November Road. Lou Berney

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      “Let’s take a walk.”

      He grabbed Guidry’s elbow and steered him back out into the lobby. Past the cigar stand, down a deserted corridor, down another one.

      “Are we going all the way to Cuba, Mack?” Guidry said. “I won’t look as good with a beard.”

      They finally stopped, in front of the doors to the back service entrance.

      “So what do you have for me?” Guidry said.

      “I don’t have anything,” Mackey said.

      “What?”

      “I just needed to talk to you.”

      “You’ve noted that I have better things to do at the moment,” Guidry said.

      “I’m sorry. I’m in a bind, Frankie. I might be in a real bind.”

      Guidry had a smile for every occasion. This occasion: to hide the uneasiness that began to creep over him. He gave Mackey’s shoulder a squeeze. You’ll be all right, old buddy, old pal. How bad can it be? But Guidry didn’t like the shake in Mackey’s voice, the way Mackey kept his grip tight on the sleeve of Guidry’s suit coat.

      Had anyone noticed the two of them leaving the Carousel together? What if someone happened to come round that corner right now and caught them skulking? Trouble in this business had a way of spreading, just like a cold or the clap. Guidry knew you could catch it from the wrong handshake, an unlucky glance.

      “I’ll come by your pad this weekend,” Guidry said. “I’ll help you sort it out.”

      “I need to get it sorted out now.”

      Guidry tried to ease away. “I’ve got to split. Tomorrow, Mack. Cross my heart.”

      “I haven’t been back to my place in a week,” Mackey said.

      “Name the spot. I’ll meet you wherever you want.”

      Mackey watched him. Those hooded eyes, they seemed almost gentle in a certain light. Mackey knew that Guidry was lying about meeting tomorrow. Of course he did. Guidry came by his talent for deception naturally, but Mackey had taught him the nuances, had helped him hone and perfect his craft.

      “How long have we known each other, Frankie?” Mackey said.

      “I see,” Guidry said. “The sentimental approach.”

      “You were sixteen years old.”

      Fifteen. Guidry just off the turnip truck from Ascension Parish, Louisiana, and tumbling around the Faubourg Marigny. Living hand to mouth, stealing cans of pork and beans off the shelves of the A&P. Mackey saw promise in him and gave Guidry his first real job. Every morning for a year, Guidry had picked up the cut from the girls on St. Peter and hurried it over to Snake Gonzalez, the legendary pimp. Five dollars a day and the quick end to any romantic notions Guidry might have still had about the human species.

      “Please, Frankie,” Mackey said.

      “What do you want?”

      “Talk to Seraphine. Get the lay of the land for me. Maybe I’m crazy.”

      “What happened? Never mind. I don’t care.” Guidry wasn’t interested in the details of Mackey’s predicament. He was only interested in the details of his predicament, the one that Mackey had just created for him.

      “You remember about a year ago,” Mackey said, “when I went out to ’Frisco to talk to a guy about that thing with the judge. Carlos called it all off, you remember, but—”

      “Stop,” Guidry said. “I don’t care. Damn it, Mack.”

      “I’m sorry, Frankie. You’re the only one I can trust. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

      Mackey waited. Guidry tugged the knot of his tie loose. What was life but this? A series of rapid calculations: the shifting of weights, the balancing of scales. The only poor decision was a decision you allowed someone else to make for you.

      “All right, all right,” Guidry said. “But I can’t put a word in for you, Mack. It’s my hide then, too. You understand that?”

      “I understand,” Mackey said. “Just find out if I need to blow town. I’ll blow tonight.”

      “Stay put till you hear from me.”

      “I’m over on Frenchmen Street, at Darlene Monette’s place. Come by afterward. Don’t leave a message.”

      “Darlene Monette?”

      “She owes me one,” Mackey said. He watched Guidry with those hooded eyes. Begging. Telling Guidry, You owe me one.

      “Stay put until you hear from me,” Guidry said.

      “Thank you, Frankie.”

      Guidry called Seraphine from a pay phone in the lobby. She didn’t answer at home, so he tried Carlos’s private office out on Airline Highway in Metairie. How many people had that number? It couldn’t have been more than a dozen. Look at me now, Ma!

      “Are we not still meeting Friday, mon cher?” Seraphine said.

      “We are,” Guidry said. “Can’t a fella just call to shoot the breeze?”

      “My favorite pastime.”

      “I caught a rumor that Uncle Carlos is looking for a penny he dropped. Our friend Mackey. Or do I have that wrong?”

      Guidry heard a silky rustle. When Seraphine stretched, she arched her back like a cat. He heard the tink of a single ice cube in a glass.

      “You don’t have that wrong,” she said.

      Goddamn it. So Mackey’s fears were not unfounded. Carlos wanted him dead.

      “Are you still there, mon cher?”

      Goddamn it. Mackey had cooked Guidry dinner a thousand times. He’d introduced Guidry to the Marcello brothers. He’d vouched for Guidry when no one else in the world knew that Guidry existed.

      But all that was yesterday. Guidry cared only about today, about tomorrow.

      “Tell Carlos to have a look on Frenchmen Street,” Guidry said. “There’s a house with green shutters on the corner of Rampart. Darlene Monette’s place. Top floor, the flat in back.”

      “Thank you, mon cher,” Seraphine said.

      Guidry strolled back to the Carousel. The redhead had waited for him. He watched her for a minute from the doorway. Yea or nay, ladies and gentlemen of the jury? He liked how she’d started to wilt a bit, her Cleopatra eyeliner blurring and the flip in her hair going flat. She shook off a mope who tried to make time with her and ran a finger along the rim of her empty highball glass. Deciding to give Guidry СКАЧАТЬ