by Tony Dunbar
Mathewson rubbed his nose and said okay.
“But I’m starting not to like you, Dubonnet,” he said. “Male friends or no.”
* * *
After visiting with Angelo in the jail, Aimee came to see Tubby at his office.
“What’s going to happen to him?” she asked efficiently, quite business-like.
“Assuming the axe links to the murders, which the police should know in approximately…,” he pretended to check his watch, “…thirty minutes, they will undoubtedly charge Angelo with both crimes.”
“He didn’t do either one.”
“So he says.”
She chewed her lower lip. “I’d like you to meet my sister.”
“Huh?”
CHAPTER XXVIII
At Sister Soulace’s palm reading shop on Magazine Street, the potions and charms priestess reclined on her plush purple divan wearing a turquoise turban. A sheer chemise was wrapped loosely around her figure. Her glistening red fingernails made pictures in the air while she talked. She was entertaining the attorney and her own baby sister with the story of her life.
“It’s all been so beautiful, so all-encompassing,” she said. “And I’ve been so happy to absorb the earth’s most potent powers, or at least,” she said modestly, “a few of them.”
“Angelo is in trouble,” Aimee interjected.
“Darling, I would never do anything to upset you or your sweetheart. You know that.” The fingernails circled. “He’s a kind man. His water is not quite as holy as mine, but it’s not bad.”
Tubby’s head went from sister to sister in the room thick with musky perfume, but he otherwise remained motionless on his pawn shop chair and said nothing.
“They’ll crucify him for both murders,” Aimee pressed on. “The man at the well and Mr. Momback.”
“No, baby,” Sister Soulace cooed. “Angelo is not one of the actors in this universe. He is one of those souls who form a center, and around them all sorts of other things orbit and happen. I chopped those pricks’ heads off myself.”
“You!” Aimee gasped. But in fact she already knew.
Sister Soulace needed a stage.
“Of course it was me! Who do you think? I was right there in the shed sampling Angelo’s spring water when that goon burst in and threatened our dear man. The instrument of his destiny was at hand. I just picked it up and did what had to be done.”
She smacked her lips with satisfaction and poured herself a small cup of Captain Morgan. Candles on the table flickered as her robes swept over them. Tubby tried not to breathe audibly.
“Schwippp,” Sister Soulace whispered, imitating the sound of an axe slicing through a neck, and she did a nice dramatic schwippp with her right hand. Her left cradled her drink. “And your boss Momback was just as easy. “Schwippp! Schwippp!”
Tubby exhaled softly.
“But why, sweetheart?” Aimee asked.
“For you, dear. That lowlife attacked our family.”
Tubby let out the cough he had been suppressing.
“Who’s he?” Sister Soulace demanded.
Tubby was startled. “I’m Angelo’s lawyer…”
“Oh, yes. I forgot all about you. You see, you are also not really an actor in this story either. Like Angelo you are the nucleus around which other things revolve in orbit.”
“I don’t think that’s…”
“You’re having a problem with a woman in your life, aren’t you?”
Tubby cleared his throat and pursed his lips. “What’s that?”
“She thinks you are her soul mate, her lover. But you…,” she wagged a knowing finger at Tubby, “…you have unfinished business with some other lover from your youth. And you are afraid that she will discover that, aren’t you?”
“You…,” he began.
“Am I right?” She grinned triumphantly.
Tubby stared deeply into Sister Soulace’s sparkling eyes. There was some truth in what…
“I think we need to go,” he said.
* * *
Outside, by Tubby’s Camaro, Aimee sobbed softly. “My sister is truly nuts,” she whispered.
“I’m not so positive of that.” Tubby wiped sweat from his forehead. “But if she is, we just might get her off.”
* * *
Tubby went to visit Angelo at the jail a second time. He explained that he had an offer from the district attorney. While it was true that Angelo had not killed anyone, he could still be charged as an accessory to murder, before and after the fact. But the offer was that he could actually go home soon if he would agree to testify against Sister Soulace.
Angelo said no.
“What about Aimee?” Tubby asked. “She needs you.”
“I know that.” Angelo was down in the dumps. “I wish she had a job.”
“You know, maybe I can help with that,” Tubby said. “There’s this bar called the Monkey Business, and I happen to know they’re desperate for someone to serve drinks and wait on tables. The tips should be very good.”
“Aimee’s had some bad luck with her bosses.”
“She wouldn’t this time,” Tubby assured him. “Her boss would be a real classy lady named Janie.”
“She might like that.”
“Your testimony would be very helpful.”
“I’ll think about it.”
* * *
Three Vietnamese enforcers reported back to Bin Minny, though only the leader, “Dapa Jack” Nguyen, actually addressed the boss, who was very cross.
“There was supposed to be no killing,” Bin Minny said emphatically.
“Mr. Minh, we killed no one,” Dapa Jack explained humbly. “We didn’t even touch the fool. Dufour saw us waiting there as soon as he got out of his car. Our mistake. He grabbed his briefcase and ran across the street and into an alley. We only intended to scare him, anyway. To teach him a lesson as you directed, but we got no chance.”
“So, what happened?” Bin Minny’s gaze was hot, even though these were his best boys.
“We were there only a few seconds when a tall white guy came out of the alley carrying Dufour like he was light as a flower. And he threw Dufour into the seat of the man’s own car. The Frenchman was dead at the time, sir. There was no question about it. I saw his face.”
“And you?”
“Aware of our situation, Mr. Minh, we left immediately. We weren’t seen.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Dapa Jack looked at his two team members, and they nodded nervously in agreement.
“Well, that’s something,” Bin Minny said.
“So, is this matter finished?”
“Yes, it’s over. The case is closed,” the boss decided.
CHAPTER XXIX
Angelo accepted a probation revocation and was sent back to the Orleans Parish Prison for the three months remaining on his original sentence for car theft, the one he caught back in the days when he was a criminal, back before the church bell squashed his partner. He did agree to testify against Sister Soulace, but it was unnecessary because she had confessed to everything. Her fate had yet to be determined, according to the authorities, but Sister knew.
There was one hitch. Because of the overcrowding at the new jail and various federal consent decrees, prisoner Spooner was shipped to Washington Parish, seventy miles away in the piney woods. It was hard on Aimee, having to drive that far to visit her beau, but Angelo had a release date in sight so it really didn’t bother them too much.
At the detention center Angelo realized that he had a certain celebrity as an axe murderer. In fact, the other inmates didn’t call him the “Fat Man” any more. No, they called him the “Axe Man.”
They let him listen to any music he wanted to pick on the radio. Naturally, he selected a Swamp Pop station. The guys grooved on it, and even danced, and Angelo developed a substantial following.
* * *
In a gravel parking area where Magazine Street meets the river, the sun was setting over
the levee. Two men sat in a red car, windows open, smoking cigarettes.
“They think I’m the Night Watchman,” Kronke told the man in the passenger seat.
“There can be as many Night Watchmen as they want to believe in, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Father Escobar is coming around slowly to the idea of expanding the group. He just needs a little more evidence of the imbecility of those youngsters.”
“Do you know where they keep the money?”
“Not yet, but I will soon.”
“Hopefully before they spend it all. And the guns?”
“Soon.”
“And the old papers, the records, what you call the Papal Scrolls?”
“I don’t know where those are. The boys do, since they took them. They will tell me before long.”
“They might be worth a lot.”
“Sure. They could also land us all in jail.”
“We will know once we get them. What about the lawyer, Dubonnet? He’s a nice enough guy but he won’t keep his butt out of our affairs?”
“Depends on how bloodthirsty you are.”
“Hey, you recruited me. The purpose is to blow the shit out of everything, right?”
They sat quietly for a minute.
“Dubonnet should have gotten the message to back away by now,” Kronke said. “I scared his secretary and his ol’ lady pretty good.”
“You think that’s going to work?”
“Once upon a time I had a plan to get him in a situation that he couldn’t get out of. Like where he had to leave town. It involved leaning on his girls.”
“A gangster’s idea. Where would he have gone?”
“I don’t know. Bolivia maybe. He’s been there before.”
“He would probably like Bolivia— a socialist country where only government employees have rights.”
“You’re a government employee, Adam.”
“Not for long, man.”
“Stay long enough to get a few more good men signed up.”
“Probably will,” Mathewson said.
“Well, the Bolivia thing is ancient history now. With the pressure from the priest, I think the shyster has to be publicly and finally laid to rest. Killing him has also become a test of my manhood,” Kronke said grimly.
“I don’t want any part of it.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to handle it myself, and soon.” There was a note of pleasure in Kronke’s voice.
“Let’s get away from that. Don’t we have more important things to talk about tonight?”
“Right. Let’s get started. I hope you have plenty of time.”
“I’ve got nowhere I need to be for a couple of hours.”
As they continued their conversation, the men in the car didn’t realize that there was someone high on the levee monitoring them in the gathering darkness. Seeing what he needed, the man slid behind the crest and breathed deeply of the swampy air of the batture. It was very pleasant here on the river side, where an early fog was settling over the willows. After enjoying his personal moment, he made a quiet phone call.
CHAPTER XXX
As the sun went down Tubby was staring at the spot where his filament disappeared below the water’s surface. He and Raisin were in the Boston Whaler fishing, in a passive way, under an evening sky and calm waters on the Lake.
“We’ve known each other a long time,” Tubby said.
“That’s very true.” Raisin cast a shrimp in a lazy arc that plinked into the water about forty feet from the boat. A private jet glinting in the last rays of sunshine made a graceful descent to the runway of the old municipal airport built by Huey Long. The boat rocked gently.
They had been on the water for a couple of hours, and the breeze was finally turning cool.
“I think I always wanted to be a lawyer,” Tubby said.
“Not so,” Raisin said, flicking his reel a notch tighter. “When we first met in college you wanted to be a farm extension agent.”
“Oh, that was just something I picked up during my couple of months at McNeese State.”
“The Cowboys. I’d forgotten you went there.”
“I sometimes forget it myself. It was my mother’s idea of a safe transition out of high school. I didn’t stay long.”
“At our Mississippi alma mater I thought you majored in wrestling.”
Tubby watched the flashing water, hoping for a bite. The boat moved in the breeze.
“In any case,” he said, “I have definitely been a lawyer for most of my life.”
“It is hard to remember when you weren’t,” Raisin agreed.
“I love it.”
“Do you see that black dragon up in the clouds, breathing fire?”
Tubby squinted. “No,” he said.
“What do you love so much about the law?”
“The competition, I guess. The occasional glimpse of justice, too. But I really love having the privilege.”
“You like being privileged?”
“Raisin, I’m talking about the fact that you can say anything you want to me and it’s confidential. I get to keep it all to myself. Nobody can make me talk.”
“You take it all pretty seriously, don’t you?”
“I take that part very seriously. Never screw a client. Never lie to the judge. That’s what it’s all about.”
“You’ve got a fish!”
Tubby jerked his rod, but he reeled in an empty hook.
“You screwed that one up,” Raisin said. “You’ve got to play with him a little bit.” With his sun-browned sandaled foot he shoved the bait bucket toward Tubby.
“You might have noticed that something is bugging me.”
“Yes, I have. Go ahead. I’m good for one confession per day.”
“It’s very disturbing to think that I’m not an actor on the stage, but just some microscopic particle around which important things seem to happen.”
“You’ve done your share of acting,” Raisin counseled him, while at the same time imagining elephants and turtles in the gold and tangerine-streaked cumulus clouds above. “Haven’t you put away your share of bad guys? Haven’t you saved the bacon for some clients? Haven’t you broken up entire crime syndicates?”
“Maybe.” Tubby was not to be consoled. “But consider this. My girlfriend has been run off the highway and almost killed. My secretary has been slapped around. Without even counting that misguided Latino who our vigilante Detective Mathewson blew away, in the past two weeks there have been three victims of gruesome murders in my very own personal sphere, two of them butchered by an axe and one garroted to death and left on the street. And I didn’t solve a single one of them! Damn it!” he added.
Raisin watched the white birds circling overhead. “Look at the bright side, my friend.”
“What would that be?” Tubby asked.
“At least none of your clients were found guilty.”
“You’ve got something,” Tubby said, pointing.
* * *
The moon was high and night had come. They were motoring up to the boat launch.
“Let’s make an evening of it,” Raisin suggested.
“What have you got in mind?” Tubby asked. His phone rang. He clicked it open and said, “Yeah?”
After listening just a few seconds, he rang off. “I have something I have to do that will take me a couple of hours,” he told Raisin. How much was that law license worth?
“That’s fine with me. We need to clean up anyhow. And do something with these fish.” He had two respectable speckled trout.
Raisin hopped onto the dock while Tubby floated with his boat in the water, thinking over what Flowers had just told him and deciding what he ought to do about it.
* * *
Down by the levee the two plotters in the car were wrapping it up. Their conversation had ranged far and wide and gone on for a long time. But concrete plans for expanding their circle had been laid. Some good local men, and a few from afar, had been agreed upon. Revise
d goals and the specific steps needed to achieve them had been set. The red dots of their cigarettes animated their talk and provided their only light. Somewhere far away a fiddle and accordion were playing.
“I think we’ve got it,” Kronke said. “It’s time to get moving.”
A car drove behind them and parked some distance away in the mist. Its lights cut off, and soft country music wafted into the night from its radio.
“Right.” The passenger put his lighter in his shirt pocket. “Time we rolled out.” He got out of the car and stretched his back. Underfoot the shells crunched as he walked away.
Kronke saw him go in the mirror and reached for the key.
A flash, a crash like a thunderbolt, and the windshield exploded in his eyes! The first shotgun blast caught the driver and covered him in blood and glass. The second blast got him again, square in the head. The pellets tore at his face and the fingers he’d raised to defend himself.
The cop outside dove for the gravel.
There was a moment when he looked up and saw the outline of the shooter in the darkness, and the shooter saw him. And walked away.
Two men lay still, but one was dripping blood onto the floor mats. The other got to his knees. The peace of the night returned. A ship, passing upstream beyond the levee, sounded its lonesome horn.
* * *
Raisin reached for his phone.
“Talk,” he said.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” Tubby said. “Do you want to go out for something to eat?”
“Sure. I’m all cleaned up. You?”
“Clean as I’m going to get. Let’s hit it.”
THE END
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