"You don't buy my cover?"

"Are you kidding?" He started laughing.

"I thought it was pretty good."

"It is, for anybody who doesn't know you. But you're talking to ole Cletus here, so save the shuck for the lowlifes and the melt-downs. I ain't putting you on, mon, I'd love to get back in it. I'm thinking of opening up a P.I. office in the Quarter. A lot of it is running down bond jumpers and doing bullshit for attorneys, but so what? I can keep my hand in, carry a piece again, make life more interesting for some of the shit-bags."

"Call up the DEA in Lafayette. Tell them what you told me."

"Wouldn't that be something, me and you working together again? You remember when we blew up Julio Segura's shit in the back of his Caddy?"

I looked out at the sunlight under the colonnade.

"Hey, I don't feel bad about smoking a pimp and drug dealer," he said. "I think it's a mainline perk of the business. There's nothing like the smell of cordite to clear up your sinuses."

"You almost got us killed."

"Who's perfect? But let's be serious a minute, mon." He pushed at an oyster with his fork. There were deep acne scars on the back of his red neck. His big shoulders were bent, and his shirt was stretched tight across the wide expanse of his back. "I don't know what kind of info you're operating on, but this is what I hear. Cardo's out for the big score. Florida 's already locked up, so is Texas. So he wants to control the Louisiana coast. He's got some nasty types working for him, too, guys who paint the ceiling when they do a job on somebody. You don't want him to think you're a competitor. Look, Dave, they say he's different from the other greaseballs. He's not predictable, he does strange stuff that nobody can figure out.

"The last time he brought his broad in here, a Marine gunnery sergeant sat on the stool next to him. Cardo says, 'Give me and the lady another Collins and give the gunny what he wants.' Then they start talking about Vietnam and Cherry Alley in Tokyo. This is in front of his broad, can you dig it? All the time I'm washing glasses about two feet away, so Cardo stops talking and says to me, 'You got a question about something?'

"'What?' I say.

"'You look like you're getting an earful. You got a question?' he says.

"'You're only in the crotch once,' I say.

"'You cracking wise or something?' he says.

"'I'm not doing anything. It's a Marine Corps expression. I was in the corps myself,' I say.

"He starts grinning and points both fingers to his chest and says, 'You think you got to tell me what it means?' and his broad starts making these clicking, no-no sounds with her mouth. 'Come on, you explaining to me what the fuck that means?' he says. 'Somebody appointed you to explain these things to other people?'

"So I said, 'No, I'm just telling you to enjoy your drink,' and I walked back to my office. It was about that time I started thinking about changing my line of work."

"Have you heard of a guy named Jimmie Lee Boggs?"

"A contract man, out of Florida?"

"That's the one."

"What about him?"

"He's the guy who put a hole in me. Somebody told me he might be back in New Orleans."

Clete smiled.

"That's the bait they used to get you into the sting, huh?" he said. "They saw you coming, Streak. That guy's long gone now."

"Maybe."

"Get me in on it, mon."

"I don't call the shots on this one, Cletus. Here's my telephone number and address. But don't give them to anyone, okay? Just keep any messages I get and I'll check back with you."

"You need somebody to watch your back. Don't trust the feds to do it. You heard it first from ole Clete."

"I don't know if any of this is going anywhere, anyway," I said. "A few more days of this and I might be back in New Iberia."

He put a matchstick in his mouth. His hands were big and square and callused around the edges, the nails chewed back to the quick.

"Don't underestimate their potential," he said. "Most of them wouldn't make good bars of soap. But turn your back on them and they'll take your eyes out."

That afternoon I talked to another of Minos's contacts, a Negro bartender on Magazine. His head was bald and waxed, and he wore gray muttonchop sideburns that looked as though they were artificially affixed to his face. He was as passive, docile, and uncurious about me as if I had been selling burial insurance. His eyelids were leaded, and his head kept nodding up and down while I talked. He told me: "See, I ain't in the bidness no more myself. I had a bunch of trouble 'cause of it, had to go out of town for a little while, know what I mean? But somebody come in want the action, I'll tell them you in town. You want another 7-Up?"

"No, this is fine."

"How about some hard-boiled eggs?"

"No, I'm fine."

"I got to go in the kitchen and start my stove now."

"Thanks for your time. You were up at Angola?"

"Where's that at?" he said. His eyes looked speculatively out into space.

The next morning I walked over to the Café du Monde again and had coffee at one of the outside tables. Across the street the spires of the cathedral looked brilliant in the sunlight, and the wind off the river ruffled the banana trees and palm fronds along the black iron piked fence that bordered the park inside Jackson Square. I finished reading the paper, then walked back to the apartment and called Clete's bar for messages. There were none. I called Minos's office in Lafayette.

"Don't be discouraged," he said.

"I think maybe I'm not cut out for this."

"Why?"

"I was a Homicide cop. I never worked Vice or Narcotics."

"It's a different kind of gig, isn't it?"

"Look, busting them is one thing. Pretending to be like them is another."

"Have a few laughs with it."

"It's not funny, Minos. You got me into this stuff, and it's not paying off. I've got another problem, too-the reliability of your information."

"Oh?"

"I find out that people are either dead, or in jail, or they're crazy and run bookstores that smell like cat shit."

"If our information was perfect, these guys wouldn't be on the street. We get it from snitches and cons cutting deals and wiretaps on pathological liars. You know that."

"I struck out."

"You don't think any of these people are dealing now?"

"Maybe a couple of them. But they didn't buy my act."

"It's like throwing chum overboard to a school of barracuda. They just have to smell the blood."

"How about another metaphor?"

"Just hang in there. It takes time."

"I'm ready to pull the plug."

"Give it two more days."

"All right. Then that's it, Minos."

"Now, I want to pick a bone with you about this guy Purcel." I had to wince a little on that one.

"He called you?" I asked.

"He called the office. The call finally got referred to me. He said he was calling at your suggestion."

"He figured out the scam. I didn't tell him anything he didn't already know."

"He's got some idea he should go undercover for the DEA."

"Maybe it's not a bad idea," I said.

"Are you serious? He's got a rap sheet that's longer than some cons'. He was charged with a murder, he worked for the mob, the National Transportation Safety Board thinks maybe he caused a plane crash that killed a bunch of greaseballs."

"Clete's had a checkered career."

"It's not going to include working for the DEA."

"What do you hear on Boggs?"

"Nothing. Look, I'm coming over to New Orleans for the next three weeks. After today call me at the office there. I'll be staying at the Orleans Guest House on St. Charles."

"Think about putting Purcel on the payroll. He knows more about the lowlifes than any cop in New Orleans."

"Yeah, not many ex-cops can produce letters of reference from the Mafia. You really come up with some good ones, Dave."