Read Online In the Electric Mist With Confederate Dead: A Dave Robicheaux Novel by James Lee Burke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Lee Burke
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trunk. Then the woman touched him on the shoulder and pointed toward me.
"Hey, there you are," Elrod Sykes said. "How you doin', Mr. Robicheaux? You don't mind us coming out, do you? Wow, you've got a great place."
He swayed slightly. The woman, Kelly Drummond, caught him by the arm. I walked back down the slope.
"I'm afraid I was just going in to take a shower and eat supper," I said.
"We want to take y'all to dinner," he said. "There's this place called Mulate's in Breaux Bridge. They make gumbo you could start a new religion with."
"Thanks, anyway. My wife's already fixed supper."
"Bad time of day to knock on doors, El," Kelly Drummond said, but she looked at me when she said it, her eyes fixed directly on mine. She wore tan slacks, flats, and a yellow blouse with a button open that exposed her bra. When she raised her hand to move a blond ringlet off her forehead, you could see a half-moon sweat stain under her arm.
"We didn't mean to cause a problem," Elrod said. "I'm afraid a drunk-front blew through the area this afternoon. Hey, we're all right, though. We took a cab. Did you notice that? How about that? Look, I tell you what, we'll just get us some liquids to go down at the bait shop yonder and call us a cab."
"Tell him why you came out, El," Kelly Drummond said.
"That's all right. We stumbled in at a bad time. I'm real sorry, Mr. Robicheaux."
"Call me Dave. Would you mind waiting for me at the bait shop a few minutes, then I'll shower and drive y'all home."
"You sure know how to avoid the stereotypes, don't you?" the woman said.
"I beg your pardon?" I said.
"Nobody can ever beat up on you for showing off your southern hospitality," she said.
"Hey, it's okay," Elrod said, turning her by the arm toward the bait shop.
I had gone only a short distance up the slope when I heard the woman's footsteps behind me.
"Just hold on a minute, Dick Tracy," she said.
Behind her I could see Elrod walking down the dock to the shop, where Batist, the black man who worked for me, was drawing back the canvas awning over the tables for the night.
"Look, Ms. Drummond—"
"You don't have to invite us into your house, you don't have to believe the stuff he says about what he sees and hears, but you ought to know that it took guts for him to come out here. He fucks up with Mikey, he fucks up with this film, maybe he blows it for good this time."
"You'll have to excuse me, but I'm not sure what that has to do with the Iberia Parish Sheriff's Department."
She carried a doeskin drawstring bag in her hand. She propped her hand on her hip. She looked up at me and ran her tongue over her bottom lip.
"Are you that dumb?" she asked.
"You're telling me a mob guy, maybe Baby Feet Balboni, is involved with your movie?"
"A mob guy? That's good. I bet y'all really send a lot of them up the road."
"Where are you from, Ms. Drummond?"
"East Kentucky."
"Have you thought about making your next movie there?"
I started toward the house again.
"Wait a minute, Mr. Smart Ass," she said. "Elrod respects you. Did you ever hear of the Chicken Ranch in LaGrange, Texas?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what it was?"
"It was a hot-pillow joint."
"His mother was a prostitute there. That's why he never talks about anyone in his family except his gran'daddy, the Texas ranger. That's why he likes you, and you'd damn well better be aware of it."
She turned on her heel, her doeskin bag hitting her rump, and walked erectly down the slope toward the bait shop, where I could see Elrod opening a beer with his pocket knife under the light bulb above the screen door.
Well, you could
"Hey, there you are," Elrod Sykes said. "How you doin', Mr. Robicheaux? You don't mind us coming out, do you? Wow, you've got a great place."
He swayed slightly. The woman, Kelly Drummond, caught him by the arm. I walked back down the slope.
"I'm afraid I was just going in to take a shower and eat supper," I said.
"We want to take y'all to dinner," he said. "There's this place called Mulate's in Breaux Bridge. They make gumbo you could start a new religion with."
"Thanks, anyway. My wife's already fixed supper."
"Bad time of day to knock on doors, El," Kelly Drummond said, but she looked at me when she said it, her eyes fixed directly on mine. She wore tan slacks, flats, and a yellow blouse with a button open that exposed her bra. When she raised her hand to move a blond ringlet off her forehead, you could see a half-moon sweat stain under her arm.
"We didn't mean to cause a problem," Elrod said. "I'm afraid a drunk-front blew through the area this afternoon. Hey, we're all right, though. We took a cab. Did you notice that? How about that? Look, I tell you what, we'll just get us some liquids to go down at the bait shop yonder and call us a cab."
"Tell him why you came out, El," Kelly Drummond said.
"That's all right. We stumbled in at a bad time. I'm real sorry, Mr. Robicheaux."
"Call me Dave. Would you mind waiting for me at the bait shop a few minutes, then I'll shower and drive y'all home."
"You sure know how to avoid the stereotypes, don't you?" the woman said.
"I beg your pardon?" I said.
"Nobody can ever beat up on you for showing off your southern hospitality," she said.
"Hey, it's okay," Elrod said, turning her by the arm toward the bait shop.
I had gone only a short distance up the slope when I heard the woman's footsteps behind me.
"Just hold on a minute, Dick Tracy," she said.
Behind her I could see Elrod walking down the dock to the shop, where Batist, the black man who worked for me, was drawing back the canvas awning over the tables for the night.
"Look, Ms. Drummond—"
"You don't have to invite us into your house, you don't have to believe the stuff he says about what he sees and hears, but you ought to know that it took guts for him to come out here. He fucks up with Mikey, he fucks up with this film, maybe he blows it for good this time."
"You'll have to excuse me, but I'm not sure what that has to do with the Iberia Parish Sheriff's Department."
She carried a doeskin drawstring bag in her hand. She propped her hand on her hip. She looked up at me and ran her tongue over her bottom lip.
"Are you that dumb?" she asked.
"You're telling me a mob guy, maybe Baby Feet Balboni, is involved with your movie?"
"A mob guy? That's good. I bet y'all really send a lot of them up the road."
"Where are you from, Ms. Drummond?"
"East Kentucky."
"Have you thought about making your next movie there?"
I started toward the house again.
"Wait a minute, Mr. Smart Ass," she said. "Elrod respects you. Did you ever hear of the Chicken Ranch in LaGrange, Texas?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what it was?"
"It was a hot-pillow joint."
"His mother was a prostitute there. That's why he never talks about anyone in his family except his gran'daddy, the Texas ranger. That's why he likes you, and you'd damn well better be aware of it."
She turned on her heel, her doeskin bag hitting her rump, and walked erectly down the slope toward the bait shop, where I could see Elrod opening a beer with his pocket knife under the light bulb above the screen door.
Well, you could
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