Night Watchman (The Tubby Dubonnet Series Book 8) (12 page)

Cruise in swiftly and silently. Double-park outside the shuttered furniture store on Chartres Street.

Probably a false alarm. Not much to steal here. He relaxed.

On the other side of the levee, a docked container ship’s tall sparkling towers gave more illumination to the street than the city lights did. It was a nondescript old-time store with dark alleys on either side. Somewhere in the back of the store an alarm was ringing. No one was on the street. The other cars hadn’t come yet.

Babineaux heard someone or something scrambling about in the back alley. It sounded to him like the perps were trying to get away over a fence. His instincts to catch the bad guy overtook his good sense.

“Give it up! Police!” he cried and took one step into the darkness.

Two shots cracked out, but he only heard the first one, the one that put a hole in his forehead.

Footsteps peppered down the sidewalk. A car started on the next block. A ship sounded its horn. Lights out, another police cruiser crept down the street, while Babineaux’s life slipped away.

* * *

The downed policeman’s Glock lay beside his outstretched hand on the pavement. The safety was still on. That’s what the responding officer, Victor Argueta, noticed first. He had the alley cordoned off with yellow tape, and they brought out some lights. No sign of forced entry in any of the buildings in the immediate vicinity.

Since the coroner was on his way, the detective crossed the street and sat down on the grass of the levee. He popped some Wrigley’s spearmint and wished he was still allowed to smoke cigarettes on the job. It was peaceful and airy over here, across the street and ten yards away from the violence and the spotlights. Crickets chirped in the grass. His pants felt the damp. This scene didn’t make sense. Why did the cop go down that alley alone? That dismal, full-of-garbage, empty alley? Was he an idiot?

* * *

Tubby found out about the shooting by reading the newspaper the next morning, and he immediately called Flowers.

“It couldn’t have been Caponata,” Flowers said. “He was at the Hot Pockets Casino in Biloxi watching women’s boxing until 5 o’clock this morning.”

“Who is working the Babineaux shooting?”

“I’ll find out.”

“The lid is on this investigation,” Flowers reported a few minutes later. “There is no particular detective assigned to it. A cop named Victor Argueta was on the scene, but it’s not officially his file. Internal Affairs has a piece of it, which means everybody else stands back. That’s what I’m hearing. I’m afraid my connections in that particular department are limited, but I’m working on it.”

“We have to figure this out,” Tubby protested. “He was my client.”

“I’ll keep looking,” Flowers promised. “Oh, here’s another bit. They’re also looking into another cop in that district. She’s one Jane Smith.”

“The quality of life officer?”

“You are right, sir. How’d you know?”

“It is tempting and very frustrating to imagine connections everywhere and not have the slightest clue what those connections might be.”

“No comment, boss. I’ll call you if…”

“…I have anything,” they both said at once.

* * *

Officer Sandoval was on the phone with Tubby.

“Did you hear about Babineaux?” the cop asked.

“Yes,” Tubby said. “Tough break.”

“Real tough.”

“I’m really sorry about it. I don’t even know how it happened.”

“I hear he went into a dark alley by himself,” Sandoval said. “Which he shouldn’t have done. He’s no rookie, but that’s the kind of guy he was.”

“What do you mean?”

“A macho guy. A crime fighter.”

“Have they caught the shooter?”

“No. I want to meet with you in person.”

“Sure. Absolutely. When?”

“Right now would be good.”

“I can do that.”

“Le Bon Temps Roulé uptown. Know where that is?

“Sure. Are you allowed?”

“Today’s my day off. I’m not in uniform.”

“I can be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“I’m already here.”

* * *

Le Bon Temps Roulé was a venerable neighborhood dive on Magazine Street with a pool table and a piano. It was open all the time, though early morning customers had to lift their shoes to let Jessie Beach do his daily mopping. The bar’s jukebox never stopped, so at a table by the window Tubby’s and Sandoval’s conversation was hidden by “Help Me, Rhonda,” followed by the Ventures, which someone who had already caught a cab had selected. The volume wasn’t at maximum, since it was late morning. The barmaid left them alone.

“Quite a while since I’ve been here,” Tubby mused. He was searching for the Moss Man photo that used to hang over the portal to the back bar. “Are we drinking?” he asked.

“I don’t drink,” Sandoval said. He looked like he’d been working out for a couple of hours. His white T-shirt stretched to cover his major biceps. He had on navy-blue sweat pants below.

“It’s a little early for me, too,” Tubby said regretfully. They were now the only patrons in the place.

“Sorry about your partner,” Tubby said again.

“My partner?”

“Babineaux. He said you ran the off-duty officer thing together.”

“He always talked too much.”

Tubby shrugged.

Sandoval said, “He told me he hired you to be his lawyer.”

“That’s true, but his check hasn’t cleared.”

“It will. Babineaux was usually straight with the money.” Sandoval lowered his big head for a moment, as if in silent prayer. His eyes might have been moist. “Bad stomach,” he said, recovering.

“Did he leave a family?” Tubby asked.

“He’s got a kid up north who will probably get his benefits, little as he deserves them, and a girlfriend on Transcontinental who could use the money. We’ll probably pass the hat to help her out.”

“What do you think happened to him?”

“What did he hire you to do?”

“That’s a professional, what do you say, confidence, but it basically deals with the dustup with your union president, Archie Alonzo.”

“Was that all he wanted to talk about?”

“I can’t tell you more than I just said.”

“Well, what do you know about Alonzo?”

“Only what Ireanous told me, and I can’t share that with you.”

“Then if you won’t talk, you can’t help me,” Sandoval said, with an unpleasant snort. “And sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong didn’t help Babineaux.”

“Who says I was sticking my nose anywhere?”

“I do. Archie Alonzo does.”

“Did Alonzo set Babineaux up?”

“Not in person.” Sandoval seemed disappointed. “Alonzo was at some meeting with the mayor. I think some hood off the street blew Babineaux away. But by Alonzo just sending a crime-buster like Ireanous into a crime-ridden neighborhood— it was like sending him to the executioner. Everybody knew that. It was to be expected.”

“I heard he was shot at close range with his safety still on.” Tubby had gotten that from Flowers, who had gotten it from a detective Argueta.

“Really?” Sandoval said. “Then it must have happened fast.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s that,” Sandoval said. “You’re not telling me anything new about my old partner, and I’m out of here.”

“Wait!” Tubby got a grip on the cop’s forearm. “Weren’t you and Ireanous close?”

“In what way?” the cop asked. “We weren’t married.”

“You were friends in school.”

“We beat the shit out of each other in high school.”

“Was Trey Caponata part of your business deal?”

“Caponata tries to be a part of everybody’s deal. He comes up with a lot of jobs for our off-duty cops, like Italian weddings and graduations. But he’s the kind of a guy who always needs a little slice for himself.” The policeman pulled away from Tubby’s grip.

“Where does this leave you?” Tubby asked. “Are you going to keep working in Police Records?”

“Don’t you worry about me, Dubonnet. I’ll take care of myself. And it seems to me that you don’t have any more business in police affairs.”

“You can call me if you need any legal advice,” Tubby told him.

“I’ll take care of myself,” Sandoval said again. He pushed himself out of the booth and walked out of the bar.

Tubby watched him get into his police car and scratch off from the curb. The street was empty except for the vapors rising from the outdoor smoker of a barbeque joint across the street. A passing city bus blew them away. Tubby leaned back and closed his eyes to think.

He wondered absently how Sandoval knew that the police union boss Alonzo had been at a meeting with the mayor when Babineaux was shot. He wondered what Sandoval had hoped to learn from him in the first place.

The cop’s departure brought the bartender back to life.

“Want anything, sweetie?” she called from the bar.

Tubby shook his head.

He felt that he needed to go home and take a shower.

“Ms. Peggy O’Flarity gave me your name,” the voice on the phone began. That was an introduction that worked.

“How can I help you?”

“I go by the name of Dinky Bacon, Mr. Dubonnet, and I am a visceral artist.”

“Ah, are you the gentleman who was arrested for being naked in Jackson Square?” Tubby had known this call was inevitable from his first encounter with Peggy, bless her heart.

“That is hardly the extent of my artistic presentation, but nudity in front of the cliché of Saint Louis Cathedral, where every crying child in America has been photographed by its mother, and the grit of street people who surround that religious edifice, goes to the substance of my art, which in my estimation…”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Tubby interrupted. “I’ve also seen some of your plumbing sculpture at the Contemporary Arts Center. But, Mister Bacon, where are you calling from?”

“I’m in the parish jail.”

“I thought they raised your bail money last week at the benefit concert.”

“They did, but would you believe there was a detainer out for me for failing to appear in court last November?”

“What was that charge all about?”

“Art and nudity at the Voodoo Fest. I duct-taped myself to one of Drake’s speakers. All they gave me that time was a ticket.”

“Yet you didn’t appear?”

“That’s what they say.”

“Is your time on this phone limited?”

“Yes, sir, it is. There is a line of criminals waiting for me to get off.”

“Do you have a lawyer?”

“I thought I did. He was a volunteer, and a very nice young man, I thought, but after they said I couldn’t go home, he left, and I haven’t seen him again.”

“Do you want a lawyer?”

“Yes, I think I need one, and Ms. O’Flarity said you were the very best.”

It was hard not to cry.

“Got it. Do they have you booked under the name of Dinky Bacon?”

“No, my real name is on my wristband.”

The lawyer sighed, and waited. Nothing more was forthcoming.

“What is the name on your wristband?” he finally asked.

“Tobias Magnum,” the client said reluctantly.

“Well, too bad, Tobias. This is Friday. There are basically no judges around until Monday. Even if I found a judge and she was willing to release you on your own recognizance, there is no one at the jail with the authority to cut you loose this afternoon. In any case, I am going to be gone for the next couple of days, so whatever I might do will not happen over the weekend.”

“I’m going to miss my sister’s birthday.”

“I’m just telling you my situation.”

“I don’t know anybody else to call.”

“Neither do I. Public Defender?”

“They say next week.”

“There you have it.”

“But there will be a producer from the Arts Channel at my sister’s birthday bash. He’s coming to film me. It’s my big break!” Bacon was distraught.

“Tell you what,” Tubby said. “Give me the producer’s name and number and I’ll call him. I will tell him your plight, and maybe he’ll see a story in it and come over to the jail with a film crew. Wouldn’t that be the lead-up to a great documentary?”

“Man, it sure would. Wait. I’ve got his number memorized.”

He rattled it off, and Tubby read it back to confirm. What sounded like a fight was breaking out around the jail pay phone, and the call ended.

Despite the gloomy picture he had painted for Dinky Bacon, the attorney decided to take a shot and called the Honorable Alvin Hughes, the one judge he knew who might be willing to do something on his holiday.

Saturday morning came up typical New Orleans beautiful, and Tubby was very grateful that he had been invited to take a trip to the country. He had promised to be at Peggy’s on the Northshore at about 11:30. They would enjoy the air, take a tour, eat some lunch and, if he liked, go riding. He bounded out of bed at his normal 6:30 and donned a pair of new blue jeans and an expensive checkered skirt from the Orvis store in the Warehouse District.

His phone buzzed, and it was Raisin.

“I was out in Janie’s neighborhood last night,” he said.

“Can you tell me about it later?” Tubby asked. “I’ve got some important matters involving a lady I need to attend to.”

“Okay. Did you get that sound meter from your bud?”

“Sure, I did.” Tubby didn’t go over the point where Boaz had threatened him with a gun.

“I’d like to fool around with it if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. It’s simple to operate. You just turn it on and point. Cherrylynn knows where it is, and she can figure out how to get it to you.”

He wasn’t sure how long it would take him to drive the fifty miles into the totally unfamiliar country of the far north. Like a lot of city dwellers, the lawyer simply never had any need to go across the lake. But he was psyched for this trip and he hit the road right after downing a single cup of coffee. First, a stop to fill up the gas tank at the Shell station by the river and check his tires and oil. Can’t be too careful when you’re on a long expedition across a vast body of water. Second, he pulled into Dot’s Diner on Jefferson Highway, a favorite breakfast joint that he rarely visited because it was off his beat.

The special thing was, they were friendly. They also had several different morning papers lying around, and kept your coffee cup full. And they made their own biscuits. He took his time ordering and eating. The diner didn’t sell booze, but there was a bar next door that advertised good Bloody Marys at an attractive price. He was immensely full of high-calorie food, however, so he abstained and rolled onto the highway.