XXIV

On Sunday morning, Tubby woke up in bed with a woman in a cotton nightgown, her back turned toward him. It took a moment to collect his thoughts. There had been an attempt on his life. He was sure about that. He had taken flight to this refuge. Warm arms had welcomed him.

His sleeping companion stirred. Tubby yawned and wished never to leave this room or this bed.

In time he and his hostess both did. They sat at the kitchen table drinking orange juice. He rehashed for her the story of the night before.

“I don’t want to involve you,” he assured her.

“That’s good,” Peggy said. “I do like living.”

But, of course, he had involved her.

They discussed his options, but there was no way Tubby was going to spend the rest of his life hiding out here in the Florida Parishes. It was time to get on the road back home. The trouble would follow him there.

“At least you might consider taking another route back to the city,” she suggested.

“If they want to try again in daylight they already know where you live and where I am. No, I’ll just drive straight on in. I’m more worried about you.”

“I have a groomsman to protect me and a carload of children coming over in an hour to ride horses. I’ll take my chances.”

Tubby pulled her close to him and kissed her. She pushed him away and patted his chest.

“That was nice,” she said.

“This is probably a bad time for us to get serious about each other,” he said.

“Like I said, I’ll take my chances.” She leaned into him, and he found his hand inside her nightgown cupping her breast.

His other hand slowly lifted the back of the gown and lightly caressed her bottom. She kissed him back and he was pressed against the kitchen counter. Tubby had planned to get on the road, but other needs were more immediate. He twirled them around. Now it was she who was against the counter, leaning backwards, and his hands couldn’t stop.

* * *

Tubby pulled onto the blacktop, which was empty of traffic, and turned his Camaro south.

When he was almost to the Causeway, he violated a small law and turned on his cell phone. That was when he learned that he had missed quite a number of messages. Since he was maneuvering through Sunday morning church traffic, he didn’t bother listening to them all, but he did press in a call to Cherrylynn.

“Boss, I’ve been trying to reach you!” she shouted.

“It’s Sunday. What for?”

“I tried to call you yesterday! Somebody blew up my car! It’s just, like, gone!”

“Oh, no! What happened?”

She told him in detail, which took long enough that he was through the toll plaza and onto the bridge before she got to the end.

“And wait till you hear what happened to Mister Raisin!” And she was off again.

He didn’t bother her with his own near-miss. At about Mile Marker 15, where he could see sailboats drifting afar and could imagine sunbathers arrayed on colorful towels on deck, he broke in and gave instructions.

He wanted to see her, Flowers, and Raisin if possible at his house at two o’clock sharp.

“You can take a cab,” he told her. “I’ll cover it.”

* * *

In his living room an hour later, with the Saints versus the Seahawks game muted on the television, Tubby’s team assembled. One by one they recounted their stories.

Cherrylynn’s was the most interesting. They all were captivated by her description of the meeting with Professor Prima and her call to Officer Sandoval. Her car was totaled, and the police said it had to be arson. She had not been able to provide them with any possible explanation.

There had been a brief clip of the burned wreckage on Channel 4, but no suspects were named.

Flowers added that Trey Caponata had spent Saturday at the LSU football game and had tailgated with the Baton Rouge district attorney until almost midnight. The detective had also done some further digging on Carlos Pancera, though he acknowledged that Cherrylynn might have made more progress than he had. Tubby nodded, and she blushed at the compliment.

Flowers’ tail on Pancera had revealed that the suspect had left his Broadmoor home at nine o’clock in the morning, had gone to mass at St. Agapius, and had not emerged until after one. Apparently he had an office somewhere in the church because his name was on a directory in the stair hall, but there was no room number. Upon leaving the church he went home, where he was at this moment. Also, he was a member of Kiwanis and was not registered to vote. Also, he had contributed between $500 and $1,500 to virtually every politician in the state.

“And we’re talking St. Evangeline Parish Justice of the Peace,” Flowers said by way of illustration.

Raisin’s story was graphic and short. This was it:

“Boom! Your man’s telephone was a bomb. It should have wasted me, but I am blessed.”

Tubby told them what had happened to him. All in all, a sobering meeting.

“Here’s what I want,” he told the crew. “All of this has got to be related to me sticking my nose into that shooting back in the 1970’s. Flowers, I want you to get inside that church, and Pancera’s home if you can, and see if you can find any incriminating papers, pictures, anything.

“You figure Pancera is behind this?”

“I don’t know. He’s connected to men with violent histories. And the Babineaux shooting, too, and that detective, what’s his name?”

“Victor Argueta.”

“Yeah, him. And Archie Alonzo, the prima donna who sent our guy into harm’s way, does he have any violent history? I wish we could get into the books of their police detail company.”

Flowers was busily typing away on his iPad.

“Trey Caponata, the mafia wannabe…” Tubby continued, “what about him?”

“Do you see any angle?” Flowers asked.

“Probably not, but does he know anybody who can make a bomb?”

“Other than Jason Boaz?” Raisin threw in.

“Right. Somebody who can make a car bomb.”

“Boaz has the skill,” Flowers said.

“I guess,” Tubby conceded, “but doesn’t it sound like something a Mafioso would do?”

“Why would Caponata want to intimidate Cherrylynn and you?” Flowers asked.

“I don’t know.” Tubby was exasperated. “Someone has come close to killing my oldest friend Raisin.” Raisin stood and took a bow. “And the very best secretary I have ever had. And me! All in one weekend. We have to find out who and why.”

“I’ll need to put a couple more people on this,” Flowers said.

“Of course.” The lawyer frowned. “Now, Cherrylynn, go rent a car and use my credit card. Follow up with all of that wonderful research and see if you can get us any more names of people who were involved in any of these Cuba groups. God knows why they would care about a dozen peaceniks demonstrating on Canal Street, but maybe. Keep on pumping Sandoval even if he’s not likely to have anything new for us.”

“What about me?” Raisin asked.

“Just take a break,” Tubby told him. “And I’m going to have a talk with my old friend Jason Boaz.”

“I’d like to spend some time with him myself,” Raisin said.

“Me first.” Tubby got up and the meeting was adjourned.

* * *

After everybody left, the first thing the lawyer did was walk around and, even though it was still daylight, turn on every light in the house. Then he went upstairs to locate and load his old Colt .45. After that he drove to Jason Boaz’s condo out by the lake. Because he lived in a big building and parked in its garage, you couldn’t tell if Boaz was home until you knocked on the door.

Which Tubby did.

He heard a chair scraping the floor inside, but no one answered the knock.

“Open up, Jason!” Tubby yelled and pounded louder.

“Is that you?” a voice inside asked.

“Of course, it’s me. Let me in.”

The door swung open displaying Jason in a bathrobe. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days.