French Quarter (17 page)

Fourteen

Antoine needed to relieve himself. He moved on the hard metal chair and made noises. Noises were the best he could do with a dirty rag crammed into his mouth and tied behind his head.

“Hey, I do believe the boy’s got some’tin he wants t’say. That’s very smart of you, boy. Our patience is gettin’ short, and you ain’t even met the guy with the really short fuse.” A man whose face he couldn’t see, a man who stayed beyond the blinding glare of a white light that swung from the ceiling, delivered a kick to Antoine’s shin, and then kicked him again. “You got some’tin to say, boy? Nod your fuckin’ head if the answer’s yes.”

Pain blasted in his legs, but Antoine nodded. He knew who these people must be and why they’d grabbed him and stuffed him into a car while he was walking to catch the cable car. He’d got scared after he tried to talk to Miss Celina the second time. The other people left and he went back, but Mr. Charbonnet was still there and Antoine wasn’t sure he should talk in front of him, so he decided to leave Royal Street. Now he wished he’d stayed.

“The boy’s got some’tin t’say,” the man behind the light shouted. “What say we find out what it is?”

“You do that,” another voice said, a deeper, slower voice. “It better be what we want to hear, old man, or you’ll be goin’ to heaven sooner than you planned.”

The light swung in an arc, casting crazy shadows on brick walls. He’d been blindfolded in the car, and although he’d tried to note what turns they’d made, he’d soon lost all sense of where he was. Smells made him suspect they were near the river. And he’d heard what sounded like a ship’s horn in the distance.

The cloth was taken from his mouth and he coughed, and thought he might get sick.

Another kick, this one to his knee, made him lean forward and choke back vomit. His arms were tied behind the chair, and his ankles were lashed together.

“You puke, you eat it, boy,” the man with the hard shoes said. “I don’t like smellin’ what someone else ate. You got that?”

“Go easy,” the other voice said.

“I’m doin’ this for you, boss. And you know how stupid his kind are. You gotta keep remindin’ ‘em who’s in charge and what they’re supposed to do. They ain’t got no natural respect for their betters. That’s because they been around dumb fuckers who make ‘em think they’re equal or some’tin stupid like that.”

“Antoine,” the quieter man said. “What is it you want to tell us? We’re all ears, and we want to be your friends.”

“I...I got to use the facilities, me.”

In the silence that followed Antoine could hear the beat of his own heart.

“You gotta use the
facilities?”
He saw the dark shadows of the face that bent over him. “You gotta take a shit, you mean? Or a piss? Both, maybe?”

Antoine swallowed his disgust. These were not good men, not men with any of the grace his own quiet parents, poor, hardworking parents, had instilled in him. He and Rose had taught their boys the same things, although it was harder now.

“Answer me, boy!” A blow to the side of his head with a closed fist caught the corner of his eye, and he felt blood there. “What you gotta do in the
facilities?
You gonna try to escape, ain’t that it? You gonna try to make us look like fools in front of the nice people we work for.”

“I need to relieve myself,” Antoine said quietly. “You got my word I don’t try to get away. I’m an honest man, me.”

“You a stupid man who minds other people’s business. You got pants on, use ‘em. You ain’t goin’ to no
facilities.

 
“Maybe you should take him.”

“You goin’ soft or somethin’?” The man who struck another with such pleasure sounded angry with his companion. “You’re the one who asked for insurance. I’m givin’ it to you.”

“Make this faster,” the other man said. “I’m tired of it already. You don’t gotta prove nothin’ to me. You’re doin’ a good job for me. And I need you back on the other thing. I don’t trust your buddy not to do somethin’ I wouldn’t like. You hurry up here and get back there. Then you tell him he does nothin’ without I say so. Got that?”

“Got it. Okay,
Antoine,
I’m gonna ask you again. What do you think you saw the mornin’ after your owner bought it?”

“Mr. Petrie he don’t own me. Nobody own nobody no more.”

“Well,
excuse
me, sir. Maybe I’ll help you get more comfortable.”

Cold water drenched Antoine from head to foot. Then, while he shook his head to clear his eyes, a punch landed on his full bladder, and another, and another. He cried out, and couldn’t stop himself from crying out again. And his bladder let go. He felt the warm urine soil his trousers, and he burned with shame.

“Better now?”

He didn’t answer.

“What did you see that morning?”

“Nothing.”

“What time was it?”

“I did not see nothing.”

“Didn’t you tell someone you saw a person early in the mornin’. This person came to Petrie’s place before it was light and went into the house.”

“No. I did not see nothing.” He had to lie, because if he didn’t he could put Dwayne in danger. Antoine didn’t want to think what these men might do to someone like Dwayne.

“So why’d you say so, dummy? You know why? Because I think you did see someone and I think you could do a very nice job of describin’ that person. Why don’t you prove me right? I get real happy when I’m right. I might just let you go home to that wife you’re so fond of—and those boys.”

Despite his soaked clothes and his misery, Antoine sat straighter. They knew about his family. “I saw nothin’, me.”

“THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FRΕΕ. That’s what your fuckin’ T-shirt says, Antoine. Maybe you can’t read so good. Can you fuckin’ read?”

“We don’t have time for this,” the man behind Antoine said. “If Win finds out someone made a careless move, he’s goin’ to be even harder to deal with.”

“You never did tell me why Win’s on your case, boss,”

“I don’t pay you to ask questions.”

Antoine wondered who Win was but knew better than to ask. “It was a difficult day,” he said, trying to figure a way to make them think he wasn’t worth their time. “They found Mr. Petrie dead in his bathroom. You can read it in the papers, you. Old papers, but you get them at the paper office, they say.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Antoine decided to press on. “You can ask for the old ones. I see him with my own eyes. He on the bathroom floor. They say his heart kill him, but now it the word of the man from the police. He say Mr. Petrie drown. No one know how. Perhaps he hit his head.”

“He was on the floor,” the quiet man said. “Isn’t that what you just told us?”

“That’s what I say, me.”

“So,” his tormentor said, “how the fuck does a drowned man get out of the tub and onto the floor?”

Another knuckle blow landed on Antoine’s temple and pain blossomed inside his head. Two more punches, in quick succession, made certain he couldn’t see out of his left eye at all. The swelling instantly grew tight.

“What did you see, fucker?”

Antoine shook his bead slowly from side to side. Blood ran into the corner of his mouth.

“You didn’t get around to telling the LeChat queen everythin’. You saw someone was watchin’ you at the fairy palace and quit talkin’, didn’t you?”

Dwayne LeChat was a kind man. Antoine didn’t want to say anything that might hurt him. “I didn’t tell Dwayne nothin’.”

“Stupid,” he was told before a flurry of punches battered his face and neck, then his belly. The man sounded breathless when he said, “All you gotta do is tell me who else you talked to about this and we’ll take you home to Rose. How’s that?”

Antoine’s brain was on fire. How did they know Rose’s name?
They weren’t going to let him go.

“All you gotta do is let us know you respect us. Let us know you got honest feelin’s of admiration for us. You revere us. When you revere someone, you don’t try to keep things from them. Who else did you tell about what you thought you saw that mornin’?”

“No one.”

He braced himself for whatever punishment might come. When it didn’t, he relaxed a little.

Something cracked his front teeth, but Antoine didn’t know what it was. He let his head hang forward, not that he could have held it up. A piece of a tooth went down his throat. He spat another piece out. His mouth was filled with blood now.

“We saw the queen talk to Jack Charbonnet. You like Jack Charbonnet?”

Antoine nodded, every move bringing a fresh agony. “Wrong answer. We don’t. We think the queen told Charbonnet about your little visit.”

He didn’t want to die. But more than that, he didn’t want his family to suffer because of him.

“He—” Antoine spat blood into his lap. It didn’t seem to matter anymore that he’d relieved himself in his pants, or that he could smell his own urine and excrement. “Dwayne, he can’t tell Mr. Charbonnet. I don’t finish te1lin’ Dwayne, so he can’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, the boy’s decided to believe his shirt and be honest with the best friends he’s ever goin’ to have. Ain’t that nice? But you went to LeChat to tell tales, ain’t that right?”

“I went to ask him advice. Him wise, Mr. LeChat. Not many know him wise.”

“His kind make real men sick,” his brave questioner said. “We gotta stamp out dirt like that. Unnatural, that’s what they are. But you asked him advice. And what advice does he give you?”

“No advice. I don’t finish askin’, me. I get nervous because I not sure I see anythin’. Maybe I just get a visit from a spirit come to wish me peace in the mornin’, only I don’ recognize him.”

“I think our friend here is tryin’ to divert us,” the second man said. “And I think his time is runnin’ out. What do you think?”

The man behind Antoine was obviously the boss. The one who was giving Antoine the hands-on attention wanted to impress his boss. He said, “You got it. His time’s runnin’ out. I’m gonna ask one more time. Who else did you tell about what you thought you saw?”

“No one.”

“Rose is a lot younger than you, old man. Ain’t that true?”

He saw the shadowed bricks through a haze of blood and spittle, and tears he didn’t remember shedding.

“Ain’t it the case that your woman’s a lot younger than you? They say that black meat is sweet. At least, that’s what I heard. Maybe if your lady’s lonely, I could go over and keep her company.”

The agony of helplessness and fear closed Antoine’s throat as tightly as any pair of hands could. He moaned and rocked his head from side to side.

“Trust us, Antoine,” the boss man said. “We don’t intend to hurt anyone. It is very regretful that we’ve had to cause you a little discomfort, but we have to know who else you spoke to about whatever it was you thought you saw in the Royal Street courtyard the morning after Errol Petrie died.”

“I no see nothin’. Believe me. I tell you if see somethin’.”

“Then why did you go to Dwayne LeChat?”

If only his mind would stay clear long enough. “I go because Mr. LeChat, him, believe in the old ways, and him respectful of the old arts. I know he listen when I talk about the spirit.”

“You’re a goddamn liar, boy. And you ain’t good at it.”

The next swat knocked him backward, and he crashed to the concrete floor. He screamed. His weight landed on his arms, and his arms were strapped behind the chair. The cracking he heard had to be bones, and the pain that exploded afterward all but made him faint.

“Okay, boss, I say we leave him here and go visit his old lady.”

“Oh, why disrupt the whole home like that. We could always bring one of his boys here. Simon, is it? Pretentious name, but kinda cute for a cute little ass like that. How old is Simon, Antoine?”

No one would come to his aid, but Antoine didn’t care anymore. He wouldn’t answer these people again. Sound gurgled. It came from his own throat.

“He’s fifteen,” the boss man said. “I remember now. I asked a few questions and learned he was fifteen and very good in school. You and Rose are proud of him. He wants to be a doctor and you save money all the time to help him. I’d say you people got ideas above your station, but why shouldn’t people make up dreams You saw someone come into the courtyard at Royal Street and go up into the house. Is that right?”

Simon was gentle and clever and wise. He saw good where there was no good.

A solid toe connected with Antoine’s right kidney. “Is that right?”

He nodded. What could they make of that anyway?

The boss said, “Push him on his side. He’s chokin’.”

The chair rolled. Antoine saw the floor rise toward him, then his face met concrete. Blood flowed back into his arms, but it only brought more pain.

“You didn’t say anything to the police because your kind is naturally afraid of those people. But later you wanted to feel important, so you started shootin’ your mouth off.”

“I left without tellin’ Dwayne everythin’.”

“You didn’t tell me what the person look like.”

He took in a choking, wet breath. “I didn’t see what the person looked like, me.”

“You know what this is, boy?”

Antoine squinted up. His left eye saw nothing. With his right eye he made out a wire. He nodded and said, “Wire.”

Sudden pealing laughter made him lose control of his bowels again.

“Whooeee, would you smell that?” the funny one said. “Υou’ll thank me later for giving you a good clean-out. This is wire. You’re right about that. But what else? No, you don’t gotta figure it out. It’s a live wire”—more laughter—“get it, a live wire. Fuck, I don’t want to think about what you’d smell like if you burned right now.”

“Let me go,” Antoine said, coughing between each word. “Just let me go and no one ever knows about this. No one. And no one knows about what I see in the courtyard.”

“So what did you see?” the man shouted. He ground a foot into Antoine’s arms, ground them against the back of the metal chair. “And who else did you tell? You went up to the house in the middle of this morning, didn’t you?’

He murmured yes, and felt his mind slip away. He wanted silence and dark. He tried to pray to himself, to tell himself he was a child of God and full of joy. They couldn’t find the part of him that was God’s. They couldn’t kick that and make it bleed.