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the reverend.”
    “He pastors St. Pious the Third Evangelist Baptist on Orleans Avenue. He’s a fine man. And listen, I’ve got a campaign manager, too, and I’m getting a media consultant. They’re going to be doing all the nuts and bolts work.”
    “And me and the Reverend Weems?”
    “You and the reverend are going to help me figure out how to pay for it all.”
    “I’m flattered, Al.” And he was. “I could probably find the time.” Since he didn’t have any clients. “But as far as my personal financial contribution…”
    Judge Hughes laughed so loud Tubby had to jerk the phone away from his ear.
    “I don’t need your money, Tubby,” he roared. “I want you to help me get all those other lawyers’ money.”
    Relieved, Tubby laughed with the judge. “Sure, Al,” he said. “I’ll be glad to do it.”
    “I knew you would. Either I or Mrs. Evans will call you in a day or two and set up a first campaign meeting.”
    “So soon?” It was still summertime, for chrissake.
    “Soon? The primary is in September. I don’t plan to lose this race.”
    Tubby told the judge he was with him all the way, and he had a smug expression on his face when he hung up the phone.
    “Hey, guess what, Cherrylynn,” he called out loud. “I’m going to be cochairman of the Judge Hughes Reelection Campaign!”
    She ran in to hear the news. He did not immediately realize it, but his mental fog was starting to lift. She spotted it right away.

CHAPTER VII
    Charlie Autin was into martial arts, and he was usually never happier than when he was rearing back and kicking someone— laying a mountszu on them. Until he got involved with Daisy, and then she was the only thing on his mind.
    He thought she must be older than she said she was, which was twenty-two, because she seemed so experienced about everything. The way she told it, she had only been on the streets a couple of nights before Charlie picked her up that first time. Even allowing for a certain understandable fibbing in that area, it was just amazing what she knew. Tarot cards, for instance. She could predict the future. He had tested her, like on the outcome of a Zephyrs baseball game— they would lose— and again on whether Charlie’s boss would give him Saturday afternoon off— no— and she was right both times. She had traveled more than Charlie and had even been to the casinos on the Gulf Coast. And sex was just crazy, it was so good. She could make Charlie crawl on the floor and beg for more.
    Other girls he had dated lacked all of those abilities.
    She agreed to come over and see his apartment on a side street near Bonnabel Avenue in Metairie. It was in the back of a brick house with a little yard, and the owner lived up front. Daisy looked real hot when he picked her up, tight red slacks with some kind of gold fringe on them, and a low-cut white tank top that showed off a herd of brown freckles on her neck. They rode off into the deep canyon hidden in the lacy pink bra that peeked out around all the edges of her shirt. He had to sneak her up the driveway to his door in the back so old Mrs. Winters wouldn’t have a heart attack.
    “It’s nice,” she said, looking around the low-ceilinged living room furnished with a big TV, a glass-topped table, and his weight set.
    He showed her the kitchen, which had a window looking out to the backyard where Mrs. Winters was just now clipping the flowers off her ligustrum hedge. Charlie quickly closed the curtains. He let her see the bedroom next, which was filled almost wall-to-wall with his waterbed. Charlie’s idea had been to get Daisy into that immediately, but she backed away from the bed quickly and returned to the kitchen, bouncing her hips. He followed like a puppy dog.
    “What you got to drink, Charlie?” she asked.
    “Oh beer, and Gatorade. I maybe got some Dr. Pepper.” He bent down and looked into the refrigerator.
    “What kind of beer?”
    “Some tall cans of Bud,” he said, pulling one out of