the place looked like it had been picked up at a yard sale, or maybe bought secondhand from the Louisiana public school system. There was a framed picture of Tom Selleck as Magnum sitting on top of the file cabinet.
I said, "I want to know why you're following me, Jimmie Ray."
"Man, what d' hell you talkin' 'bout? I ain't followin' you." The accent was somewhere between Cajun and French Quarter New Orleans.
I crossed his office and looked out the window. He had a view of the Dumpster behind the fish market and, beyond that, a backyard with a little tomato garden. A mayonnaise jar with a two-headed turtle floating in alcohol was on his windowsill. Keepsake, no doubt. I said, "You're Jimmie Ray Rebenack. You drive this year's Mustang, license number 213X455, and you possess Louisiana State investigator's license number KAO154509."
You could see him relax. I hadn't shot him or thrown a punch, so the surprise of my entry was wearing off and he was getting himself together. He put together a pretty good smile, sort of a Jack Nicholson number, part sneer and part smirk. He sat again, leaning back and trying to look expansive. "You made me, huh? You must be pretty good."
"Jimmie, a twelve-year-old could've made you. Why are you following me?"
"I heard you was in town and I wanted to find out why, you know? Like there might be some money in it, thas all."
"Why were you talking to Martha Guidry and Claire Fontenot and Evelyn Maggio last year?"
He frowned and dug at the inside of his teeth with his tongue. Nervous. "I don't know whatchu talkin' 'bout, man."
"C'mon, Jeffrey."
He stared at me like he was trying to think of something to say, but couldn't. I grinned at him. "Gotcha."
He frowned, not happy about it. "They got me confused with somebody else."
"With hair like that?"
He leaned forward. "Hey, podnuh, this is my town. I ain't gotta tell you dick. I know your name is Elvis Cole, and you're from Los Angeles. I know you're stayin' at the motel over here." He pointed his thumb at me and smirked. "You see? I ain't no goddamned slouch in the detectin' department, either."
"Wow. You think we could have a detect-off? You think we could duke it out for the world middleweight detective championships?" I looked at the picture of Tom Selleck. Jesus Christ.
He said, "Maybe my business is knowing your business. Maybe I figured that since you was workin' in my town, I could cut myself in." He leaned back again, grinning at me like I was supposed to believe it. "These coonies won't open up to a stranger, and I know my way around. Figured that might be worth some cash. Whatchu think?"
"I think you're full of shit."
Jimmie Ray shrugged like what I thought didn't matter, and then I heard steps coming up the linoleum stairs. The steps came closer and then the door opened and a guy in his mid-forties stepped in. Something large filled the hall behind him.
Jimmie Ray kept grinning at me and said, "This my podnuh, LeRoy." He nodded at the shape in the hall. "That there's René, behind him."
LeRoy's eyes narrowed and he looked at Jimmie Ray as if Jimmie was the world's largest turd. LeRoy was maybe five-eight, with dark weathered skin just beginning to loosen and eyes like a couple of hard black marbles. He was in a thin short-sleeved plaid shirt and worn denim pants, and there was a tattoo on his forearm so obscured by wiry hair that I couldn't make it out. Anchor, maybe. Or a bulldog. He looked surprised to see me, and not particularly happy about it. "Who d'fuck dis?" He said it with a heavy Cajun accent.
Jimmie Ray's smile lost some of its confidence. "Just some guy. He's leaving. Let'm pass, René."
René moved into the room behind LeRoy, and when he did I stepped back the way you might when something large passes very close to you, say a mobile home, or some great African beast. Rene" was only six-three or six-four, but his body possessed size in the way a dirigible possesses size, as if there were a quality to its bulk that could block out the sun. He had a tiny round head and diin, sandy hair and fingers as thick as my wrists. He wore humongously thick glasses that made his eyes seem tiny and far away, and the lenses were speckled with white flecks of matter. There were liver-colored blotches on