Crooked Man: A Hard-Boiled but Humorous New Orleans Mystery (Tubby Dubonnet Series #1) (The Tubby Dubonnet Series) (20 page)

“Good morning, Sandy. This is Tubby.”

“Oh hey, Tubby.” He was trying to come around. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going to settle your case. I need you to come to court, like right now.”

“Settle my case? Wait a second, Tubby. I’m a little foggy this morning. What time is it?”

“It’s almost nine o’clock.”

“I just went to bed a little while ago. Is today the trial date?”

“No. We’ve got a deal. They’re ready to pay us off.”

“How much money am I getting?”

“How does six hundred thousand sound? Actually you’re getting about one million, but I take one-third as my fee.”

Sandy wasn’t speaking, then he started bubbling. “Oh, I had no idea. That’s not for real. Come on. It’s a joke, right?”

“It’s great, I know, Sandy. It’s such a good deal I can’t believe it either. But you have to be there, Sandy. You have to run out of your house and catch a cab to the courthouse right now. Am I connecting, Sandy?”

“Yeah, Tubby, sure. I’ll catch a taxi. I’ll be right there. Tubby, I’m putting on my pants while I’m talking to you.”

“Okay, see you.” Tubby hung up.

“I’m going to run an errand, then go to the courthouse,” he called at Cherrylynn as he rushed out the door. She just waved and kept on typing. The airline ticket office was right around the corner.

Sandy was already pacing in the hall outside the courtroom, a morning shadow covering his chin and cheeks, unconcealed by the light powder and rouge he must have applied in the cab. He was wearing patriotic pants, striped red, white, and blue, held up by suspenders with stars on them. He had on a Barcelona Olympics T-shirt commemorating the Lithuanian basketball team. It showed a skeleton making a dunk. He ran at Tubby and gasped in a whisper, “This is so incredible. It’s not really happening, right?”

“We’ll see. I think it will. Let’s go into the courtroom and find out what’s going on.”

It was motion day, and the courtroom was filling up with lawyers. Up front, Mrs. Maselli was shuffling papers, with a line of attorneys in front of her waiting to sign in. Despite the fact that everyone was wearing a suit, the atmosphere was informal. Lawyers were reading the newspaper, swapping stories, and fixing their makeup. Some were studying their files. A couple of women sat in the jury box, huddled in conversation. Tubby put Sandy on the back row, and tried not to notice that the other occupants of the bench automatically slid a few feet away from him, almost unconsciously. Sandy seemed oblivious.

Guyoz was on the front row writing on a yellow pad braced on his square briefcase. Tubby sat down beside him. They said good morning.

“I’ve written out the release we’ll need,” he said.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Tubby closed his eyes to rest a minute.

The door to Judge Maselli’s chambers opened, and the judge came in fast, in his black robe, and stepped up behind the bench.

“All rise. Oyez, Oyez, the Civil District Court for the Parish of Orleans, State of Louisiana, Division Y, is now in session, the Honorable Dominic Maselli presiding. All quiet in the courtroom,” commanded the bailiff.

Papers dropped, conversations stopped, briefcases closed. Tubby jumped up and moved half the distance to the bench, where he stood, politely, waiting for the judge to peer at him over the docket sheet. Finally the eyes came up, and the judge acknowledged Tubby.

“Yes. First we have a settlement to put into the record. Is that right, Mr. Dubonnet?”

“Yes, sir, Judge,” Tubby said. He moved to the counsel table, and Guyoz came and stood beside him. Tubby looked to the back and waved up Sandy, who stumbled into the aisle, collected himself, then nimbly pranced to the front to stand behind Tubby.

“Everybody ready?” the judge asked. They nodded. “This is 94-07642. We need the court reporter to take this down.”

“Good morning, Judge. I’m Tubby Dubonnet, representing Sandy Shandell, plaintiff, and this is Mr. George Guyoz, representing Dr. Martin Feingold and the Goodhealth Insurance Company. We have a settlement today of this matter, and we wish to read it into the record, Judge, as follows.”

Tubby picked up Guyoz’s yellow pad and began to read. “The plaintiff agrees to release and forever discharge the defendants from any and all claims he has or may have against either of them arising out of or relating to the medical procedure performed upon him by Dr. Feingold and described in plaintiff’s petition, and any and all alleged damages caused to him by the medical procedure. Goodhealth Insurance Company agrees to pay the sum of one hundred thousand dollars within thirty days of this date by check payable jointly to me and to Sandy Shandell.

“Goodhealth also releases any claims for subrogation or recovery of any deductible in connection with its insurance coverage of Dr. Feingold. Dr. Feingold agrees to pay the sum of nine hundred and five thousand dollars to Mr. Shandell.”

Guyoz sat up straight like he had been poked from below, but before he could speak the judge asked, “Is that a total judgment of one million and five thousand dollars, Mr. Dubonnet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is Dr. Feingold in the courtroom?”

“No, he isn’t, Your Honor, but his share of the settlement is already paid, and I will state for the record that the judgment is entirely satisfied as to Dr. Feingold at this time.”

The judge thought for a second, and then nodded. He asked, “Do you have anything to add, Mr. Guyoz?”

Guyoz could not think of anything, except to say that each party was to pay its own costs. Tubby acknowledged that.

“All right,” the judge said. “Is that Mr. Shandell behind you?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Do you understand, Mr. Shandell, that you are releasing your claims against the defendants?”

Sandy was in a military mood. “Yes, sir!” he shouted, like a Marine recruit.

“Very well, so entered.”

“Thank you, Judge,” Guyoz and Tubby said as one.

“What’s next?” Judge Maselli asked as they walked out of the courtroom.

Guyoz wanted to talk outside about how Tubby had persuaded Feingold to part with $905,000, but Tubby shrugged him off, and eventually Guyoz stomped off to the elevator. Sandy was rocking up and down on his heels. Tubby was pumped up, too.

“Looks like you struck it rich, Sandy. You want to come by my office after lunch tomorrow, we can cut you a check for six hundred thousand, less whatever I’ve got in it for costs. When the insurance company check comes in, I’ll let you know. You got to be real careful with this money, Sandy.”

“I’m going to be real careful, Tubby. I’m going to be ultra-responsible about this. I’m going to put so much aside for living expenses, so much for a sex-change operation, and, of course, I’m going to have a great party. You have to come to that.”

“Sure, I’ll come. Look, you want to invest some of this money so it doesn’t get lost, you come and talk to me. We’ll look at some options. This kind of money could cover your bills for the rest of your life if you’re smart about it, Sandy.”

“I don’t know how to thank you, Tubby. I’m buzzing all over. Let’s go smoke some pot.”

“I really can’t right now, Sandy. I’ve got things to do. But let’s get out of here.”

Tubby drove to his daughter’s apartment building by the 17th Street Canal in Metairie. This late in the morning, she would be at school, but he figured that his ex-brother-in-law Harold would either be inside sleeping off his evening pizza, or else out by the pool with the breakfast of champions. Might as well check the pool first. Good guess—Harold was lying on a lawn chair with a beer in his hand, a mini-cooler beside him, doing nothing. A big dog was rolling around in the grass, but there were no other people around. Tubby thought Harold might be asleep, but the lad set his beer can on the concrete when Tubby walked up and put on his sunglasses—a protective maneuver. Tubby slid one of the plastic pool chairs over and sat down.

Harold took the initiative. “Hi, Tubby. I didn’t know you were coming. Today’s my day off, and I’m drinking a little beer. Would you like one?”

“No, thanks, Harold. How would you like to get the fuck out of Dodge? You’re causing trouble around here. Everybody is getting annoyed.”

Harold could deal with that. “It wasn’t my fault, Tubby, and I’m really sorry the police came over. I was completely clean, honestly. I know Debbie was upset, and I’m really sorry. As soon as I can get some money together I’m moving. I’ve got a job starting next week. You know the record shop on Oak Street?”

“Here’s a plane ticket to Hawaii,” Tubby interrupted, and handed an envelope to Harold. “It’s for one o’clock this afternoon. How would you like to go?”

“To Hawaii? I’ve never been to Hawaii, but I’ve got some good friends there. Hey, this ticket is for Reggie Turntide.”

“I know. He won’t be able to use it. It’s nonrefundable. They never check the names on the tickets.”

“What do you need me to do in Hawaii?”

“Not a damn thing. I just want you gone. I’m paying you to leave. I’ll give you five thousand dollars travel money. One thousand right now, and I’ll mail you the rest when you get there. Just drop me a postcard and tell me where you are.”

“All I have to do is get on the plane?”

“That’s right. Clear all your junk out of here. Put it on the street. I don’t care where it goes, but it gets out of here. Turn off the AC and leave Debbie’s key in the mailbox. Call a cab. The plane leaves in three hours.”

“It’s a deal, Tubby.”

“Pay attention to the fact that that’s a one-way ticket, Harold.” Tubby gave him $1,000 in cash and left.

When he walked into his office Cherrylynn reported that Mr. Turntide had not come in, and he had lots of calls. So did Tubby. One of the messages was to call Clifford Banks. Also Mrs. Margolis wanted to come by at one-thirty. He asked Cherrylynn to go down to Mumphries and get him a shrimp po’boy, dressed, and a Barq’s red cream soda and whatever she wanted for herself. Tubby pressed Banks’s number.

“What happened?” was all Banks said.

“What do you mean, what happened?”

“Where’s Reggie?”

“He showed up at the drugstore. He took what I gave him, and we parted company. He didn’t come in today. End of story.”

“He didn’t make an appearance where he was expected.”

“That’s your tough luck.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“Reggie and I aren’t partners anymore. Find him yourself.”

“Goodbye, Tubby.”

“Fuck yourself,” Tubby thought. Or did he say it out loud?

Cherrylynn came back with the sandwiches. Tubby shut the door to his office and sat at his desk. He really was not hungry. He closed his eyes and thought about the sound of the pile driver. He wondered where the smell of sweet olive was coming from on the forty-third floor.

Clifford Banks took a table in the bar at Champs. He asked the waitress to bring him a scotch and soda and to ask Monique to come over. In a little while she did.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes, won’t you sit down?”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Banks. I was associated with Darryl Alvarez in one or two ventures, and I know a little bit about your relationship with him.”

Monique sat down. She took a cigarette out of her pants pocket, and he offered to light it. She shook her head and lit it herself from a pack of matches.

“It was very unfortunate what happened to Darryl. I want you to know I had nothing to do with it, and I regret it deeply.”

She nodded and exhaled smoke through her nose.

Banks paused to light a cigarette from his own pack.

“Now I am on a quest,” he said. “A quest for a million dollars. Do you know where it is?”

She shook her head.

“You see, I was holding it for other investors. People who have done business with me in the past and rely on me not to simply lose their money. They want it back, of course. If I can’t find it, I will have to pay it off myself. That is not impossible, but it will certainly have a negative impact on my estate and what I had in mind to leave to my children. Do you understand me?”

“Sure, you’re on the hook.”

“Well put.” He sipped his drink. “I am also looking for a man named Reggie Turntide. Do you know where he is?”

“Never heard of him.”

“Medium height, glasses, receding hairline, weak chin?” That sounded just like the man who drank Wild Turkey, that first night with Casey, right upstairs. But she shook her head.

“Perhaps we can make a deal,” Banks said. “I would be willing to pay a substantial sum, say ten percent, on whatever amount you can help me find.”

“I don’t know where your money is, Mr. Banks. And I don’t really care. I don’t have it. I suggest you ask your partners.”

“Partners? What do you mean by partners?”

“The cops you had working for you.”

Banks looked puzzled.

“There were no cops working with or for me,” he said. “This was a deal just between Darryl and me. Reggie assisted, but we had no police associates.”

“The guy you just described had them.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“Believe it.”

“I don’t suppose you have any proof.”

She opened her matchbook and showed him the writing inside: Casey, 555-3233.

“Here, it’s yours.” She flipped it across the table. “Find out where he was when Darryl got busted. That might tell you something. Ask him where your damn money is. Ask him what he was doing the day Darryl got killed.”

“Very interesting,” Banks said. “You don’t happen to know what department he is in, do you?”

“I think he’s some kind of bagman for Sheriff Mulé.”

“You don’t say.” Banks stuck the matchbook in his coat. “I think I’ll look him up.”

“I’d take some friends with you.”

“Oh? Well, thank you for that advice. I do have some friends. I’ll have them pay a call on Mr. Casey in my place.” He stood up.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Pay for your drink at the bar,” she said.

He blushed, but she watched as he settled up at the register and left.

The buzz of the intercom woke Tubby up.

“Mrs. Margolis is here,” Cherrylynn announced.

“Oh, sure. Wait just a second and show her in.” Tubby stretched and rubbed his face. He brushed some crumbs off his shirt and shoved his sandwich aside. Cherrylynn opened the door and permitted Jynx to enter.