Ace Atkins - Dirty South

I followed Brill back to his office, where the walls were lined with more sports stars and photos of him with old NFL greats. One showed him running through some tires at some kind of NFL fantasy camp.

He reached into a small refrigerator by his glass desk and pulled out Evian water. He kicked out of his Nikes, rolled off his socks, and laid his bare feet on top of the desk. “Shoot.”

“I need to look at Teddy and Malcolm’s bank records, any account that was drained.”

He sipped on the water as if it were a baby’s bottle. A pacifier of some kind. He squinted his eyes and nodded with concern. “And what will that do?”

“Find ALIAS’s money.”

He nodded. “O-kay. Haven’t the police already done this?” He gave a forced laugh.

“They tried, but Malcolm wouldn’t let them,” I said. “I need to know when you noticed the money was missing and copies of any withdrawals made.”

He nodded again and downed half the bottle of water. He stood up and patted me on the back. “Listen, I appreciate you being such a good friend to Teddy, and if you hear of anything that can help us out with that missing money, I will let the detectives know. But it’s not our policy to let information like that out.”

“Call Teddy.”

“We already spoke.”

“And he said not to release these records to me?”

“And what would you do with them?”

“Make paper animals. Maybe a hat.”

“They don’t tell us anything. It just transferred to some kind of holding account that disappeared. The money came from Malcolm’s joint account, and he doesn’t want to work with you.”

“What was the name on the account where the money was transferred to?”

He patted me on the back again and tried to steer me out of his office by grabbing my biceps. I didn’t move.

In the other room, his buddy had strapped the helmet on his head and was trying to drop back like a QB. He had a puckered scar from a brand on his muscular arm, but his polo shirt was stiff and fresh. Expensive brown leather loafers.

“Teddy gets a little ahead of himself sometimes,” he said. “I can only work with the police.”

I pried his fingers from my biceps.

“Don’t ever grab my arm again, kid.”

“Whooh.” Brill laughed and made a scary motion with his palms raised.

His buddy laughed and took off his helmet. He moved in close to me. I could smell a sourness about his clothes mixed with some kind of expensive cologne. He was light-skinned and his eyes were a brownish green.

“Listen, I know Teddy thinks he owes you something because you didn’t really work out with the team and all.”

“I look forward to getting those records,” I said. “Why don’t you just wait here for Teddy to call.”

“All right, then,” he said, holding the door wide. “Thanks for coming by.”

His smile remained stuck on his face as if drawn by a stranger. He didn’t even know it was there.

ABERCROMBIE & FITCH. Brooks Brothers. Crate & Barrel. Starbucks. Trey Brill liked the way his stores smelled. Uncluttered and clean. The dark coffee smell of Starbucks. The faded look to an Abercrombie hat with a cool old rugby logo. The way Brooks Brothers had the same ties and shirts every year. Everything the way you expected it. Trey finished up paying for a new suit and walked out with Christian, who’d hung with him since they left the office. He and his old friend side by side since the time they were twelve. Soccer practices to bars to business partners.

Trey and Christian watched Teddy from the second floor of the shopping mall, looking down at the fat man sitting by the wishing fountain. Teddy sure was sweating a lot today, the back of his silk shirt soaked. He seemed real jumpy, too, like when Trey mentioned that he needed to pick up a suit before they headed to Redfish for dinner. Teddy just kind of freaked out.

“He’s fucked,” Christian said, smiling.

“His own fault,” Trey said.

“People like that can never handle money,” Christian said. “They don’t understand it.”

“True.”

He said good-bye to Christian, and as his friend was walking away, he saw Teddy peer up at the balcony. He was sure that Teddy saw Christian only from a distance and he was glad of that.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Teddy said when he met him at the foot of the escalator. The PA system played some Sting from his Live in Tuscany concert, one of Trey’s favorites.

“He’s my friend.”

“Just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Trey tried to look concerned at Teddy’s sweating and paranoia while they walked outside to the parking lot and stuck his suit in his trunk. Make him think he was flipping out about nothing. They decided to walk over to Bourbon Street and Redfish. Teddy said he couldn’t breathe in the car.

“Are you doing okay, man?” Trey asked as they walked around the old marble Customs House. It was dark now and he could hear all the dance music and that awful Cajun stuff starting up down on North Peters and through the Quarter. Tourists in tennis shoes and shorts, carrying cameras and cups of Hurricanes, walked by the old brick storefronts and under wooden signs flapping in the warm wind.

“Yeah,” Teddy said, huffing and puffing down Iberville and crossing over Decatur Street. “Just got some things on my mind.”

“Your buddy Travers stopped by,” he said.

“You help him out?”

“Yeah,” Trey said. “Gave him what I legally could.”

“Good.”

Some homeless man wandered over, begging them for a few bucks. Said he needed some bus fare, behind him was the red curved neon of an all-night bar.

Trey laughed at him. “Get a job.”

“Can’t,” said the toothless man.

“Sorry,” Trey said. “Jeez.”

Teddy didn’t even notice. He just had his big head down kicking absently at a dirty Lucky Dog wrapper filled with mustard and stinking onions.

“You believe ALIAS?” Teddy asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know him that well.”

“I need that money.”

“I know, Teddy.”

“I don’t think you do,” he said. “Ain’t worried about creditors, man. See, I borrowed some money from Cash.”

Trey stopped walking by a used bookstore. He put his hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “What’s going on? Talk to me, dog.”

Trey knew Teddy liked when he said “dog.” Made him seem like a true Ninth Warder.

Teddy told the whole story about why he’d gone to Cash for money for ALIAS’s video, said he thought they could make it up on the next record from this guy that Malcolm thought was so great named Stank. But Trey knew that Stank hadn’t even cut the damned album yet. They were already getting killed by the latest releases from No Limit and Cash Money. Last year Ninth Ward Records was making those guys sweat.

Teddy said he had till morning before Cash said he was going to kill him. Trey led him into the restaurant, where they took a seat near the bar and ordered. They didn’t talk until the waiter returned.

Trey took a sip of his dirty martini and looked concerned. Redfish had lots of chrome, yellow Christmas lights, a big fake oyster over the bar that had been turned into a mirror. Nice leather seats. It was all right to Trey, but he liked Emeril’s a lot more.

The waiter brought them a couple of plates of Oysters Three Ways: grilled, fried, and raw on a bed of rock salt. Teddy slurped his right off his plate, gobbling everything up just like the street hustler that he’d always been. Or maybe because he thought this was his last supper or something. Pretty weird. Of course Teddy wasn’t brought up with any class. He hadn’t gone to Metairie Country Day or gone to Vandy on an academic scholarship that his parents bought. He hadn’t spent his winters skiing in Vail or summers down in Baja sipping tequila and screwing girls from UCLA.