Tony Dunbar - Tubby Dubonnet 06 - Lucky Man (7 page)

“Everybody has a future, honey.”

She poked him in the ribs. “You know what I mean, or are you being stupid on purpose?”

He tried again. “I think it’s too early to say exactly where we’re going.”

“I’m a girl in a hurry,” she said, and let it drop.

Where I need to go in a hurry is to sleep, Raisin thought to himself.

***

With Raisin evicted, Tubby was finding it a bit lonesome in his empty house. It was Friday. There was nothing he wanted to see on television. He had finished reading about how “Huey Long Invades New Orleans,” and he was happy to have someplace to go, even if it was a “Moonlight Serenade by Judge and Mrs. Alvin Hughes.” This special treat was being held at the Royal Montpelier Hotel for the purpose of retiring the judge’s campaign debts, and the tickets for the event were five hundred dollars a pop. Tubby had served as cochairman of the Hughes Campaign Committee, in which capacity he had managed to avoid actually having to donate any cash. Now that the judge had been elected, however, the invitation was hard to duck. He had examined his bank balance sadly and paid for two.

He thought maybe his daughter Debbie would go along.

“Have you forgotten what it’s like, Daddy?” she demanded in exasperation. “I was up all night feeding Baby Bat. Marcos is crashed out in the living room from studying. I’ve got to fix supper tonight. I don’t have anything in my closet that fits any more. Except for that, I’d love to go.”

“It would be a nice break for you. Can’t Marcos take care of the baby for a couple of hours?”

“Honestly, I’m just not up to it right now. My whole body is tired. Why don’t you ask Mom? She likes those kind of things.”

“Debbie, your mother and I are divorced. That means we don’t go out any more.”

“She’d probably say yes.”

“Forget it.”

“How about Collette or Christine? It would be educational for them.”

“That’s a good idea. By the way, is there any time in your busy schedule, like while the baby is asleep, when we could sit down and have a talk?”

“What about? Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I just feel like talking to you.”

“Well, little Bat usually goes down for a nap at around ten in the morning.”

“That would be good. Maybe I’ll come over tomorrow.”

“Okay. No guarantee that he’ll sleep though.”

“How about if I bring some breakfast? Maybe some of those scones you like from the Daily Grind?”

“Oh, would you?” She was breathless with excitement. “We never go out any more, and I’m absolutely starving for something that tastes really good.”

Those are my genes, he thought proudly. They made a date.

***

Sultana concealed herself in the shadows cast by the shrubbery in front of the white-columned house. She had been fasting to cleanse her soul, and she was weak and light-headed. A slender tree by the driveway gave her some support. But seemingly wasting away, she saw that she was no bigger than a sapling herself.

Through the leaves above, she watched black clouds wash in waves across a smiling moon, and she waited for his car to arrive.

Clutched under her shawl was a curved steel-bladed knife with a brass handle. It had been her father’s, and his father had worn it in a war. She was a shame to them all, and she would use this knife to take her own life. But she did not intend to die alone.

***

Christine did not answer the phone at her apartment. She was a freshman at Tulane now and was always hard to catch. Collette, however, still lived with her mother. He punched in the familiar number prepared to hang up in a hurry if Mattie answered. She was on his case about extra money she thought he ought to contribute for harpsichord lessons or something. On the first ring, however, his daughter picked up. She talked fast so as not to tie up her line with a nonessential call, and said it would be cool to go to the Serenade since, for some reason, she didn’t have any other plans for the evening.

So Tubby arrived at the Royal Montpelier with his youngest daughter beside him in his blue LeBaron. She had on a dress that he had last seen her wear to her middle school graduation party at Antoine’s, and he noticed that she was starting to overflow it.

A turbaned valet wearing the khaki suit of a colonial magistrate offered in a Persian dialect to take the car away. The Dubonnets alighted into the muggy night.

“This sure is a fancy place,” Collette said approvingly, holding up her gown so she wouldn’t trip as they followed the red carpet up the marble steps. She returned a mujahideen’s smile.

“Wait until you see the ballroom. A lot of famous people have performed there.”

“Like who?”

“Well, let’s see. The Drifters…” He got a blank look. “And Tina Turner.” A flicker of recognition.

There was a crowd of politicians and well-dressed well-wishers in the palatial lobby.

Tubby shook a few hands and introduced his daughter around. His Honor himself was in the grand room at the epicenter of a loving swirl of people. He was laughing at jokes and slapping backs. One could not tell, looking at him, that he was living in fear of a grand jury indictment.

Tubby snagged some Cokes, and they waited their turn for an audience with the judge.

“Is this my main supporter?” Hughes cried and parted some shoulders to grab a hand. “And who is this dazzling beauty? Collette? Looking fine, honey.” He kissed the top of her head. “Anybody here not know Tubby Dubonnet, illustrious chairman of my reelection effort?” Tubby was mentally awarding the judge big points for acting ability.

“Glad to meetcha,” said a red-faced man in a yellow suit. “My name’s Lucky LaFrene, know what I mean?”

“You’re the car salesman,” Collette said, delighted. She liked anybody who was on television.

“That’s right, my little pootsie. I’ve got more cars than dogs have bees, and every one of them’s a steal. Let’s do a deal.”

“How do you do,” she said and giggled.

“I’m doing great. Judge Hughes is elected and all’s right with my pearl. It’s lovely to be with a winner. When are you gonna start singing, Judge? He’s got a voice like Pepperoni,” LaFrene promised.

At that moment there came a drum roll and Deon Percy, whom Tubby recognized as the Hughes campaign manager, hopped onto the stage and grabbed the microphone.

“The moment we’ve all been waiting for is here,” he proclaimed with screeches and whistles. “A tribute to a great man”— screech— “talents without equal”— whoooo— “now let me introduce Judge Hughes.”

To enthusiastic applause, Judge Hughes vaulted to the stage, bowed, and took a seat at the piano. He fiddled with the microphone, grinned at the audience, and broke into a rendition of “Hello, Dolly, this is Alvin, Dolly…”

Collette’s eyes swept the room, absorbing details about how adults comport themselves. The judge’s sister and some other campaign insiders began what appeared to be a mambo line. A barrage of balloons cascaded from the ceiling.

Tubby’s gaze settled for a second upon Lucky LaFrene.

The colorful personality had moved to the side of the room and was bracketed by two guys with square shoulders in gray suits.

LaFrene was gesturing wildly, but he did not seem to be enjoying the music. His face was purple and his eyes were angry.

One of the men put a hand on him, and LaFrene shook it off. The man put his hand back, and LaFrene left it there. A pained look spread over his face.

Despite himself, Tubby started to move closer, for no reason but prurient curiosity. The altercation abruptly stopped.

“Hot-cha-cha, oh, baby, yeah.” The judge signed off to thunderous applause.

“Dad, is this for real?” Collette wanted to know.

“I’m afraid so,” he replied and looked over her head. LaFrene had gotten lost in the crowd.

Mrs. Al Hughes jostled into Tubby, who, when he recognized her, planted a kiss on her cheek.

“We’re so glad you’re here,” she said, and squeezed his hand.

“This is my daughter Collette. Olivia Hughes.”

“So nice to meet you, dear. I hope you’re having as much fun as I am.”

“It’s splendid,” Collette said enthusiastically. “very chic.”

“I’m so glad you think so.” The hostess’s eyes sparkled. “You’re a good girl.”

She patted Collette, too, and continued on her errand.

“Oh, cool! Now they’ve got a conga drummer.” Collette stood on her tiptoes. “How seventies can you get?”

When Tubby looked to see what Olivia Hughes had pressed into the hollow of his hand, he found a small plastic horseshoe— a campaign token. He knew the slogan by heart: “Hey, Pal. Vote for Al. A Man You Can Trust.”

“Oh, man,” he complained.

Later, Tubby dropped his daughter off at his old house and watched her run up the walk. It had been a really nice evening, he thought. He almost called out to her. She waved at the door and was gone.

***

Not many blocks away Sultana watched the car lights slowly approach on the quiet street. She edged farther into the shadows of the bushes when the car swerved into the driveway, and she tightened her grip on the long knife.

The car rolled past her and she saw that awful tall man behind the wheel. It rolled to a stop fifteen feet away. When the door opened and the man started to get out, she rushed from cover.

“You violated me,” she cried, brandishing her knife. Surprised, the man fell back into the driver’s seat.

He raised his arms to protect himself from the blade glinting in the streetlamp, but he was the one she intended to kill.

With a defiant grunt Sultana brought the knife down and drew it across her own throat. Strangling, she fell into the car on top of the man.

Blood spurted over him as in horror he struggled to free himself from a tangle of arms and hair. He pushed her away with such violence that she landed on the lawn in a heap. He stood above her panting, covered in blood, wondering what his neighbors might have seen.

***

It had been a great evening, but driving home, Tubby couldn’t shake the fact that he was on his own again.

There had been women in his life, of course, since his divorce. There had been a misguided affair with Jynx Margolis, best described as the flashy ex-wife of a rich gynecologist. There had also been a short but promising relationship with Marguerite Patino, a rather larcenous tourist from Chicago, but he had no idea where she was today. And his current prospect was Faye Sylvester.

In the weeks following the softball game he had searched high and low for an excuse to visit Buddy Holly’s mission, just to see her. He had found it two weeks before when, out of the blue, the phone rang and it was Mandino Fernandez, a client who owed him more than twenty thousand dollars in legal fees for successfully resisting a foreclosure on Mandy’s mother’s home in the Garden District. The case was complicated, but Mandy’s reason for not paying was simple. He was a spoiled brat. A charming spoiled brat. Tubby figured he would eventually have to sue the guy to get paid, which was a major pain in the neck, so he was immediately aroused when the first words he heard on the phone were, “I’ve got your money.”

“Bless you my son. Where are you? I’ll come get it.” Such haste might be unseemly, but this was business.

“I’m killing the blackjack tables at the Coconut Casino.” He wanted Tubby to share in his good news. “Come on over and join me for a few drinks. I’ll flip you high card, double or nothing.”

“I’m gone for the day,” he called to Cherrylynn as he raced out the door. No time to mess around. He’d take his pay in chips— same as cash.

Tubby covered the seventy-five miles to Bay St. Louis in less than fifty-five minutes.

The cruise gave him a chance to go over in his mind the advantages he might enjoy by moving to the suburbs versus the disadvantages of commuting. There would be peace and quiet on the Northshore, and low crime, of course, though honestly the noise of trains and ships and a little big-city tension had never bothered him much before. There were pine trees and acre lots, too, but the main thing he imagined was clean living. He might have to get through another forty or fifty years of life, after all, and that would be better with pink lungs and liver and the kind of serenity a country person enjoys. He would be an hour away from his only grandson, little Bat, but maybe he could entice Debbie and Marcos to migrate north with him. Abita Springs, or Folsom, maybe, would be good places for a little boy to grow up, what with public schools and everything.

Before he knew it, he was breezing into the vast parking lot of the Coconut Casino, now the principal landmark of a once-sleepy town by the Gulf of Mexico. The casino itself was in an estuary, miles from open water. Since only “dockside” gambling was legal in Mississippi, the monumental structure technically floated, though it was locked firmly in place by concrete pilings.

He slid his blue LeBaron between a Winnebago from Oregon and a Jeep from Texas, and set off hiking toward the palatial front entrance. The last time he had been here was to watch his client, Denise Boudreaux, fight Roseanne Spratt, the Nashville Bomber, in the casino’s boxing arena.

The security man nodded to him like an old friend, and Tubby was swept inside with the steady stream of gamblers arriving for action at the cocktail hour.

As soon as he entered the chilled lobby he spied Mandy sitting alone on a bench. But the pasty-faced man with the tousled hair seemed to sag, even as he stood up. He turned his palms skyward and displayed a forlorn expression. Tubby was too late. What the Lord had giveth, the Lord had already taketh back.

“All I’ve got left are two five-dollar chips,” Mandy moaned. He fetched them from his pockets. “And I know you haven’t got the heart to take those.”

Tubby grabbed the red candies, took three steps, and fed them one at a time into a million-dollar payoff slot machine, which just as promptly ate them. The lawyer was too disgusted even to snag a free drink.

Roaring out of the parking lot, he decided on impulse to turn north toward where he figured Buddy Holly’s mission was, thinking maybe he could salvage something from this trip.

The narrow blacktop quickly took him into a more pastoral environment. Neon gave way to brick ranch-style homes from the sixties, then mobile homes with pulpwood trucks in the front yard, and then fields occupied by solid black cows and realtors’ signs. He braked hard when he spied a board nailed to a tree on which was painted CHAPEL BY THE BAY, with an arrow. A gravel road curved off into a field.