Big Easy Bonanza

this.” His hands were cuffed in front of him, not too securely, but symbolic of the fact that his day was totally shot.
    They were waved onto the boat and snugged in with the other cars and trucks.
    “I’m getting some air,” Casey said when they were parked. He opened his door, and Freddie did the same to join him.
    “How about some music at least,” Phil whined.
    “Shit, man, you think this is a cruise boat?” Freddie asked.
    “Turn on the radio for him,” Casey ordered. “Who cares?”
    Freddie switched on a country station and got out of the car. He caught up with Casey, who was at the rail, looking at the brown water churned up by the ferry’s powerful battle with the current. There was a tanker coming downriver fast, and the ferry paused to let it pass. Black chunks, like tree trunks or railroad ties, bobbed in the big ship’s wake and floated after it in pursuit. They could hear snatches of music from the tour boats loading up at Woldenberg Park in the French Quarter. Casey had a few peanuts in his pocket, and he cracked them open, tossing the shells toward the seagulls trailing the ferry. He didn’t offer any to Freddie.
    “This has been a very unprofitable week,” he said, almost to himself. “It is hard to believe Alvarez didn’t have any money with him. I thought for sure we’d find it in his truck.”
    “They tore that apart,” Freddie said.
    “Very frustrating,” Casey said.
    He ate another peanut.
    “I guess we’ll never know unless we ask Darryl,” he said, and spit out a piece of shell.
    Above them the captain blew the horn, signaling their approach to the dock. The pilings groaned as the boat crunched against the pier, and the two men watched the civil servants throw heavy ropes ashore to secure the vessel. They got back in the car. Phil the Phoneman was still shaking his head, but he seemed to have calmed down some.
    “This some terrible music, man,” he said. “Can’t you find no rhythm and blues, or something with a beat?”
    Casey shut off the radio and started the car.
    When he had them off the ferry he parked by a fire hydrant and told Freddie to watch the prisoner.
    “I need to make a phone call,” he said.
    There were pay phones in the ferry terminal, and the third one Casey tried had a dial tone.
    “This is Casey,” he said when he made the connection.
    He got an earful of complaints.
    “Well, he didn’t have the money on him so either he was planning a rip-off or else he’d made arrangements to buy now, pay later,” Casey said.
    He listened some more.
    “Sure I understand it’s important. I’m gonna do what I can do. I’m gonna talk to the man personally. I’m optimistic he’ll cooperate with me. Darryl ain’t one to put up much of a fight.”
    After another minute Casey hung up. He was pissed.
    When he got back in the car both Phil and Freddie were popping their fingers to some Motown on the radio.
    “You’re a real freak, Freddie,” he said sourly, and Freddie straightened up.
    To the prisoner he said, “Where you’re going they play the music loud all night to drown out what they’re doing to each other. But you already know that, don’t you, Phil?”
    Phil dropped his hands and sat back in the seat.
    “Oooh, cold,” he said.

NINE
    There’s an off-track betting parlor on Bourbon Street near Canal. From the sidewalk you can’t see what’s inside because the windows are tinted dark like the sunglasses a lifeguard wears, but there’s a neon sign outside to let you know the place is alive. Inside it is cool, clean, and green. There are little tables and chairs, a big television screen, and race results playing electronically on a board, like stock prices at a New York broker’s office. There is a well-stocked bar, and waitresses come to the tables. Outside the sun burned down, but inside Tubby was sharing a cocktail with Jason Boaz, the inventor. Both were watching the television screen on the wall, looking at the horses lining up at the gate. Tubby had ten dollars down on Peach Smoothie to place and another ten dollars on Trolley Car to win. The real live action was only a couple of miles away at the Fairgrounds.
    People described Jason as lanky. He had a long, rugged face with a neat black beard. He wore heavy black plastic glasses that had never been in style. Today he had on a white shirt, a string tie, and baggy blue slacks, like a chemistry professor at some Midwestern college where they admire sloppiness. He was