Night Watchman

“How do you plan to do that?”

“I think the papers I gave to Tulane will hang them.” Tubby’s spirits revived just thinking about it.

“What about Jason Boaz?”

“I’m not sure.” Tubby frowned. “I reckon he kept me from being beaten to death at the warehouse.”

“After he tried to kill you with a bomb.”

“There’s that.”

“And you know he committed a murder. He blew up Rick Sandoval.”

“There’s that, too. Maybe he’s insane,” Tubby said hopefully.

“I doubt that.” Raisin wasn’t buying it. “He’s just a wicked dude.”

“Didn’t you just say we’re all evil?”

“Not all the time. Just on special occasions.”

“Hell, I’m going to have a drink.”

“Ok. I’ll join you.”

Tubby rapped on the table to wake up Jack, who had been dreaming about hiking in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest.

The street door opened and a burly man with a fringe of white hair was silhouetted by the sun.

Raisin recognized the neighbor with whom he’d shared Maker’s Mark the week before.

“Mr. Monk!” he called out.

The man looked about slowly, taking the place in, before he decided to approach them.

“Hello,” Raisin said. “This is my friend, Tubby Dubo

“Don’t mind if I do. They call me Monk,” Monk said. He pulled out a wooden chair and squared himself away in the seat.

“What are you drinking?” Raisin asked.

“I’ll do the same as before,” their guest said obligingly.

Jack came over and all three men ordered different concoctions.

“First time I’ve been in here in twenty years,” Monk observed. He looked around to reacquaint himself with the room. “I saw your car outside,” he added, meaning Raisin’s sporty ride.

“What do you think of it?” Raisin asked.

“It ain’t changed much,” he said with approval. “It’s not too bad when it’s quiet like this.”

“Has the noise problem gotten any better?”

“Maybe a little.” Monk accepted his glass and took a deep swallow. “But not all the way better.”

Tubby took a sip. “Maybe there’s something we could do to work that out,” he suggested quietly.

Monk eyed him suspiciously. “Maybe,” he said. “Like what? And who’s ‘we’?”

“I’m just thinking out loud,” Tubby said, staring into his glass. “Maybe a free bar tab on whatever your favorite afternoon is. Something along those lines. You know, for being a good neighbor and keeping an eye on the place in the daytime. I said ‘we’ because I’m the owner’s lawyer.”

“Could maybe work something out,” Monk took another swallow, “along those lines. You say you’re a lawyer?”

“Yes, I am,” Tubby acknowledged.

“Is that right? Well, listen, I’ve got this legal problem you might want to hear about.”

Tubby rubbed his eyes. Raisin broke out laughing and raised his glass to toast the table.

* * *

In the moonlight, parked at the Fly where Audubon Park touches the black void of the Mississippi River, three men were having a quiet conversation. It did not worry them that the park was closed and empty, except for the animals asleep in the zoo. Two of the three carried a badge.

“I’m not going to miss either of those cops, Babineaux or Sandoval,” Archie Alonzo said. He pronounced each word carefully so they could be understood through the brace which had been clamped around his neck to support his jaw.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Trey Caponata agreed. “More pie for us.”

“That’s what it’s all about, right? I’ve still got a union to run.”

“So long as you provide uniformed officers to guard all my private functions, we’ll get along just fine,” Caponata said.

“It’s going to be easier than it was before,” Alonzo assured him. “My eventual goal is to privatize the whole police force. Run it just like a business.”

“A legitimate business,” Detective Kronke added. “Where everybody pays for what they get.”

“The cops will end up better off in the long run,” Alonzo insisted through his brace. “They’ll make lots more money.”

“If you want police protection, you ought to pony up for it,” Caponata added, laughing. “The more you pay, the more you get.”

“And I’ll be in charge of seeing that everybody pays their rightful share!” Kronke a

* * *

Though some of the bad guys were still out there, Tubby was feeling victorious on all fronts. To a large degree, the Parker Haggarty murder had been avenged and, in short order, the remaining perpetrators would almost certainly be exposed and convicted for their past crimes. Maybe history would even be rewritten when the “Haggarty Collection” was made public.

The Monkey Business bar now had the upper hand in its dispute with the city, though no one could ever predict what twists and turns New Orleans zoning politics could take. And Dinky Bacon’s electric and trendy career had survived its run-in with heretofore unknown public obscenity laws. They were even thinking about doing an article about him in The New Yorker magazine.

In a good mood, enjoying the spectacle of a Lykes 20,000-ton container ship far below his window carefully navigating the riverbend at Algiers, Tubby decided to do something he always professionally avoided— solicit— no, almost solicit— a client. But since Jane Smith had certainly been wronged, probably needed help, and almost certainly wouldn’t pay him, this might be all right, if he was very subtle about it.

He banished his doubts and called the quality-of-life officer on her cell.

“This is Tubby Dubo

“Right. I do. The lawyer.” Her voice was flat.

“That’s me. A lot has happened since we last spoke about the Monkey Business bar.”

“That has nothing to do with me now. I’ve got a desk job at headquarters.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

“I’ll deal with it,” she said.

“I’m sure you will. You seemed quite competent to me.”

“Thanks. I’ve got some charges going on with Internal Affairs. You don’t handle that kind of stuff, do you?”

Ah, the opening he had hoped for.

“I handle just about everything, Officer Smith,” he said with conviction. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“I don’t know.” She sounded weary, as if resigned to an unfavorable outcome in life. “It’s probably nothing you would be interested in. It has to do with my sex…”

“Tell you what,” Tubby interrupted. “I have a very proficient assistant named Cherryly

“Okay, I’m not doing much of anything else right now.”

Tubby put her on “HOLD.”

“Cherryly

Given a chance to work its wonders, the law would bring justice to the realm.

* * *

Four men wearing vests identifying them as Entergy electricians entered the Tulane University Library through the service entrance. The men weren’t locals, but they had acquired a plan of the building and were quickly able to disable the alarm system. They knew that the campus police were elsewhere, responding to a call regarding rowdy students carousing outside The Boot. At this late hour, the campus was dark and deserted.

Within two minutes they had reached the main floor and located the office of the special collections director. The plastic bins were locked within, as expected, but the lock was quickly overcome. Within five minutes, the men had the bins downstairs, out the back door, and stowed in their waiting van. They pulled cautiously onto Freret Street and drove away with their secret cargo into the peaceful New Orleans night.

THE END

Dedication

To Nancy, eternally mysterious