Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 08 - Death in the French Quarter (11 page)

Over the next hour or so, two or three others were interrogated. I made no eye contact nor spoke with anyone except Julie, who remained at my side.

From the corner of my eyes, I watched as Hummer
returned and went directly to Punky. “Hey, Punky, they
was asking about the-”

“Shut up,” the stocky man muttered, nodding in my
direction.

At that moment, the jailer called my name. I winked
at Julie. “See you in a few minutes.”

The oversized jailer, who could have been a body
double for King Kong, shoved me toward a flight of
stairs. “First door on the left at the top, punk,” he
growled.

At the top of the stairs, I opened the door and
stepped inside and froze. And for one stunning moment, it looked like my clever little plan to nail the ones
who had murdered Paul-Leon Savoie and Stewart Thibodeaux, my cousin, had just blown up in my face.

Facing me from across a table sat Watch Sergeant
Jimmy LeBlanc of the Iberville Parish Sheriff’s Department, one of the officers with whom I had worked
to solve a murder in Bayou Teche only a few months
earlier. Only now he was dressed in civilian clothes.

His mouth dropped open when he saw me.
“Boudreaux!”

I stared back at him, unable to speak.

Finally, LeBlanc’s voice shook in disbelief.
“Boudreaux?”

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the jailer standing
behind me, arms crossed, his cold eyes daring me to
make a wrong move. I looked back around and grinned
sheepishly. “Hello, Jimmy.”

The tall black man leaned back in his chair. Amused
curiosity replaced the surprise on his face. He nodded to the jailer. “Dat’s all, Monk. Close the door” He
gestured to a chair at the table. “Sit, Boudreaux. Me,
I wants to hear just how you gots yourself in this
mess.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, I waited until the door
closed and then plopped down in the chair across the
table from him. “Am I glad to see you, Jimmy.”

He arched an eyebrow. “We might have to see about
dat, Boudreaux. Now, what be going on with you?”

Quickly, I explained all that had taken place in the
last few days. “I don’t have any hard proof yet, Jimmy,
but from what I’ve learned and heard, I’m convinced
those responsible for the death of Paul-Leon Savoie
and Stewart Thibodeaux are Punky Mancini and Bones
Guilbeaux. Once I find proof, I’ll turn it over to you and
you can notify the Texas authorities.”

He shook his head and snorted. “All you going to do
is find yourself at the bottom of the river out there.
Dat’s a mean bunch. What happens when they check
you out?”

“They find I’m on suspension for taking bribes.
That’s the kind of man they want in their organization.”

For several moments, Jimmy studied me. During the
period we had worked together to solve the murder of
John Hardy on Bayou Teche, we had become friends. I
hoped he would remember that. “Only one way I let
you do dat”

I scooted forward. “Whatever you say”

“First, you gots to know dat we know Bones and his crew is in de buying and selling drugs or anything
worth their time-everything from exotic snakes to
South American parrots. We think he’s working for
someone, but who dat be, we gots no idea.” He leaned
forward. “These boys, Tony, they don’t play around”
He paused and shook his head. “You going to get yourself killed dead”

I understood his position. “Look, Jimmy. Over here
I’m just a citizen. You don’t have to approve of what I
have in mind. I don’t want to cause you trouble or put
you in a bind, but when I leave here, I still plan on nailing Bones and Mancini, one way or another.”

He studied me a moment, then slowly shook his
head. “You be a sure dumb Church Point boy, you
know dat?”

I grinned. “Yeah. I know. I’ll play by whatever rules
you give me. I just want to hang this guy up to dry.”

He studied me another few moments, then picked up
the telephone. “Send Saint-Julian in here,” he barked.

“How’d you end up here, Jimmy? I figured you’d
grow old in Iberville Parish.”

He leaned back and grinned. “De Bayou Teche case.
Somebody told somebody else something, and de next
thing I knows, New Orleans Police offers me a detective’s job. With a five thousand dollar raise.”

“Congratulations.”

A knock at the door interrupted me.

“Come in,” Detective LeBlanc called out.

The door opened, and a black-hair beauty in a tai bred business suit stepped in. “You wanted to see me,
Detective?”

“Come in, Saint-Julian. This be Tony Boudreaux,
soon to be de late Tony Boudreaux de way he is going.
I wants you stand on de corner of Decatur and
Toulouse every night at six o’clock in case he walks
by. And he will walk by,” he added, giving me a glowering look portending dire consequences if I failed to
pass by her.

She glanced at me impassively. “Yes, sir.”

“Saint-Julian is new here. She come from Baton
Rouge. No one knows her. When you just happen to be
walking by Decatur and Toulouse, if you gots nothing
to say, just keep walking. But, if you gots something,
then pass it to Saint-Julian. Understand? We don’t hear
from you for one or two days, I figure we won’t never
hear from you no more.”

“Won’t someone wonder why I walk by the same
corner every day?”

LeBlanc shrugged. “Change de corner every couple
days” He arched an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Punky came up to me when I returned to the cell.
Two or three others gathered behind him, among them
Mule and Ham, the bearded man with the scratched
face. “What did they ask you, buddy?”

I shrugged. “Who I was. What I was doing here. If I
knew you guys. That kinda stuff.”

Punky eyed me suspiciously. “What’d you tell them?”

“What could I tell them? I don’t know any of you
guys except Julie there. And then only since yesterday”

Julie was right. Next morning at nine A.M., we
walked out of the station. I waved to him and headed
down the street looking for a taxi.

A white Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb and
the back door opened. Bones leaned out and motioned
to me. “Get in, Tony.”

I glanced up and down the sidewalk, then shrugged.
“Why not?”

“What’s your last name, Tony?”

“Boudreaux,” I replied without looking around from
buckling my seat belt.

“You always try to be that law-abiding?”

I frowned at him.

He nodded to the belt over my shoulder.

Chuckling, I shook my head. “I don’t care about the
law, I care about my life. As far as I know, you might
have a NASCAR driver behind the wheel of this limo.”

Bones grunted. “Where are you staying?” I told him,
and he nodded to the driver who slowly pulled away
from the curb. The copper-skinned man leaned back
and stared at me, his long, straight black hair falling
over his shoulders. “Why’d you do it last night?”

“What? Warn you?” I frowned. “Who wouldn’t?”

He eyed me skeptically. “You don’t know me. You
don’t know any of us, maybe except the dummy Julie.
So, what are you up to?”

If there had been a chance to back out earlier, it was
gone now. I was committed. I had no choice but to
blunder ahead. “Truth is, I wanted to get on your good
side.”

His eyes widened imperceptibly at my candor. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I heard you were a smart man who knew how
to get things done and who appreciated people who
could help you get them done.”

He frowned. “Where you hear that?”

I shrugged. “Around. Bars. You name it. A smart guy
keeps his ears open”

His thin lips curled into a sneer. “And you do that,
huh?”

I looked him squarely in the eyes. “I wouldn’t be
here if I didn’t.”

He chuckled. His tone grew a little more amiable.
“What’s your line of work, Tony?”

“I was a private investigator in Austin, Texas” He
stiffened imperceptibly then relaxed. I continued without hesitation. “Worked for Blevins Investigations, but
my license was suspended”

Bones lifted an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For nothing,” I shot back. “They said I took some
bribes, but that’s a lie. But, the licensing board wouldn’t
listen. So, they put me on probation while they’re investigating the charges” I muttered a few curses regarding
the board’s ancestry.

“So, you’re innocent, huh?”

I grinned at him slyly. “Isn’t everyone?”

A faint smile played over his lips. “So, what do you
want? Get back at them?”

“Why should I?” I shook my head. “I don’t care
about any of them. I’m just interested in me now. I want
to line my pockets and spend the rest of my life on a
tropical beach with half a dozen hula girls and gallons
of margaritas.”

He chuckled. “That don’t sound too bad” He grew
serious. “So, how’d you hear about me?”

I guessed he was expecting me to say that I’d never
heard of him in Austin, so I replied with a response he
had not expected to hear. “I heard about you in Austin.
Then in the bars over here.” He sat up a little straighter,
and I continued. “Rumor had it in Texas that you and
Mancini headed up an enterprising organization that
bought and sold whatever people wanted to buy or sell.
I didn’t know if that was right or not, so I figured I’d
find out. If I’m wrong, stop the car and kick my tail out
for insulting you.”

He studied me as the town car pulled up to the curb
in front of my hotel on Toulouse. “Well, Tony, I hate to
tell you, but you’re wrong. My associates might be
rough around the edges, but my organization is legit.
Tell you what, come by Byrne’s on Royal between Dumaine and St. Ann around ten tonight. I’m giving an
appreciation dinner for my boys. I want to pay you back
for getting me off the hook last night.”

Not for a moment did I believe him, other than the
dinner that night, and even then I wondered just who was going to be the guest of honor, and what kind of
appreciation gift would be given.

Back in my room, I started to retrieve my cell phone
to call Marty and tell him to be expecting some inquiry
about my situation, but on second thought, I decided
against making the call. No telling what other ghosts
were in these walls besides the clanking chains.

Instead, I showered and grabbed a short nap, awakening around two that afternoon without the help of rattling chains. Quickly I scribbled a note to Zozette
Saint-Julian, giving her details of the evening. Then,
donning a fresh pair of washed-out jeans and a white
T-shirt, I stepped out into the stifling humidity and heat
that held the French Quarter hostage that afternoon.

A few minutes later, I gratefully slipped into the
air conditioned restaurant on the corner of St. Peters
and Chartres and ordered a basket of cheese nachos
and a draft beer, lingering over the repast for an hour
before I ambled out into shadows around Jackson
Square and eyed the various oil paintings, watercolors, and charcoal renderings, some of which, as far as
my limited appreciation of art is concerned, were
quite good.

That afternoon, I strolled down Decatur, wondering
if I would be able to recognize Saint-Julian. As I drew
close to the Coral Sea Bar at the corner of Toulouse and
Decatur, I spotted a half dozen men panting at the hem
of an obvious lady of the streets.

She looked around and smiled seductively when I
drew close. “Hey, there, mister. You want an escort for
the evening?”

I almost stumbled over my own feet.

Zozette Saint-Julian’s smile grew wider.

I stammered and stuttered as she linked her arm
through mine. “No-no, thank you. But here’s a few dollars anyway.” I thumbed through my wallet, extracting
several dollar bills along with the note. I pressed them
into her hand. “Maybe next time.”

She waved and laughed. “Thanks, mister,” she said,
before returning to her post. “Come back and see me
when you feel stronger,” she added to the laughter of
the men around her.

Byrne’s was packed. Julie was waiting just inside the
door when I entered. “Back here,” he said, zigzagging
through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd.