82 Desire

did. He called her at school, but was told she’d gone home.
    Because of him, he was sure of that. She was probably missing half the damn semester, and all because of him. He had to tell her to go back to school, to quit worrying about him, to quit hating him, to love him anyway, no matter that he was pond scum.
    He definitely could not call her at home. Bebe might pick up the phone and if he heard Bebe’s voice, he’d probably bay like a hound.
    Maybe he could somehow get a message to Eugenie. He could call someone else.
    He liked that idea a lot.
    Okay, there were three choices—Doug, Edward, and Beau.
    Three choices and no contest.
    Of the three, only one would be unequivocally and genuinely glad to hear from him. Only one would be likely to keep his secret and not try to use it for his own gain. Only one was a real human being and not the shell of one. Beau. Lumbering, blundering, slightly stupid Beau. Big old tears filled Russell’s eyes as he remembered all the snotty things he’d ever thought about Beau—thought and said, most of them.
    Russell was truly aghast at the life he’d led, and starting to fear this new life was just more of the same. He didn’t want to think about what the alternative might be. Certainly didn’t want to undergo another moment of truth like that time on the boat two years ago. If he had yet another, where the hell could it possibly lead?
    He looked at his watch—eleven-thirty. That made it a mere ten-thirty in New Orleans, the shank of the evening for a man who never missed Jay Leno. Which Beau was.
    Russell didn’t even hesitate. He dialed from memory, and in about fifteen seconds he was listening to that old-shoe voice. He said, “Beau, if Deb’s with you, go to another room.” Surely his old pal would recognize his voice.
    Good old Beau—he didn’t miss a beat. “Wait a minute, the TV’s on in here. Let me get to a different phone.”
    Russell drummed his fingers. But in just a moment, Beau was saying, “Russell! God damn, it’s good to hear your voice. God damn . I mean it.”
    Now that Russell had him, he didn’t know what to say: Sorry I left y’all in the lurch? Somehow, that didn’t seem to cut it.
    But Beau was taking the lead. “You okay, fella? Anything I can do for you?”
    “I’m fine, Beau. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
    “Man, you just don’t know. Lots of people think you’re dead.” A beat passed, and then Beau apparently remembered something. “Oh, God, you don’t know, do you? Listen, there’s a lot to cover. Let me talk a few minutes, okay? There’s some stuff you’ve really got to know.”
    “Oh, Jesus.” Whatever was coming couldn’t be good.
    “After you left, somebody tried to blackmail us. Guy named Gene Allred. Two-bit private eye who’d been hired by crazy Ray Boudreaux to get some dirt on us. Well, he did get it, God knows how—out of the ‘Skinacat’ file you left in your computer.”
    “Oh, Jesus,” Russell said again. He remembered the file all too well. “I didn’t think anyone could get to it.” Actually, he hadn’t thought about it at all.
    “So, as near as we can figure out, he decided to double-cross Boudreaux and blackmail us instead. But here’s the bad part—here’s the really, really bad part. The guy ends up dead.”
    “What?”
    “Murdered. Shot in his office.”
    “Jesus, Beau.” Russell was having a pretty profane night. “Who did it?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Russell couldn’t miss the absence of the plural pronoun. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
    “All I’m saying is, the police haven’t caught the guy.” His voice got louder, and carried a note of pleading in it. “Hey, Russell, this is murder. That other stuff was bad, yeah, but it probably wasn’t even illegal—or at least most of it wasn’t. It was just mean, stupid shit. But this is murder. You follow me?”
    “No. No, I don’t.” Right now, he probably couldn’t follow a map of his own backyard.
    “I think we ought to come clean, buddy. I don’t think we can hide this shit anymore.”
    “What do the others think?”
    “I don’t know. I just don’t know. We’re going to meet tomorrow to talk about it.” He sounded troubled. “Listen, buddy, I could sure use any support you could give me.”
    Russell was trying to think of an answer when Beau spoke again. “Uh … there’s one other thing you need to know. There’s a school of thought says you did