“Nig says you want the pukes who took you down. That’s understandable. But that makes four of us—you, me, Nig, and Wee Willie Bimstine. What I need to explain to you is we got no idea where these guys are.”
“Don’t lie to me. You already found one guy at the hospital. But he’s not there anymore.”
“That’s right, I did find him and he got moved to ‘whereabouts unknown.’ So don’t be telling me I’m lying.”
“So why are you here?”
“Because your messengers evidently made an implied threat when they visited Nig this morning. I thought that showed a lack of class.”
“Lack of class?”
“Is there an echo in your store?”
Sidney nodded toward a table that was set against a side wall. “Sit down. I’m about to eat. You want a coffee?”
“I wouldn’t touch a chair that Charlie Weiss or Marco Scarlotti sat in unless it was sprayed for crab lice.”
Sidney put his hand inside his shirt and scratched an insect bite on his shoulder and looked at the tips of his fingers. “It’s true you smoked a federal informant when you were with NOPD? A guy who never saw it coming?” he said.
“What about it?” Clete said, his eyes slipping off Sidney’s face.
“Nothing. You’re just an unusual guy, Purcel.”
Clete cleared an obstruction in his throat and let the moment pass. “Here’s what it is. One way or another, I’m going to put Andre Rochon and Bertrand Melancon back in the system. That’s because I have a personal beef with these guys and it doesn’t have anything to do with you. But that doesn’t mean we can’t do business. If I recover cash or goods from your house, you pay me a twenty percent finder’s fee. If that’s not cool, see what you can get from your insurance carrier.
“In the meantime, you leave Nig and Willie and me alone. I know all about that chain-saw story and the guy in Metairie. Personally I think it’s Mafia bullshit. Regardless, I take care of the pukes, and Heckle and Jeckle out there stay out of it. Sound reasonable, Sidney?”
“Ten percent on the recovery.”
“Fifteen.”
“I’ll get back to you.”
“Screw you,” Clete said.
Sidney’s gaze drifted out the front window, where his two men were playing cards in the shade. “What makes you think you can deliver?”
“It’s like prayer, what do you got to lose?”
One at a time, Sidney placed three more rose stems in the vase. “Don’t mess it up,” he said. He fixed his eyes on Clete’s, a blade of sunlight slicing like a knife across his face.
“ARE YOU CRAZY?” I said to Clete after he telephoned and told me what he had done.
“What was I supposed to do? Let an animal like Kovick threaten me and my employer?” he said.
In the background I could hear a sound like a rack of bowling pins exploding. “Why don’t you just sprinkle broken glass in your breakfast food? Save yourself the time and effort of fooling with Kovick?” I said.
“What’s that line in Machiavelli about keeping your friends close but your enemies closer?”
“Yeah, it’s Machiavelli and it’s crap,” I replied.
“Look, I need a place to stay. My power is still off and something with black tendrils on it is growing out my drains.”
“What about your room at the motor court?”
“It got rented to some evacuees.”
“Stay with us,” I said, trying to keep my voice flat, imagining any number of nightmarish events associated with Clete as houseguest.