Free Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 08 - Death in the French Quarter by Kent Conwell Page A

away the thin paper
and took a huge bite. Around a mouthful of bun and
meat and olives, he mumbled, “It ain’t a party like that,
just a bunch of guys getting together for a few beers
and laughs and few hands of bourre”
    “Well, maybe I will. Just for the heck of it.” I took a
bite of my own sandwich. “What time?”
    “Around ten or so.”
    We ate silently for a few moments. I glanced at him
from the corner of my eyes. “You from New Orleans,
Julie?”
    He took another huge bite from his sandwich.
“Naw,” he mumbled around a mouthful. “Shreveport.”
    “Your folks still there?”
    “Beats me” He gulped his beer and dragged the back
of his hands across his lips. “Never knew them. My old
lady left me with my grandma when I was about two.
Grandma did the best she could, but she was sick. Died
when I was ten.”
    I grimaced. “Tough. Any family?”

    He laughed, but I had the feeling he was forcing it.
“Not really. I lived with different relatives a couple
years. Don’t know if they’re still alive or not. Anyway,
one day when I was thirteen, a neighborhood boy said he
was going to New Orleans. So, I hitched a ride and here
I am” He took another huge bite. “What about you?”
    “Not much” I shrugged. “I’d like to set me up a little
business of some kind-you know, be my own boss.”
    “Yeah,” Julie replied dreamily. “That’d be good. Not
have nobody telling you what to do” He shook his
head. “That’d sure be good”
    I looked around at him. “Hey, maybe we ought to
find something together.”
    “Really?” He arched an eyebrow in surprise.
    “Yeah. Really.” I hated lying to the young man. I
liked him, and I felt sorry for him, but my primary focus had to remain on finding proof that Bones murdered Stewart and Leon-Paul Savoie. And at the
present, Julie was my only way into the small gang.
    After the conversation with Julie, I decided I needed
a cover story for being in New Orleans. People just
don’t pop up out of nowhere. They have histories, and I
wanted to be sure my history was one that met Bones’
approval.
    That afternoon from a pay phone at a Walgreen’s on
the corner of Royal and Iberville Streets, I called Marty
in Austin. After explaining what I had in mind, I gave
him my cover story.
    “If anyone calls asking about me, you reported me to
the licensing board at the Security Commission for tak ing bribes, and the board suspended me until they investigated the allegations.” I paused. “That’s nice and
simple, and it’s the kind of story Bones would buy”

    Marty warned me. “You know, Tony. Anyone can go
online to the Department of Public Safety and find out
your current status.”
    I’d considered that possibility. “Yeah, but you know
the commission. They usually run two or three months
behind on updating their records. If someone is really
anxious to find out about me, they’ll end up calling you.
That’ll give me the time I need”
    Marty concluded our conversation with drawn-out
sigh. “Maybe so. Anyway, you be careful, Tony. You
hear?”
    I heard. But I remembered Stewart, and if there was
the slightest chance of nailing his killer to the wall, I
wanted to go for it.
    Julie was waiting on the sidewalk in front of Rigues’
when I arrived. He had changed T-shirts for the occasion, but still wore the low-hanging hip-huggers and
sandals. “Come on in, Tony. Meet the guys”
    We pushed through the rear door at Rigues’ and
stepped into a dark hall with several doors along one
side. I guessed the door at the end of the hall opened
into the courtyard I had spotted the day before. I looked
up and down the hall. “Where’s the ghost?”
    Julie laughed. “You’ll see him. Don’t worry” He led
the way through the first door into a room filled with smoke that had the unmistakable smell of burning
grass. Two men looked around from where they were
standing by a keg of beer as four others sat around a