Thrown-away Child

Claude turned to me again. “You ain’t anything like them, are you?”
    “It’s Officer Bougart, is that right?”
    “You right.”
    “My friend, you want to get out the bag someday? Wear plainclothes, carry the gold shield?”
    “Sure, I’d like detective work.”
    “Okay then. Think twice about what you asked me. Let me know what you come up with.”
    Bougart considered the possibilities. Luckily, he was quick. I was not in the mood for any more small chat.
    “Here’s the way I see,” Bougart said. “If you was some crap-for-brains redneck—like Mueller and Eckles—then Ruby wouldn’t have married your white ass.”
    “Not so charming, but true. Congratulations, Officer Bougart. You just passed lesson number one in the Hockaday School of Detection.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Since you’re at the head of the class, now I’ll tell you the truest thing I know about the detective trade.“
    “I’d be obliged.”
    “Question everything, at least once. Including whether two plus two necessarily equals four.“
    “Mister man, I believe I’ve been doing that all my life.” Bougart said this without the slightest trace of sarcasm. Nevertheless, I was made aware of how patronizing I had just been. “Stay around New Orleans long enough, maybe you learn to appreciate what I’m saying.”
    “Already I appreciate sitting here in your car with you like this. Getting to know you and all. And by the way, you must tell me what brand of air freshener you use.” I cranked open my window all the way, which only let in more damp, dead air. “But, Claude— guess what?”
    “Detectives don’t guess, do they, Neil?”
    “It happens I know from the drill. So—are you about all through feeling me out? Are you reasonably satisfied I’m not a Kluxer after my poor Uncle Bud in the dress?”
    “Reasonably.”
    “Good. Let’s cut to the chase. What’s your piece of this Clete Tyler homicide I hear about from your colleagues, the two crackers?”
    “I ain’t got a piece of it. That’s been made real official to me.”
    “What are you saying, Claude?”
    “Up to City Hall, there’s this alderman and lawyer and whatnot—name of Hippo Giradoux, who is something else. He used to be the po-lice commissioner here—still runs the department, to tell the truth.”
    “I heard about the guy.”
    “You should check out that office of his, Hockaday. Look like something from the Huey Long days.“
    “What did you see Giradoux about?”
    “Just sniffing around, that’s all. Hippo, he told me a story about a country dog.”
    “Story about a what?”
    “Call it a warn-off.”
    “A guy with the name of Hippo who’s nothing but a squeak alderman— that’s got you spooked off poaching?”
    “Neil, let me suggest something. You teach me about detection. I’ll teach you about southern.“
    “Sounds fair.”
    “Okay, but for now if you want official, here it is-This afternoon, an hour after Hippo tell me the story about the country dog—”
    “By the way, I want to hear that story.”
    “Anyway, I finish up with Hippo and soon thereafter I’m officially told by Deputy Commissioner R. D. Geary—he’s one of Hippo’s hacks that run the department for him—to stay off the Tyler case or else, quote, ‘Boy, your black ass is going to know a cop hell they going to write up in the ACLU history books, unquote.”
    “That’s putting it crude, but COs warn cops about poaching cases all the time.” I thought, From personal experience, Hock, you ought to know.
    “No problem with a warn-off. So long it’s a clear out-of-bounds situation. Like one cop crowding another cop’s collar, for instance.”
    “Which doesn’t apply here?”
    “You honestly believe Detective Mueller and Detective Eckles are serving this town as guardians of truth, justice, and the American way?”
    “I don’t know, Claude. What do you know?” Bougart fell quiet again, but only for a second or two. He had been sitting stiffly on his side of the car, hands gripping the wheel, his eyes mostly avoiding mine. Now he relaxed himself, allowing his lanky frame to slump in the seat. He even smiled.
    I have smiled that inscrutable way many times myself, usually at some twitch I have invited to spend an afternoon inside of an interrogation room. I will drill the twitch until he struts, at which point he becomes helplessly helpful. At which point I smile at him, like Bougart just smiled at me.
    “First place,” Bougart said, “Cletus