"We got the shrimper. But no dope. No money, either. They dumped it all overboard." I could almost hear him swallow when he said it.

"It all went for nothing?"

"That's what a few people have been telling me today."

"What about my boat?"

"We'll see what we can do."

"Listen, Minos, it'll take me thirty thousand dollars to replace it."

"People down here are not sympathetic to my point of view right now. A half-million dollars of DEA money is at this moment bouncing along the bottom of the Gulf."

"Your friends have an interesting attitude about personal responsibility."

"Nobody here wants to spend the rest of his career in western Nebraska. But it happens. Give me a little time."

"I mean it, Minos. That's a big part of my livelihood that went down out there. I want it back."

"You made your point."

"One other thing. Boggs said something about Cardo's being history. Is there a whack out on him or something?"

"It's funny you say that. We heard rumors like that from both Houston and Miami in just the last two days."

A nurse came in to take my temperature, and I started to say good-bye to Minos.

"How close did it get out there, Dave?" he said.

"Down to the wire."

"Are you all right?"

"It's just a few stitches. They're keeping me a day or so because I got some water in my lungs. Sometimes that can cause pneumonia."

"No. I mean are you all right?"

"I'm fine." And I looked out at the sunlight on the trees and realized that I meant it.

"I think we're going to pull you out of the sting. It went out of control. It wasn't anybody's fault, it just happens. But you've done enough. I'll be back with you tonight."

After he hung up and the nurse had taken my temperature, I used the bathroom, then walked to the window and looked down the side street toward St. Charles. The streetcar rattled down the esplanade under the massive canopy of oak trees, the wood seats filled with Negroes and working-class white people. Down below, the gutters were full of pink and blue camellias from the previous night's rain, and the wet stone was streaked with color like dye washed out of paper flowers.

Ten minutes later Clete walked through the door with a pizza in a flat box, a can of Jax in one coat pocket, and a Dr Pepper in the other. His porkpie hat was tilted down on his forehead. He sat on the side of my bed and flipped open the top of the box, his intelligent green eyes smiling at me.

"Hospital food usually tastes like a cross between spit and baby pabulum," he said. "So I brought you a dynamite combo of anchovies, sausage, pepperoni, and double cheese. How do you like it, my noble mon?"

"How about some peanut brittle? It goes great with stitches in the mouth, too."

He ate a huge wedge and popped open the can of Jax, drank it half-empty, then picked up another wedge and started chewing, smiling all the time. There were flecks of pizza sauce on his mouth and shirt.

"The next time, I cover your butt from Jump Street," he said.

"All right."

"The feds don't send out my old partner on any more Lone Ranger jobs."

"Okay, Clete."

"Because you can't depend on these white-collar dickheads."

"I got your drift."

"Did that pencil pusher call you yet?"

"Minos?"

"Yeah."

"About ten minutes ago."

"His sting has turned to shit. He's not too happy. I told him they took a hell of a lot of risk with a guy they recruited from outside their agency. He didn't seem to like that."

"Minos is all right. How do you think New Orleans got in on it?"

"Maybe a wiretap, maybe a snitch. Who cares? They saves your tokus, didn't they?"

"Not intentionally. You remember what it was like when somebody opened up on you with an M-16?"

"Maybe we ought to 'front Nate Baxter about it. Sometimes he comes into my club after work. I've always thought his head would make a good toilet brush."

He continued to study my face.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

"It wasn't a tap. The DEA would know about a tap. Somebody dropped the dime on the buy."

"Who knew about it?"

"Cardo… Fontenot… Lionel… obviously Boggs…"

"Why you got that big wrinkle between your eyes, Streak?"

"I'm involved with somebody. She knew about it, too."

"That's great. Why don't you run an ad in the Times-Picayune the next time out?"

"I didn't tell her. She picked up on it somewhere else."

"What's her name?"

"Bootsie Giacano."

"Oh, man, I don't believe it. You're in the sack with one of the Giacanos?"

"She's an old friend from New Iberia. She married into the family."

"Probably like one of Charlie Manson's people, just a casual member of the family."

"Knock it off, Clete."

He grinned and squinted at me.

"The other one that bothers me is Kim Dollinger," I said. "She was trying to tell me something in your club. I thought she was just bombed."

"She is one tough badass broad, isn't she? I'd like to get to know her a lot better."

"I get the feeling you're not too serious about any of this."

"Why should I be? This whole sting was put together by clowns, if you ask me. They almost got you killed out there. I don't like federal farts doing that to my podjo."

"I think you need to broaden your attitudes, Clete."

He opened my can of Dr Pepper, poured it in a glass with ice, set a glass straw in it, and put it in my hand.

"Drink your pop," he said. "Hey, you know who I got the pizza from?"

"Don't tell me."

"You got it, mon. That strange, buglike colored kid. He works in that pizza joint right around the corner from the Pearl. Hey, mon, it's time to get out of this G-man bullshit. Let them clean up their own mess for a while. If you still want to square the beef with Boggs, you and I'll do it together. With no forms to fill out, either. You know what I mean?"

"I'll let you know."

"Something happened out there, didn't it?" he said.

"What do you mean?"

"The dragon went away."

"Something like that."

"It's a rush, isn't it?"

I nodded and looked out the window at the tops of the trees moving in the sunlight.

"Yeah, a real high," he said. "Maybe one a guy doesn't always want to turn loose of. Almost as good as a glass of black Jack on ice with a Tuborg to chase it home. Think about it, Dave. The time to go is right after you hit the daily double."

He folded the pizza box shut and looked directly into my face. His weight made a big dent on the side of the bed. His face was as flat and round as a cake pan.

Later, I phoned New Iberia to check on Alafair, then I called Bootsie to apologize for the things that I had said to her. I hadn't changed my mind about her-if she was involved with the mob in New Orleans, she had become a willing victim-but what right did I have to judge her and wound her again after all these years? It was a difficult conversation because I knew her phone was tapped and I did not want her to compromise herself. But I did apologize.

"It's all right, cher," she said. "I haven't told you everything. Sometime I will."

I was silent.

"You came to some conclusions that most people would," she said.

"Can you come up here?"

"Anytime for you, darlin'."

"Not today, though. Tomorrow morning. I've got the bed spins now. I guess I had a big drop in body temperature out there. I don't look too good, either."

"I'll drop by around nine."

"Boots?" I said.

"What?"

"Boots?" And I wanted to ask her if she knew how it had gone sour out on the salt.

"Yes?"

"I always loved you. All these years. I never forgot that summer of 1957."

"I didn't either, Dave. Who could? You get one like that in a lifetime."