House of Blues

news."
    "I couldn't anyway. I've got to figure a way to
sit in when the feds question Anna." As one of Anna's victims,
she couldn't be involved in the questioning, but it was one show she
didn't want to miss.
    " Who is she, anyway?"
    " Damned if I know. Piece of work, though. What's
the news?"
    "O'Rourke identified his attacker."
    "Yeah?"
    Skip could barely comprehend, her head was so full of
Anna.
    " From mug shots. Look at this." She tossed
a snapshot on Skip's desk.
    " Jesus."
    " Not exactly."
    It was the same picture Skip had picked after Jim's
murder, the one of the man she'd failed to identify in the lineup.
    "Augustine Melancon. We meet again."
    " He's coming in for a lineup in an hour."
    Skip sighed. "I guess I'd better go." She
was exhausted.
    She went home, took a shower, and thought about
calling Jimmy Dee to tell him about her narrow escape. But that was a
longer talk than she had time for.
    She grabbed a Diet Coke, found her spare .38, and
returned to an interesting message on her desk—from a Turner
Shellmire at the FBI. But no time to call him—she barely had time
to get to the lineup.
    One man stuck out—all but hooked her with a finger
and begged to be arrested. It was the same one O'Rourke had picked.
Augustine Melancon.
    I wonder what I was thinking before?
    This time the pressure was off; days had passed; she
was clearer-headed. Or so she told herself.
    Melancon, of course, didn't know why he'd been picked
up. Skip, O'Rourke, and Cappello tackled him together, the better to
scare the bejesus out of him.
    "Remember me?" said O'Rourke. "You
have fun beating me up?"
    He didn't answer.
    His lawyer, public defender Alfonso Green, advised
him to zip his lip and keep it that way.
    Skip said, "Look, Augustine, that's your right,
but you have other rights that aren't covered by Miranda. You have
the right to explain what happened if you Want to. Nobody's saying
you have only one option."
    Melancon looked hopefully at Green, but got no help.
Finally he said, "Asshole set me up. I think I want to tell
her."
    Green shrugged. ''You can always waive."
    "Shit." Melancon turned to Skip. "I'm
gon' talk to you. I want to keep my lawyer here, but I'm gon' waive
that silence shit. Why the fuck should I go down alone?"
    "No reason," said Skip. "No reason at
all. You work for Delavon, don't you?"
    Melancon said nothing.
    "I was out in Gentilly Thursday, seeing Delavon.
The night before, I was in the Conti Breezeway, at Delavon's
suggestion. You were there both times. Therefore, you work for
Delavon."
    "I don't know no shit 'bout no Conti Breezeway."
    "Come on. Delavon set you up—you just said so.
I saw you there, and you know it, 'cause you saw me. Sergeant
O'Rourke saw you beating him up. That's one police officer you killed
and one you assaulted. You really think we're gonna let you get away
with any of that? You think Mr. Green can just make you a deal, get
you out of this after two, three years—five-ten years maybe? You
think it's that easy? You killed a cop, didn't you?
    " Didn't you, Augustine?"
    Melancon glowered, but Skip was pretty sure she saw
fear below the beetling brows.
    " You killed my partner, didn't you?"
    "Shit, no."
    "Well, I think you did. You know what, though?
I'm gonna cut you some slack. Because I don't think it'd be very easy
working for Delavon. I bet he threatens you sometimes. I bet he
threatens your wife and your—"
    " Ain't got no wife."
    "He kill her already? That Delavon, he's one
dangerous dude."
    Melancon didn't answer.
    "Maybe you got a girlfriend. Maybe he threatened
her. Maybe there's a reason you did what you did."
    Did she see hope on his face?
    " I didn't do nothin'!"
    " You killed my partner."
    "That shithead Delavon, he tol' me if I didn't
go over there, watch Jermaine's back, he gon' kill me. See, I owe
Delavon a bunch of money—"
    " How much?"
    " Bunch."
    " How much?"
    " 'Bout ten thousand dollars. Deal went wrong
once; and then there's the interest. Mr. Green, I got to tell 'em.
Cain't I tell 'em what I tol' you?"
    Slowly, Green nodded.
    "I didn't kill nobody. I swear I didn't. But I
know who did."
    "Who did, Augustine?"
    Green pointed a finger. "You answer that one and
I kill you, boy. " He turned to the three officers and smiled:
"Deal time."
    In another twenty minutes they had it hammered out:
Melancon would testify against one Jermaine St. jacques and one
Desmond Lavon Bourgeois, in return for which he'd be permitted to
plead guilty to battery.
    The best part