A Stained White Radiance by James Lee Burke Page B

Mississippi who think the big score is working security at Walmart. I’m clearing around five hundred a week after the overhead. It beats running a nightclub for greaseballs, I guess.”
    â€œSounds all right.”
    He took a cigarette out of his package of Camels and held it for a moment in his big hand, then he set it down on the desk blotter and put a stick of gum in his mouth. His eyes smiled at me while he chewed.
    â€œThe problem is that a lot of it’s a drag,” he said. “Discovery investigations for lawyers, stuff like that. It’s not like the old days in Homicide when we used to really make them wince. You remember when we—”
    â€œNo, I don’t remember, Clete.”
    â€œCome on, Dave. It was all full-tilt boogie rock ’n’ roll back then. You loved it, mon. Admit it.” He kept grinning, and his teeth clicked while he chewed his gum.
    â€œWhy the piece?”
    â€œIt gets interesting once in a while. I run down bail jumpers for a couple of bondsmen. Pimps, street dealers, bullshit like that. What a bunch. I think the Orkin Company ought to get serious in this town. I’m not kidding you, New Orleans is turning to shit. The fucking lowlifes have crawled out of the cracks.”
    I looked at my watch.
    â€œYou’re worried about your parking meter or something?” he said.
    â€œSorry. I just need to be back in New Iberia this afternoon.”
    â€œHow’s everything at home?”
    â€œIt’s okay. Good.”
    The smile went out of his eyes. I looked away from him.
    He spread his fingers on the desk blotter. His hands looked as big as skillets.
    â€œBootsie’s having trouble again?” he said.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow bad?”
    â€œYou never know. One day’s fine and full of bluebirds. The next day the gargoyles come out of the closet.”
    He took the gum out of his mouth and dropped it in the wastebasket. I heard him take a deep breath through his nose.
    â€œLet’s walk on over to the Pearl and have some oysters,” he said. “Then we’ll talk about these three butt-wipes you’re looking for.”
    â€œI’m a little tapped out right now.”
    â€œI’ve got a tab there. I never pay it, but that’s what tabs are for. Let’s get out into this beautiful day.”
    We walked down Bourbon, which was becoming more crowded with tourists now, past the T-shirt shops, jazz clubs and strip joints that advertised nude dancers and French orgies, to the corner of St. Charles and Canal, where we went inside the Pearl and sat at the long counter that ran the length of the restaurant. The tables were covered with checkercloth, wood-bladed fans turned overhead, and three black men in aprons were shucking open raw oysters over the ice bins behind the bar. We ordered two dozen on the half-shell, a glass of iced tea for me and a small pitcher of draft for Clete.
    â€œRun it by me again,” he said.
    I went over all the details of Garrett’s murder, the shoot-out, the description of the three intruders, the names I had heard them call each other while my ears had roared like the sea with the sound of my own blood.
    Clete was silent, his green eyes thoughtful under his porkpie hat while he squeezed a lemon on his oysters and dotted them with Tabasco sauce.
    â€œI don’t know about the guy named Eddy or the guy with the scrap metal in his mouth,” he said. “But this sawed-off character named Jewel sounds like a local I used to know. I haven’t seen him around in a while, but I think we might be talking about Jewel Fluck.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou heard me. That’s his name. His familycame from Germany and he grew up in the Channel. He tried to make it as a jockey out at Jefferson Downs, but he was too heavy and so he worked as a hot-walker till they caught him doping a horse. He’s a mean little bastard, Dave.”
    â€œFluck?”
    â€œYou