Big Easy Bonanza

chain-smoking stiletto menthol cigarettes and partaking of Long Island Teas, a staggering combination of four white whiskeys and Coke.
    The race started, and though neither man said anything they both leaned forward a bit because they had money on it. Jason had a bet on Rock ‘Em, Sock ‘Em. At the end, Rock ‘Em, Sock ‘Em took it. Peach Smoothie came in fourth, and Trolley Car retired limping. There were claps and moans, laughter and a half-hearted Bronx cheer from the other gentlemen and ladies spending money in the place.
    “Attaboy,” Jason yelled when his horse came in first.
    “What did you have on him?” Tubby asked.
    “Fifty bucks. I had a hunch and should have bet more. I could kick myself.”
    “Life is rough,” Tubby said and crumpled his worthless tickets into the ashtray.
    “See the jockey? That’s Nicky Piglia’s son.” Tubby looked blank. “You know, Nicky Piglia. Has a po’boy shop, whatchacallit, yeah, ‘Nicky’s.’ Out in Marrero. He serves a half and half that’s, like, mammoth.”
    “Any relation to Roy Piglia, who got killed when Pan Am 282 crashed out in Kenner?” asked Tubby, remembering what was far and away his most lucrative case, the one that had made it possible for him to open his downtown office, start his practice with Reggie, and buy a new car. It was a bright-yellow BMW, and he gave it to his then-wife Mattie. She sold it after they got separated, and what did she do with the money?
    “I don’t know, maybe they’re cousins. There’s got to be about a million Piglias.”
    Another race was starting, and Tubby had a horse in this one, too. He was betting Shake and Bake to win, but the horse was stuck in Gate 4, not such a hot spot to be in.
    “So Tubby, while I got your meter off, so to speak, you think it’s worth me protecting my Porta-Soak and Mow?”
    Tubby couldn’t remember hearing about that one. “Tell me about it,” he said.
    “It’s a neat idea. I thought we’d talked. There’s a plastic water tank, like for one of those Super Soaker water guns, just bigger. And you pump that up. You strap the tank to your back. There’s a tube comes out of the top with a spray nozzle, and while you mow your grass, or do anything that gets you really hot, you can give yourself a little shower or a light mist. It’s adjustable.”
    Tubby lost his concentration on the race, which was just now beginning, and stared at Jason to see if he was serious. Jason wasn’t giving anything away. He probably was. Jason’s last idea had been for a shoe that circulated cold water around your feet. Ha. Ha. He had built a prototype and showed it around. He ended up assigning his patent to a Korean manufacturer for $418,000. Tubby had done the paperwork.
    “Well, Jason, it sounds kind of clumsy. Why don’t people just go inside and take a shower, or jump through a sprinkler? Anyway, who mows yards anymore?”
    “Kids mow yards, and kids will like this. And college kids at the beach, they will like this. We make the tanks in orange, ‘Day-Glo’ green, crazy colors, you know, acrylics. They’ll spray each other. They’ll fill it with beer.”
    Tubby thought he could visualize that beach party. “Hell, of course you should patent it,” he said.
    “That’s what I think.”
    “Get your drawings together, come by the office, and let’s talk.”
    “Okay, why not. It might be a big payoff item.”
    “You got much left from the Cool Shoe?”
    “Well, it’s about a hundred dollars less for every hour I sit in here.”
    The horses came around the stretch. Shake and Bake first, then second, then third across the finish line.
    “Like I said.” Jason dropped his ticket into an empty coffee cup.
    “Gotta run,” said Tubby. “I got a lunch at Galatoire’s.”
    “Hope you’re not treating.”
    “No, this is a payback. Call me at work.”
    Tubby walked the two blocks to the restaurant. It was almost two o’clock, which was good timing for Galatoire’s. There was no line.
    “Good afternoon, Mr. Dubonnet,” the head waiter said softly. “We will have a table in just a moment. Are you alone?”
    “Mr. Chaisson is joining me,” Tubby said. The dining room was narrow, and all of the tables were full. Old waiters, most of them familiar to Tubby, carried silver platters around, trailing fragrances of fish and garlic. No women servers distracted the diners.
    Tubby was shown to a table against the wall beneath an ornate mirror. He ordered a gin on the rocks. His mind