I held my arms out. "It's on my right hip." Ronnie took it, then gave me a quick pat. When he was done with me he moved to Pike, but Pike said,

"No."

Frank Escobar frowned and said, "What do you mean no?"

Pike held his hand palm out toward Ronnie. "You want me to wait outside, fine. But he's not going to touch me, and I'm not going to give up my gun."

Escobar rubbed at his eyes. "What the fuck." He finished the rubbing. "You wanna keep your gun, tha's fine. We'll do it another way." Frank Escobar reached under one of the shirts and came out with a little Beretta.380 and pointed it at my head. He said, "Keep your fuckin' gun, you want. We'll do it like this." He waved at the shirt. "Leon, hold on this guy, okay, this other asshole wants to keep his gun." Leon took the.380 and held on me, and Frank Escobar glared at Pike. "There. You happy now, you with your gun?"

Pike nodded. Some friend.

Escobar looked back at me. "Okay. What do you have for me?"

"Donaldo Prima."

Escobar's left eye narrowed, and he didn't seem drunk anymore. Now, he seemed as dangerous as the man in the life-sized picture. "What do you know about Prima?"

"I know how he's getting his people in, Frank. He's working with a friend of mine. My friend provides the transportation and the secure location, but the money's not there."

"Who's your friend?"

"A guy named Rossier. He's got the land and the water. A very secure location for delivering goods. Prima approached him and set up the deal, but now we're dissatisfied. You know what I mean?"

Escobar said, "How much he gettin'?"

"Grand a head."

Escobar laughed. "That's shit." Exactly what del Reyo had said.

"We think so."

"Why doesn't your friend just go into business for himself?"

"Prima has the goods, Frank. Like you. Two grand a head and Prima's out. We've got people coming in now, and we'd like to increase our take."

"Just like that? It's that easy?"

"Whatever you want."

Frank Escobar wet his lips, thinking. He had some of the gin and tonic. A drop of it ran down from the corner of his mouth to his chin. He said, "Prima."

"That's it, Frank. You want to think about it and ask around, fine. We've been in business with Prima maybe six months. He brings up the money personally with every shipment. Like that." Giving him Prima. Saying, here, take him.

Frank Escobar nodded at me.

I said, "Think about it, Frank. You want to get me, I'm staying at the Riverfront in Baton Rouge. You want to give me a number I can call you, that's fine, too." I spread my hands. "Whatever you want. What we want is two grand a pop."

Holly Escobar stepped in out of the sun with the tray of sandwiches, smiling the pretty smile, saying, "Would you guys like a sandwich?" She froze in the door when she saw the guy in the baggy shirt pointing the gun at me, and the smile fell away. "Frank?" The guy lowered the.380.

Frank Escobar lost the grip on his drink, and it fell. His face went as purple as overcooked liver and he came off the chair. "Didn't I tell you never walk in on me?"

She took a single step back, trying to rebuild the smile, but the smile was clouded with fear. "I'm sorry, Frank. I'll wait outside."

The guy with the shirt whispered, "Oh, shit."

Frank Escobar rushed at his wife and yanked her back into the pool house. The big plastic plate and the sandwiches spun up and over and sandwiches rained down on the pool table and out onto the patio. Holly shrieked at the pain of his grip, saying, "That hurts!" and then he slapped her twice, first with the palm of his left hand and then the back of his right. She fell over sideways, through the door and out onto the patio. The man and the woman at the pool stood.

I felt Pike move beside me, but it was over. As quick as it had come, it was gone. Escobar pulled his crying wife to her feet, saying, "You gotta listen to me, Holly. You gotta mind what I say. All right? Don't never walk in like that." He brushed at her hair and wiped at her face, but all he did was smear the blood. He said, "Jesus, look at what you made me do. Go get your face, will you?"

Holly Escobar ran toward her house, and Frank wiped blood from his right hand onto his shorts. "Go with her, Ronnie. Make sure she's okay."

Ronnie set off after Mrs. Frank Escobar.

The guy with the shirt said, "You all right, Frank?" Like it was Frank doing the bleeding.

"I'm fine. Fine." Escobar picked up his glass and seemed almost embarrassed. "Jesus. Fuckin' stupid women." Then he looked over at us and must've seen something in Pike's face. Or maybe in mine. He said, "What?" Hard, again. A flush of the purple, again.

Pike's mouth twitched.

Escobar stared at Joe Pike another few seconds, and then he waved his hand to dismiss us. He said, "I'll think about it, okay? I know where to reach you." He motioned toward the guy in the shirt. "Call these guys a car, huh? Jesus, I gotta get another drink."

He walked out and went back to the little round table and picked up someone's glass and drank. Nothing like a gin and tonic to take off the edge after tossing a fit, nosireebob. I stared at him.

The guy in the shirt said that he'd call a cab, and we could wait out front. He said the cabs never took long.

Frank had a deal. He said we could take a sandwich, if we wanted. Joe Pike told him to fuck himself.

We walked out past the pool and down the drive and into the street. The little boy was riding the Big Wheel round and round in circles, looping up into one driveway then along the sidewalk and then down the next drive and into the street again. He looked like a happy and energetic child.

Pike and I stood watching him, and Pike said, "Be a shame to drop the hammer on his old man."

I didn't answer.

"But it wouldn't be so bad, either."

CHAPTER 33

W e were stopped for speeding outside St. Gabriel, Louisiana, and again outside Livonia, but we passed under Milt Rossier's sign at just after five that evening as the air was beginning to lose the worst of the day's heat. The people who worked the ponds were trudging their way toward the processing sheds and the women who worked the sheds were walking out to their cars. Quitting time. Everybody moved with a sort of listless shuffle, as if their lot was to break their backs for Milt Rossier all day, then go home and break their backs some more. It wasn't the way you walk when your body has failed you; it was the way you walk when you've run out of heart, when the day-today has worn away the hope and left you with nothing but another tomorrow that will be exactly like today. It would be the way Holly Escobar would walk in another few years.

We drove up past the processing sheds like we owned the place and headed toward the house. The women on their way home didn't look, or, if they looked, didn't care. It's not like we had a big sign painted on the car, THE ENEMY. Pike said, "This is easy."

"What'd you expect, pill boxes?"

We could see the main house from between the processing sheds, and the little figure of Milt Rossier, sitting out on his lawn furniture, still wearing the sun hat. René LaBorde was standing out between the ponds, staring at their flat surfaces, and didn't seem to notice us, but LeRoy Bennett was coming out of the processing shed with one of the skinny foremen when we passed. He yelled something, then started running after us. He'd have a pretty long run. His Polara was parked at the house.

We drove the quarter mile or so up to the house and left our car on the drive by LeRoy's Polara. The house looked pretty much deserted except for a heavy-set black woman we saw in the living room and Milt Rossier back on the patio. We were going around the side of the house when Milt met us, coming to see who we were. He was in overalls and the wide hat, and he was carrying a glass of iced tea. I said, "Hi, Milt, remember me?"