Tommy Bobalouba got out on the driver's side, dressed in striped, dark brown slacks, tasseled loafers, and a form-fitting canary-yellow polo shirt. Across the bridge of his nose was a thick, crusted scab where I had pistol-whipped him. He was smiling. He put his finger to his lips and motioned me away from the automobile.
'Charlotte's sleeping,' he whispered. 'She ain't used to being up this early.'
'What are you doing at my house, Tommy?'
'It's the weekend. Sometimes I like a drive in the country. Maybe I can rent a boat, you can take us out.'
He combed his white hair while he gazed approvingly at the surroundings.
'You didn't come here to square a beef, did you, partner?' I said.
'You got a cup of coffee?'
'We can walk down to the bait shop.'
'The bait shop? What is this, the white trash treatment I get?'
'My wife's not dressed yet.'
'I want a favor from you.'
'Tommy, I'm having a hard time with your presence here.'
'What? I'm a germ?'
'I'm the guy who hit you across the face with a forty-five. Now you're at my house.'
'I don't hold a grudge.'
'Good. Then you won't be offended when I recommend that you give me a call during business hours at the office.'
'You made some remarks at my house. About stuff that's maybe on my conscience. So maybe I'm gonna try to set it right. You don't want to help me, then run it up your hole.'
'I'd appreciate it if you'd watch what you say around my house.'
The door on the passenger's side opened, and the ash blond lady named Charlotte got out and stretched sleepily.
'Oh, Mr. Robicheaux, our favorite daytime nightmare,' she said.
'We're gonna have some coffee. Down at his shop,' Tommy said.
'Breakfast among the worms. How could a girl ask for more?' she said.
'His wife ain't up yet,' Tommy said. Then with his back to the woman, he moved his lips silently so I could read the words Give me some fucking help, man.
I took a quiet breath and put my hands in my back pockets.
'I apologize for not inviting y'all in,' I said. 'But Batist has some doughnuts and some ham-and-egg sandwiches that I can heat up.'
'Boy, that sounds good. I could go for that,' Tommy said. He hit me hard on the arm with the flat of his hand.
The three of us walked down the slope to the dock. I couldn't begin to explain Tommy Blue Eyes' mercurial behavior. He walked on the balls of his feet, talking incessantly, his shoulders rolling, his eyes flicking from the bayou to the outboards leaving the dock to a flight of black geese dissecting the early sun.
He and the woman named Charlotte sat at a spool table under the canvas awning while I went inside and brought out coffee and doughnuts on a tray.
'Call Hippo for me,' Tommy said.
'What for?'