Cold Blood (61 page)

Rosie could feel the nonalcoholic beer churning i^ her stomach Rooney turned to stare down the street, but the sweat was trickling off his face.

“How much?”

Harper asked.

“You tell me,”

she said softly.

Rooney flicked a glance at Rosie. Her face^listened w^ perspiration and she was twisting a bit of the tablecloth ťnd and round one of her fingers.

Harper caught a drop of water running down the neck Of his cold beer bottle. He licked his finger.

“Are you gonna be around unti| this evening?”

“Back at the hotel, surewe can wait for you to contact us

“

Harper pushed back his chair.

“Be in touch. Been nic^ talkin’ to you Mrs. Page, Bill, and nice to meet you, Rosie.”

He waddled off, seeming to make a wave through th? people in the street, his girth not something to push around but to bounce off

“How much do you think he’d want?”

Rosie asked.

Lorraine stood up.

“Why, you worried about parting \jfjh yOur hardearned money, Rosie?”

“No, just being cautious. And you should put that chec]< in the bank before you lose it.”

Lorraine laughed, and swung her purse around her sll()tjlder.

“Sure and I guess you both want a check for your cut, but you mind if I Wait until it’s actually in my account?” She walked off, and Rosie reached over for Rooney’s hand.

“I didn’t like him and I’m getting to not like her.”

They both looked toward Lorraine. She was standing on the pavement, slowly turning to face them as she saw a red convertible Mustang on the opposite side of the road cruise past. It was driven by Raoul Corbello, one hand trailing down over the door, the other lazily holding the white steering wheel. Rap music blared out, and his eyes, hidden behind mirrored shades, were checking out a young black chick selling postcards. He drove on, he could do a lot better for himself than a street vendor, and he needed to get to his uncle’s bar, Fryer Jones’s place. Raoul was hyped up on crack and needed to get easy, chill out for a while so he could face his family and see his precious Ruby crowned. That’s what he’d come home for: Mardi Gras.

CHAPTER

V

Raoul Corbello sneaked into his uncle’s bar, and stayed rv \j the doors, just where the old wooden counter ended. U leaned back against the windowless wall as nr barman sauntered do\> toward him. ^

“Mexican, and a shot of bourbon on the rocks,”

he said, collar turn A up, his shades still on.

“Sure, Raoul, but let’s see your money.”

“Fuck you, Zachary Blubber.”

But he slapped twenty bucks down.

Zak opened a beer, banged it on the counter and sauntered backf the bourbon.

“So how’s LA, man? You get all that fancy gear there?”

Raoul shrugged. His nose was running, and he sniffed as Zak leaikj against the bar, sliding the bourbon glass forward.

“Cool, it’s cool.”

“You look like you need to chill out.”

Raoul knocked back the bourbon and reached for the beer.

“Your brothers are workin’ out back.”

“Uncle Fryer around?”

“Sleepin’, like always at this time. Place was jumpin’ last night, \ played so much he got his big old lips swollen up, but he sure as hell t play that beat-up bugle o’ his.” Raoul sniffed again, wiping his nose with his shirt cuff. He took out a thick roll of notes and peeled off another twenty.

“Same again, have one yourself.”

Zak eyed the wad, and slowly moved back along the bar.

“Don’t mind if I do, brother, don’t mind if I do.”

Raoul had to wait awhile, as a couple of customers needed refills. He was beginning to get the shakes and wondered why the hell he’d come back. He’d get more than the shakes when he showed his face back home. What had seemed like a good idea was now beginning to pale.

Zak passed another beer and bourbon along, holding up a glass to indicate he’d taken his drink, and started to chin-wag with two old guys huddled at the far end of the bar.

“Zak, eh, Zak man, come on down here a second, will ya?”

Raoul said loudly, gulping down his beer.

“What you want?”

said Zak, handing out beers and tossing the empties into a crate beneath the bar. He kind of knew, so he opened a drawer under the till and took out a packet.

“This what you want, bro?”

Raoul put his hand over the plastic bag. Zak leaned forward, whispering that it was good homegrown stuff, he could vouch for it.

“You got any rolling papers?”

Raoul asked, peeling off fifty dollars.

“Shit, man, what you want me to do, smoke it for you?”

He reached into the back pocket of his pants and tossed down a squashed pack of rolling papers.

p>

The two Corbello boys were filthy from stacking all the crates, ready to load up the truck, when Raoul appeared in the back doorway of the bar. They yelled and flung their arms around him, and then sat in the outside John as he rolled up three big joints, one for each of them.

“How come you workin’ out back here?”

Raoul asked. They were hesitant at first, but after a few drags they told him that Fryer was getting heavy. They giggled as they said that when their Aunt Juda got hold of Raoul he’d get some heavy-handed activity. Raoul laughed, saying he was cool, and started telling them about his Mustang, his dealin’ and his thievin’ of their aunt’s hoard of cash from under her bed. She could try beating it out of him, but he wouldn’t tell her where he’d stashed what he hadn’t spent. They were both in awe of their older brother, and the more stoned they became, the more they got to bragging about carvin’ up a whitey. Raoul listened, his eyes drooping, not really believing their stories, not really caring. They rolled up some more joints, and started messing around as Raoul took a leak, having to prop himself up against the shack wall to piss straight.

LYNDA LA PLAMTE 389

“Eh! How’s Ruby?”

“Oh man, she’s gettin’ so in with Mama and Juda she don’t have time for us.”

“She getting into all that voodoo shit, huh?”

The two boys, now hurling empty bottles against a wall, didn’t really pay any attention. Fryer Jones looked down from his dirty window, pulling the sacking curtain aside. He could see his three nephews who might even be his own sons, but he sure as hell didn’t like what he was seeing. They were whooping and hollering and smashing up bottles. He drew on his dirty old jeans and had a good scratch before he made his way down the stairs. He was well hungover. It had been a good night, too good, and he was still buzzing.

“Eh, Zak, gimme a pickup, will ya?”

he shouted down, and Zak was waiting for him with his usual glass of snake’s eye.

“That Raoul’s turned up,”

he said.

Fryer knocked back his pick-me-up in one gulp, and kissed his swollen lips.

“Yeah, I see him, and I had enough o’ my fucking relatives to last me a lifetime. Give us another, I need something to waken me up before I get my belt off to those little no-good shits.”

Lorraine was washing her hair: she’d had a good few hours’ sleep and was feeling, if not a hundred percent, at least a lot better. She had stopped drinking, and hadn’t had a drop since she left Caley’s hotel, but she wasn’t congratulating herself, just hoping she’d be aft: to keep it up. All around her in the room was Rooney’s and Rosie’s bagpfge, but where the two were she had no idea. A second later, though, Rosie banged on the door.

“It’s us, Lorraine,”

she shouted.

“It’s open,”

replied Lorraine, still rubbing her hair dry.

Her partners came in and Rooney sat heavily on the bedunlike Lorraine, he hadn’t caught up on sleep from the night before, and he yawned, resting back on the pillows.

“I deposited the checkI got them to call her bank to clear it, got us a slice of it in cash. Where have you two been?”

Lorraine combed her hair and began to dry it with the hair dryer.

“With Harper,”

Rosie answered, raising her voice above the noise.

“He’s got five guys, plus him makes six, and you and me. He doesn’t want you to go in, Lorraine.”

Rooney also had to shout over the roar of the dryer.

“I want to be there. Did he get a search warrant?”

“What?”

Rooney shook his head.

“He didn’t say, but I doubt it. They’re all ex-cops, two grand each.”

fi “What?”

Rosie said, astonished.

“For twelve thousand dollars, it’s worth it,”

Rooney yelled.

“Turn that goddamned thing off!”

Lorraine switched off the hair dryer.

“And Nick Bartello’s dead. If he was alive, Bill, he’d get a hell of a lot more from his share of the one million bonus, so quit beefin’. And you, Rosie.”

“I never said anything!”

“Right, but you were thinking about it,”

Lorraine said, checking her hair. The ends were still damp, so she turned on the dryer again and began to curl them over a brush. She watched Rosie and Rooney in the mirror: both looked exhausted, Rosie yawning and Rooney’s eyes drooping as he leaned back on the pillow.

Nobody spoke, and Rooney nodded off and began to snore. Eventually Lorraine switched off the dryer and went back into the bathroom to dress. When she came out, Rosie was also fast asleep. Lorraine smiled: sometimes the pair of them were like two kids, and she felt worried about involving them in the scene at Fryer’s bar. She didn’t want anything to happen to them, not now that they’d found each other at last.

She stared at them, and then sat down and wrote a note. She left it on Rooney’s big heaving chest, packed her bags and carried them out, closing the door quietly behind her. Neither woke. The note said:

“Don’t stay for Mardi Gras, see you back at my new place. Good luck. L.”

Lorraine left her cases at the desk and walked out to pay Frangois. He was still hovering, even after she settled his bill, asking if she needed him to take her to the airport, astonished she wasn’t going to stay on for the Carnival.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Frangois. You take care now.”

She walked off, and he counted out the dollars. She’d given him a bonus, fifty dollars more than he’d asked for. He grinned, a happy man.

Lorraine walked out into the French Quarter. It was a muggy evening, and the street was crowded as more and more tourists flooded in. Purple, green and gold were everywhere and there was already a carnival feeling in the air, but she didn’t feel in a festive mood.

The six men were waiting in two patrol cars down a side street. They were smoking, wearing dark glasses, all the car windows open. Lorraine got in beside the obese Officer Harper, and smiled as he introduced her to the men squashed in the backseat.

“Cash up front, Mrs. Page.”

She opened her purse and took out an envelope.

“Twelve grand, right? Half now, half when we’re through.”

p

LYNDA LA P L A N T E

Harper turned to look at the officers behind himthey shrugged. He got out of his car and waddled to the car behind him, leaned in the window, had a brief conversation and then returned.

“Okay, but you’d better not try to put anything over on us.”

Lorraine smiled.

“You think I would really try to pull a fast one on you guys? Come on, I know you’re taking a big risk.”

It seemed to do the trick. He nodded, his jowls wobbling.

“So how do we work it?”

she asked quietly.

Rooney grunted, and his body jerked. He lifted his head.

“Shit, what time

j/V

is it?

Rosie murmured as he eased himself off the bed. The note fluttered to the floor and he picked it up. The room was in darkness, so he turned on the bedside lamp.

“Rosie, wake up, girl. Rosie!”

She blinked and swallowed, and then sat up with a start.

“She’s gone. Read this.”

Rosie took a moment to adjust to the light, and then read the note.

“What should we do?”

Rooney hesitated, then crossed to the bathroom.

“Check if there’s a flight out of here. If there isn’t, we’ll stay.”

“We’re going to leave her?”

“Just see if there’s a flight, sweetheart.”

^

Rooney splashed cold water over his face ami patted it dry with one of the damp towels Lorraine had used. It smelled of shampoo, and he lowered it from his face, staring at himself in the mirror. He felt old and tired, wondering what the hell he was thinking of doing, getting himself engaged at his age. Had he really suggested she move in with him? He sat on the edge of the bath, wishing he’d taken his shoes off before he fell asleep; his feet felt swollen.

Rosie called out that there was a flight in an hour and a half.

“Gimme a second,”

he shouted back. He didn’t know what to do. Not knowing what the hell Lorraine had arranged with Harper or when they were going to do it, or for that matter why. What did she expect to gain? He sighed.

Rosie was brushing her hair when he walked out.

“I gave them your credit card number, that okay?”

She watched him plod across the room, and she turned.

“Bill? You want to leave or not?”

“I’m thinking about it, Rosie.”

She’d been thinking about it too, and asked him virtually the same

questions he had just asked himself.

)p>

39B “I mean, what does she expect to find at the end of it?”

“I dunno, Rosiemaybe someone scared enough to say they saw Nick, who knows? I think she’s throwing away good money, but that’s just my opinion.”

“It’s mine too. I liked Nick, of course I did, but it’s a long shot, isn’t it? We don’t even know if he was in Fryer’s bar the night he got killed. Even if she was to find the grisgris, even if whoever did kill Nick was dumb enough to hang on to it, they wouldn’t have it in the bar, would they?”

“I don’t know, Rosie.”

He hadn’t meant to snap at her. It just came out that way.

“Listen, if you feel guilty about going, we’ll stay.”

“I don’t feel guilty.”

“Fine, then we’ll leave, yes?”

He sat down, said he needed a drink, and Rosie flung the brush on the dressing table.