observed.
“I was wondering who makes all the different coffee beans. I mean, do they flavor them down in Colombia, or is it something they just spray on in a back room here?”
“I have no idea.”
“Seems to me with this many coffeehouses popping up, we need to find out. Have you worked for Caspar long?”
“A year or two.”
“What kind of man is he?”
“What do you mean’?”
“Is he the kind of boss who lets you alone, or does he tell you what to do?”
“Mr. Caspar takes an interest in everybody who works for him. He’s been very generous with me.”
“Generous?”
“I’m well paid for what I do. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“No.”
“It’s the same with you, isn’t it, Tubby?”
“Well paid? I try to be.”
“Do you think you’re also fighting for some kind of justice?”
“As a lawyer?” Tubby laughed. “Well, maybe I do,” he said.
“I thought you probably did.”
Tubby did not want to like Nicole just then.
“I’ve been trying to see your boss,” he said. “Is there anything you can do to arrange a meeting?”
“I don’t know. Leo has been real busy. If it’s important, I could see what I can do.”
‘It’s important to me. You can tell him it has to do with Potter Aucoin.”
“Who’s that?” she asked innocently.
“A guy who got killed,” Tubby said, watching her carefully. He didn’t see any reaction.
“If you say so,” she replied uncertainly.
An hour after they parted she called him at the office.
“Leo asked me to tell you he would be tied up all day in meetings. He’ll be in the French Quarter tonight, and he can meet you at a bar called The Hard Rider at eight o’clock. He invited me to come, too.” Why wasn’t Tubby surprised that The Hard Rider was the conference room of choice?
“Whatever you say, Nicole.”
“You don’t sound too enthusiastic about me being there.”
“I’m sorry. They say you should never mix business with pleasure.”
“You men can talk business, then we can turn our attention to pleasure.”
Tubby told her he would be at Botaswati’s bar at eight o’clock. He didn’t expect to get much enjoyment out of it.
CHAPTER 33
Nighttime brought a lively scene to The Hard Rider. The bar was packed two deep with noisy men. Old disco dance hits pounded off the ceiling. Lots of flashy neon advertising beer and spring water festooned the walls. There were other men wearing jackets and ties like Tubby, as if they had just come from work. One thing about New Orleans, there was hardly anyplace you looked funny dressed up. There was also hardly anyplace that would kick you out for wearing clean shorts and sneakers. The Hard Rider welcomed both kinds. Both kinds nodded at Tubby when he came in.
Not all the customers wore pants. Beauties of uncertain gender were the center of attention at a corner table. And Nicole suddenly appeared at his side.
“Hey, mister, would you like to dance?”
“It’s not my kind of music.”
“We could make our own.”
“At least I wouldn’t have to do an anatomy check to see what I was dancing with.”
“I suppose not,” she said, and he thought she blushed.
“Where’s Leo?”
“He’s upstairs. Follow me.”
There were stairs at the back of the bar, blocked by a locked gate. Nicole waved at the bartender, the same Vietnamese woman who had been there when Tubby first visited. She pressed a button somewhere that made the lock pop open with a thunk.
The stairs were narrow and dimly lit, but Nicole led the way with assurance. At the top, a long hallway ran the length of the building, with closed doors along it. Tubby walked behind Nicole to the end, where she knocked at the last door.
It opened, and Nicole stood aside to let Tubby pass. It was a nervous Botaswati who held the door for him. Mr. Caspar was lounging comfortably in his business suit on a couch against the far wall. There were two other men, both large size, in the room, standing like bookends at either side of the couch. They gave the impression of being former athletes. Both wore Docksiders, Duck Head pants, and baggy cotton sports shirts.
“Good evening,” Botaswati said, and to Caspar, “I will be downstairs.” Caspar winked an eyeball, and Botaswati slipped out and closed the door behind him.
Nicole smiled at Tubby and started to leave too, but Caspar stopped her.
“Stay with us, sis,” he said. “Come sit with me.”
She looked like the idea didn’t strike her fancy, but she went to the couch and sat as directed, demurely crossing her legs. They became the focal point of those assembled until Caspar spoke.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Dubonnet?”
“Yep,” Tubby said. “Privately.”
“This is a private meeting. Sit.” He indicated a red plastic chair leaning against the wall. One of the beefy boys righted it with his foot and slid it forward. Tubby put it in the center of the room and sat facing Caspar.
“Now, what did you want to talk to me about?” Caspar said, as if he were truly curious.
“I think you’ve got an interest in some companies, like Bayou Disposal and Ship Ahoy, too. Maybe you own them, maybe not. You’ve got Bijan Botaswati fronting for you. Bayou Disposal was dumping chemicals into the river and probably onto the ground. That’s against the law. You could get substantial fines to cover clean-up costs.”
“So what’s it to you?”
“The dead man, Potter Aucoin, the one who saw it happen, that’s what it is to me.”
Caspar looked like he was thinking it over.
“I don’t understand it,” he said, “Nobody cares about what kinda crap may be spilled on the levee. Christ, it’s all over town. Toxic waste. Environmental hazards. I don’t care about that stuff, and nobody else does either. You seem to have a nose for unprofitable lines of thought.”
“Maybe, but I’m not stinking up the world either. Now your outfit is down in Plaquemines Parish fouling up the fishing down there.”
“Don’t you like the work you’re doing for us? I thought you were a reasonably intelligent man, not some save-the-wh
ales nut. You and Reggie Turntide have a reputation for knowing how to solve problems. Not create them.”
“Reggie is no longer my partner. And you don’t have to be a nut to like to catch fish.”
“Whatever. We hired you. We expect a little loyalty and discretion. Here, calm down. Play another game with me.” He pulled a deck of cards out of his coat pocket and handed it to Nicole, who looked at it as if she had no idea what it was used for.
“Offer the cards to Mr. Dubonnet,” Caspar explained. “Let him cut.”
She held out her hand with the deck in her palm. Tubby stared into her eyes, which looked worried, and cut light. He turned up a three of clubs.
Caspar shook his head.
“Are you trying to be a loser?” he asked without humor as he studied the deck. Then he reached over quickly and slid a card out with his pinkie finger and thumb. It was a two of hearts.
“You see,” he said. “You can be a winner. But you gotta stick with me.” He tossed a William McKinley at Tubby. “That was for five hundred bucks,” he said. “Now what else we got to meet about?”
“The main thing is,” Tubby said, looking at the strange bill, “my friend. Somebody has to answer for that.”
“You have a jumble of facts in your mind, Mr. Dubonnet, but you don’t know how to put them together. I don’t give a flying fuck about river pollution. I’ve tried to make that clear.”
“I’m just looking for answers, Leo. Who killed Aucoin?”
“That I can’t help you with.”
“Oh well.” Tubby looked at the money for the last time. “I guess the reason you can’t help me is because you are the one who had him killed. And I also think you had his foreman, Broussard, shot in my building.”
“Now you’ve crossed the line, Mr. Dubonnet.” Caspar shook his head sadly. “It might surprise you to know,” he added, “that I did not even know that your friend had made such an allegation until you told me.”
“Then why did he die?” Tubby demanded.
“All I can tell you is your friend was stubborn and blind to his own self-interest. Much like yourself. I told you it would not be smart for you to continue your investigation of this matter.”
“It’s not something I have a choice about, believe me.”
“Too bad. You should have listened to me. But if I leave you alone you’re going to continue to probe. You’re going to continue to send people out to my operations, stirring up the neighbors.”
“I didn’t actually send them,” Tubby said.
“But they went. One of them was, I think, a relation of yours. Your daughter?”
Tubby didn’t say anything. He looked at Nicole, but she was studying her own fingers twisting around in her lap.
“You’re a pain in the butt, Mr. Dubonnet. You won’t go with the program. That gives me no choice but to remove you.”
This bad news gave Tubby an adrenaline rush. The word ESCAPE flashed in bright neon before his eyes. He knocked over his chair and jumped for the door, but the two muscle men were also in motion. One had a hand on him before he could turn the knob.
He punched backward with his elbows and swung wildly with his free hand, but both men were quickly upon him, crushing him against the wall. He started to yell but by then he was facedown on the floor, and the yell was more of an agonized grunt.
A knee crunched into his kidneys, taking his breath away in a rush of pain. His arms were bent roughly behind his back. He struggled unsuccessfully as a handkerchief was pulled into his month and yanked tight until his cheeks felt like they were pinned to his ears. His wrists were taped together. Through bulging eyes he could see Nicole, her legs still primly crossed, and her hands up at her lips as if to say, Oh, my, my.
And Tubby could also see Leo the Weasel, sitting calmly but attentively, watching as his bidding was done. He laid his hand on Nicole’s knee. She stared at it for a moment, and then clutched it tightly in both of her own. But suddenly Caspar’s eyes opened wide in surprise, and he scrambled to his feet.
The door behind Tubby had banged open. The knees left Tubby’s back as Francis and Courtney arose to engage a more proficient enemy. Tubby rolled onto his back, trying to get out of the way and trying to see what was going on. He had to keep twisting to avoid being hit by falling bodies. Francis and Courtney were on the floor, suffering from unknown injuries and not moving.
Tubby’s scrambled brain perceived three Vietnamese men incorrectly dressed in checkered sports jackets and loose slacks, bearing wooden sticks and handguns, stepping over the bodies on the floor and surrounding the startled Caspar. One stuck something in Caspar’s mouth to keep him quiet, and another stuck something in his arm. Leo went limp. Nicole, on the other hand, came suddenly alive and broke for the door like a deer from cover. One of the men stabbed out with his wooden stick and caught her on the bridge of her nose with an audible thwack. It stopped Nicole in mid-spring, and without further comment she pitched to the floor, joining the heap.
Tubby tried on his let’s-all-be-friends smile, but his gag didn’t give him much cheek to work with. It didn’t matter because the urban guerrillas weren’t paying any attention to him. They swiftly buried their weapons in their clothes, straightened each other’s lapels, and, supporting Leo like a drunken comrade, dragged him from the room and were gone.
Tubby rolled around some more, but the view didn’t change. Three bodies down and him hog-tied. Then he remembered he could sit up. After more gyrating than he would have wanted anybody to see, he got his wrists to one of the overturned chairs and began rubbing his bindings up and down against the edge of the seat. Finally the fabric parted, and his hands came free. He tore off his gag.
He checked Nicole first. She was blowing gentle blood bubbles out of her nose, so she was definitely alive. One of the athletes had a heartbeat, but he wasn’t sure about the other one. He picked up Nicole and laid her on the couch, where she appeared to be a little more comfortable, though still not at her best. They say you lie down with dogs, you wake up with fleas. Tubby left the room.
He walked down the hall quietly, conscious of a major pain in his lower back where something important might have popped loose, and he limped cautiously down the stairs. The gate at the bottom could be unlatched from the inside, and he pulled it aside to step into the barroom. The crowd was still there, rocking and rolling. Unsteadily, he forced his way toward the front. He locked eyes with the lady behind the bar, who watched his passage without showing any expression he could read. He pushed open the ornate door and got outside to the street. It was much quieter out here. Tubby leaned against the brick building and got his bearings. A man carrying a bag of groceries from the A&P passed on the sidewalk and looked the other way. People here valued privacy.
Tubby lurched away toward Canal Street. He would try to find a cab there and get the hell home.
CHAPTER 34
Tubby stayed indoors the next morning and nursed his wounds. He called Cherrylynn to say he was feeling ill, which he was. She said he had no messages. By midmorning, however, he was overcome by curiosity, and he called Jake LaBreau. Coyly, he asked Jake again if Jake knew why Caspar had told Tubby to stay away from Bayou Disposal.
Jake said he didn’t want to talk on the phone. He asked if Tubby could meet him for a drink a little later at Le Meridian. Tubby said fine. He conducted so much of his business in bars and restaurants he wondered why he even kept an office.
He scanned his front yard carefully through a slit in the curtains before he eased out the door to his car.
They settled down with midday martinis and a big bowl of macadamias and Brazil nuts at a candlelit table away from the piano. It was way too early for a crowd, and one of the few other customers was idly tinkering with “St. James Infirmary” on the Yamaha keyboard. Jake looked worried and tired, much as Tubby did.
“He’s pretty good,” Tubby said, making conversation.
“Yeah. I wish I had some talent,” Jake said. “Then I could quit playing this ga
me.”
“I thought you liked public relations,” Tubby said. Apparently Jake hadn’t heard anything about the events of last night. Tubby did not enlighten him.
“I do occasionally. It fits my personality. It’s all such a joke, though. Don’t you think so?”
“Public relations?”
“All this stuff.” Jake’s sweeping gesture enclosed the known universe. “Some kid will shoot you on the street just to see what’s in your wallet. You can get AIDS from a blow job. Don’t you think it’s a joke?”
“Ha. Ha. Are we feeling a little cynical today?” Tubby certainly was.
“What, a cynical ad man? I went to an interesting party this week.”
Tubby nodded to show he was keeping up. He fished for his olive with the plastic sword.
“You know who Joe Caponata is?”
“I’ve heard of him.” Mr. Caponata used to be called the Mafia don, if there was such a thing, of New Orleans. He was semi-retired.
“I got invited to a wine and cheese at the lovely Caponata home a couple of days ago. Very nice. Mr. Caspar took me. In fact, Mr. Caspar told me I ought to go.”
“And what happened?” Tubby prodded.
“Not a lot. Leo paid his respects. It seems he is kind of the adopted son of Mr. Caponata.”
“What do you mean, adopted son?”
“Actually, I don’t think he really is adopted. Not legally. But Caspar calls him Poppa Joe. And Joe seems to be very fond of Leo. They hug. They talk. Old Mr. Joe puts his arm around Leo.”
“Leo wanted you to see this?”
“Evidently so, kiddo. Leo is letting me take a peek at what his hole cards are.”
“You think this is something the State Gaming Commission might like to hear about?”
“It’s not exactly part of my job description to communicate bad publicity to the commission, Tubby. To tell you the truth, I’m thinking about me right now. I’m looking around for a new job, but I’ve got to be kind of, uh, careful about how I go about it. I don’t want anybody to be, you know, worried about me, you know what I mean?”