Tony Dunbar - Tubby Dubonnet 03 - Trick Question (23 page)

Denise’s head jerked back when a roundhouse right got under her ear, but she recovered and closed up with her opponent. She was pounding Roseanne’s stomach when the bell rang to end the first round.

Both women went back to their corners and flopped down to let their attendants clean them up.

Tubby felt sick.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he mumbled to Raisin, “but something is making me feel bad. I need to get out of here for a minute.”

“You gonna be okay?” Raisin asked, concerned.

“Just need a little air,” Tubby said. “You stay here. Tell me how it comes out. I’ll be right downstairs.”

He made his way over the knees of the cheering fans and stumbled toward the exit. He heard the bell signal the start of the second round as he banged through the swinging doors. His head was swirling a little, but it was his stomach he was worried about. Something about seeing Denise slugged on the face had gotten to him.

He went to the men’s room, where lots of other groggy-looking patrons were splashing water on themselves at a score of sinks lined up in a row. Tubby found his place and followed suit. Apparently ladies’ professional boxing was not the sport for him.

“I just won three thousand bucks!” the guy at the next sink with the House of Blues T-shirt spread over his world-class beer belly ranted.

“Great,” Tubby gurgled between his fingers.

“I just won three thousand bucks,” the guy said over his other shoulder.

“I suggest you get out while you can,” the next man facing the wall advised.

“I just… “

Tubby left. Outside in the lobby he felt better. He strolled toward the gaming floor, past the buffet dining area where great flanks of roast beef were being carved up for gamblers in polo shirts and blue jeans.

“Hello, Tubby,” a familiar voice said softly.

He turned, and found Nicole Normande seated with a lanky cowboy at one of the oval tables.

“Hello, Nicole,” he managed to say.

“You don’t look very happy to see me.” She was an old girlfriend, sort of. At least they had spent a sunny morning fishing together.

“A blast from the past,” he commented. “I thought you were out West.”

“I’m back for a while. I’m sorry. Geraldo, this is Tubby Dubonnet. He’s a lawyer.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Geraldo said. He tapped the brim of his Garth Brooks hat, and they shook hands.

“You’re looking good,” Nicole said.

Tubby coughed out a laugh. The last time Nicole had seen him he had been hog-tied on the floor wishing he had never butted into the casino business, about to be dispatched to high-roller heaven.

“How’s your nose?” Tubby asked.

Nicole blushed and fingered her face tenderly. “Very well, thank you. I’m fully recovered.”

Geraldo had no idea what they were talking about, but he really did not care.

“I’m living in New Orleans now,” she said. “Same place.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. Maybe we could get together and have a cup of coffee or something.”

Tubby shrugged. Nicole was either the least trustworthy woman he knew or a sympathetic victim of a complicated family tragedy – he had never been sure – but she was undoubtedly good-looking.

“Got a pen?” she asked.

He did.

She wrote her number on a napkin.

“Give me a call,” she suggested, and handed it to him.

“Okay.” He stuffed the napkin in his jacket pocket.

He shook hands around and walked away, head awhirl again.

A Mexican woman got up from a ten-dollar blackjack table, and Tubby took her place.

When Raisin located him forty-five minutes later, he was down two hundred dollars and drunk as a judge.

Now that Cletus Busters was off the hook, what was bothering Tubby the most was who to take with him when he went to the dinner Mattie had planned with Dr. Byron Margolis. He gave some thought to police officer Fox Lane, but she was such a cool person that Tubby did not want to reveal to her that he had a weak spot like Mattie. He thought about the lovely Nicole Normande. The drawback there was that he might develop serious designs on her. If Jynx was right, and Margolis would make a pass at any woman Tubby liked, then it would obviously be stupid to introduce the two of them. And no telling what Mattie might do to screw things up herself. He wondered who he knew who could handle them both?

“Hello, Denise,” he said when she answered. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” she said. “Have you recovered from my fight?”

“Just about,” he said. “I was cheering for you even if I couldn’t stand to watch.”

“That may be why I won.”

“I hope so. Listen, would you like to have dinner with me and my ex-wife and her boyfriend tonight?”

“That sounds really great. Do I have to?”

“I’d consider it a favor. The truth is, this guy may come on to you.”

“Better and better. What am I supposed to do then?”

“Just take your best shot, Denise. That’s all I ask.”

It was Monday, and Tubby got to the office late. He found it locked, but there were signs of Cherrylynn’s presence – like a pot of hot coffee. Maybe she was taking an early lunch break.

Tubby took a chance and lit his Partagas, hoping for an hour of antisocial pleasure.

Right away, the phone rang.

“Daddy, Marcos and I have decided to get married,” Debbie announced grandly.

Slowly, Tubby exhaled a long feather of smoke. Somehow this was more momentous than the fact that she was going to have a child.

“Well, that’s great,” he said finally. “You thought about it and decided he was up to your specifications?”

“Not quite,” she said, “but he’s got potential. Mainly I decided to have the baby. And I think a baby should have a father. Marcos can be trained.”

“I’m happy to hear you say that. He’s been in graduate school for five years now.”

“He hasn’t figured out yet what he wants to do.”

“Fatherhood should help him.”

“I suppose he can take his time. He’s rich, you know.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, he is,”

“It’s nice to marry a rich man. Tell him to come see me.”

“What for?”

“I want to talk to him.”

“And say what?”

“Fathers and bridegrooms have certain things to say to each other.”

“Well, don’t say anything unpleasant that will scare him off.”

“Oh, no. I’ll be very gentle.”

“Please see that you are.”

“But only because he’s rich.”

“And I love him, too, Daddy.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. Now I’ll be extra gentle.”

“We want to do it at the St. Charles Church.”

“Are you going to make the arrangements?”

“Mother is, but she’ll be talking to you about the, um, financial part.”

“The what? I thought Marcos was rich.”

“Well, it’s traditional for the father to pay for these things. I don’t want Marcos’s family to think we’re low-class.”

“Heaven forbid he would think that. Nothing déclassé about the Dubonnets. When is the happy day?”

“As soon as possible. I don’t want to be big as a house when I walk down the aisle.”

After they hung up Tubby stared out the window and thought about Debbie, the infant, the child, and now what? The grown-up? There were a lot of things he wished he had done differently, he’d have to say, but he was proud about the way she was turning out. He blew a smoke ring that circled gently to the ceiling, while far below, a string of barges navigated the river’s most treacherous bend.

The cigar had gone out when Tubby again picked up the telephone.

“Cletus, this is Tubby.”

“Oh, hello.” Tubby’s client did not seem very friendly.

“I just called to congratulate you and wish you good luck.”

“You did your job.”

“Well, thanks, I guess. Anyway, I’m sure glad you’re out of it a free man.”

“I shouldn’t ever have been in it.”

“Yeah, well, that’s true. Say, I thought we might talk.”

“Can’t, I’m busy right now.”

Cletus hung up.

“See you around,” Tubby said.

On Piety Street, Cletus went back to his favorite spot on the living room rug and sat down, cross-legged, and leaning back against the couch. He closed his eyes, trying to find his way into his trance again. Rhythmically he tossed a pair of rabbits’ feet back and forth. They had little tags on them that read “Moskowitz Memorial Laboratory.”

Tubby stretched and walked aimlessly around the office. In the reception area, on Cherrylynn’s desk, he found a pink message slip still on the pad.

Cherrylynn had filled it up entirely with her neat handwriting.

Harold had called, it said. Collect. From Central Lockup. He had been arrested for burglary. Bond was $20,000. She had written down the docket number and the time of his arraignment. “He wants you to come and get him out,” she had added.

Tubby went back to the office and stood by the window again. Balloons floated by, escaped from some child’s grasp on the Moon Walk. An airplane circled the city, dragging a banner advertising a new casino on the Gulf Coast. Such innocence in such a big, bad world, he thought.

Tubby balled the pink paper up and, aiming carefully, pitched it into the trash can.

Cletus did not like being disturbed while he was at work. He had the feathers and sacred soils arranged just so around the candle, but the pounding on the door was so insistent he could not maintain his concentration.

He jumped up with a snarl, and throwing on a shirt to cover his painted chest, he marched angrily to the front door.

Yanking it open, he yelled, “What do you want?” at the same time he recognized Tubby Dubonnet, who took a step backwards in alarm.

“Don’t shoot,” Tubby said.

“Well, well,” Cletus grumbled. “Why are you over here?”

“I just came by to say hello,” Tubby said. “Could I come in?”

“Not just now,” Cletus said gruffly. His fierce expression softened a little and he added, “Maybe some other time.”

“Okay,” Tubby said, disappointed. “Could you answer one question, though? How come you told Mickey O’Rourke that we didn’t know the whole truth when we nailed Dr. Swincter? Did you suspect something about me being in danger?”

“I had a dream there was two snakes hanging over your bed, and you only saw one of ’em. The second one slipped under your pillow.”

Tubby shuddered.

“I guess that sure explains that,” he said. “Don’t you ever just have a peaceful night’s sleep?”

“Not too often,” Cletus complained.

“I bet that could be a problem. Cletus, why in the world did you open that freezer door the night you found Dr. Valentine?”

“If it’s any business of yours, which it ain’t, I was looking for eyes.”

“What do you mean, eyes?”

“Eyeballs, man. They had ’em in there sometimes.”

“What’s wrong with the ones you got?”

“They’re stuck with me. I put extra eyes other places where I can see what people do.”

“What for?”

“People pay me to punish the sinful. I got to find out who they is.”

“How do you punish them?”

“I bring down spirits on ’em. I don’t ever have to touch a hair on their heads. But they know they been visited.”

Tubby watched some schoolgirls in matching blue plaid skirts and white blouses skip around the corner.

“What would you charge to drop some spirits on a man who’s been slapping his girlfriend around?”

“Who is she?”

“Just a friend of mine.”

Cletus thought it over. He trailed his fingernails up and down the screen door. Zip, zip, zip.

“You’d have to give me something he wears, or handles a lot.”

“I could look for something like that.”

“The spells shouldn’t be too hard,” Cletus said finally. “I’ll do it pro bono. Did I say that right?”

“Hell if I know. It’s Latin,” Tubby said, and grinned.

* * *

Tubby followed Denise and Monique to a table at Sid-Mars restaurant in Bucktown. He was springing for lunch. The aroma of shrimp boiling and catfish frying, the wind off the lake, and the beer set in front of them was so intoxicating that thoughts of toil and tomorrow fled.

“We’ve gotta try some turtle soup,” he said before the waitress could leave.

“Can we get some boiled shrimp?” Denise asked.

Two turnip-shaped men at the next table, stomachs outlined by tight red suspenders, were in serious combat with a pile of crabs, dissecting claws and sucking out the butter with precision.

“It’s nice when the old places like this survive,” Monique said.

“Why, are they in trouble?” Tubby asked, worried.

“No, I mean they get so much competition from those all-American restaurants. You know, Shoney’s and Dennys.”

“Oh,” Tubby said. He hadn’t noticed. “Crawfish pie is good,” he told them.

“I’m going to have the crab meat salad,” Denise said. “That must be full of some kind of vitamins.”

They ordered and Monique told them how comfortable she was getting running the bar.

“But I’m thinking about doing something new,” she said. “I may start promoting boxing matches.”

“Really?” Denise exclaimed.

“Women’s boxing, of course. Maybe starring Denise DiMaggio. I really think it’s the coming thing.”

“I’m your headliner, then.” Denise laughed. “Will you excuse me a minute? Nature calls.”

Monique watched her friend thread through the tables.

“She’s so sweet,” she said to Tubby. “And guess what! Denise has dumped her bastard boyfriend.”

“That’s excellent,” Tubby said.

“Something has happened to her,” Monique mused. “She seems stronger. Just more together.”

Tubby sipped his beer.

Monique straightened her napkin. “Would you be interested,” she began, “in helping me set up the fights and maybe managing some of the women?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Tubby said in surprise.

“I’m sure you know a lot more than me, or any of those girls, about contracts. I think there’s real money in this, and I don’t want any of the kids getting ripped off.”

“You know lots of these lady boxers?”

“Sure. They all come to Champs to hang, when they’re not working out.”