Part 19 (1/2)

* 131 *

Jack's. The one who threatened Cordelia's grandfather and maybe even killed her father. Mr. Holloway has blocked his parole twice, but it doesn't look like he can do it again,” Th.o.r.eau continued with his vendetta. I decided to ignore him and hope he would go away. However, a quick look around the table told me that mine was a minority opinion.

Danny particularly looked interested. At least she had provided good beer. I took a long swallow.

”Let's not talk about this,” Cordelia broke in.

”Why not?” Th.o.r.eau said, pouring himself some more champagne. He didn't look terribly sober himself. ”We've got a cop, a lawyer, and a politician here. Not to mention a private eye. Maybe they can help us. We're all friends here, right? How do we keep this guy from hurting Cordelia or her grandfather when he gets out?” he addressed Ranson.

”It was twenty years ago and I'm not going to worry about it,”

Cordelia said emphatically.

”Wait a second,” said Danny. ”From Bayou St. Jack's? I don't remember any murders there.”

”Okay, let me see,” Th.o.r.eau started. ”The man about to be paroled is called something Beaugez, he wasn't in jail for the murder, there was never enough proof. Mr. Holloway, for some reason, wanted people to think his son died in a car wreck instead of from a gunshot wound. But this Beaugez guy seems to think the Holloways did him wrong.”

Ben... That sobered me up very quickly. I had a horrible idea that I knew exactly what he was talking about-my past. I hadn't expected to run into it here, of all places. It's not possible, I told myself. It's not.

Something changed, firm ground becoming cracked and treacherous.

”I don't remember,” Cordelia replied shortly. ”Let's get off-”

”Oh, yeah,” Th.o.r.eau overrode her. ”His wife was killed in a car crash. Which is too bad, but for some bizarre reason he's blaming the Holloways.”

I didn't do or say anything, but I wasn't calm. Rather cold, numb.

I had learned, at an early age, at ten, to avoid answers, to avoid letting anyone know who I really was and where I came from. I told the innocent stories or the funny ones, about seeing six-foot alligators or selling salt.w.a.ter catfish to the tourists who didn't know you could only eat freshwater ones. Never the whole truth. When Danny started asking questions I didn't want to answer, I would say I was only ten when I * 132 *

left and that I couldn't remember. All she knew about my past was that my parents had died in a car wreck and I ended up living with my Aunt Greta and Uncle Claude in Metairie.

”I'm worried about this guy coming after Cordelia after he gets out,” I heard Th.o.r.eau say.

Ranson glanced quickly at me, then away. ”He's paid his debt to society. You can't keep a man in jail because you think he might commit a crime,” she answered him. ”Besides, if you want to know a real crime, it's the way the Saints play football.”

”It's not a joke,” Th.o.r.eau said, obviously not a Saints fan. ”I don't want anything to happen to Cordelia.”

”I'm still trying to get this straight,” Danny said. ”Micky, do you remember anything like that happening?”

”Me? No, not really,” I said in a toneless voice.

”I thought I could get away from work on a Sat.u.r.day night,”

Ranson said.

”But-” Th.o.r.eau started.

”Drop it. I don't want to hear any more,” Cordelia broke him off.

”Anyone seen any good movies lately?” Elly asked, trying to get rid of the tension in the room.

I don't remember much else that went on. I felt numb, too detached to care or pay any attention. I suppose they talked and had a good time.

I avoided looking at Cordelia.

When Elly and Danny went into the kitchen to get the pecan pie, I followed them.

”I know us swinging singles are supposed to be the life of the party, but I've got to beg off,” I said. ”I'm more tired than I realized.” I held my side for effect.

Danny and Elly offered to let me stay there. But I declined and they said they understood. At least the beating I had gotten was useful for something. I wanted to get out of here.

I went back into the living room, said a quick goodbye, and started for the door as fast as I gracefully could.

”I'll drive you,” both Ranson and Cordelia said at the same time.

”No, it's okay. I'll catch a cab,” I protested, wanting out and to be by myself.

”Not in this neighborhood,” Ranson said. She moved quickly, taking me by the arm and leading me out.

* 133 *

I didn't say anything. There had been enough talking for the evening.

We were back in my part of town before Ranson spoke. ”I'm sorry, Micky. I didn't know this would come up.”

”What? Never mind.”

”I'm a cop. I know your name wasn't always Knight.”

”So? No, don't. I've had enough of this.”

”Lemoyne Robedeaux was your father, wasn't he?” she asked.

I shrugged.

”It's past. Leave it alone,” I finally said.

”Why don't you tell me what happened?”

”Ranson, you're a cop, not a shrink.”

”I'm trying to be a friend, Micky.”

We pulled up in front of my building. ”Then, for G.o.d's sake, leave the dead buried in the graves they've rotted in for the last twenty years,”

I said with a savage intensity I didn't know I had. ”All that's left is...