DR13 - Last Car to Elysian Fields Read Online Free Page A
Author: James Lee Burke
arguably enormous.
"How you doin', Theo?" I said.
"Stay for coffee or a cold drink?" she said.
"You know me, always on the run," I said.
She curled her fingers around the limb of a mimosa tree and propped one moccasin-clad foot against the trunk. Her breasts rose and fell against her blouse.
"How about diet Dr. Pepper on the rocks, with cherries in it?" she said.
Don't hang around. Get away now, I heard a voice inside me say.
"I'm just about to fix some sherbet with strawberries. We'd love to have you join us, Dave," Merchie said.
"Sounds swell," I said, and dropped my eyes, wondering at the price I was willing to pay in order not to be alone.
On the way into the backyard Theodosha touched my arm. "I'm sorry about your loss. I hope you're doing all right these days," she said.
But I had no memory of her sending a sympathy card when Boot-she died.
I went to an early Mass the next morning, then bought a copy of the Times-Picayune and drank coffee at the picnic table in the backyard and read the newspaper. I read three paragraphs into an article about an errant bomb falling into a community of mud brick huts in Afghanistan, then closed the paper and watched a group of children throwing a red Frisbee back and forth under the oak trees in the park. A speedboat full of teenagers roared down the bayou, swirling a trough back and forth between both banks, splintering the air with a deafening sound. I heard my portable phone tinkle softly by my thigh.
The operator asked if I would accept a collect call from Clete Purcel.
"Yes," I said.
"Streak, I'm in the zoo," Clete shouted.
In the background I could hear voices echoing down stone corridors or inside cavernous rooms.
"What did you say?"
"I'm in Central Lock-Up. They busted me for assaulting Gunner
Ardoin. I feel like I've been arrested for spraying Lysol on a toilet bowl."
"Why haven't you bonded out?" I asked.
"Nig and Willie aren't answering my calls."
I tried to make sense out of what he was saying. For years Clete had chased down bail skips for Nig Rosewater and Wee Willie Bimstine. He should have been out of jail with a signature.
I started to speak, but he cut me off. "Gunner is a grunt for Fat Sammy Fig, and Fat Sammy is connected up with every major league piece of shit in Louisiana. I think Nig and Willie don't want trouble with the wrong people. Arraignment isn't until Tuesday morning. Been down to Central Lock-Up lately?"
I took the four-lane through Morgan City into New Orleans. But I didn't go directly to the jail. Instead, I drove up St. Charles Avenue, then over toward Tchoupitoulas and parked in front of Gunner Ardoin's cottage. His Honda was in the driveway. I walked down to a corner store and bought a quart of chocolate milk and a prepackaged ham sandwich and sat down on Gunner's front steps and began eating the sandwich while children roller-skated past me under the trees.
I heard someone open the door behind me.
"What the fuck you think you're doin'?" Gunner's voice said.
"Oh, hi. I was about to ask you the same thing," I said.
"What?" he said. He was bare chested and barefoot, and wore only a pair of pajama bottoms string-tied under his navel. The breeze blew from the back of the cottage through the open door. "What?" he repeated.
"Toking up kind of early today?"
"So call the DEA."
"Father Jimmie Dolan was your basketball coach. Why did you say you didn't know him?"
'"Cause I can't remember every guy I knew in high school with a whistle hanging out of his mouth."
"Father Jimmie says it wasn't you who attacked him, Gunner. But I think somebody told you to bust him up, and you pieced off the job to somebody else. Probably because you still have qualms."
"Is this because I filed on your friend?"
"No, it's because you're a shit bag and you're going to drop those charges or I'll be back here tonight and jam a chainsaw up your ass."
"Look, man " he began.
"No, you look," I said, rising to my feet, shoving him backward through the door
"How you doin', Theo?" I said.
"Stay for coffee or a cold drink?" she said.
"You know me, always on the run," I said.
She curled her fingers around the limb of a mimosa tree and propped one moccasin-clad foot against the trunk. Her breasts rose and fell against her blouse.
"How about diet Dr. Pepper on the rocks, with cherries in it?" she said.
Don't hang around. Get away now, I heard a voice inside me say.
"I'm just about to fix some sherbet with strawberries. We'd love to have you join us, Dave," Merchie said.
"Sounds swell," I said, and dropped my eyes, wondering at the price I was willing to pay in order not to be alone.
On the way into the backyard Theodosha touched my arm. "I'm sorry about your loss. I hope you're doing all right these days," she said.
But I had no memory of her sending a sympathy card when Boot-she died.
I went to an early Mass the next morning, then bought a copy of the Times-Picayune and drank coffee at the picnic table in the backyard and read the newspaper. I read three paragraphs into an article about an errant bomb falling into a community of mud brick huts in Afghanistan, then closed the paper and watched a group of children throwing a red Frisbee back and forth under the oak trees in the park. A speedboat full of teenagers roared down the bayou, swirling a trough back and forth between both banks, splintering the air with a deafening sound. I heard my portable phone tinkle softly by my thigh.
The operator asked if I would accept a collect call from Clete Purcel.
"Yes," I said.
"Streak, I'm in the zoo," Clete shouted.
In the background I could hear voices echoing down stone corridors or inside cavernous rooms.
"What did you say?"
"I'm in Central Lock-Up. They busted me for assaulting Gunner
Ardoin. I feel like I've been arrested for spraying Lysol on a toilet bowl."
"Why haven't you bonded out?" I asked.
"Nig and Willie aren't answering my calls."
I tried to make sense out of what he was saying. For years Clete had chased down bail skips for Nig Rosewater and Wee Willie Bimstine. He should have been out of jail with a signature.
I started to speak, but he cut me off. "Gunner is a grunt for Fat Sammy Fig, and Fat Sammy is connected up with every major league piece of shit in Louisiana. I think Nig and Willie don't want trouble with the wrong people. Arraignment isn't until Tuesday morning. Been down to Central Lock-Up lately?"
I took the four-lane through Morgan City into New Orleans. But I didn't go directly to the jail. Instead, I drove up St. Charles Avenue, then over toward Tchoupitoulas and parked in front of Gunner Ardoin's cottage. His Honda was in the driveway. I walked down to a corner store and bought a quart of chocolate milk and a prepackaged ham sandwich and sat down on Gunner's front steps and began eating the sandwich while children roller-skated past me under the trees.
I heard someone open the door behind me.
"What the fuck you think you're doin'?" Gunner's voice said.
"Oh, hi. I was about to ask you the same thing," I said.
"What?" he said. He was bare chested and barefoot, and wore only a pair of pajama bottoms string-tied under his navel. The breeze blew from the back of the cottage through the open door. "What?" he repeated.
"Toking up kind of early today?"
"So call the DEA."
"Father Jimmie Dolan was your basketball coach. Why did you say you didn't know him?"
'"Cause I can't remember every guy I knew in high school with a whistle hanging out of his mouth."
"Father Jimmie says it wasn't you who attacked him, Gunner. But I think somebody told you to bust him up, and you pieced off the job to somebody else. Probably because you still have qualms."
"Is this because I filed on your friend?"
"No, it's because you're a shit bag and you're going to drop those charges or I'll be back here tonight and jam a chainsaw up your ass."
"Look, man " he began.
"No, you look," I said, rising to my feet, shoving him backward through the door
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