this other thing he said. You tell Lewis to come see me, he said, when it's convenient. When it's convenient. Forty years I worked at Jimmie's side and I never once heard him say that before, not to no one.'
5
Leonardo's was atimecapsule diey forgot to bury. The restaurant had been there forever; nothing about it ever changed. Same flockedred wallpaper, same portraits of owners hung high on the walls, same ancient black man sitting on a stool by the side entrance rocking and nodding. Inside, there were no windows, and waitresses in beehive hair went about the same business they'd gone about for forty years or more. The menu ran to heavy Italian, with a handful of New Orleans specialties, barbecued shrimp, roast-beef and oyster po-boys, bread pudding, thrown in for good measure. Once you'd snapped off the heads and spurted juice across the silly apron they insisted you wear, die barbecued shrimp finally didn't taste much different from the lasagna. But no one in his right mind came to Leonardo's for the food.
I was never sure why they did come. Maybe this was where the folks used to bring them on special occasions when diey were kids or where, he in scratchy wool suit, pajamas underneath, and the family Dodge with its green visored windshield, she in long pleated skirt and flats, they'd had their firstal most-grown-up date. Perhaps they all simply took comfort from the fact that in here, no matter what cataclysms took place outside, nothing changed.
Jimmie Marconi came because he'd always come here. His old man had come here and his old man before him. Places like New York, Boston, you'd have a regular neighborhood, do business from a booth in the bar on the corner or out of a family restaurant with checkered tablecloths, candles and pots of good, thick marinara reeking of garlic and fresh basil bubbling in the kitchen. That's the way things worked. People wanted tofind you-request a favor, ask for justice, tell you their daughter'd got knocked up by some guy refused to do the right thing-they knew where to come. Here it was different. No neighborhood, families spread out all through the city, across the river, out by Kenner and Jefferson. But when they needed you, they still knew where to come.
'You don't want to do this, boy,' the ancient black man told me as I stood with one foot on the cement step up to Leonardo's.
'Probably right,' I said, entering as he went back to rocking and nodding.
I pushed my way like an icebreaker past the frontdesk, through baffles of small rooms and beehived waitresses, around the shoal of a chattering, bantamweight maitre d' in double-breasted suit, to the main dining room.
Faces turned to watch me. Conversations stopped.
A guy whose neck put me in mind of bulls sat over an espresso at a table near the door. Sucking on a lemon slice, he lumbered to his feet as I came in. So did his counterpart, all wire and nerve endings, at a rear table.
Jimmie's head rose, too. He regarded me for a moment, two, three, nothing showing in his face. Then his hand came up an inch or two. The bookends sat down.
I did the same, across from Jimmie, who tucked back into his plate of cannelloni and, finishing that, pulled close a bowl of cantaloupe with shaved prosciutto.
'You eaten yet?'
I shook my head.
'Mama Bella'd be happy to fix you up something special.'
'Mama's other patrons might not appreciate that, sir.'
Jimmie nodded and ate his melon slowly, pushing the bowl away when he was done. Then he spoke to the room:
'Closing up in here now, folks. Any of you have food coming, they'll bring it to you out front. Please keep your wallets in your pockets, though; tonight your money's no good. Please have a complimentary drink, too, while waiting-and please come back.'
We watched as customers slid from booths and stood, tugging at polyester sport coats, cotton skirts and silk dresses before shuffling out.
'You too,' he told his bookends when the citizens were gone.
They didn't like it-eyesflashing You know you can't trust these people -but they left.
'Have a coffee with me at least?'
'Sure.'
Busboys in yellow vests and black pants came through a doorway at the back of the room to retrieve dishes.
'Sister doing okay, Joseph?' Jimmie asked one of them.
'Yessir. Thank you, sir.'
'Heading for college this fall, I understand,' Jimmie said to the other, who nodded. 'You know you got a job here anytime you need it, right? Summers, holidays. Anytime.'
They took the dishes away. Moments later the one whose sister was doing okay returned with two espressos.
'Good health,' Jimmie said.
I nodded. One healthy sip and my coffee was gone. Jimmie held the saucer in his left hand, up close to his face, working the cup with his right. Something axlike about that face. Sharp nose, narrow features. Eyes like wedges.
'Don't know as how I ever sat across the tablefroma black man before.'
No response called for-none I'd care to give, at any rate.
Jimmie's hand fluttered up. No one seemed to be watching, but fresh coffees materialized.
'We've known each other now what? four, five years? I try to keep track of you. What it looks like to me is, you have trouble enough keeping track of yourself.'
What could I say?
'That's what we're here for, Griffin. To bear witness, to take notice. Ever doubt that, you just look into a child's eyes.'
'Your man, Joey the Mountain. He's been asking about me.'
'Not anymore he ain't.'
'And about the woman I was with the night I got shot.'
Jimmie sipped at his coffee.
'You doing okay, right? From die shooting. You recovered.'
I nodded.
'That's good.' Jimmie threw back the last spoonful or so of his espresso. 'Never could get where I was able to care much for this stuff, but I keep trying. What I want is a drink. You want a drink?'
I didn't catch any signal, but the maitre d' materialized at our table.
'Single-malt Scotch suit you?' Jimmie said.
'Always has.'
Two doubles, Marcel.'
They were there in a blink. I picked up mine and looked through it, remembering how she'd done that very thing in the dive down on Dryades. I swirled the first taste, oily, deep, abiding, over the back of my tongue. Life was good.
'What we hear is, Eddie Bone called you that night.'
'He did. Said I should catch him at the club later on.'
'He didn't say what he wanted.'
'No.'
'He ever call you like that before?'
'No again.'
Jimmie wet the tip of his tongue with Scotch. He put the glass down before him on the table and sat looking at it.
'We want the woman,' he said.
