Goddard spoke the truth. There was always someone willing to risk
it all on a get-rich-quick scheme. But Mickey Burelly? Was there a chance hed become an unwanted liability? Was he a dirty cop or had he been telling the truth yesterday when hed been boasting about cracking open the case?
I need a pair of eyes and ears for a few days. Ry pointed to the sign overhead. Feel like sealing the deal with a plate of shrimp and a few beers? The Toucan serves all night.
Now youre talkin, Superman. God offered Ry a toothless grin, then ducked back into the alley. Sidestepping the homeless vagrants snoring in each anothers faces, he led the way to the Toucans back door.
The hardy aroma of bisque and spicy crawfish teased their palates as the two men stepped inside the lounge. While large fans moved the rich scent into the dark corners of the dining room, the dim lighting and exotic decor set the mood for an evening of some of the best food and entertainment in the French Quarter.
As Goddard scanned the booths along the south wall, he asked in a hushed tone, We gonna meet tomorrow?
You already planning your noon meal? Ry teased.
The older man looked at Ry and grinned. Tonys Thursday special is gumbo. All-you-can-eat gumbo. I like gumbo.
All right, Ry agreed. See what you can come up with between now and then, and Ill see you around noon.
Goddard spotted an empty booth half-hidden by a potted palm, and without any further conversation, shuffled his bird-like legs across the red brick floor.
Ry watched his snitch wedge the cardboard bed into the foot space beneath the table, then sit down on the purple-and-green leather seat. Seconds later, he reached for the menu.
The smell of steamed shrimp stirred his own hunger, but instead of finding his usual table, Ry took stock of his surroundingsmore specifically, the small stage where Margo duFray sang five nights out of seven. The stage was dark, and that both surprised and disappointed him.
Hey, mon ami, its Wednesday. You got your days mixed up, no?
The voice calling to him from behind the bar drew Rys attention, and he turned to face the Toucans owner. I know what day it is, Tony.
Then youre workin, oui?
Thats right.
Nasty night for it.
Is the grill still on? Ry asked.
Yeah, sure. The big black man motioned to Rys wet shirt. If you dont mind me sayin so, youve looked better. You oughtta go home and dry out with a bottle of cha-cha. Maybe curl up with somethin soft.
Tonys suggestion sounded good, at least the drying-out part, but Ry didnt need or want the distraction of booze or an easy woman. Booze had never been able to do the job it promised where he was concerned, and he had no interest in an easy woman whose name he wouldnt remember in the morning.
Whats that partner of yours doing these days? Tonys grin fed the mischief in his heavy-lidded chocolate eyes.
You know damn well what hes doing, Ry grumbled. Not a damn thing.
I guess I heard somethin about that. Words between him and Chief Blais, somebody said. Suspended for two weeks, right? Tonys grin opened up.
Ry shook his head. Youd think by now Jackson would know to keep his opinions to himself. Hes been suspended three times in the past year.
You aint turned your back on him, though. The two before you quit the first time Jackson said somethin they didnt like.
That was understandable. Jackson had a knack for irritating the hell out of people, saying what he damn well pleased any old time he felt like it. But on the other side of that coin was the fact that Jackson was the best damn cop Ry had ever worked with. He was the fastest thinker, the sharpest marksman, and downright ugly mean when it was called for. No, contrary to rumor, Jackson Ward was the man every cop wanted watching his back, whether they knew it or not.
You hear about the suit? Got himself kilt tonight.
Ry nodded without answering.
Tony leaned close and whispered. Thats why youre here, right? Youre on the case, aintcha?
Looks like it. Ry ran a tired hand through his cropped sandy-brown hair, scattering rain drops, then hitched his jeans-clad backside on a barstool. Whats hot and ready, Tony? I havent eaten since breakfast.
Catfish in ten. Shrimp in five. Tony nodded toward a booth in the far corner. Charmaine in two, ifn that look shes givin the back of your head means what I think it do. She could dry you out real fast, mon ami.
Ry curled his long legs around the metal rungs on the stool and glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was Char running her pink tongue around the rim of her wineglass and watching him with those electric-green eyes that promised trouble. In
no mood to baby-sit the judges daughter, Ry turned back to Tony. Ill take the safe bet, give me the shrimp and a cold beer.
Tony chuckled, his sharp eyes shifting to where Goddard sat clutching the menu. You payin for God?
Thats right. Whatever he wants. As much as he wants, Ry added.
Tony flagged one of his waitresses to wait on Goddard, then turned to his grill and the shrimp Ry had ordered.