by Tony Dunbar
Rolling toward home on the Interstate, Tubby dialed his ex-wife on the car phone.
“Is that you, Tubby?”
“Yeah, can’t you hear me?”
“There’s a little static. Are you calling me from your damn car phone?”
“Yeah. You called me?”
“We need to talk, and not on the phone. Has Christine spoken to you about her trip to Europe?”
“First I heard of it.”
“What did you say? You’re breaking up.”
“I just went under a bridge. I said, first I heard of it.”
“It’s going to cost four thousand dollars, Tubby.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”
“What, Tubby? Are you doing something to that phone deliberately?”
Tubby was holding it out the window. He pulled his arm back in. “Mattie, I’ll drop by.”
“Did you say you’re coming over?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Right now.”
“That’s a surprise.”
He hung up. One of life’s unpleasantnesses was about to go away. Tubby hummed to the rock ’n’ roll oldies on the radio. As he exited on Carrollton he was singing and thumping the steering wheel in time to the music.
He rang the doorbell of the house on State Street, the house he and Mattie had shared for seventeen years and in which he had not lived for four years. She kept it up nice, he thought, but it could use a coat of paint soon. There were rust spots on the gutters in front with delicate ferns peeking through them. They had not been there when he left, he was damn sure of that.
She came to the door wearing baggy white shorts and a madras blouse, earrings, and a matching tennis ankle bracelet, so he knew she had dressed up a little for the occasion. Nothing surprising there. She would want him to know how well she was doing, physically and emotionally, to go along with how poorly she was doing financially.
Mattie was a head shorter than he was and had red hair and a tiny colony of freckles under each of her blue eyes. She had a big mouth, both figuratively and literally, which could break into the kind of smile that would make a state trooper tear up a ticket. The smile was the thing that had drawn him in years ago. That and her gorgeous tits, to be honest about it. But it was her way of always staying a step ahead of him in a conversation that kept him around. She was getting a little plump, but all in all, with three kids, she was looking pretty good.
The first thing that hit him whenever he saw her was how long they had been happily, he thought, married, and how short had been the period of dissatisfaction before the divorce. Yet the years of their marriage, and the birthing and raising of children, were such a blur in his memory, and it seemed there were only a few fragments he could bring back clearly. But the painful days blasted back into his consciousness whenever they felt like it, and there was no on-off switch for them. After Tubby moved out, Mattie had taken her trips and had her affair, at least one that Tubby knew about, under circumstances he had found embarrassing and hard to forgive. When it was clear that their temporary separation would be permanent, when they both settled into their new and private lifestyles, the trauma finally passed. Now they had healed their own wounds as best they could, but Tubby knew that his were still close to the surface, waiting around.
“Hi, Mattie.” He pecked her on the cheek as she tilted toward him.
“Come on back.” She led the way to the kitchen. It was done in white and black tiles, which he had paid for, and a tiled bar where they used to eat their family meals together.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked.
“Are you having one?”
“Just a little glass of wine.”
“If you’ve got some bourbon, I’ll have some with soda.”
“You never were a soda drinker.”
“Hey, I’m getting sophisticated.” Actually he was getting drunk.
“Where are the girls?” he asked.
“Christine is in Florida. Collette is going to a party and may sleep over at her friend’s tonight. Debbie is probably at her apartment, but she may drop in later.”
She organized the drinks efficiently, placed his on the counter, and moved around to the other side to perch on a stool.
“What’s this about Europe?” he asked.
“Christine has a chance to go with her Newman class for a month to Paris, and then to Italy. Everybody attends language classes, and they take bicycle trips and, you know, travel around. It’s going to cost about four thousand dollars for her tickets and tuition and some spending money. They’ll be staying in youth hostels, but even so…”
“Four grand,” he said as he sipped.
“I spoke to Vinny about it, and he thinks it’s covered in the decree.” Vinny was her lawyer, and here was where Tubby was supposed to get nervous and angry. He was sure Vinny had told her no such thing, but this was the tip-off that the tough negotiating was about to begin.
“I don’t think four thousand will be a problem, Mattie. Let’s take care of it now.” He pulled a long envelope out of the breast pocket of his jacket and counted out $4,000 in $100s onto the bar. He pushed it over to her. “I want her to have a good time.”
Mattie did not speak right away, which gratified Tubby a lot. Plus, from her little half smile he could see she was really pleased. She liked to argue, especially about money, but she liked money more.
“Why, Tubby, that’s so sweet. Where did it all come from?”
“Lucky day at the track.”
“I’m so surprised. I thought this was going to be one of those long-drawn-out fights.” She came around the bar and kissed him on the forehead. Tubby inhaled the familiar perfume she wore on her neck and shoulders, and couldn’t keep from beaming.
“I also brought you a little extra,” he said. “I know I’ve been slow a couple of months.” He pinched a half inch of bills from the envelope and pressed them into her hand. Such joy from soft, green rag paper, smelling of fingers and printer’s ink and leather wallets, a richness like fresh turned soil. Mattie’s mouth formed a perfect O as she stared at the warm pile in her hand. She was moved, deeply.
“Oh, Tubby, this is not necessary,” like he had given her a present on their first date.
He gave her the old smile and wink.
She bent over, and this time the kiss was on the lips. Tubby himself continued to float somewhere overhead, watching it all happen, from his golden balloon.
“Here’s a little tip.” Gently he slipped a few bills past the open neck of her blouse and tucked them into her bra.
Her face lit up, on fire. It was happy. She held his hand to her breast, then brought it inside, guiding his fingers to pull aside her blouse and pull down the bra covering her right breast till, pushed skyward by elastic, it pointed at his face.
“Why don’t you kiss it, sweet little baby,” she said. She pressed herself into his mouth, and he obliged, tasting old flavors. Slowly, with his free hand, he folded another bill and slid it into the band of her shorts.
The electricity was running full current. With her free hand she undid her eelskin belt and pulled down the zipper. He tucked more $100s into her sheer panties. She yanked his belt buckle loose, pulled her breast from his face, kissed him hard, then knelt on the tile floor. She unzipped his pants and worked him free. While she caressed him moistly, Tubby selected bills, one at a time, touched her delicately about the cheeks and neck with them and let them fall. They formed a ragged green carpet around his horny one-time wife. It really took so little to make everything good, really good.
THIRTEEN
Tubby left in the morning before she woke up. It was raining lightly outside, and the air was sweet. He expected Mattie would be embarrassed about what they had done. To a certain extent, he was, too. When it’s over, it’s supposed to be over. By pure luck, none of the girls had come home. The last thing they needed was some false hope that their parents were reconciling. It had taken them long e
nough to adapt to the breakup. He looked forward to taking a shower at his house and then going to work to find out what he had missed during his shopping spree yesterday. There were still living clients to care about, and Tubby’s guiding principle was never screw a client.
He left the money in the trunk of his car, not being able to think of a better place for it. After packing the smaller presents he had bought into a sock drawer, he showered, then fixed himself a cup of coffee, sliced up two satsumas, and ate the fruit. He locked up and drove downtown. He was in traffic on Claiborne Avenue when his car phone beeped.
“Mr. Dubonnet, this is Cherrylynn.” Her voice was almost hysterical. “Someone broke into the office last night.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s a mess. The files are everywhere. Your desk drawer was broken open. The safe is open. They went through my desk. And Mr. Turntide’s office is torn up, too.”
“Are the police there?”
“Not yet. But I called them. Mr. Turntide told me to. They should be here soon.”
“Right. Some ace detectives, I’ll bet.”
“Only in the movies. But really, Mr. Dubonnet, you had better come down here. It really is a wreck.”
“I’m already headed that way.”
The police had arrived when he got to the office. Or rather, a lone officer in uniform was shaking his head over the carnage. The place was pretty much as Cherrylynn had described it. Files were dumped everywhere—on the floor, on the desks, in the hall. Books had been pulled off their shelves. His globe had been overturned. He was sad to see that his leather chair had been ripped open and the stuffing was pulled out. Mattie had given him the chair for Christmas when he first started practicing law. It was accustomed to his backside now and fit him just right. Worst of all, one of the oil paintings on the wall, an abstract by the local artist Still, had been slashed. The artist was also his client, but Tubby had actually paid money for the painting because he admired it so much. He liked it when people studied it and was proud to say that he knew the painter. It was going to be expensive as hell to fix.
Reggie and Cherrylynn went with the policeman into the relative normalcy of the kitchen to talk. Tubby followed after them.
“I can’t believe what they did to your office, Tubby,” Reggie said. “What could they have been after?”
Tubby shook his head.
“They sure got your office a lot worse than mine.”
“It’s just devastating,” moaned Cherrylynn.
“Come look at mine,” Reggie said. They walked down the hall through the litter. The wreckage here was on a smaller scale.
Reggie lowered his voice. “This is pretty intense, Tubby. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you working on anything that could, you know, lead to this?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You think it could be connected with Darryl Alvarez?”
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. Drugs? Money? Did he leave anything with you?” Reggie’s eyebrows twitched.
“No.” Being partners didn’t mean you had to tell each other everything.
“All of my clients are regular businessmen, Tubby.”
Sure, thought Tubby. “Does that make them sweethearts?” he asked.
Reggie blinked rapidly, maybe thinking. “It’s not really their style,” he said. “Plus, whoever heard of busting up a lawyer’s office just because you’re mad at him? This doesn’t look like vandalism to me. You better go over your client list, Tubby.”
“You can bet I’ll give it some thought.” Tubby meant that. “Guess we better call the insurance company.”
Cherrylynn came and got them. The policeman wanted an inventory. She also told Tubby that Clifford Banks was on the phone. Banks was the chairman of the Louisiana Bond Counsel Association. He represented municipalities and parish governments wishing to sell tax-free securities. He was known throughout the state. He never called Tubby Dubonnet, and Tubby tried to steer clear of guys like Clifford Banks.
“I’ll tell him you’ll call him later.”
“Right. No. I’ll take it at my desk.”
He had to look for the phone. It was on the floor, underneath a pile of paper, but it was still plugged in. Cherrylynn had been picking up and reshelving books, but she stepped outside to give him some privacy.
“Hello, Mr. Dubonnet?” It was a quiet, assured voice. A flat, slightly nasal accent. A Republican Garden District voice.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry to call you out of the blue like this. It’s been quite some time since we were introduced at the Federal Bar Association dinner.” Tubby had only the faintest recollection of attending any such dinner. He thought it might have been two or three years ago. He did not recall that Clifford Banks had been in attendance, though you shook so many hands at those affairs that anything was possible.
“I didn’t think you’d remember that,” Tubby said lamely.
“Of course I do. Listen, I’ll tell you why I called. I have a client who is interested in the death of Darryl Alvarez.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He is a potential heir to Mr. Alvarez’s estate, and he is trying to learn more about the circumstances of his death, and what the assets of the estate are, things of that nature.”
“I wouldn’t know about either, Clifford,” Tubby said, but he was thinking that the other shoe was finally beginning to drop. “I was just representing him on a criminal matter. I don’t even know if he left a will. Who is your client?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. I know a statement like that always raises more questions than anything else, and I assure you there is nothing to hide here, but I have to respect my client’s wishes.”
“I don’t see how I can help you.”
“You may be able to help me more than you think. I wonder if I might meet with you, this afternoon if possible, and perhaps I can explain a little more fully what I’m trying to find out. Could I drop by your office?”
“No, I’m sorry, but my office is being remodeled right now.” Tubby righted a trashcan with his foot and tried to collect the wadded-up things that had spilled from it.
“Then perhaps you could drop by mine,” Banks said. “Or, better still, why not let me buy you a drink after work. We could meet in the bar at the Fairmont.”
Tubby had no desire to meet with him anytime, but he said, “Okay, what time?”
“Whatever suits you. How about six o’clock?”
“All right, I’ll see you there.”
Tubby hung up and looked around his office. The cabinet safe wasn’t bank-vault quality, but someone had to know what they were doing to get it open. He had no doubt that the safe was the target. The burglar or burglars had probably cut up the oil painting and his chair just out of meanness. He walked outside and found the policeman sitting at Cherrylynn’s reception desk, writing up his report. He was tall and good-looking and very young. Cherrylynn was fawning over him. Tubby saw that the policeman had a cup of coffee, which his secretary must have fixed. The cop’s radio was on, bleating announcements of car accidents interspersed with static.
“Do you know what you are missing, Mr. Dubonnet?”
“Not yet.” Tubby gestured at the wreckage.
“Do you have any idea who might have done this?”
“Not a clue. Probably some doper.”
“They would have taken your typewriters, and your curtains and your paper clips. Angry client?”
“I don’t think I’ve made any that angry. Why don’t you take some fingerprints or something?”
“I don’t know what we’d print. A lot of people probably come in here. To be honest, we can’t get the fingerprint teams out on anything but homicides or rapes. It’s a question of resources.”
“How do you ever catch anybody?”
“Well, you know, somebody turns them in, or, if something was stolen, it usually turns
up. Also people confess. You’re not sure that anything was stolen?”
“I’ll know better when I clean up the mess. But really there’s not much here to steal except the copier and the word processor, and they’re still here.”
The cop looked around as if to confirm that, nodded his head, and went back to writing.
“You find something gone, you call me,” he said. “And if you need a report for your insurance company, here’s the incident number.” He tore off a slip of paper from his notebook and gave it to Tubby.
“And you call me if you learn anything or get a line on who might have done this.”
Wasn’t that supposed to be the other way around? Tubby asked himself.
“I will, Officer.” He bent over to read the man’s badge. Tucker. “I hear anything I’ll call you.”
“Okay, and thanks. See you later, ma’am,” he said to Cherrylynn.
“Such a nice fellow,” she said when he was out the door.
“Very easygoing,” said Tubby. “Look, can you clean up this mess? I mean put the files in order. Call Maintenance and they can haul out the trash. I’ve got to get to court.” He couldn’t stand being there any longer, for some reason, and he needed to see Judge Hughes.
FOURTEEN
Monique went into mourning after Darryl got killed, but she managed to get the saloon back in operation. There was nothing official about it, but she had the keys and knew the combination to the safe, which nobody else did, so they all deferred to her. One night her apartment was ransacked while she was working, but she didn’t report it. She just cleaned up the mess and went on. At least they didn’t steal her bike. A man called her on the phone right after the shooting. She thought she recognized the voice as the guy on the balcony, the one with Casey who ordered a Wild Turkey.