night. He went apeshit in his cell, crashing against the bars, rolling around on the floor, and kicking his feet like he was having a seizure, slurping water out of the toilet.'
'You mean he had a psychotic episode?'
'That's what they thought it was. They got him in a van to take him to the hospital and he puked all over it. The doc at emergency receiving said he acted like he'd been poisoned, so they pumped his stomach out. Except by the time they got the tube down his throat there was hardly anything left inside him except blood from his stomach lining. Evidently the guy's got ulcers on top of his other problems.'
'What do you think happened?'
'A guard found an empty box of ant poison in the food area. Maybe somebody dumped it into his mashed potatoes. But to tell you the truth, Dave, I don't believe the city people are in a hurry to admit they can't provide security for a celebrity prisoner. They're having more fun with Joey Gouza than pigs rolling in slop.'
'What do you want me to do?'
'If he's connected with Garrett's murder, let's nail his butt before they take him out in a body bag. Not that half of New Orleans wouldn't get drunk in the streets.'
I drove over to Iberia General and walked down the hall to Joey Gouza's room. A uniformed cop was reading a magazine outside the door.
'How you doin', Dave?' he said.
'Pretty good. How's our man?'
'I have a fantasy. I see him running down the hall in his nightshirt. I see me parking a big one in his brisket. Does that answer your question?'
'Is he that bad?'
'It probably depends on whether or not you have to clean up his piss.'
'What?'
'He took a piss off the side of the bed, right in the middle of the floor. He said he doesn't use bedpans.'
I went inside the room and closed the door behind me.
Gouza's right wrist was cuffed to the bed rail and one ankle was locked to a leg chain. His elongated face was white on the pillow, his lips caked at the corners with dried mucus.
In the middle of the floor was a freshly mopped damp area.
The room smelled bad, and I tried to open the window but it was sealed with locks that could only be turned with an Allen wrench.
He rubbed his nose with his finger. His eyes were black and cavernous in his drawn face.
'You don't like the smell?' he asked. His voice sounded like air wheezing out of sand.
'It's kind of close in here, partner.'
'They told you I took a leak on the floor?'
'Somebody mentioned it.'
'They told you they keep me chained to the bed, they don't even let me walk to the toilet?'
'I'll see what I can do about it.'
'I can't raise my voice. Come closer.'
I moved a chair to his bedside and sat down. His sour breath and the odor from under his sheet made me swallow.
'It's a whack,' he said.
'On who?'
'Who the fuck you think?'
'Maybe it was an accident. It happens. The people who prepare jailhouse food haven't worked in a lot of five-star restaurants.'
'I jailed too long, man. I know when the whack's out. You feel it. It's in people's eyes.'
'You're a superstar, Joey. They're not going to lose you.'
'You listen to me. Yesterday afternoon a trusty, this punk, a kid with mushmelons for buns, is sweeping out the corridor. Then he looks around real careful and walks over to my cell and says, 'Hey, Joey, I can get you something.' '
'I go, 'You can get me something? What, a case of AIDS?' '
'He says, 'Stuff you might could use.' '
'I go, 'The only stuff I see around here is you, sweetcakes.' '
'He says, 'I can get you a shank.' '
'I go, 'What I need a shank for from a punk like you?' '
'He says, 'Sometimes there's some badasses in the shower, man.' '
'I go, 'You clean the shit out of your mouth when you talk to me.' '
'He says, 'It's just a city jail, but there's a couple of bad guys here. You don't want the shank, you don't want a friend, that's your business. I was only trying to help out.' '
'I go, 'What guys?' But he's already walking off. I go, 'Come back, you little bitch,' but he clanks on the door for the screw to open up and shoots me the bone.'
'Like you say, Joey, he's probably just a punk who wants a job when he gets out. What's the big deal?'
'You don't get it. A guy like that don't shoot the bone at a guy like me. Something's happening. There's been some kind of change….' His hand motioned vaguely at the air, at the sunlight through the window. 'Out there somewhere. It's a whack. Look, I want a hot plate and canned food brought in.'
Then I saw something in his eye that I hadn't seen before, in the corner, a tremolo, a moist, threadlike yellow light, like a worm feeding.
He and his kind spent a lifetime trying to disguise their self-centered fear. It accounted for their grandiosity, their insatiable sexual appetites, their unpredictable violence and cruelty. But almost always, if you were around them long enough, you saw it leak out of them like a sticky substance from a dead tree.
'I owe you a confession, Joey,' I said.
'You owe me a-' He turned his head on the pillow to look at me.
'Yeah, I haven't been honest with you.'
His brow became netted with lines.
'I cooked the books on you a little bit,' I said. 'You wanted me to tell Weldon you weren't going down by yourself. I did as you asked, but I told the same thing to Bobby Earl.'
His head lifted an inch off the pillow.
'You told Earl-' His breath was rasping. 'You told Earl what? '
'That you're going to take other people down with you.'
'Why you trying to tie me with Earl?'
'You seem to know a lot of the same people, Joey.'
His face was gray and dry. His eyes searched in mine.
'I got you figured,' he said. 'You're trying to put out word to the AB I'm gonna roll over. That's it, ain't it? You're gonna keep squeezing me till I cop to some bullshit plea. Do you know what you're doing, man? The AB's not part of the organization. They think somebody's gonna ratout a member, it's an open contract. They're in every joint in the country. You do time when there's an AB hit on you, you do it in lockup. I mean with a solid iron door, too, man, or they'll get you with a Molotov through the bars. That's what you're trying to bring down on me? That's why you're pulling on Bobby Earl's crank? That's a lousy fucking thing to do, man.'
'Would Jewel Fluck try to whack you, Joey?'
His eyes narrowed and grew wary.
'I saw him take out Eddy Raintree. It was pretty ugly.'
'I got no more to say to you.'
'I can't blame you. I'd feel the same way if all the doors were slamming around me. But think about it this way, Joey. You're a made guy. There're cops who respect that. Are you going to do major time while a guy like Bobby Earl sips Cold Duck and gets his picture on the society page? He's a Nazi, Joey, the honest-to-God real article. Are you going to take a jolt for a guy like that?'
He leaned over the side of the bed and spit in the wastebasket. I looked the other way.
'Drop dead, man. I don't know anything about Bobby Earl.'
I studied his face. His skin was grained, unshaved, filled with twitches.
