Big Easy Bonanza

mechanically—even wiping up the spills mechanically, just getting the job done, unable to silence the tape that was running over and over in his head.
    If I could just goddamn have left well enough alone. Goddamn LaBelle! And goddamn me.
    To his amazement, Chauncey, whom he’d hated for so many years, kept gnawing at the edge of his consciousness. But not the Chauncey who was dead—the Chauncey who had been his friend at Tulane, that confident, vital, compelling young man with the bright future. Even then he was driven; Tolliver knew that, but big deal. He was ambitious. And why not? He wasn’t an Albert or a Mayhew, he was from out by the lake. Ambition was appropriate for someone like Chauncey. The kind of energy it produced invigorated Tolliver. Chauncey reminded him of a line from a poem: “Healthy, free, the world before me.” The
whole
world. But that was before Chauncey became a prisoner of his own desire.
    Tolliver laughed, spilling water on his coffee table. Jesus, he should be writing cover copy for women’s beach books. But it wasn’t only the melodrama that amused him—it was the unwitting pun. LaBelle had brought the whole house of cards down and she was product, prisoner, and victim of Desire with a capital “D”—the Desire Project, an eerily apt name for the worst slum in the state. Chauncey himself didn’t need any project—he was just a victim of small “d” desire, with the consequent damage not only to himself but to his wife and son.
    Worry about Bitty was just a numb ache today. Maybe it really was too late for her. Or maybe he was just in a worse funk than he thought. At the moment, he felt worse about Henry. The boy had always been so close to Bitty, never able to break free, to become his own person.
    I’m no different
. He shook his head to clear it. The thought remained and expanded.
What makes me any different? Except that, with me, it isn’t only Bitty. It’s all of them. The whole St. Amant family.
    He set his watering can on the rug and collapsed on the blue sofa. He was no different from Henry. And now the inevitable had happened—he tried to save them and he ended up destroying them. Indisputably destroying Chauncey. But the rest of them? Was it over for them too? Could they pull out of it? They might, if people would leave them alone.
    Dammit, it was a family affair. The cops had no business in the middle of it. Skip Langdon, whatever you said about her father, was sharp. There was no question in his mind she’d get to the bottom of it. Most cops wouldn’t know where to start, but Skip had more things going for her than her quick wits. It wasn’t that complicated, after all. All you had to do was know whom to ask which questions.
    Oh, God, what had he done? But here was the real question—could it be undone? If he hadn’t had such a terrible headache the day of the wake… but no matter, she could still be stopped and he thought he knew exactly how. There wasn’t much time, though; he’d have to be fast.

Sweet Charity
    “OFFICER.” LIEUTENANT DUBY nodded to her, ever the gentleman. Skip was late—the other two had already arrived.
    As she slipped into the vacant chair, Tarantino said, “How’s it going, Skip?”
    O’Rourke said nothing. Skip didn’t get it. How could a guy who was married to a cop take this kind of attitude? She couldn’t believe she ever thought he’d be an ally.
    Duby said, “I had a call from the mayor this morning before the funeral. Guess who he’d had a call from?”
    Skip was pretty sure she knew, but she hung back, giving the other two a chance to speak. When neither did, she said, “Haygood Mayhew.”
    “You got it.”
    “I bet he mentioned poor Furman would never have been elected if it hadn’t been for his son-in-law, Chauncey St. Amant, and he thought it was a damn shame Furman’s goddamn whole police force hadn’t even been able to solve a murder committed in full view of half the city.”
    Tarantino and Duby laughed. Duby said, “Sounds like you know the old gentleman pretty well.”
    “Gentleman, my ass. Old turkey buzzard’s more like it.”
    “Well, the old turkey buzzard more or less runs the city in case you three aren’t aware of it. So I thought we’d better compare a few notes here.”
    “Hey!” Tarantino looked hurt. “We’re going as fast as our chubby little legs’ll carry us.”
    “No need to get your feelings hurt, Joe. I just want to know where we are, that’s all. Who wants to