Big Easy Bonanza

down there, but it must be one of the pilings. The hole was about eighteen inches in diameter. He scraped some gravel down it, but he heard no sounds of the rocks hitting. It looked like the crew had knocked off in the middle of the job.
    Tubby went back and got Reggie. He dragged his partner to the fence, rolled him under it, and got him up to the hole. He placed Reggie’s legs in the shaft, and then slid the rest of Reggie in. Poor Reggie made no complaint. Tubby pushed some dirt into the hole after him. Then a lot more dirt. Then he crossed himself.
    Tubby limped back to his car and drove home, trying to make the sick feeling go away. Wait until later. He left the muddy gym bag in the front hall, put his clothes and his shoes in the washing machine, then walked naked to the shower. He stayed under the hot water for a long time trying to get rid of the smell. When he got out, dawn was just beginning to break. He dressed and got back in the car. He picked up a large coffee at the McDonald’s drive-through on Claiborne, then cruised slowly back up Napoleon. Traffic was beginning to move downtown. A paper boy worked steadily up the street pitching the Times-Picayune at front doors. Tubby parked two blocks away from the detour.
    To others it might have been a lovely morning. The air was clean, like it had just rained, but Tubby didn’t notice it. On the other side of the drainage excavation from the playground, along the one-lane roadway through which traffic was temporarily herded, was a bus stop bench. He sat down and opened his coffee. There was a sweet olive tree in bloom somewhere close by. Its floral perfume drifted past in the little gusts of a morning breeze.
    Tubby watched a work crew assemble across the job site. They were also drinking coffee and talking to each other. One of the helmeted black guys started gesturing, and the group broke up. A worker wearing blue jeans and a khaki shirt climbed up into the cab of the pile driver. The machine awoke, letting out a loud pop of steam. It popped again. Then the hammer came down, the sound of another day of work beginning. Tubby took a swallow of coffee and swirled it around with his tongue. Each blow was punctuated by a loud explosion of compressed air. Tubby counted twenty blows before he got up and walked back to his car. Rest in peace, Reggie.
    He drove back to the K&B drugstore. As soon as he parked, a pickup truck towing Monster Mudbug’s Rolling Boiler on a flatbed trailer pulled in beside him, taking up three spaces. The Monster himself leaned out the window.
    “I saw your car, Mr. Tubby, and I wanted you to see my flatbed.”
    “That’s great, Adrian. I’m glad to see you’re not driving the Boiler on the highway.”
    “I’m just using the trailer for long trips. I didn’t think I should try to drive the Boiler all the way to Lafitte. I got an appearance at a seafood festival today. And you know I can’t afford another ticket right now.”
    “If you’re going to be on the road, it’s much better to be legal,” Tubby said wearily.
    “I know, but it’s not always practical.” Adrian laughed.
    “Very philosophical, Adrian.”
    “Well, see you later, Mr. Tubby. I just wanted you to see that I was taking your advice. And guess what? I got insurance, too.”
    “Don’t kid me, Adrian.”
    Adrian laughed again and pulled away slowly. Tubby fished a handful of change out of his pocket and went to use the pay phone at the side of the building. He didn’t like talking business on his car phone. He punched in Dr. Feingold’s home number.
    “Jesus, Tubby, you’re up early this morning.”
    “Sorry if I woke you up, Marty, but listen. I got a way to settle your lawsuit.”
    “Why are you calling me about that at 7:30 in the morning?”
    “Because it’s a very good way, but I have to do it quickly. It ends up costing you just five thousand dollars, plus you get to take a nine-hundred-thousand-dollar tax loss.”
    “Tell me more, Santa Claus.”
    “It’s like this. You put up five thousand dollars. Your insurance company puts up maybe fifty thousand, and an anonymous donor puts up nine hundred thousand in your name.”
    “What’s this about an anonymous donor?”
    “Let’s just say it’s someone with an interest in Sandy’s welfare.”
    “Who would be that interested in his welfare?”
    “Maybe his mother. What do you say?”
    “I need to think this over, Tubby.”
    “What’s to think over? Besides, you have to decide now.