Eye of the Cricket (14 page)

I drifted as though on a raft: asleep, awake and somewhere in between, sounds around me settling in half-acknowledged, setting
off sparks that caught at the dream-tinder.

Clare sat at the table by me. The sound of cars passing outside became her fingers on the keyboard. I'd just surfaced from
a quart of gin, lying on the couch: she was home. Another review? Yes. It's going well? Fairly well, yes. Then, in the dream,
I was again asleep.

Without transition I stood inside the ER doors, watching all those people rush towards Clare's room. White tile and bright
light everywhere. Her overnight bag in my hand. Hairbrush and toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, one of the oversize T-shirts
she wore to sleep in, all her usual meds.

Then in a dimly lit room I sat beside LaVerne as she poured martinis from a chilled pitcher, telling me about her childhood,
her mother, and trains.

I looked up at her photo, the one Richard Garces gave me.

So many things I wanted to tell you, Verne.

I know.

I loved you more than any.

But with the same disabilities. Yes.

We can make up for our actions. But for our inactions, what we fail to do . . .

Do you think it's any different with me, Lew? With any of us? Let it go. This new woman you've met.

Deborah.

She makes you happy?

Yes.

I'll try.... Verne?

She was gone.

When I was a kid, twelve, thirteen, my father built a shoe-shine box for me. I'd said I wanted to earn my own money and a
week later he handed me this thing. Solid hardwood box with a drawer for supplies, steel footrest above, a rod on the side
for shoe-shine rags. Amazing piece of workmanship. He'd even stocked it with polishes, a brush, pieces of old towels. That
Saturday he took me along on his usualrounds, Billy's D-light Diner, Clcburne Hotel Barber Shop, Blue Moon Tavern, DeSoto
Park, and introduced me to his friends, many of whom, it happened, needed shoe-shines. I came home that day with almost eight
dollars. I don't think I ever touched the box again. I spent the money on books. Paperbacks were a quarter back then. Seven
dollars and change bought a lot of books. And earned a lot of grief from my mother, who for weeks complained of my wasting
all that money, buying more books when I had a room full of them already.

"You comin' 'long or not?" Keith LeRoy said above me.

I looked up, for a moment disoriented.

"Let myself in, since you wouldn't answer the door. Hand got sore, standing out there knocking. You really oughta get a decent
lock, man, you care about any of this shit."

I swung my legs over the side of the couch and sat up.

"Say that 'cause something for sure been goin' on 'round here, way there's eyes behind every window while I'm comin' down
the street."

I told him about the juvenile muggers.

"Damn, they do be startin' early nowadays, don't they. So . . . You coming with?"

I came with.

Keith LeRoy led me to a dark green Mercedes parked in front of the house and when I looked at him questioningly told me, "Friend's
car." He turned the key. The engine cleared its throat once, very discreetly, then was purring.

"Your friend takes good care of his car."

Business. Car."

"Friends."

"Yeah. 'Specially friends."

LeRoy signaled, watched in his wing mirror as he waited for a bread truck to pass, then pulled out. Went up Prytania to Jefferson,
then left to Tchoupitoulas.

The bartender/waitress/cook, obviously a woman of many talents, dropped hamburgers on the table before us and stalked back
towards the bar. Never know what might be going on up there while you were away. The hamburgers came in plastic baskets lined
with waxed paper. Already grease was seeping through onto the tables.

I watched steam rise from the hamburger, grease spread below, as I finishedmy coffee. LeRoy downed his hamburger in four truly
impressive bites. I'd just started mine when he said "There's your man" and stood.

He walked over to meet him. Neither made any move towards a handshake, anything like that, of course. They stood talking.
Delany's eyes cut towards me.

It's not something you see too often on TV or in movies: the detective standing up with grease dribbling down his chin to
apprehend a suspect.

I started for them just as Delany turned to leave. LeRoy's hand shot out and clamped on his upper arm.

That was when Armantine Rauch stepped through the door.

"Boy's with me," he said.

LeRoy looked once into Rauch's eyes and let go of Delany, stepping back, amis half-raised, palms out.

Rauch's eyes turned to me. We stood in mutual regard, no expression on our faces. Absolute quiet in the bar.

"We know one another?"

He must have seen something in my eyes like what LeRoy saw in his. A solid, compact little blue-steel22 appeared.

"I sure as hell hope there ain't no goddamn heroes here."

The gun gave him confidence. Now his eyes could let go of mine. They swept the room. Shon Delany, still afraid to move. Keith
LeRoy back against the wall. The girls at the bar, swiveled about to watch, skirts hiked high on their legs.

"Had about all I can stomach of heroes."

He smiled. Let the gun fall down along his leg.

"Man get a drink around here?"

Rauch whirled about—and into the baseball bat that landed expertly just below the supraorbital ridge, at the bridge of his
nose. He went back, and down, like a door slammed off its hinges, just as inert.

LeRoy lowered his hands. I picked up the .22, which slid towards me when Rauch fell. The girls swiveled back to the bar to
slurp up the dregs of their drinks through pastel straws.

As I said, a lady of many talents. First sign of trouble, she'd gone out the back door and around. With her Louisville slugger.

Not a game I much care for, baseball, but it has its points.

Bartender/waifress/cook/enforcer, she stepped behind the bar again and announced: "Last call, ladies and gentlemen. Might
want to order doubles. Cops be here soon enough."

I knew just what she meant.

Don looked at him and after a moment, shifting his gaze to the floor, shook his head.

"You hear anyone else in here interrupting me, DeSalle?"

DeSalle grunted.

"You know why that is?"

No responsethis time.

Don gestured towards Ranch.

Again no response from DeSalle.

"So. We straight on this?"

After a moment the officer nodded.

"Thing is," Don went on, talking now to Armantine Rauch, "we're willing to overlook a lot of things. Have to, all that goes
on around here, limited manpower we have."

Don shook his head and leaned closer over the table. Two men in the same business, you might as well say, comparing notes.

"Bodies are different, Rauch. We don't get away with overlooking those for long. Mayor's office, citizens' groups, the paper,
TV shows calling us America's murder capital and pushing for federal investigations. Everybody's got a list. And when those
lists start getting too long they just naturally get louder and louder about it. Hey, you want some coffee or something? A
cigarette?"

Rauch shook his head.

"You sure? Okay, just let me know if you change your mind. So what you think? You think you might be able to help me with
this?"

Rauch smiled.

"Your men took my wallet."

"Sony: regulations."

Don nodded. "You're probably right. Probably save me a lot of time and effort. Lawyers usually do, bless them. Officer DeSalle?"

"Yessir."

"Will you please go check and be sure this man's lawyer has been notified?"

We all sat looking at one another until DeSalle returned.

"Call's been made," he said.

"Then we're just having a quiet talk while we wait, in the spirit of cooperation, am I right?" Don asked.

"I don't believe my lawyer would want me to say anything until he arrives."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure you're right."

There was a knock at the door. A uniform poked his head through to talk to DeSalle, then withdrew.

DeSalle passed it along: "Counselor Silberman—that's Mr. Rauch's lawyer, Lieutenant—is currently unavailable. Seems he's on
vacation in Barbados for a couple weeks."

"Well," Don said. "That does present us with something of a problem, doesn't it, Rauch? We can petition for a court-appointed
lawyer, some kid just out of law school or some bumed-out case carrying twice as many cases as anyone could possibly handle."

"Or you can hold me over till such time as my own attorney becomes available."

"Good take on the situation," Don said.

"Thank you."

"Listen, you mind waiting here a few minutes? Couple things I've gotta take care of."

DeSalle and I followed Don out of the room.

"We really tiy calling that shitbag's lawyer?" he asked.

"This time, I didn't make it up. Didn't have to. Guy's really in Barbados."

"Not much room to maneuver there, then."

"Not much."

Shon Delany was in the next room, seated behind a high, desk-sized table. They'd put a canned Coke, a cellophane-shrouded
sandwich from a vending machine, a pack of Salems and a Bic lighter on the table. Delany was drinking the Coke.

Don introduced himself and asked if there was anything else he could get.

"You want another Coke, maybe? some ice? a slice of pizza?

"No?

"Look, son, I'm not supposed to—my superiors find out, I'm in for a major ass-chewing—but I feel like I have to tell you this.
Your buddy in there rolled over on you. Told us about the burglaries and all the rest. Names, dates, details. What you did
with the take."

"But I don't know about any of that."

"Well. Sure you don't. But..."

Don spread his hands imploringly as DeSalle stepped forward.

Don smiled. "See what I mean? Day comes to an end, folks like yourself shoved in here, all this paperwork, I've just naturally
got to have some kind of answers for the people upstairs."

"I'm sure you would. So for a start why don't you tell us why you killed Daryl Anthony Payne."

"What?"

"You think that matters, Shon? The meter's ticking. I gotta draw a line at the bottom, add it all up, column A, column B.
That's what the city and the citizens pay me for. And my wife's expecting me home for dinner.

"You saw anything maybe you weren't supposed to see, something that could put this in a different light for us, now's your
time to lay it on the table."

"Only chance you'll get," DeSalle echoed.

"He's right. I don't blow smoke, Shon. We're doing our best here, trying to be up front with you. Your cousin's going down.
Up to you whether he drags you down with him or not."

"You need paper and a pen?" DeSalle said. "Want to write it all down for us?"

Shon Delany shook his head.

"Okay, Shon," Don said. "Okay. I understand. DeSalle?"

"Yessir?"

"You want to drop the dime on this young man for me? Just tell County we've got a newfish for them, they want to bring the
hooks, come get him."

"Look, I do get to make a phone call, right?" Delany said.

Don looked surprised.

"I'm not sure, sir. I'll look into it"

"You do that, Detective. Butfirst you take Mr. Delany into my office, let him use my phone."

"Yessir."

DeSalle and Shon Delany left.

Don looked up at the clock on the wall opposite the interrogation rooms.

"Don't guess you want to grab some dinner this late?"

"Why not. What the hell, I might even spring for it."

"Whoa . . . Scary."

Don glanced back at the clock. We both knew he didn't want to go home.

"Give me a minute or two, okay, Lew? Meet you outside."

A huge platter of oysters cruised into port before us.

"Thanks, Tony," Don said.

"You gonna work on these awhile?"

"You better believe it."

"Want another beer?"

Don said yes. He got it instantly.

"You want anything else, just let me know, right?"

"Right."

Tony disappeared into the kitchen. We heard rapid-fire chopping back there.

"You still seeing this O'Neil person?" Don asked. He loaded horseradish onto an oyster, forked the whole thing into his mouth.

I nodded.

"Tilings going all right there?"

Cocktail sauce this time. Another Rabelaisian swallow.

And I nodded.

"Good. That's good, Lew. Happy for you."

Don drained off half his beer in a gulp.

"Maybe we could get together, just the three of us, have dinner some night."

"I'd like that."

"Yeah. Yeah, I would too."

He poured the rest of his beer down.

"We'll work on that, then."

Tony emerged from the kitchen to slide another beer into place before Don and to refill my glass of iced tea, pouring sideways
from the pitcher, just as Don's beeper went off.

He pulled it off his belt, put it on the table and stared at it.

"Maybe I should just shoot the damned thing."

"Probably go down okay, you put enough horseradish on it."

"Yeah."

Don stalked off towards the phone booth.

"Ready for menus?" Tony asked.

"Remains to be seen."

"As usual. I'll just leave them here on the table then, check back with you."

"Sounds good."

"Today's soup is cream of artichoke. Specials are trout in garlic sauce and penne pasta alfredo with grilled shrimp. Either
one's guaranteed to leave you drooling into next Tuesday."

"Thanks, Tony. I'm drooling already."

"No problem. Need an extra napkin?"

"Not yet. But some more tea would be great, when you get a chance."

"You got it."

Don came back and sank heavily into the booth across from me.

"Guess you have a big night planned, right, Lew? With your new girl and all."

"Not really."

"You mind coming with me, then? I could use the company."

He stood and tucked a five under the saltshaker.

"Sure. Where we going?"

"It's Danny, Lew. They just found him. Place down on Dryades. Apparent suicide."