Julie Ardoin?”
“Yeah, she’s in the department.”
“What else is she into?”
“Excuse me?”
“Somebody told me she transported coke for Varina and Jesse Leboeuf,” she said.
“I don’t believe that.”
“Somebody told me maybe she killed her husband.”
“Who’s the somebody?”
“Is it true or not?”
“Both stories are ridiculous.”
“I got it. You’ve never had dirty cops here. Those black kids selling dope in their front yards don’t have to piece off their action.”
“I think your source for this nonsense is Pierre Dupree. Maybe it’s time to wise up.”
She looked around as though she could hardly contain her irritation. “I’d really appreciate you leaving me alone,” she said.
“You don’t want the intro to Dixie Lee?”
She brushed at her eyebrow with her thumb, quizzical, as though asking herself a question. I started back toward my seat. “Mr. Robicheaux?” she said behind me.
I stopped and turned around.
“Are you sure this Ardoin broad is straight up?” she said. “I mean really sure? Like you’re willing to bet Clete’s life on it?”
I sat back down as my cell phone vibrated. It was a missed call. I called the number back, but it went to voice mail.
“Who was that from?” Molly said.
“Catin Segura.”
“She called the house earlier. I didn’t pick up in time. I left a note by the phone. You didn’t see it?”
“No. What did she say on the message machine?”
“She just left her name and asked you to call her. I’m sorry, I thought you saw the note.”
“Did it sound urgent?”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I said.
“Where are you going?”
“To find Clete.”
It didn’t take long. He and Julie Ardoin were sitting a short distance away from the beer concession. Clete had placed a large red plastic cup foaming with beer between his feet and was adding to it from a silver hip flask. I sat down next to him and rested my hand on his shoulder. Julie was smiling brightly into my face, a purple and gold LSU cap tilted sideways on her head. “Hi, Dave,” she said.
“What’s happenin’, Julie?” I said.
“A little of this, a little of that,” she said, lifting her beer cup.
“See what Clete is doing? We used to call those B-52s. Sometimes we called them depth charges. They’re guaranteed to eat holes in your stomach and give you a hangover from hell.”
“No gloom and doom tonight, Streak,” Clete said. He had a program in his hand. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his wrist and then studied the program. I saw a smear of blood no bigger than a cat’s whisker on his wrist. “This next band is going to do some western swing,” he said. “Bob Wills and Spade Cooley stuff. Did you know Commander Cody got a lot of his style from Spade Cooley?”
“Are you going to drink that?”
“No, I’m going to wash my socks in it,” he replied.
“You want me to get you a cold drink, Dave?” Julie said.
“No, thanks. Y’all going anywhere later?”
“Haven’t thought about it,” Clete replied. “Maybe to Mulate’s for some fried shrimp. What’s up?”
“Nothing. You know Varina Leboeuf very well, Julie?” I said.
“I know her around. Like everybody does,” she replied.
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“It doesn’t mean anything. It means I know her around.”
“You like her?” I said.
“What’s with the attitude, big mon?” Clete said.
“I don’t have an attitude. It was just a question,” I replied.
“Dave, if I want to drink boilermakers, that’s what I’m going to do. If they’re bad for me, that’s the breaks. If they give me a headful of snakes in the morning, they’re my snakes.”
“Dave is just trying to be a friend,” Julie said.
“Yeah, but it’s a grand evening, and we don’t need anybody hanging crepe,” he said.
“Somebody said you did some work for Varina Leboeuf,” I said to Julie.
“Whoever told you that is full of shit,” she replied.
“Where’d you hear this?” Clete said.
“Guess,” I said.
I held my eyes on his. His gaze left mine and went to the front of the building, where Gretchen was standing by the corner of the stage. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said.
“Why don’t we talk about it now?” I said.
“Dave, what the hell is the matter with you?” he said.
“I’ve known you a long time, Julie,” I said. “I always liked you. I didn’t set out to offend you. I have some concerns about a story I heard.”
“No problem. Just remind me not to fly you out to any more islands, because I feel like an idiot for thinking you were a friend.”
“You know Pierre Dupree very well?” I asked.
I saw Clete shake his head. “Dave?” he said.
“What?” I said.
He was wearing a tan suit and a knit tie and penny loafers and a shiny light blue shirt with stripes in it, his Panama hat resting on one knee. His face was as red as a Christmas tree bulb. I could see the wisp of blood in the hair on his wrist and his holstered. 38 inside his coat. “Nothing. What’s the point?” he said.
He upended his boilermaker and drank it all the way to the bottom, his eyes as devoid of expression as green marbles. He crushed the cup under his shoe and stared straight ahead, his pulse beating visibly in his throat, his big hands resting on top of his thighs, like a man too tired to get angry anymore.
I walked back toward the stage just as Dixie Lee Pugh was leaving and the western swing band was filing out from the wings. Gretchen Horowitz was sliding the strap of an equipment bag over her shoulder. “Do you want to meet Dixie?” I said.
“I need to see Clete first,” she replied.
“I just talked to him. I don’t think he’s in the mood for any more consultations.”
“You told him what Pierre said?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“You named me as the source without giving me the chance to talk to him first?”
“Not exactly. But Clete is the closest friend I ever had. He’s also the best man I’ve ever known.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, then reopened them. “I can’t believe you. I see you, but I can’t believe someone like you exists. Is your wife doing some kind of penance for something she did in a former life?”
I stepped closer to her, my mouth three inches from her ear. “You need to understand something, Miss Gretchen. If not for me and your father, Sheriff Soileau would have you in a cage full of people like yourself. As it stands, I may have to resign from the department. Plus, I may have to deal with some serious problems of conscience. This isn’t your fault, it’s mine. But I don’t want to listen to any more of your insults.”
