“But there are other threats today, my friend Pancera. Disease. Radical Islam. Overpopulation. Rising seas.”

“You are starting to sound like a fucking socialist yourself. That could always lead to a sudden death. The future of freedom, capitalism, and family values is ours to shape, to take. You must come back to us and do your share.”

“I am doing my share,” Jason protested, shaken by the reference to a sudden death. “I have given the benevolent society and the veterans of the Brigade almost a hundred thousand dollars over the years.”

“No puede haber paz sin justicia. Do you remember what happened to ‘Second-in-Command’?”

Jason was confused. “I remember hearing he drowned in Katrina.”

“Yeah, but he had some help. Don’t you know that the Night Watchman got him?”

“No!” Jason was shocked. “All that rough stuff was supposed to be over years ago.”

Pancera stared at him with black eyes that didn’t blink.

“What was his offense?” Jason asked.

“He tried to destroy ‘the papers.’ ”

Jason dimly recalled mentions of ‘the papers’ decades before, but he denied it now. “I don’t know anything about any papers,” he said. “I just want peace. What are you asking me to do?”

“Get this lawyer Dubonnet off my case. Dejar morir muertos en paz.”

“How can I let the dead lie in peace, tell me?”

“You will find a way. You have always been a very smart fellow, Jason. There are many others involved in this, as you know. They do not want their lives to be disturbed by ancient events. They move very fast when they are threatened. Make this go away. You got it?” His fingers did little dances like snowflakes falling. “Just make it go away. Or else we will act as we must.”

* * *

“Mr. Boaz is on the phone,” Cherrylynn called from the other room.

“Hi, Jason. What’s up?”

“All the stuff we talked about, I can’t talk about, but I want to say, you know, we’re friends.”

“Okay,” Tubby said encouragingly.

“And I’ve finished my little decibel invention. I think it will suit your purposes admirably.”

“Great. Great. You didn’t have to. Like you said, I can probably buy one at the store. But, of course, I’d like to have yours.”

“You absolutely should. Mine’s better. You can field-test it for me and see how well it works.”

“Gladly.”

“I can drop it off at your home tonight.”

“That works. I’m leaving here soon. I have to stop at the grocery store and pick up some stuff, but I should be home by six.”

“No problem. I’ll see you then.”

After hanging up Tubby stared for a minute at the life of his city beyond his office window. Far off in the east there was a plume of smoke, maybe a house on fire. He could see a traffic jam building up on the I-10. Sounds of a brass band rose up from Bourbon Street, forty-three stories below. There was a very large bird circling over the panorama, flying even higher than Tubby’s office. Likely it was a bald eagle whose nest was at Bayou Sauvage, coming back from its daily feast in the Gulf of Mexico. Burning buildings, snags on the Interstate, vast distances, meant nothing to that extraordinary creature.

Maybe, he thought, when I solve the Parker murder, when Collette finishes school, when I find the right woman, I can be free like that.

Nah! A fantasy. He collected his briefcase and headed out the door.

* * *

Tubby was steering his handsome Camaro uptown on Magazine Street when Raisin caught up with him on the mobile.

“Want to go out tonight? Janie’s bar?”

“That’s what you say every night, but I can’t. No point in it till I get my noise meter. Jason is bringing it over in an hour. Let’s go tomorrow.”

“Does all of this noise pollution crap sound like nannyville to you?” Raisin wanted to know. “Didn’t we use to stand right next to the speakers at Grateful Dead, the Band, Aerosmith, Led Zeppelin, Janice Joplin? Didn’t the whole floor vibrate?”

“I can’t hear you.”

“But really, hasn’t the music always been loud? Remember Benny’s on Camp?”

“Oh, man, yes. At two in the morning you could hear it all the way down to Napoleon Avenue.”

“And nobody thought there was anything wrong with that.”

“Well, maybe the neighbors did.”

“I doubt it. The neighbors then were a lot younger and hipper. Everybody thought local music was cool. That was the sound of New Orleans! I mean the Nevilles lived two blocks away. Everything in those days was less uptight, less high class.”

“Well, Raisin, we can still see the Wild Tchoupitoulas and the Buzzards on Valence Street,” Tubby said.

“Less and less often.”

“You think?”

“Take the Bywater,” his friend said. “It used to be just trains, working people and lead paint. When did they start caring about how loud the music was?”

“I don’t really know. Neighborhoods change.”

“I’m going to the bar by myself. I want some action.”

“Why not knock on a few of the neighbors’ doors while you’re over there and see if anyone is really bothered by the noise?”

“I might just do that. What the F-bomb.”

“Is that what we’ve come to? And you are a guy who knows what a real bomb is.”

“The times are way too mellow now, Tubby.”

* * *

With his feet up on the glass coffee table in his living room, Tubby Dubonnet was reading a history of Andrew Jackson’s Indian wars and sipping a toddy. The doorbell rang. Reluctantly, he got up and let Jason in.

“How about a drink,” he offered.

“No,” Jason said. He seemed very agitated. He was carrying a rectangular black briefcase with brass clasps. “Let’s just sit down.”

They did, in the living room, on two chairs separated by the coffee table. Tubby had furnished his place slowly over the years. It was still sparse and simple, featuring lighter woods like cypress and pine, despite advice from his daughters and various girlfriends who seemed to prefer things solid and dark.

Jason opened his briefcase on the table and extracted a 9mm automatic pistol, also black, which he pointed in the area of Tubby’s knee.

“I am supposed to threaten you with this to make you stop asking questions about things that happened when we were young. And I’m supposed to shoot you if I fail.”

Tubby’s eyes didn’t leave the gun.

“But you know me.” Jason waved the pistol in the air as Tubby’s gaze followed it. “That’s not my nature. So, no. I can’t do it!” He re-stowed the weapon very neatly in his briefcase.

“Here is what I prefer to do. I want to give you a legal fee of fifty thousand dollars, and you will represent me until I die or go crazy, and you will stop all these inquiries.”

Tubby shook his head to clear it and took a deep breath.

“Are you offering me a fifty-thousand-dollar bribe?” he asked.

“To me it is a legal fee,” Boaz said. “Believe me, I have the money.”

“I don’t know if I believe you or not, but what makes you think…”

“Tubby,” Jason pressed his hands together as if in prayer. His bearded chin bobbed up and down and his black glasses jiggled, “that shows how important this is to me. It may be a matter of my life or death.” He touched his heart. “And I know you could use the money. Who couldn’t? And it would solve everything. I’m desperate.”

“No.” Tubby stood up. He was looking for an opportunity to snatch the briefcase, but Jason hastily drew it into his lap and popped the clasps open.

Tubby had a gun of his own in the house, but unfortunately it was upstairs in the nightstand by his bed.

“I was afraid you would say that, my friend, and you might as well have signed a death warrant. But, hell, Tubby. That’s just the way you are, right? You never were a crooked man.” His tone changed back to friendly. “I suppose we must just let the chips fall where they may. A pesar de las consecuencias, as they say in the old country. It may all work out. This is the twenty-first century after all, not the 1970s. I’ll give you my special device anyway. Come sit by me.” He indicated the sofa, where Tubby’s book still lay, spread open to the page he had been enjoying.