Night Watchman

“What could he threaten you with?”

Pancera held up his hand palm out to stop the talk. He addressed Tubby. “Let’s just say that we have records going back many years. Our struggle will be chronicled one day in the history books. But the time to make those records public has not yet come. Unfortunately, that black policeman Babineaux you speak of had been given those records for safekeeping by Mister Sandoval after the levees broke during Katrina, since Officer Sandoval’s house was severely flooded. Babineaux was high and dry uptown, and he was heavily fortified in his house. Unfortunately for your policeman, he had too much time on his hands and read those records. He decided to use them for his own purpose, which was to threaten, I’ll call it blackmail, Officer Sandoval for personal advantage. This had to do with some petty dispute he and Sandoval were having about controlling off-duty police assignments. None of that had or has a thing to do with the rest of our group or the historic movement we have been a small part of. Those records are invaluable and of vital interest to us and to history. It was very unwise of him to threaten us in that way.”

“So you killed him?”

Tubby directed that at Pancera, but the policeman and the fat man both laughed.

“No,” Pancera said drily. “I can’t say that I killed anyone. But I was happy to see him gone. I was happy to see our records returned to us for our posterity.”

“Perhaps,” the priest broke in, “this man is not going to answer our questions.”

“I can make him talk,” Sandoval said.

The priest rose from his folding chair and straightened his back. “Life is full of mysteries,” he said vaguely. “We may have to live with the mystery of this man and his motives, even after he has gone to his grave. But,” he added, “if you want to try to pry it out of him, my strong friend, I won’t stop you. I, however, am leaving.”

“I’m staying,” the fat man said.

“I will drive Father home,” Pancera told the group. “You two can take care of everything here.”

XXVII

When Flowers drove up to the warehouse, he saw Sandoval’s police car parked in the small lot in front of the building and a Mercedes Benz pulling away, with a hood ornament to rival the Vince Lombardi Trophy. He considered following the car but decided to stick with the cop. He rolled slowly into the lot. As he parked, he saw a figure dash furtively from the shadows and disappear behind the police car.

Flowers got out and approached with caution. Jason Boaz stood up and showed himself. He raised his hands.

“What’s going on?” Flowers asked, showing a gun.

“He’s in there,” Boaz whispered. “I have a key.”

Flowers took it out of Boaz’s hand and popped the door open as quietly as he could. The scene inside was two big men slapping Tubby around. Flowers pushed Jason out of the way and walked in with his gun waving wildly.

“Up! Up!” he yelled.

The bigger man did not appear to be armed. He stepped back from Tubby, who had his bloody chin on his chest. As he tried to raise it, Flowers saw Tubby’s tongue moving around in his cheeks, counting teeth. Blood had collected on his shirt.

“This is police business, asshole!” Sandoval protested. “Stay out of it!”

“Bullshit,” Flowers said calmly, taking two steps forward. “Boaz, do you have a camera?”

The inventor stepped into the room and his phone flashed.

“Both of you boys step back,” Flowers ordered. “Officer Sandoval, remove your firearm from your belt and place it carefully on Mr. Dubo

Reluctantly they did what they were told. “Both of you, out the door,” Flowers said, scooping the .40 caliber.

Sandoval affected a swagger as he walked past the detective, and the fat one audibly growled, but they moved toward the exit with Flowers a pace behind. The detective was sure that Sandoval had more weapons on his person and probably more in his police car.

“Get Tubby untied,” he told Boaz over his shoulder. With care, he escorted the policeman and his hood friend to Sandoval’s official vehicle.

Jason succeeded in cutting Tubby loose with the Leatherman Super Tool he always carried.

“Glad to see you,” his former lawyer mumbled.

“I just couldn’t let this happen,” Jason told him. “Can you walk?”

“Babe, I can run,” Tubby said. “Let’s get out of here.”

With a little help, the lawyer made it out the door and into the parking lot to see Flowers holding the cop and the fat man in front of the cruiser. “Get in my car, Tubby,” Flowers instructed, and then addressed Sandoval. “I’ve got pictures. They’re on the Cloud now. Whether they stay there all nice and quiet depends on you. I know you have a gun in your car. Or several. But what’s done is done. Just drive away. Right?”

Sandoval sneered while the fat man got into the passenger seat. “I’ll get back to you another day,” he whispered to Flowers.

“Tu mama es una piruja,” Flowers whispered back.

Red-faced, the policeman got behind the wheel and Flowers quickly stepped behind his own car to protect himself. He braced his elbows on the hood and leveled his pistol at the cop’s shady face behind the windshield.

But there was no gunfire. The cop and the fat man peeled off onto River Road. Flowers, with Jason Boaz looking over his shoulder, watched the tail lights recede. But just a couple of blocks away, the car slowed and cut left across a curb. It stopped in the gravel beside the Public Belt Railroad tracks. He couldn’t tell if anyone got in or out.

“That doesn’t look good,” Flowers said.

“Wait,” Boaz said.

A flash of light enveloped the police car. A split second later a wave of hot air and the crash of the explosion hit them. Both men fell to the ground instinctively.

“What was that?” Flowers shouted, almost unable to hear himself.

“We should get out of here,” Jason said.

The police car was a flaming wreck.

“Copy that!” Flowers yelled, lunging behind the wheel of his SUV, where Tubby was huddled in the passenger seat, bleary with one eye shut.

“Did you do that?” the detective cried out the window to Boaz.

“Yes, I did,” Jason said. “I’ve learned how to control the device better now.”

He waved goodbye to Flowers, or maybe to the youth movement he had been a part of so many years ago, and faded back into the darkness.

Flowers wasted no time aiming his vehicle back toward Audubon Park. Behind him he could see people ru

“Jesus,” Flowers said to Tubby. “Your friends.”

“Strange bunch, aren’t they?” Tubby gave a small laugh, which ended in a cough.

Police cars and an EMT van passed them going in the other direction. Tubby’s own car was still in the bar’s dark parking lot, where he had left it.

“Can you drive?” Flowers asked. “Do you want to go to the hospital or anything?”

“No, I think I can make it.” He had been feeling his jaw, around his eyes and his rib cage. “I don’t think they broke anything. In fact, I feel pretty good.”

“Were others there?” Flowers asked. “I saw a big Mercedes leaving when I drove up.”

“That was Carlos Pancera and some very bad priest,” Tubby told him. “Call Jason tomorrow and make him give you the man’s name. They didn’t hang around for the dirty work.”

“Who was that guy with Sandoval, the one who got blown up?”

“We were never introduced, but I heard him called ‘Jefé’. I think he was the ‘Leader.’ ”

“And Pancera?”

“I’m told he was the ‘Recorder.’ ”

“And Sandoval?”

“Security.”

“Who was the Night Watchman?”

“I’m not sure, but maybe the one who killed Babineaux, blew up Cherryly

“Okay, that’s clear as mud. I’ll follow you home.”