Death By The Riverside Part 38

"Can I leave now?"

"No, I'll have Hutch come and move you. That's my cup."

"They're all your cups."

"I always drink my coffee out of that one."

I got up, dumped out the coffee I had just poured myself, then washed and dried the cup. I filled it with coffee and sat it in front of Ranson. She already had another cup of coffee in front of her.

I sat back down, turning my chair so I couldn't see her.

"Don't sulk," she reprimanded me. "I'm not in the mood for your s.h.i.+t this morning."

"f.u.c.k you."

"I mean it. No more s.h.i.+t."

Both Ranson and I were raw and angry this morning. I wanted something, anything, to break the tension too much to avoid the fight that was brewing.

I got up, left the kitchen, and found my Scotch bottle. I sat on the couch and started drinking again. If I couldn't drink coffee, I might as well drink whiskey.

"What the f.u.c.k do you think you're doing?" Ranson demanded from the kitchen door.

"I'm real good at retaining s.h.i.+t when I'm drunk."

"It's seven o'clock in the morning, for G.o.d's sake. Will you ever grow up?"

* 248 *

"Leave me the f.u.c.k alone. You sound like my Aunt Greta."

"Give me the bottle," she demanded, coming over to me and holding out her hand for it.

I looked at her. There was about an inch left in the bottle.

I downed it. Then I handed the bottle to Ranson.

Her anger was palpable, but she said nothing. She took the bottle without a word and went back into the kitchen. I heard her throw it across the room, gla.s.s shattering and hitting the floor.

She didn't speak the whole time she was getting dressed.

"Joanne, I'm sorry," I said as she was about to leave.

"No, you're not," she replied, slamming the door on her way out.

"f.u.c.k yourself," I said to the closed door.

I sat staring at it a long time after she was gone, wondering what the h.e.l.l to do next. A cloud of failure seemed to be hovering over me. I hadn't saved Barbara, or Frankie, or Ben. Or my father. Maybe that was why Ben killed himself; he couldn't stand the ghosts anymore, their constant companions.h.i.+p. And if I kept messing up with my friends, I would soon be left with only the company of my ghosts. I got a glimpse of how Ben could have put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

I stood up, somewhat unsteadily. The Scotch was affecting me.

I cleaned up the gla.s.s from the broken bottle. I cut myself doing it, because I was drunk. I swept the floor over and over again to make sure I got all the gla.s.s. Then I scrubbed it several times to make sure no whiskey smell remained.

I spent the rest of the morning cleaning the whole apartment, including changing the paper on the kitchen shelves and defrosting the freezer. In the afternoon I washed and sanded her back porch steps. She had wanted them painted, had even bought the paint for the project, but had never gotten around to it. I had heard her mention to Alex that she liked the dark blue, but the light blue would go better with the apartment. Alex had suggested compromising and using both colors, making a design. Ranson had laughed, saying she couldn't draw a straight line, let alone a design.

Well, I could. My dad had put a paint brush in my hand when I was five and had me out there helping paint the boats. I painted the risers light blue with the steps dark blue. By the time I had made sure I'd cleaned up everything, it was dark.

* 249 *

Hutch arrived and told me that he was going to baby-sit me because Danny had to go to Baton Rouge and wouldn't be back until tomorrow or the next day.

I nodded and got my duffel bag. "Wait," I said as we got to the door. "I have to leave a note for Ranson." I went back to her kitchen and got a pad, trying desperately to think of something to say. "I'm sorry,"

I wrote, "Someday I will grow up."

Then I left, following Hutch out the door.

* 250 *

CHAPTER 23.

Time pa.s.ses like the evolution of the brain when you can't do anything but wait and wait some more. Hutch and Millie are very nice people. Really. Some of my best friends are straight. But two days spent in someone else's domestic bliss can be quite boring to someone of my temperament. By the second evening, I was getting quite restless.

Millie and I were watching television, mostly for lack of anything else to do. Hutch was reading the paper. When the phone rang, he answered it. He came back with a puzzled expression. "Ranson wants you moved to Slidell," he said.

"My favorite place on the planet," I commented. The women's penitentiary was beginning to look better and better.

"But that wasn't her on the phone," he continued.

"Who would know I'm here?"

"No one besides us, I thought. But it was our boss on the phone."

"Who's her boss?"

"Lt. Raul Lafitte. He says Captain Renaud ordered it."

"Does Renaud like jazz?" I asked.

"I think so. Why?"

"Something Frankie told me." Hutch and I looked at each other.

"I'm not going to Slidell."

"Let me try to get hold of Ranson," he said. He picked up the phone.

"Any chance your phone is bugged?" I asked.

"s.h.i.+t." He slammed the phone down.

"Something the matter?" Millie asked.

* 251 *

"They know I'm here now," I said.

"They may know," Hutch added.

"You willing to risk leaving me here?" I said, looking at Millie but talking to Hutch.

"No," he answered. "You got any suggestions? I need to find Ranson, but it won't be safe for you to come along."

"She can stay here," Millie interjected.

"No," both Hutch and I said at the same time.

"I have an idea," I continued. "Milo isn't an equal opportunity employer. Only male goons need apply."

"Yeah?" Hutch prompted.

"Drop me off at a women's bar. Even Milo's boys couldn't get past the bouncers at some of them. Besides, it will be so much fun to watch Ranson, in the line of duty, come into a lesbian bar and get me."

Actually, it would gain me another hundred years on her s.h.i.+t list, but it was the safest place I could think of. I doubted she was very far out of the closet at work.

"Let's go," Hutch agreed.

I grabbed my jacket and we hurried out to his car.

"I think we're being followed," he said after several blocks.

"Can you lose them?"

"Maybe." He gave me a little-boy-with-toys grin, then turned on the siren and put his flas.h.i.+ng light on the roof. We took off.

After running two red lights and making three illegal left turns, he pulled over, turning off the light and siren. We watched the pa.s.sing cars.

"I think we've lost them," he said.

"Let's hope so," I agreed.

I gave him directions to my bar of choice, The Cunning Linguist.

It used to get raided every few years, whenever someone figured out what the name really referred to. Rosie and Mae, two of the bouncers, were in my karate cla.s.s. With their help, I had a chance against Milo's goons.

Hutch dropped me off, watching while I entered.

Rosie was on duty. She waved me through. "It's your birthday tomorrow," she gave as the reason for not charging me cover.

"Sort of. Thanks, Rosie." Not paying the cover meant that I could * 252 *

drink Scotch and not beer. Not too much, Mick, this could be a long night, I told myself.

The Cunning Linguist was the way I remembered it. Dark, smelling of beer, with sawdust on the floor and a fight about to break out at one of the pool tables. I nodded to a few acquaintances. Some woman I didn't recognize smiled and waved at me. I had probably slept with her a few years back. Sometimes it's hard to look at a woman's face when you're busy looking at her body.

I went to the bar and got a Johnny Walker. The fewer I had, the better the quality. I wandered around, sipping my drink, enjoying being surrounded by women. Who would I pick up if I could, I wondered.

Maybe Ranson will show up and tell me she caught them and it's okay for me to go home to my own bed, I thought as I appraised the women on the dance floor. Then I remembered that Ranson might not want to talk to me and that there was only one woman that I wanted to sleep with and it wasn't likely that she would show up here tonight or any other night. At least Johnny Walker still made good Scotch.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't my favorite girl detective."

"Nice to see you too, Karen," I replied.

"You've cost me a lot of money. All I have now is my trust fund."

"Shouldn't have bounced that check on me. Evil deeds have a way of coming back to you."

"It shouldn't have bounced. The bank messed it up," she lied.

"Aww, that's a shame. All this trouble for nothing," I commiserated.

"Just view it as an act of generosity to the Confederate Daughters."

"They didn't get the estate."

"Who did?"

"Cordelia. That b.a.s.t.a.r.d changed his will again. She got everything.

House, money, the whole lot. And she's the queerest one of us all."

"I guess decency counts for something these days. When did he change his will?"

"Two weeks before he died. I was beginning to get back on his good side when he kicked off."

"What's Cordelia going to do with the plantation?" I asked. She was out of my league before, now she was way out.

"She could sell it and earn lots of money, but she'll probably * 253 *

do something stupid like turn it into an orphanage or some charity dump."