Big Easy Bonanza

at the front desk told Tubby to have a seat, which he was glad to do until the perspiration chilled off his forehead. After a minute he got up and went back to the desk.
    “I need to see if you’ve got a man in here,” he told the guard.
    “What’s his name?”
    “Jerome Cook.”
    “Okay, let’s see.” The guard tapped information into his computer console, whistling tunelessly between his teeth.
    “Jerome Rasheed Cook,” he said. “Yep, we got him.”
    “What’s he charged with?” Tubby asked.
    Clickety-click, the man’s fingers moved over the keys.
    “That’s funny. I can’t exactly tell you. It doesn’t seem to be on the screen.”
    “How long has he been in here?”
    “I don’t know that either. ‘This doesn’t show any information on him.” He looked up at Tubby and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what the problem is.”
    “Can you deliver something to him?”
    “You’re a lawyer, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What do you want to leave for him?”
    “Just give him my card.” Tubby reached into his coat for his wallet and slipped out his white business card. The guard took it.
    “Will you see that he gets this?”
    “Sure,” said the guard. “There’ll be someone going up to the cells in a few minutes. I’ll have them carry it up.”
    “Thanks,” Tubby said and sat back down. After a few more minutes, the guard’s phone rang and his name was called. The guard pointed him toward the elevator that led to the sheriff’s executive offices above. A quick ride later he was greeted by an attractive woman with a pile of curly blond hair, also in a black uniform, who took him through the door to the sheriff’s splendid office. You could hold court in here, Tubby thought. The city skyline could be admired through its picture windows. The floor was thickly carpeted, and the walls were covered with hunting trophies—cats, big birds, a bear’s head, even a stuffed alligator. Mulé, a small man, peeked above his desk twenty paces from the door. He was almost hidden behind an enormous stuffed bird of prey.
    Mulé stood up and extended his hand when Tubby came in. He was wearing a suit, brown as mud, with wide lapels.
    “Howya doing, Tubby? Thanks for coming by.”
    “Sure, Sheriff. You could have just picked up the phone.”
    “No, I wanted to have a face-to-face, and I heard you were coming down today.”
    “You’ve really got your antennae up.”
    “I try to take care of my friends. It ain’t always easy. Would you like some coffee?”
    “Sure, thanks.”
    Mulé pushed a button on his telephone and an inmate cautiously opened the door.
    “For this man, coffee, Pedro.”
    Tubby told him to make it black, and Pedro disappeared.
    “I see where Darryl Alvarez got shot,” Mulé said.
    “That’s right.”
    “Did he ever say who his business associates were?”
    “Not to me. What’s your interest in this, Sheriff?”
    “My interest is in keeping drugs off the streets. Also, he was one of my campaign supporters. I hate to see any of my supporters go like ‘that.”
    “Yeah. It’s a shame. He had a lot of friends.”
    “I know you were one of them.”
    “Not really. I got the case through Reggie Turntide, my partner. He doesn’t do criminal work.”
    “That’s right,” the sheriff beamed. “Darryl hadn’t made his deal with the U.S. Attorney, had he?”
    “No. You could ask the U.S. Attorney the same thing.”
    “My relations with the man aren’t that good,” the sheriff said with a grimace. That sounded right. A couple of weeks before the Times-Picayune had leaked the news that a federal grand jury was investigating various allegations of unconstitutional behavior at the jail.
    “Any idea who he was working for?”
    “Hell no, Sheriff, and I don’t even speculate. The last thing I want is to be hauled before some grand jury investigating organized crime.”
    “Right. That’s just the way it should be.”
    The sheriff stood up and circled his desk. He put his hand on Tubby’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, almost as if he wanted to pick him out of the chair.
    “Thanks for coming by, Tubby. I really appreciate your help.”
    Tubby, rising, said, “I don’t know what help I gave you.”
    “You satisfied my curiosity. At least part of it.”
    Mulé showed Tubby the door. Exiting, Tubby almost collided with Pedro returning with a Styrofoam cup of coffee on a tray. “I had to make it fresh, sir,” he said.
    “That’s okay. Maybe the sheriff