Big Easy Bonanza

hours.”
    “It’s a deal, Tubby.”
    “Pay attention to the fact that that’s a one-way ticket, Harold.” Tubby gave him $1,000 in cash and left.
    When he walked into his office Cherrylynn reported that Mr. Turntide had not come in, and he had lots of calls. So did Tubby. One of the messages was to call Clifford Banks. Also Mrs. Margolis wanted to come by at one-thirty. He asked Cherrylynn to go down to Mumphries and get him a shrimp po’boy, dressed, and a Barq’s red cream soda and whatever she wanted for herself. Tubby pressed Banks’s number.
    “What happened?” was all Banks said.
    “What do you mean, what happened?”
    “Where’s Reggie?”
    “He showed up at the drugstore. He took what I gave him, and we parted company. He didn’t come in today. End of story.”
    “He didn’t make an appearance where he was expected.”
    “That’s your tough luck.”
    “Do you know where I can find him?”
    “Reggie and I aren’t partners anymore. Find him yourself.”
    “Goodbye, Tubby.”
    “Fuck yourself,” Tubby thought. Or did he say it out loud?
    Cherrylynn came back with the sandwiches. Tubby shut the door to his office and sat at his desk. He really was not hungry. He closed his eyes and thought about the sound of the pile driver. He wondered where the smell of sweet olive was coming from on the forty-third floor.
    Clifford Banks took a table in the bar at Champs. He asked the waitress to bring him a scotch and soda and to ask Monique to come over. In a little while she did.
    “You wanted to talk to me?”
    “Yes, won’t you sit down?”
    “Who are you?”
    “My name is Banks. I was associated with Darryl Alvarez in one or two ventures, and I know a little bit about your relationship with him.”
    Monique sat down. She took a cigarette out of her pants pocket, and he offered to light it. She shook her head and lit it herself from a pack of matches.
    “It was very unfortunate what happened to Darryl. I want you to know I had nothing to do with it, and I regret it deeply.”
    She nodded and exhaled smoke through her nose.
    Banks paused to light a cigarette from his own pack.
    “Now I am on a quest,” he said. “A quest for a million dollars. Do you know where it is?”
    She shook her head.
    “You see, I was holding it for other investors. People who have done business with me in the past and rely on me not to simply lose their money. They want it back, of course. If I can’t find it, I will have to pay it off myself. That is not impossible, but it will certainly have a negative impact on my estate and what I had in mind to leave to my children. Do you understand me?”
    “Sure, you’re on the hook.”
    “Well put.” He sipped his drink. “I am also looking for a man named Reggie Turntide. Do you know where he is?”
    “Never heard of him.”
    “Medium height, glasses, receding hairline, weak chin?” That sounded just like the man who drank Wild Turkey, that first night with Casey, right upstairs. But she shook her head.
    “Perhaps we can make a deal,” Banks said. “I would be willing to pay a substantial sum, say ten percent, on whatever amount you can help me find.”
    “I don’t know where your money is, Mr. Banks. And I don’t really care. I don’t have it. I suggest you ask your partners.”
    “Partners? What do you mean by partners?”
    “The cops you had working for you.”
    Banks looked puzzled.
    “There were no cops working with or for me,” he said. “This was a deal just between Darryl and me. Reggie assisted, but we had no police associates.”
    “The guy you just described had them.”
    “That’s hard to believe.”
    “Believe it.”
    “I don’t suppose you have any proof.”
    She opened her matchbook and showed him the writing inside: Casey, 555-3233.
    “Here, it’s yours.” She flipped it across the table. “Find out where he was when Darryl got busted. That might tell you something. Ask him where your damn money is. Ask him what he was doing the day Darryl got killed.”
    “Very interesting,” Banks said. “You don’t happen to know what department he is in, do you?”
    “I think he’s some kind of bagman for Sheriff Mulé.”
    “You don’t say.” Banks stuck the matchbook in his coat. “I think I’ll look him up.”
    “I’d take some friends with you.”
    “Oh? Well, thank you for that advice. I do have some friends. I’ll have them pay a call on Mr. Casey in my place.” He stood up.
    “Thank you,” he said.
    “Pay for