Free 5 Crime Czar by Tony Dunbar

his way, but I need to know if he’s going to line up behind me. Is he for me or against me?”
    “Are you expecting any opposition?” Tubby asked, being cagey.
    “No. I just found out that that nutcake Monster Mudbug has qualified, but he’s just a joke. I don’t think anyone else is stupid enough to run against me. But I’m not sitting on my hands. I want one hundred percent support from every elected official in the parish.”
    “I’ll sure let the judge know that.”
    “I’m calling you because every time I see your name there’s some kind of a fuckup.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean, Sheriff?”
    “You know you’ve been messing with me. You defended that drug pusher Darryl Alvarez. You dropped that habeas corpus on me that time I got some drug-dealing asshole locked up in Mississippi. I keep score. I know you’ve been a pain in my butt. I’m calling you now to be sure everything is lined up. I got nothing against Al Hughes. But if him, or any of his people, are gonna fuck with me, I’m gonna push back hard, no crap.”
    “Cool down, Sheriff,” Tubby said. “I don’t have a problem with you. I’ll give the judge your message.”
    “You do that,” Sheriff Mulé said and hung up.
    He’s a whacko, Tubby said to himself, and he took a deep breath to try to calm down. A scary whacko.
    * * *
    Daisy didn’t remember the part where they pumped out her stomach. She woke up, drowsy from drugs, in a room without windows, and it took her a couple of days to convince the shrinks and the social worker that she could walk down a public sidewalk without jumping in front of the first truck that passed. The cops were understanding. The same ones who had come to the parking lot when Charlie Autin had been shot came to visit her in the hospital. Both were big guys, and they acted like they felt guilty, maybe, for just letting her go home after they took her statement and she cleaned the blood off her face the night of Charlie’s death. She could have used a social worker then.
    Daisy could remember drifting along the streets and crying. If she had encountered somebody selling crack on the corner, she would have copped it in a minute, wiping out a year of getting straight. That’s how sick she felt. But all she found was cheap whiskey.
    She had no explanation for how she got way out to the Lake, but she remembered jumping in. The sensation, when the warm water closed over her head, was of ultimate pain relief. They told her that a woman named Monique Alvarez pulled her out. Now that Daisy was starting to get her mind sorted out again, she planned to make her amends.
    After a long bus ride from Canal Street, she got off on Robert E. Lee and asked directions to Champs Bar. The air conditioning, when she pushed open the door, felt harsh to her. It was midafternoon, and the place was not crowded. A hippie bartender pointed out a slender brunette sitting at a table in the corner by a window full of sunlight, bending over a notebook.
    Daisy walked up and cleared her throat.
    Monique started. “Yes?” she inquired.
    “Are you the one who pulled me out of the water?”
    Monique’s eyes rounded. “I sure am, honey. Won’t you sit down?”
    “Okay,” Daisy said, pulling out a chair. “I came by to apologize for causing you so much trouble.”
    “Oh, no,” Monique said. She reached out to pat Daisy’s hand, but her visitor jerked it back. “That’s such a strange thing to say. It wasn’t any trouble, really. I’m just glad I was there to see you when you jumped in. You did jump, didn’t you?”
    Daisy nodded. “I wasn’t in my right mind exactly. You see, my boyfriend got killed that day.”
    “How horrible,” Monique said slowly. “Can you talk about it?”
    “I don’t want to burden you with my troubles.”
    “Honey, your accent is getting to me. Where are you from?”
    “Loxley, Alabama, if that means anything to you.”
    “This is totally odd,” Monique said. “I’m from Brewton. Did you