Big Easy Bonanza

his own ears, he sounded whiny.
    “It strikes me there’s something slightly wrong with that theory, Henry boy. If Tolliver killed your father, what were you doing, oh, tearing up my apartment, for openers?”
    “I told you. I did it to scare you.”
    She leaned toward him and hissed, “What were you looking for?” God, she was an ugly bitch.
    “Would you mind giving me a little space? I talk better that way.” An odd but beautiful thing was happening. The marijuana had done its work and taken the fear away. As long as she kept out of his immediate vicinity, he was okay. Not only okay, but calm. Clear-headed, able to see possible results and consequences without panicking. And then of course, there wasn’t that much to lose anymore.
    When she had leaned back, he said, “I wasn’t looking for anything. I just wanted to spook you. The same with the gris-gris.”
    The tap on the head was another matter. He really had hoped to take her out of the case—not to kill her, just to put her on her ass for a few days. (But probably he shouldn’t mention that part if she brought it up again.)
    “What for, Henry? If you didn’t kill your father, why’d you give a damn?”
    “Because I guessed, that’s why.” He said it with all the frustration of having held it in for a long time. “I knew Tolliver did it.” He spoke sadly, resignedly, and leaned back spent against the cushions. “Things had come to a head, you see.”
    “Go on.”
    “Look, what is this? Is this you and me having a private conversation, or what? Am I going to have to sign some kind of a statement?”
    “You’ve already confessed to half a dozen crimes. I’d say I’m the one with the bargaining power, wouldn’t you?”
    “Not at all.” He really couldn’t believe how calm he felt. “I don’t remember confessing to anything. That must have been your imagination, officer.”
    “Okay, for now it’s just you and me talking. Whether you’ll have to repeat it depends on what you say. Tell me about things coming to a head.”
    “Tolliver wasn’t in love with my mother. He was
my
lover.”
    Skip blinked but didn’t speak.
    “My dad didn’t care much for homosexual perverts. Did I ever mention that?” His voice was measured, not too bitter, he thought; rather more civilized than he really felt.
    “You may have.”
    “He’d known for years that I was a homosexual and you’d think he’d have known Tolliver was—God knows everyone else did—but he always ‘defended’ him.” He gave a short rueful snort. “That was his word—’defended.’ Whenever the subject came up, Daddy ‘defended’ him. So I guess it was quite a shock when I told him Tolliver and I were planning to move in together.” He didn’t even care if his expression showed he had savored his father’s reaction.
    Skip said only, “How did he react?”
    “Threw a fit, of course. Threatened everything he could threaten—to have me locked up, never to speak to either of us again, to disinherit me. The usual stuff.”
    “If it was the usual stuff, how had things come to a head?”
    “He made threats about Mother. To have
her
locked up. And he might have been able to pull it off. It scared me. And I don’t scare easy either. I told Tolliver we should put off moving in together.
    “And then Tolliver threw a fit. I’ve never seen him so mad. I’ve known Tolliver all my life. You know that, don’t you?” A funny little memory popped out of nowhere, of Tolliver picking him up and swinging him around. He must have been about four at the time. Grief seized his throat and he was embarrassed to find that, before he could stop himself, he had gasped and moaned in front of Skip, temporarily losing the wonderful drug-induced cool.
    “Are you all right?”
    He swallowed until his throat opened again. “I was just remembering him, that’s all. What I was going to say is that all our lives, my mother’s and mine, Tolliver was there, to be the father and I guess in some ways, the husband that Chauncey couldn’t be bothered being. You think I fell in love with a father figure? Okay. I admit it. Sometimes I think he’s the only reason I’m still alive.”
    “Did your father abuse you? Or your mother?”
    “He didn’t beat us, if that’s what you mean. Or he didn’t beat her anyway. He worked out on me a couple of times. The main thing was, he just—” Henry searched for the right words, didn’t find them. “He wasn’t a father, that’s all. Wasn’t