Read Online The Bayou Trilogy: Under the Bright Lights, Muscle for the Wing, and The Ones You Do by Daniel Woodrell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daniel Woodrell
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me like he did, Crane would’ve tried to swim to New Orleans some time back. Me, though, I always plan for the future.”
Ledoux, flush with the pleasures of conspiracy, began to smile serenely.
“You know, if Sundown Phillips figures out his main man got whacked by Crane, why Crane would die bad, mon ami. A lot worse than we’re goin’ do to him.”
Roque laughed, a steel-on-cement rumble.
“Must be goin’ to parochial school that made us so thoughtful.”
“I always went to public.”
“Well, me too. After the third grade.”
The bowl of stew was not empty but Roque shoved it to the middle of the table. Ledoux, with a beer growling on an empty stomach, began to appraise an onion quarter and a piece of chicken that were left over.
“Yeah,” Roque said, “if Rankin hadn’t’ve gotten the not-so-bright idea that his committee, there, the Bids Committee, could throw us over for his own people, Phillips Construction, why, a whole lot of peace never would’ve got disturbed.”
“It always happens. A guy needs you, so you help him, then he doesn’t need you so much anymore, mon ami, ’cause you’ve been so much help, and then it’s out to the shithouse with you.” Ledoux shook his head at the disappointing nature of human intercourse. “You were makin’ each other rich, but he wanted more—am I right?”
“Well, there’s another thing here.” Roque lifted his powerful shoulders and turned his hands out. “One—I really want to be the man who builds the Music Center. It’s none of your business why, but I do. Leave it at that. Two—I think Phillips would’ve done less for him over the long run anyhow, but he didn’t want to see that.”
“You got a point there,” Ledoux said, then unleashed his hand and let it snatch up the onion quarter and chicken part.
Roque’s hand sprang forward and grabbed Ledoux by the wrist.
“Put that back!” he said.
“What?”
“Put it back! You deaf or something?”
Roque shook Ledoux’s preying hand until the food splashed back in the bowl.
Ledoux wiped his released hand on a napkin.
“What’s the fuckin’ deal?” he asked.
“You don’t take my food, that’s what. That’s my food. If I wanted you to take it I’d tell you to take it.”
“You were done.”
Roque leaned forward, scooting the table in on Ledoux.
“You hungry, Pete? You said you weren’t hungry, but if you are I’ll get you a bowl of stew and you can eat it with your own spoon and everything.”
After a sip of beer Ledoux shook his head.
“Ever since I was a kid,” Roque said, “I haven’t liked that. People nibbling at my food, I don’t like it.”
“It was just goin’ to be wasted. I didn’t see the point in wastin’ it when I’m just a little bit hungry.”
“If I want to waste it, then I waste it. It’s mine.”
“Forget it,” Ledoux said. He didn’t know where to look, what to put his eyes on. He finished his beer and stood. “I better go get this peckerwood and his cousin in gear for us.”
“Don’t go away mad, Pete. If you’re hungry—eat. I’ll buy.”
“I’m not fuckin’ hungry!”
As Ledoux stared at Roque’s hard face he heard steps coming up from behind. He felt a hand clap him on the back.
“How’s it goin’, Pete?” Tip Shade asked.
“Okay.”
“Hemorrhoids botherin’ you, or are you on your way out?”
Tip sat down at the table and nodded at Roque.
“He’s decidin’ whether or not to eat,” Roque said.
“No I ain’t.” Ledoux wiggled a hand in front of his zipper. “I’m goin’ to go shed a tear for Ireland, that’s what. Then I got business.”
“Good enough,” Roque said.
“What’s this about pissin’ on Ireland?” asked Thomas Patrick Shade, a tricultural man with dangerous pride in the two homelands he’d never seen.
“It’s just an expression,” Ledoux said. Nods of agreement appeared all around and Ledoux smiled. “Besides—who you think you’re kiddin’—you’re a
Ledoux, flush with the pleasures of conspiracy, began to smile serenely.
“You know, if Sundown Phillips figures out his main man got whacked by Crane, why Crane would die bad, mon ami. A lot worse than we’re goin’ do to him.”
Roque laughed, a steel-on-cement rumble.
“Must be goin’ to parochial school that made us so thoughtful.”
“I always went to public.”
“Well, me too. After the third grade.”
The bowl of stew was not empty but Roque shoved it to the middle of the table. Ledoux, with a beer growling on an empty stomach, began to appraise an onion quarter and a piece of chicken that were left over.
“Yeah,” Roque said, “if Rankin hadn’t’ve gotten the not-so-bright idea that his committee, there, the Bids Committee, could throw us over for his own people, Phillips Construction, why, a whole lot of peace never would’ve got disturbed.”
“It always happens. A guy needs you, so you help him, then he doesn’t need you so much anymore, mon ami, ’cause you’ve been so much help, and then it’s out to the shithouse with you.” Ledoux shook his head at the disappointing nature of human intercourse. “You were makin’ each other rich, but he wanted more—am I right?”
“Well, there’s another thing here.” Roque lifted his powerful shoulders and turned his hands out. “One—I really want to be the man who builds the Music Center. It’s none of your business why, but I do. Leave it at that. Two—I think Phillips would’ve done less for him over the long run anyhow, but he didn’t want to see that.”
“You got a point there,” Ledoux said, then unleashed his hand and let it snatch up the onion quarter and chicken part.
Roque’s hand sprang forward and grabbed Ledoux by the wrist.
“Put that back!” he said.
“What?”
“Put it back! You deaf or something?”
Roque shook Ledoux’s preying hand until the food splashed back in the bowl.
Ledoux wiped his released hand on a napkin.
“What’s the fuckin’ deal?” he asked.
“You don’t take my food, that’s what. That’s my food. If I wanted you to take it I’d tell you to take it.”
“You were done.”
Roque leaned forward, scooting the table in on Ledoux.
“You hungry, Pete? You said you weren’t hungry, but if you are I’ll get you a bowl of stew and you can eat it with your own spoon and everything.”
After a sip of beer Ledoux shook his head.
“Ever since I was a kid,” Roque said, “I haven’t liked that. People nibbling at my food, I don’t like it.”
“It was just goin’ to be wasted. I didn’t see the point in wastin’ it when I’m just a little bit hungry.”
“If I want to waste it, then I waste it. It’s mine.”
“Forget it,” Ledoux said. He didn’t know where to look, what to put his eyes on. He finished his beer and stood. “I better go get this peckerwood and his cousin in gear for us.”
“Don’t go away mad, Pete. If you’re hungry—eat. I’ll buy.”
“I’m not fuckin’ hungry!”
As Ledoux stared at Roque’s hard face he heard steps coming up from behind. He felt a hand clap him on the back.
“How’s it goin’, Pete?” Tip Shade asked.
“Okay.”
“Hemorrhoids botherin’ you, or are you on your way out?”
Tip sat down at the table and nodded at Roque.
“He’s decidin’ whether or not to eat,” Roque said.
“No I ain’t.” Ledoux wiggled a hand in front of his zipper. “I’m goin’ to go shed a tear for Ireland, that’s what. Then I got business.”
“Good enough,” Roque said.
“What’s this about pissin’ on Ireland?” asked Thomas Patrick Shade, a tricultural man with dangerous pride in the two homelands he’d never seen.
“It’s just an expression,” Ledoux said. Nods of agreement appeared all around and Ledoux smiled. “Besides—who you think you’re kiddin’—you’re a
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