House of Blues

particularly one as utterly
exhausted as she was.
    " What happened?" asked Dionne
    "Maybe we should talk privately."
    " Why?"
    Because I don't want to talk about it in front of
his children. What's wrong with you?
    Dionne seemed way too distracted to catch on. Skip
was trying to formulate an answer that might fly when another woman
approached the little knot of policemen. She was black as well,
wearing white slacks, a little taller, a little older than Dionne,
and accompanied by two girls who looked to be juniors or seniors in
high school—they were probably a year apart.
    "Excuse me," she said, "I'm Jim
Hodges's wife. Do you have any word?"
    "Oh, shit," said Dionne, and Skip turned to
look at her, alarmed.
    But Dionne showed no signs of fainting or flying into
a rage. A tear floated slowly out of each eye and she whispered
something:
    " I should have known."
    Skip felt lead in her chest. She could go no further,
couldn't say another word to Dionne or anyone else for a long while.
She walked briskly out the emergency entrance and stood there gulping
air.
 

    13
    The back of her neck was clammy when she awoke after
three hours' sleep. She had given her statement to Cappello and then
gone back to the Iberville—with other officers—and they had spent
most of the night trying to turn up anyone who'd heard or seen
anything.
    Nobody had. Not only that, nobody knew Turan
Livaudais, or had even ever heard of him. They surely hadn't seen him
or anybody else selling drugs in the Conti Breezeway that night or
any night.
    That morning, she awakened feeling vulnerable, almost
panicked. Her first real thought was: Steve: Is he here?
    He was.
    Her second was: Jim: Is he alive?
    She knew she could call to find out, but she didn't
want to deal with it over the phone. She hardly felt up to brushing
her teeth. She pulled on a peach-colored blouse and a pair of white
pants that made her think of Jim's second wife—or first, probably;
she seemed the older one.
    Oh, God, even if he makes it, his life's not going to
be worth living. Why'd he do a stupid thing like that? A smart guy
like Jim?
    Love, I suppose. It makes everyone stupid.
    She felt for Dionne and for the other woman too—she
hadn't stayed long enough to get her name—and for all the Hodges
kids. There might be eight or ten of them for all she knew.
    She envisioned scenes with both women trying to hold
Jim's hand during his convalescence; and others—worse ones—in
which both of them dumped him.
    Today, she thought, she could look at mug shots.
She'd gotten a good look at the kid who hit her, and there was
something distinctive about him—his lower lip was larger than the
upper, and hung down slightly, as if his mouth were open.
    She entered the detective bureau with trepidation,
but everything sounded okay. There wasn't any unusual silence. "Any
word on Jim?" she said to the desk officer.
    The woman shrugged. "Not yet. Someone's waiting
for you."
    She pointed with her chin at the little waiting area.
Tricia Lattimore was there, in a linen outfit, more dressed up than
Skip had ever seen her.
    "Skippy, I just wanted to apologize."
    "Tricia, that was some scene. I was pretty
worried about you."
    " It was horrible what I did—attacking my
oldest friend. Listen, I'm really sick about it. I just wanted you to
know that."
    "Well, I know it wasn't you that attacked me.
That was the drug. And that's why I'm so worried about you." She
knew the repetition was a little school-teacherish, but she couldn't
stop herself.
    "I knew you would be, and I didn't want you to
worry. That's another reason I'm here. I want you to know I don't do
crack. I don't even do crystal, except once in a great while. I was
just in a mood."
    Oh, sure. "You better be careful with that
stuff."
    "Oh, I am. I never touch crack for any
reason—and the other stuff . . . I don't know, I just get a whim
now and then."
    " I thought you were in AA."
    " Did I say that?"
    "Maybe not. Maybe you just said you used to have
a drug habit—so I assumed it."
    "Oh, AA—they think you can't ever do it."
    "Thanks for coming by, Tricia."
    " Skippy, listen, I'm really sorry. I just wanted
to tell you."
    " Thanks. I appreciate it."
    "We should get together sometime."
    "Sure."
    During Lorena Bobbitt's presidency.
    Skip went in, got herself a cup of coffee, and called
Charity. Jim was still on the critical list.
    Well, hell. At least he's alive.
    Next, she looked at mug shots, and found a pretty
good candidate—a