Free In the Electric Mist With Confederate Dead: A Dave Robicheaux Novel by James Lee Burke

do a lot worse than have one like her on your side, Elrod, I thought.
     
    I TOOK A SHOWER, DRIED OFF, AND WAS BUTTONING ON A FRESH shirt in the kitchen when the telephone rang on the counter. Bootsie put down a pan on the stove and answered it.
          "It's Batist," she said, and handed it to me:
          "Qui t'as pr'estfaire?" I said into the receiver.
          "Some drunk white man down here done fell in the bayou," he said.
          "What's he doing now?"
          "Sittin' in the middle of the shop, drippin' water on my flo'."
          "I'll be there in a minute," I said.
          "Dave, a lady wit' him was smokin' a cigarette out on the dock didn't smell like no tobacco, no."
          "All right, podna. Thanks," I said, and hung up the phone.
          Bootsie was looking at me with a question mark in the middle of her face. Her auburn hair, which she had pinned up in swirls on her head, was full of tiny lights.
          "A man fell in the bayou. I have to drive him and his girlfriend home," I said.
          "Where's their car?"
          "They came out in a cab."
          "A cab? Who comes fishing in a cab?"
          "He's a weird guy."
          "Dave —" she said, drawing my name out in exasperation.
          "He's one of those actors working out at Spanish Lake. I guess he came out here to tell me about something."
          "Which actor?"
          "Elrod Sykes."
          "Elrod Sykes is out at the bait shop?"
          "Yep."
          "Who's the woman with him?"
          "Kelly Drummond."
          "Dave, I don't believe it. You left Kelly Drummond and Elrod Sykes in the bait shop? You didn't invite them in?"
          "He's bombed, Boots."
          "I don't care. They came out to see you and you left them in the shop while you took a shower?"
          "Bootsie, this guy's head glows in the dark, even when he's not on chemicals."
          She went out the front door and down the slope to the bayou. In the mauve twilight I could see her touching at her hair before she entered the bait shop. Five minutes later Kelly Drummond was sitting at our kitchen table, a cup of coffee balanced in her fingers, a reefer-induced wistfulness on her face, while Elrod Sykes changed into dry clothes in our bedroom. He walked into the kitchen in a pair of my sandals, khaki trousers, and the Ragin' Cajuns T-shirt, with my name ironed on the back, that Alafair had given me for Father's Day.
          His face was flushed with gin roses, and his gaze drifted automatically to the icebox.
          "Would you like a beer?" Bootsie said.
          "Yes, if you wouldn't mind," he said.
          "Boots, I think we're out," I said.
          "Oh, that's all right. I really don't need one," he said.
          Bootsie's eyes were bright with embarrassment. Then I saw her face set.
          "I'm sure there's one back in here somewhere," she said, then slid a long-necked Dixie out of the bottom shelf and opened it for him.
          Elrod looked casually out the back door while he sipped from the bottle.
          "I have to feed the rabbits. You want to take a walk with me, Elrod?" I said.
          "The rice will be ready in a minute," Bootsie said.
          "That's all it'll take," I said.
          Outside, under the pecan trees that were now black-green in the fading light, I could feel Elrod watching the side of my face.
          "Boy, I don't know quite what to say, Mr. Robicheaux, I mean Dave."
          "Don't worry about it. Just tell me what it is you had on your mind all day."
          "It's these guys out yonder on that lake. I told you before."
          "Which guys? What are you talking about?"
          "Confederate infantry. One guy in particular, with gold epaulets on his coat. He's got a bad arm and he's missing a leg. I think maybe he's a general."
          "I'll be straight with you. I think maybe you're