Read Online Tony Dunbar - Tubby Dubonnet 07 - Tubby Meets Katrina by Tony Dunbar - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tony Dunbar
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everything one might need except food. It struck him that the best way to get something to eat would be to have somebody bring it to him.
The phone had a dial tone. Bonner cocked his head quizzically as he played with the buttons until he figured out it didn’t matter which line he picked. He tried Debbie’s number first. It rang once then turned into static. Frowning he looked for the middle child, Christine. She might do. There were two numbers. The first one he tried also produced a busy signal, but the second one rang. It rang and rang, and then a voice message came on.
“Hello, if you would like to leave me a message, wait for the tone.”
He hung up. It was a pretty voice, but he wasn’t ready to talk into a recording device.
The third number belonged to the youngest. She was barely a teenager. Excited, he tried it but was rewarded with nothing except electronic beeps. He stared angrily at the phone and put it softly back in its cradle.
Bonner hadn’t really thought out what he would do after he escaped. He had just reacted to events and opportunities. He stole street clothes when he had the chance. He came to this office building because he had the address and had a hunch he might find it empty, but if the building had been a pile of rubble he would have thought of something else. Bonner’s mind was good in that respect.
Mental integrity was important. His sister had gone into high school wild as a bobcat but she had discarded her principles and got religion. She turned proper and bought new clothes and began going to church all the time. When she took up with the preacher, on the sly, they started praying for Bonner’s soul, even after he told them to quit it. He knew when they were doing it because their prayers invaded his thoughts. It was nothing but pure betrayal, the way his sister treated him. It boiled over when she and the preacher tried to wrestle him into his sister’s station wagon to take him to some holy-roller revival. They would de-Satanize him, they screamed. That scared Bonner. Big mistake. “Satan has nothing to do with me,” he shrieked, and in a burst of unplanned violence he carved them up like he was field-dressing a couple of deer.
Rivette figured he could stay in the lawyer’s office for at least another day or two without anybody noticing him, considering the degree of social disorder below. But he thought through his other alternatives as well. He remembered the typical mayhem of the French Quarter from his earlier time here, before he had been busted for the senseless charge of attempted rape. He hadn’t planned sex. But she slapped him on the jaw and he got mad. He remembered the bars, the girlie joints, the appealing confusion. He also remembered the lack of sympathy for a man without cash, a bum, and that is what he looked like. He could spend some time here in this building getting dressed up. Maybe there was some money around. His stomach growled. The phone rang.
Bonner started at the plastic box on Tubby’s desk while it rang three times. Then his hand shot forward and grabbed the phone.
“Hello,” he said coughing, disguising his voice.
There was a pause “Did someone call me from this number?” It was a nice girl’s voice.
“Is this the lawyer’s daughter, Mr. Dew-bonnet?”
“Yes,” he heard her almost laugh. “That would be Dew-bone-ay.”
Bonner cursed himself for the mistake. He was afraid he might have blown it.
“Sorry, miss. He’s had an accident. Are you here in New Orleans?”
“Yes, I’m here,” concern in her voice. “What kind of accident? You’re calling from Daddy’s office, right?”
“He fell on the stairs,” Bonner improvised. “How far away do you live?”
“Live? Right now I’m in Fauberg Marigny.”
Bonner didn’t know where that was.
“Can you come here?” he asked.
“What’s wrong with my father? Who are you?”
Bonner was afraid he might have screwed everything up. She knew where he was, but he
The phone had a dial tone. Bonner cocked his head quizzically as he played with the buttons until he figured out it didn’t matter which line he picked. He tried Debbie’s number first. It rang once then turned into static. Frowning he looked for the middle child, Christine. She might do. There were two numbers. The first one he tried also produced a busy signal, but the second one rang. It rang and rang, and then a voice message came on.
“Hello, if you would like to leave me a message, wait for the tone.”
He hung up. It was a pretty voice, but he wasn’t ready to talk into a recording device.
The third number belonged to the youngest. She was barely a teenager. Excited, he tried it but was rewarded with nothing except electronic beeps. He stared angrily at the phone and put it softly back in its cradle.
Bonner hadn’t really thought out what he would do after he escaped. He had just reacted to events and opportunities. He stole street clothes when he had the chance. He came to this office building because he had the address and had a hunch he might find it empty, but if the building had been a pile of rubble he would have thought of something else. Bonner’s mind was good in that respect.
Mental integrity was important. His sister had gone into high school wild as a bobcat but she had discarded her principles and got religion. She turned proper and bought new clothes and began going to church all the time. When she took up with the preacher, on the sly, they started praying for Bonner’s soul, even after he told them to quit it. He knew when they were doing it because their prayers invaded his thoughts. It was nothing but pure betrayal, the way his sister treated him. It boiled over when she and the preacher tried to wrestle him into his sister’s station wagon to take him to some holy-roller revival. They would de-Satanize him, they screamed. That scared Bonner. Big mistake. “Satan has nothing to do with me,” he shrieked, and in a burst of unplanned violence he carved them up like he was field-dressing a couple of deer.
Rivette figured he could stay in the lawyer’s office for at least another day or two without anybody noticing him, considering the degree of social disorder below. But he thought through his other alternatives as well. He remembered the typical mayhem of the French Quarter from his earlier time here, before he had been busted for the senseless charge of attempted rape. He hadn’t planned sex. But she slapped him on the jaw and he got mad. He remembered the bars, the girlie joints, the appealing confusion. He also remembered the lack of sympathy for a man without cash, a bum, and that is what he looked like. He could spend some time here in this building getting dressed up. Maybe there was some money around. His stomach growled. The phone rang.
Bonner started at the plastic box on Tubby’s desk while it rang three times. Then his hand shot forward and grabbed the phone.
“Hello,” he said coughing, disguising his voice.
There was a pause “Did someone call me from this number?” It was a nice girl’s voice.
“Is this the lawyer’s daughter, Mr. Dew-bonnet?”
“Yes,” he heard her almost laugh. “That would be Dew-bone-ay.”
Bonner cursed himself for the mistake. He was afraid he might have blown it.
“Sorry, miss. He’s had an accident. Are you here in New Orleans?”
“Yes, I’m here,” concern in her voice. “What kind of accident? You’re calling from Daddy’s office, right?”
“He fell on the stairs,” Bonner improvised. “How far away do you live?”
“Live? Right now I’m in Fauberg Marigny.”
Bonner didn’t know where that was.
“Can you come here?” he asked.
“What’s wrong with my father? Who are you?”
Bonner was afraid he might have screwed everything up. She knew where he was, but he
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