by Tony Dunbar
“You don’t consider this a problem then?”
“Probably not,” the man on the couch replied, lazily running a hand through his hair. “O’Rourke is so out of it that the whole conviction might have been overturned on appeal. I’d say it’s better in the long run to have another lawyer involved.”
“Okay,” the older man said. “Just so long as he doesn’t get the man off.”
“It won’t happen,” Walter said confidently. “The judge is holding firm on the trial date. This guy Dubonnet has been to see Dr. Swincter, but nothing strange about that. And he didn’t learn anything useful.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I saw him there, and I made it a point to run into Swincter at the hospital yesterday morning, to show him our new laser line. I pumped him for everything that was said.”
“Do you think it’s such a good idea, Walter, being seen so much there now?”
“If anybody had asked, I was there on business, Mr. Flick. After all, selling medical supplies and drugs is my job. But nobody asked.”
“Pharmaceuticals,” Mr. Flick corrected automatically. With the fingers of one hand he brushed the knuckles of the other, as though petting himself. He had a thin face with skin soft as the leather of a good glove.
“I just don’t want you seen anywhere near that lab.”
“Of course not,” Walter lied smoothly. “I talked to him in the cafeteria.” Walter regarded Flick as overly nervous.
“How is Dr. Swincter’s research going?” Flick asked.
“Oh, his AIDS study is going great guns. All funding is secure. All of the other projects, however, appear to have died with Whitney Valentine.”
“That’s good. So far.” Flick sipped his cocktail. “Is it your advice that we just sit back and wait?”
“I think we should keep a close eye on that woman, what’s her name, Trina Tessier, who works in the lab,” Walter suggested.
“Is she romantically involved with Dr. Swincter?” Flick asked. “I’m just curious.”
“I’d like to find that out,” Walter said.
“It’s probably not important,” Flick said. “But go ahead if you want. And you should keep monitoring these lawyers, Dubonnet and O’Rourke, from a distance, of course.”
Walter nodded. Both men were silent for a minute, absorbing the pleasant noises of music and weekend merriment from Jackson Square.
“Would you like to stay the night?” Flick asked quietly.
“Why don’t we go out for drinks and hear some music,” Walter suggested. The sweet aroma of beignets drifted in from outside. “There’s a great blues band, J. Monque D, playing right down the street at Margaritaville.”
“Maybe in a little while,” Flick said. “The tourist attractions of New Orleans have never held that much interest for me.”
“I know a more private club, if you like. It’s all on the company, right?” Walter grinned. He had a silver case in his pants pocket, and he slid it out and worked his fingers around the engraving.
Flick didn’t reply right away. Then he said, “I’d like it if you were to spend the night.”
Walter swallowed what was left of his drink; then he put his head back and stared at the ceiling. He closed his eyes again.
Flick smiled and bent over smoothly to grab the bottle of Mount Gay from the butler’s table.
* * *
Champs was a major hot spot for the young and restless. It was built over the water on Lake Pontchartrain near the yacht harbor. Guys with sailboats could tie up alongside the bar and try to entice young girls to sunbathe on deck and rock with the waves.
On a sunny Saturday, all the boats were out and customer traffic was brisk. With all the windows open, it was cool inside. Denise DiMaggio leaned over the bar and waved until she got the attention of Jimmy, the bartender.
“Is Monique here?” she asked.
“I saw her a few minutes ago,” he yelled. “I think she’s upstairs.”
“I can go up?”
“Sure,” Jimmy said. The upstairs was semiprivate. It was where the money went, and also a few select patrons. Denise didn’t want to interrupt Monique if something personal was going on.
The stairs were beside the bar. At the top was a big room with couches that was available for special events, and down the hall, a locked office. Denise was going that way when she spotted Monique standing on the balcony looking out over the boats and the sailors.
“Hi,” she called.
Monique turned around and beckoned.
“What are you doing out here all by yourself?” Denise asked.
“Absolutely nothing.” Monique’s eyes were half open, and she wore a relaxed smile. Denise figured she had been smoking something. They were getting to be pretty good friends, possibly because they were both independent and lonesome, but she had not learned all of Monique’s tricks yet.
They sat on a cypress bench and put their feet up on the railing.
“I opened up this morning and ran the bar until three o’clock when Jimmy came in. I was also here until two o’clock last night,” Monique reported.
“I thought since you owned the place you wouldn’t have to put in so much time.”
“If you ever own a business you’ll learn how precious a day off is. I haven’t had one for two months.”
“But you’re off now.”
“I sure am. So I guess it’s not so bad. Want a cranberry juice and vodka?” Monique had a plastic pitcher and a bucket of ice on the deck.
“Oh, I shouldn’t. Well, maybe a tiny one.”
Monique plopped a couple of ice cubes into a clear plastic cup and carefully added the main ingredients. Denise accepted it from her hand.
After a sip she continued. “I went to see your lawyer, Mr. Dubonnet.”
“Yeah? How’d you like him?”
“Fine, I guess. As soon as I mentioned your name he was very friendly.”
“Tubby is sweet. He really helped me with the paperwork on this place and with getting custody of Lisa.”
“He seemed to know what he was talking about. But he has another big case that’s taking up lots of his time right now.
“He’ll get around to you,” Monique said absently.
“Are you doing okay?” Denise asked.
“Me? Oh, I’m fine. Just tired. All I do is work, and in the evenings take care of Lisa. I don’t have a social life, but it’s okay. How’s your love life going?”
“I’m still seeing Baxter,” Denise said.
“Your trainer?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“Nothing much. We go to movies. He’s got an apartment, you know.”
“I thought he was married.”
“He is,” Denise conceded, “but he’s getting a divorce.”
“Hmph,” Monique grunted.
“I’m probably stupid to be going out with him.”
“So why do you?”
“I don’t know,” Denise said crossly. “He understands me. Or so he says. Maybe he does.”
“You sound confused.”
“I am. Let’s not talk about him.”
“Okay.”
They drank in silence. The sun started to set over the lake, shooting fiery orange streaks across the horizon.
“It’s so peaceful out here,” Denise said.
“It can be,” Monique agreed. “Sometimes it makes you feel lonely though.”
“Lonely can be peaceful,” Denise said. “Being here makes me wonder how I ever got into boxing.”
“Because you’re competitive, fast, strong, and aggressive,” Monique suggested.
“But dumb, maybe,” Denise said.
“That can get old,” Monique remarked.
“I’m sure getting tired of it.”
CHAPTER 16
It was fun getting up early on Saturday morning and waiting for Flowers. Otherwise, Cherrylynn knew she would just sleep late and then probably do her laundry or something. She was
ready for action, carefully decked out in casual white shorts, sandals, and a purple passion top. She had gone out last night and bought it just so she could look nonchalant for the occasion.
Flowers rang the bell at nine o’clock sharp. She had decided to wear her brownish-blond hair up to show off her neck, and he complimented her on it after she ran down the stairs to open the door.
He looked good too, as always, tan muscular arms, brown slacks with a pleat, and hair combed straight back. She jumped into his new black Honda while he held the door for her.
Some classical music she could not identify was playing softly on the radio, and she liked that touch extremely well.
She gave him a big smile when he got in beside her. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“This is known as a stakeout, Cherrylynn,” Flowers said, pulling away from the curb. “And detectives never know what they’ll find when they’re on a stakeout.”
“Oooh, it sounds thrilling.”
“I wouldn’t expect too many thrills from Magenta Reilly. Medical students live really boring lives.”
“Are we just going to watch her house?”
“Yeah, her apartment. We can see where she goes when she comes out and figure out how to introduce you to her.”
“What if she doesn’t come out?”
“Then you’ll just have to knock on her door and barge right in. Today is our day to find out what Magenta has to say. We don’t have the time to be too tricky.”
“I’ve never really done this before. This is actually the first time Mr. Dubonnet has asked me to get involved in a case like this.”
“I’m so surprised,” Flowers said, and smiled sweetly at her.
“You can tell?” she asked.
“I had a hunch.” He laughed. “But it shows he must trust you.”
“Oh, he does. I’m a very trustworthy person.”
“You’re just not experienced as a detective.”
“Right.”
“Well, you have to be an actor, too. And you have to be able to act natural at whatever you’re doing. If that fails, all you can do is fall back on the truth – introduce yourself as a private investigator and try to get whatever information you can. That may be the best thing for you to do anyway, since you don’t look very devious.”
“You don’t know. I might be extremely devious.” She was offended.
“Okay. Here’s your chance to find out.”
He parked under a Japanese magnolia tree, splendid in pink-and-white blossoms, and pointed to the house where Magenta Reilly rented an upstairs apartment. It was on a quiet street of nearly identical two-story homes near Jeff Davis Parkway.
“She lives upstairs. The landlord is downstairs. She spent the night here, and we can afford to wait about an hour to see if she comes out into the daylight.”
“Maybe she sleeps late on Saturday.”
“Could be, but she answered the phone half an hour ago when I called. She could have gone back to sleep, of course.”
“What did you say?”
“’Wrong number,’ and I hung up.”
“How did you ever get to be a detective?”
“I went into the FBI out of college. When I left the Bureau I didn’t want to work for a living so I started doing little jobs for lawyers and some insurance company investigators I knew. It grew from there.”
“Why did you get out of the FBI?”
“I didn’t like wearing a tie to work. It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got some time. You could tell me.”
“No we don’t. There’s Magenta.”
A small woman – the word “mousy” popped into Cherrylynn’s mind – stumbled out the front door trying to hold on to a blue duffel bag while extracting her house key from the lock. She got herself organized and started off down the street with her load.
“Laundry day,” Cherrylynn said with resignation.
When Magenta turned the corner, Flowers started the car and followed.
In the next block she went into a Naborhud Laundromat, and Flowers parked across the street.
“You sure you want to try this?” he asked.
“I can’t back out now. Wait for me?” she asked, jumping out.
“Sure, I’ll be here.”
That sounded good to Cherrylynn.
Magenta was pouring Tide into one of the washers. The place was pretty crowded. A few students in cut-offs and a bunch of Spanish ladies with round brown babies washed and watched. The machines sloshed and spun.
Taking a deep breath, Cherrylynn walked directly to the machine next to Magenta’s and opened the lid, hoping the owner of the clothes was nowhere nearby. The barrel of socks and jeans gurgled to a stop.
She turned to Magenta. “Excuse me, are you a doctor?” she asked.
Her question startled the young woman, but she said, “I’m a medical student. Why do you ask?”
“I just noticed all of your hospital kind of clothes. I’m thinking about applying to medical school, and I guess I wonder if it’ll be the right thing to do.”
“It’s a lot of work,” Magenta said, folding her empty duffel bag and putting it on top of her washer. “Are you in school around here now?”
“Yes, I’m a senior at Loyola majoring in biology,” Cherrylynn said. Gee, lying was easy. “Look, would you have time for a cup of coffee or something while your clothes are washing? I’m really unsure about what to do. It would be a big help.”
“I had planned to read this.” Magenta showed Cherrylynn a textbook entitled Cope’s Examination of the Abdomen. “But I guess a break won’t really hurt.”
“Thanks,” Cherrylynn said. “There’s a PJ’s right around the corner.”
They left the laundromat together, Cherrylynn chattering away about her imaginary life in college. She saw Flowers in his car.
“Excuse me just a second,” she said. “That’s my boyfriend over there.”
Magenta watched Cherrylynn run across the street. Flowers rolled down his window.
“Everything’s under control,” she told him excitedly. “We’re going to have coffee. You can leave.”
“I’ll call you later,” he said.
“Lunch sounds good,” she replied, and ran back across the street.
“He’s cute,” Magenta told her.
“He’s a doll,” Cherrylynn said. “He was coming to see if I needed help with my clothes, but I told him I’d rather talk to you while I had the chance.”
Flowers saw them disappear into the coffeehouse and drove off in search of Dr. Bennett, wondering what a New Age chiropractor did on his day off.
* * *
While his troops were at work, Tubby got the word from his middle child, Christine, that Harold, his ex-wife’s bum brother, was back in town. Tubby felt that one of his major accomplishments of the past year had been to arrange Harold’s permanent departure from New Orleans. News of his return was all bad.
“He’s staying with me – I mean at Debbie’s apartment – for the time being,” Christine told him over the phone. “I just thought you should know.”
“Yeah, but what do you mean, ‘with you’? You’re not living at home?” He was referring to his ex-wife’s home, which he had paid for. But so what.
“Oh, I’ve just been using Debbie’s apartment to study in, you know, to hang out,” she said vaguely.
“Where the heck is Debbie living?” he asked, showing some strain.
“She’s hardly ever there, Daddy. Don’t you know about her and Marcos?”
“Sure I know about them.” Moving on. “But why are you hanging around her apartment? You need to be concentrating on your grades. College is next year, don’t forget.”
“My grades are fine, Daddy. We were talking about Harold. He’s sleeping on Debbie’s couch.”
“Of course. Where else would he stay?” Tubby spat out rhetorically. “It would never occur to him to get a job or do anything else but mooch off his family.”
“He’
s really down and out, Daddy. You should see him. He looks terrible. The way he stays inside the house all day, it’s like he’s afraid of the light.”
“He’s hiding from someone most likely. Is he doing drugs?”
“I haven’t seen any, but I’m not there much during the day.”
Tubby took that pitch.
“I should come over there and kick that little brat’s butt,” he said.
“Oh, Daddy.” She laughed. “I do wish you would come over and talk to him, though. Maybe you can find out what’s really bothering him.”
Tubby was experiencing hot flashes.
“I’ll come talk to him, all right. When is he there?”
“All the time, I think. He just watches television.”
“At least he’s improving his mind.”
“He can be nice sometimes.”
Oh God, Tubby thought.
Lunch was not romantic. Tubby hailed Flowers on his car phone right before noon and asked him to collect Cherrylynn and report in. The conversation immediately turned to what restaurant they could eat at, and they decided to converge at O’Henry’s by the river, where they could get a burger and munch peanuts.
As it turned out, Flowers and Cherrylynn in his Honda and Tubby in his Monza Spyder arrived at the same time and parked side by side in front of Yvonne LaFleur’s, where creamy models attired in lace and white bonnets advertised Old South fashions to sugar daddies and debutantes. They strolled together back to Carrollton and noticed that, for some strange reason, there was no line outside the Camellia Grill, so they went there instead.
Tubby sighed in appreciation of the cloth napkins at the venerable diner shadowed by the avenue’s towering royal palms. He signaled for coffee just to watch the graying black waiter pour a steady sable stream from two feet above the cup. Not a drop did he splash. Pleased with his stunt, the man gave Cherrylynn a kindly wink.
“Coffee or tea, ma’am?” he asked.
“Tea,” she giggled.
“Where’s Harry?” Tubby asked, referring to the waiter who had been a fixture in the place since Tubby was in law school.
“Harry retired,” the waiter reported, “after forty-six years. We got a sandwich on the menu named in his honor.”
“I’ll have that,” Tubby said.
Cherrylynn ordered a turkey club, Flowers the Doc Brinker’s special double cheeseburger on rye, very rare, and a chocolate freeze.