Big Easy Bonanza

something.”
    “UNO.”
    “What?”
    “Not Loyola. UNO. You were right about Jesuit, though.”
    “That’s gratifying. Here’s something else I’m not psychic about: Do you have a woman working here named LaBelle? LaBelle Doucette?”
    “Never heard of her.”
    “How about Lynn. Or some name with Lynn in it, like Ann-Lynn or Faye-Lynn?”
    “Sherilyn. I like that one.”
    “Sherilyn? You have a Sherilyn?”
    “Uh-uh. I just like the name. Listen, you want to talk to the manager? I’ve only been here a couple of months.”
    “I’d love to if it’s no trouble.” She heard herself speak and didn’t like it. She was sounding more like a McGehee’s girl than a police officer.
    “Hey, Uncle Dutch!” Eddie was shouting, hardly making a dent in the recorded Country-Western song that the redhead was supposed to boogie to. Or so it seemed to Skip. But a puzzled-looking face peeked out of an aperture somewhere near the back of the club—probably the door to an office. “Lady wants to see you.”
    “Send her back.” The voice was gravelly, as whose wouldn’t be, Skip thought, after years in this place. She paid for her drinks (wishing she was paying a lot less for them) and walked to the back, acutely aware of predatory eyes on her. “Hey, big mama!” hollered an admirer. She wondered if she should take a bow.
    The man waiting for her was the original Mr. Five by Five, though Skip put his actual height at five seven or eight. She didn’t even want to guess at his girth. He moved slowly, dragging one foot a little, and, glancing down discreetly, Skip saw that he wore a corrective shoe, probably for a club foot. A shame, she thought.
    The man’s hair was oily with some kind of dressing and he smelled strongly of a cologne Skip had noticed a lot of men seemed to be wearing lately—probably some fashionable elixir their daughters gave them for Christmas. It was something dense and exotic that made her think of a harem—the scent the sultan would wear when he summoned his favorite of the evening. Except for the bum foot, Uncle Dutch seemed ideal for the part. Put him in a turban with flowing robes and a scimitar and he was the sultan from Central Casting. He had broad, heavy features, hooded, languorous eyes, and the sort of generous, sensuous lips that could make her fall in love with a man.
    Despite his size, he would have been handsome in a thug-like, piratical kind of way if his skin hadn’t had the sick, gray cast of a life spent indoors puffing on cigarettes. He led her into a room barely bigger than a closet, certainly not meant to contain two people of their respective sizes.
    It was furnished only with a desk, chair, and filing cabinets, but the walls were nearly covered with pictures of a handsome family—a dark, pretty woman and two laughing children, a boy and a girl. Beautiful children too. Uncle Dutch himself was in some of the pictures, his arm around the woman, or sometimes one of the kids. Skip’s stomach flopped over, thinking that a man who lived like this man obviously did—who was overweight, smoked, stayed up all night—might very well not live to see his grandchildren.
    She showed him her badge. “I’m Skip Langdon. With the police department.” She wasn’t quite sure how to introduce herself—always before, the uniform had done it for her.
    “Dutch Macaluso. What can I do for you?”
    “You really are Eddie’s uncle?”
    “Who else would hire the bum? Hey, how much did he charge you for your drinks? No, don’t tell me. I got a feelin’ he’s running a little scam up there—overcharging the customers and skimming off the extra—but I don’t think I want to know.”
    Okay, she and Eddie were even now—she had owed him one for telling her about the open purse and now she’d repaid him. She breathed easier—Eddie seemed such a cagey little devil she didn’t want to be in his debt. “I thought he was a smart kid.”
    “Smart! I could tell you stories … when that kid was three and a half he figured out a way to wedge a soup can in the terlet so it couldn’t be pried out by any plumber in the parish. Whole damn terlet had to be replaced. My poor baby sister, that’s all I can say. Sit down, why don’t you?” He pointed at the only chair.
    “No, thanks. I’ll only take a minute. I’m looking for a woman who used to work here, I think. LaBelle Doucette.”
    “LaBelle. Oh, God, was I sorry to lose her. Prettiest gal I ever had in here. I’m not