Crescent City Connection

don’t hang up. I talk if I have to. It’s been kind of a weird day—I need to ask you something.”
    “Where you callin’ from?”
    “Cafe Marigny. Why?”
    “Walkin’ or what?”
    “I’ve got my scooter.”
    At the word “scooter,” there was a change in her voice. “Well, maybe you are The Monk. I’m gon’ take a little ride. Meet me by Hubig’s Pies.”
    The Monk didn’t like this at all—Pamela almost never left her house. She hated to drive almost as much as he hated to speak. What in hell was she doing?
    It would take her longer to get to the meeting place than it would him. He decided to go right away and do what he’d been doing for days, it seemed like—hide and watch.
    But sure enough, along she came in her ancient Ford Fiesta, alone as advertised, making the car look like a toy. No wonder she hated to drive; it must be hideously uncomfortable, given the miniature car and the oversized body.
    He tapped on the window and slipped in beside her.
“Darlin’, when I get rich, I’m gon’ buy you a Cadillac.”
    “Monkie! Baby, it really is you!” She leaned over and gave him a big hug, entirely forgetting to be solicitous of his touching problems.
    He realized suddenly what it had cost her to come here—if she didn’t think it was The Monk, who was she expecting? Whoever it was, she’d come out alone on a dark night to a block some people wouldn’t go to in broad daylight—and all for a man who’d never spoken to her, who’d been the beneficiary of her good will and never given a thing back.
    His eyes flooded.
I really do need to buy her a Cadillac.
    “Hey, if you could talk, why didn’t you say so?”
    “It’s pretty hard to say anything when you’re not talking. I never mentioned my vow of silence?”
    “Monkie, you never mentioned a
damn
thing.”
    “Well, I always said I’d talk again if I weren’t confused about what to say. And right now only one thing comes to mind.”
    “What?”
    “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope. Help me, Obi—”
    She was laughing. “I never knew you were funny.”
    “Never more serious. Pamela, I’ve got some problems.”
    “You’re not kidding, Monkie. The police are watching your house. Hey! Does this have anything to do with that pretty girl? I was so happy you finally got a girlfriend.”
    “I hate to tell you, that’s my niece.”
    She wouldn’t let it go. “You’re not in trouble with the law, are you?”
    He felt himself closing down. “How do you know it’s the cops out there?”
    “Well, I didn’t till a few minutes ago. A woman turned up and talked to them, and then—uh—she went in.”
    “How’d she get in?”
    “You don’t want to know, baby. I asked her what she thought she was doing, and she showed me her badge. That’s how I know it’s the cops.”
    “Big woman—crazy-looking hair?”
    “Yeah. How’d you know?”
    “You don’t want to know.”
    “So what can I do to help you?”
    “I guess you did it. I wanted to know whether it was safe to go home.”
    “I’d say come home with me, but that might be a little close for comfort.”
    He nodded.
    “You got a place to stay?”
    “Sure. I’ll figure something out.”
    “You need money?” She reached into her blouse and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. “It’s all I got but you’re welcome to it.”
    “No, no, I’ll be fine. Really.”
    “Come on. Take it.”
    “No, I can’t. But, listen, don’t forget.”
    “Don’t forget what?”
    “That Cadillac I owe you.” He managed to slip out without taking the money. But the memory of Pamela reaching into her bra for him almost broke his heart. Tears nearly blinded him as he chugged down Dauphine, having no idea where to go.
    In the end he went to a bar.
    Not being a drinker (but on the other hand, not being opposed to drink), he ordered a beer, then a Coke, then another beer, and on like that so that no one would throw him out.
    Since he still wasn’t talking except when he had to, he amused himself by watching television rather than talking to his fellow drinkers. It wasn’t something he often did, but you couldn’t really meditate in a bar, with half a six-pack inside you. And tonight he had a reason—he wanted news of the debacle on Maple Street.
    When the teasers started, he began to think he was going to get a lot more than he bargained for: “Exclusive tonight! Religious group terrorizes city!”
    He stopped drinking