Free DR10 - Sunset Limited by James Lee Burke Page B

had been
marched down a road on Palm Sunday and told by their Mexican captors to
kneel in front of the firing squads that were forming into position
from two directions. Over 350 men and boys were shot, bayoneted, and
clubbed to death. Many of the survivors owed their lives to a
prostitute who ran from one Mexican officer to the next, begging for
the lives of the Texans. Her name and fate were lost to history, but
those who escaped into the woods that day called her the Angel of
Goliad.
    I wondered if Cisco ever thought about his ancestor's story as
material for a film.
    The old Flynn house still stood by the lake, but it was
covered by a white-brick veneer now and the old gallery had been
replaced by a circular stone porch with white pillars. But probably
most important to Megan and Cisco was the simple fact that it and its
terraced gardens and gnarled live oaks and lakeside gazebo and
boathouse all belonged to someone else.
    Their father was bombed by the Luftwaffe and shot at by the
Japanese on Guadalcanal and murdered in Louisiana. Were they bitter,
did they bear us a level of resentment we could only guess at? Did they
bring their success back here like a beast on a chain? I didn't want to
answer my own question.
    The wind ruffled the lake and the longleaf pine boughs above
my truck. I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the sheriffs cruiser
pull in behind me. He opened my passenger door and got inside.
    "How'd you know I was out here?" I asked.
    "A state trooper saw you and wondered what you were doing."
    "I got up a little early today."
    "That's the old Flynn place, isn't it?"
    "We used to dig for Confederate artifacts here. Camp Pratt was
right back in those trees."
    "The Flynns bother me, too, Dave. I don't like Cisco bringing
this Boxleiter character into our midst. Why don't both of them stay in
Colorado?"
    "That's what we did to Megan and Cisco the first time. Let a
friend of their dad dump them in Colorado."
    "You'd better define your feelings about that pair. I got
Boxleiter's sheet. What kind of person would bring a man like that into
his community?"
    "We did some serious damage to those kids, Sheriff."
    "
We
? You know what your problem is, Dave?
You're just like Jack Flynn."
    "Excuse me?"
    "You don't like rich people. You think we're in a class war.
Not everybody with money is a sonofabitch."
    He blew out his breath, then the heat went out of his face. He
took his pipe from his shirt pocket and clicked it on the window jamb.
    "Helen said you think Boxleiter might be a pedophile," he said.
    "Yeah, if I had to bet, I'd say he's a real candidate."
    "Pick him up."
    "What for?"
    "Think of something. Take Helen with you. She can be very
creative."
    Idle words that I would try to erase from my memory later.

----
SEVEN
    I DROVE BACK TOWARD THE office. As I
approached the old
Catholic cemetery, I saw a black man with sloping shoulders cross the
street in front of me and walk toward Main. I stared at him,
dumbfounded. One cheek was bandaged, and his right arm was stiff at his
side, as though it pained him.
    I pulled abreast of him and said, "I can't believe it."
    "Believe what?" Cool Breeze said. He walked bent forward, like
he was just about to arrive somewhere. The whitewashed crypts behind
him were beaded with moisture the size of quarters.
    "You're supposed to be in federal custody."
    "They cut me loose."
    "Cut you loose? Just like that?"
    "I'm going up to Victor's to eat breakfast."
    "Get in."
    "I don't mean you no disrespect, but I ain't gonna have no
more to do with po-licemens for a while."
    "You staying with Mout'?"
    But he crossed the street and didn't answer.
     
    AT THE OFFICE I called Adrien Glazier
in New Orleans.
    "What's your game with Cool Breeze Broussard?" I asked.
    "Game?"
    "He's back in New Iberia. I just saw him."
    "We took his deposition. We don't see any point in keeping him
in custody," she replied.
    I could feel my words binding in my throat.
    "What's in y'all's minds? You've burned this