“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.

XX

“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.”