Mean Woman Blues

tomb, you know, nobody was gonna miss it.”
    Right,
Skip thought.
That’s just how it happened, all right. Forget the lady in the window; you’re the saint in this story.
She might have said it aloud, except that Joe was on a roll.
    “I brought it in, and he just about went crazy. Said could I get him some urns too, and maybe some crosses. Said people love those things. He couldn’t get enough of ’em.”
    “Did you tell him where the statue came from?”
    “Hell, no, I didn’t tell him. I didn’t know him yet. He’d have to be crazy not to know, though. Right?”
    “You tell me.”
    Hagerty offered him a cigarette. He pounced on it like it was a hamburger. “Once, when I brought him this real nice statue, a little girl holding a bouquet, he said he’d seen one like it once. Axed me, wasn’t there a pair of ’em. And there was. I said, sure, I could get him the other one. After that he’d describe stuff: tell me exactly what he wanted and where to get it.”
    “Where to get it?” Hagerty repeated mildly.
    “Oh, yeah. He told me where to get it. That was when I brought in Lance and Jerome. We’d go get what he wanted, and while we was at it, we’d pick up other stuff too. Figured he wasn’t the only game in town. Pretty soon we had a list of regulars.”
    “The Rashid brothers.”
    “Naah, they only bought from us once.”
    “Come on. We tailed you from Bilal’s house.”
    “Would you listen to me? They’re nothin’, small-time nothin’.” Like it was disgusting. “We was just there to kind of talk them into payin’ up, you know?”
    Hagerty sighed. “It’s a cash-and-carry business, Joe. You telling us you just gave them the stuff?”
    “That idiot Jerome took half on delivery; felt sorry for ’em. Ain’t important. Would you
listen
? We had three regulars givin’ us art lessons: tellin’ us to go for the marble, not the concrete; how to tell the good stuff, like if the fingers was separate, ya know?”
    “You tell us.”
    “If the hand’s just carved out of one block, that’s one thing, see? But if they got each finger separate, like you can see through, then that’s real fine work. Desirable to collectors.”
    He had Skip’s interest. “Go on.”
    “Well, we worked for ’em reg’lar. Got ’em anything they axed for. They probably sold it out of town, a lot of it, but I know they got stuff right now. I
know
. Hadn’t had time to move it.” His face took on a sly look. “I can tell you where it is.”
    “Okay, Joe. You tell us. Names and addresses.”
    “Listen, y’all, I got a family. You gon’ make me a deal?”
    “That’s up to the D.A., but if I had to guess, I’d give it about ninety-nine percent. You cooperate with us; we cooperate with you.”
    “Promise me.”
    “Who was that first guy— the one on Chartres Street?”
    “Neil. Neil Gibson, like Mel. Real easy name to remember. He bought fifty thousand dollars’ worth of stuff from us.”
    Skip felt slightly sick.
    Joe said, “I gave you something; now you give me something. I want to make a deal.”
    “Give us the other names, and we’re through here. We can take a break.”
    “Can I have another cigarette?”
    “Two names, Joe, and then we’re through.”
    The man hunched over, thinking, and came up with a face full of fury. “Fuck you cunts! Just fuck you! I try to cooperate, and you just take advantage.”
    Hagerty burst in, her voice soothing. “Now take it easy, Joe. You just take it easy.”
    “Fuck you! I want a lawyer.”
    Sometimes it went like that. Out of the blue, they got scared and balked. Skip and Hagerty tried to cajole him, but in the end they had to give up and let him call his lawyer. But they’d gotten a lot— more than they had a right to count on. Hagerty was excited. “Skip, this is gonna be big. A whole lot bigger than we thought.”
    “I gotta go talk to A. A.”
    “What’s wrong? Hey, we did great in there.”
    She went to find Abasolo. “Okay, here’s what we got. Three Mr. Bigs, and we know the name of one of them.”
    “What about the other two?”
    “He clammed up. Asked for a lawyer.”
    “Shit. Let’s see how LeDoux’s doing with Jerome.”
    “A.A., wait a minute. I know the guy.”
    “What you know Mr. Big? Who is he?”
    “Antique dealer named Neil Gibson. He’s a friend of Jimmy Dee and Layne’s; I’ve had dinner with him.”
    “Christ!”
    “I’ve been to his Mardi Gras party. I can’t work this case.”
    “That’s all?