Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 08 - Death in the French Quarter (23 page)

Gramps and Ziggy vanished.

Ham dropped out of sight.

Julie called two days later after being released from
the hospital. Detective Jimmy LeBlanc picked him up
at the hospital, drove him to the bus station, bought him
a ticket to Shreveport, and swore to Julie if he ever
showed his face in New Orleans again he’d end up in
the smallest cell in the deepest corner of the sleaziest
jail in Louisiana.

I never caught another glimpse of my old man even
though I spent two more days prowling the streets for
him.

The DA in Austin nabbed Bones’ contact at the commission, J. Wilson McKibben, assistant commissioner
of the Security Commission and a distant cousin of
Bones.

The day I pulled out of the City Care Forgot for
Austin, LeBlanc shook my hand. “Only regret I got is
that Bones ain’t going to do more than a few years”

I shook my head. “Sometimes, it makes you wonder
if it’s all worth it.”

LeBlanc grinned, his brilliant white teeth in sharp
contrast to his dark skin. “It be worth it, Boudreaux.
You knows that, and I knows that”

He was right. The system might be skewed at times,
but it generally works.

A week later in Austin, Emerente Guidry sat in the
chair at Marty’s desk and pulled out her checkbook.

Marty grinned at me, a grin so broad the tips of his
fat lips almost touched his ears.

She looked up at Marty. “Twenty-five thousand?”

Before Marty could nod, I interrupted. “No. Fifteen.”

Marry gagged. His eyes bulged.

Emerente frowned at me.

I glared at Marty, daring him to argue with me.
“Bones will never be convicted of Savoie’s murder.”
Her frown deepened. My eyes still fixed on Marty, I explained. “Bones will never be convicted of anyone’s
murder. Not Savoie’s or my cousin’s. And Albert Mouton won’t ever change his story. The only one who
could have put Bones away was Sebastian ManciniPunky. Bones killed him.”

She studied me for several moments with those large
black eyes. I couldn’t help admiring the classic Melungeon beauty of her copper-hued skin, prominent cheek bones, and broad forehead. “But you’re certain he was
the one responsible?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Punky admitted it to me and Jimmy
LeBlanc, a detective with the New Orleans police.”

She nodded slowly. “How long will he get?”

With a wry grin, I shrugged. “Hard to say. You know
what the system is like today. He’ll do some time but I
don’t expect more than a few years”

She simply stared at me, and said in a resigned tone,
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to settle for that”

I hated to admit it she was right, and I had already
reconciled myself to that. A few years was in no way
payment enough for the life of a young man. My cousin
deserved better.

About the only consolation I found in the resolution
of the matter was that the arrest of the man who had
murdered their son helped to reconcile my cousin Leroi
and his wife, Sally.

The next day, Jimmy LeBlanc called. “Boudreaux!
You know a woman named Guidry, Emerente Guidry?”

“Sure. She’s the one who hired us to run down
Bones. Why?”

“She called last night, wanting to know if Punky had
told you and me that Bones had killed that Savoie dude
in Austin.”

“Okay. Yeah. I told her about that. Any problem?”

He paused a moment. “No problem. Just wanting to
be sure who she was before I said anything. I’ll call
her back”

“By the way, how’s our boy doing?”

LeBlanc snorted. “Out on bail but we’re keeping our
eyes on him.”

I grimaced. Out on bail. That didn’t make me feel
any too comfortable. Still, Bones had warned me.

That night on the ten o’clock news, the lead story
was of a horrific explosion in the rear of an upscale
restaurant in the French Quarter, Rigues’. One victim
lost an arm and a leg, and two were killed. The one losing his limbs was Zachariah Drayton, Mule; the dead
were Elliott Cherry, who was Hummer, and Kahlil
Guilbeaux, Bones.

I lost no time calling LeBlanc.

“You know as much as I do, Boudreaux. But to tell
the truth, me, I don’t figure no one is going to be looking too hard for them what did it.”

I slept like a baby that night.

Two days later, a cashier’s check for ten thousand
dollars came in the mail. The note to which it was attached read:

For services rendered.

Marty and I looked at each other. We both knew who
sent the check but neither of us spoke her name.