Lou Berney - November Road

“We already have the place, Frank, it’s perfect. The guy owns the building, the bar downstairs, he’ll front for peanuts. He might as well be giving it to us for free.”

“Table games,” Guidry said.

“High class all the way. A real carpet joint. But the cops won’t talk to us. We need you to smooth the way with that asshole cop Dorsey. You know how he likes his coffee.”

The art of the payoff. Guidry understood each man’s price, the right kicker to close the deal. A girl? A boy? A girl and a boy? Lieutenant Dorsey of the Eighth District, as Guidry recalled, had a wife who would appreciate a pair of diamond pendant earrings from Adler’s.

“You understand that Carlos will have to go along with it,” Guidry said.

“Carlos will go along with it if you tell him it’s a good play, Frank. We’ll give you five points for your piece.”

A redhead at the bar had her eye on Guidry. She liked his dark hair and olive skin, his lean build and dimpled chin, the Cajun slant to his green eyes. The slant was how the guineas could tell that Guidry wasn’t one of them.

“Five?” Guidry said.

“C’mon, Frank. We’re doing all the work here.”

“Then you don’t need me, do you?”

“Be reasonable.”

Guidry could see the redhead working up her nerve with every slow revolution of the merry-go-round. Her girlfriend egged her on. The padded silk back of each seat at the Carousel Bar featured a hand-painted jungle beast. Tiger, elephant, hyena.

“Oh, ‘Nature, red in tooth and claw,’” Guidry said.

“What?” Saia’s boy said.

“That’s Lord Tennyson I’m quoting, you uncultured barbarian.”

“Ten points, Frank. Best we can do.”

“Fifteen. And a look at the books whenever the mood strikes. Now, skedaddle.”

Saia’s boy glowered and seethed, but such were the rude realities of supply and demand. Lieutenant Dorsey was the hardest-headed cop in New Orleans. Only Guidry had the skill to soften him up.

He ordered another scotch. The redhead crushed out her cigarette and strolled over. She had Cleopatra eyes—the latest look—and a golden tan. She was a stewardess, maybe, home from a layover in Miami or Vegas. She sat down without asking, impressed with her own boldness.

“My girlfriend over there told me to stay away from you,” she said.

Guidry wondered how many openers she’d rehearsed in her mind before she picked the winner. “But here you are.”

“My girlfriend says you have some very interesting friends.”

“Well, I’ve plenty of dull ones, too,” Guidry said.

“She says you work for you-know-who,” she said.

“The notorious Carlos Marcello?”

“Is it true?”

“Never heard of him.”

She toyed with the cherry in her drink, making a show of it. She was nineteen, twenty years old. In a couple of years, she’d marry the biggest Uptown bank account she could find and settle down. Now, though, she wanted an adventure. Guidry was delighted to oblige.

“So aren’t you curious?” the redhead said. “Why I didn’t listen to my girlfriend and stay away from you?”

“Because you don’t like it when people tell you that you can’t have something you want,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes, as if he’d snuck a peek in her purse while she wasn’t looking. “I don’t.”

“Neither do I,” Guidry said. “We only get one ride in this life, one time around. If we don’t enjoy every minute of it, if we don’t embrace pleasure with open arms, who’s to blame for that?”

“I like to enjoy life,” she said.

“I like to hear that.”

“My name is Eileen.”

Guidry saw that Mackey Pagano had entered the bar. Gaunt and gray and unshaven, Mackey looked like he’d been living under a rock. He spotted Guidry and jerked his chin at him.

Oh, Mackey. His timing was poor. But he had an eye for opportunity and never brought in a deal that didn’t pay.

Guidry stood. “Wait here, Eileen.”

“Where are you going?” she said, surprised.

He crossed the room and gave Mackey a hug. Ye gods. Mackey smelled as bad he looked. He needed a shower and a fresh suit, without delay.

“Must have been one helluva party, Mack,” Guidry said. “Regale me.”

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” Mackey said.

“I thought you might.”

“Let’s take a walk.”

He grabbed Guidry’s elbow and steered him back out into the lobby. Past the cigar stand, down a deserted corridor, down another one.

“Are we going all the way to Cuba, Mack?” Guidry said. “I won’t look as good with a beard.”

They finally stopped, in front of the doors to the back service entrance.

“So what do you have for me?” Guidry said.

“I don’t have anything,” Mackey said.

“What?”

“I just needed to talk to you.”

“You’ve noted that I have better things to do at the moment,” Guidry said.

“I’m sorry. I’m in a bind, Frankie. I might be in a real bind.”

Guidry had a smile for every occasion. This occasion: to hide the uneasiness that began to creep over him. He gave Mackey’s shoulder a squeeze. You’ll be all right, old buddy, old pal. How bad can it be? But Guidry didn’t like the shake in Mackey’s voice, the way Mackey kept his grip tight on the sleeve of Guidry’s suit coat.

Had anyone noticed the two of them leaving the Carousel together? What if someone happened to come round that corner right now and caught them skulking? Trouble in this business had a way of spreading, just like a cold or the clap. Guidry knew you could catch it from the wrong handshake, an unlucky glance.

“I’ll come by your pad this weekend,” Guidry said. “I’ll help you sort it out.”

“I need to get it sorted out now.”

Guidry tried to ease away. “I’ve got to split. Tomorrow, Mack. Cross my heart.”

“I haven’t been back to my place in a week,” Mackey said.

“Name the spot. I’ll meet you wherever you want.”

Mackey watched him. Those hooded eyes, they seemed almost gentle in a certain light. Mackey knew that Guidry was lying about meeting tomorrow. Of course he did. Guidry came by his talent for deception naturally, but Mackey had taught him the nuances, had helped him hone and perfect his craft.

“How long have we known each other, Frankie?” Mackey said.

“I see,” Guidry said. “The sentimental approach.”

“You were sixteen years old.”

Fifteen. Guidry just off the turnip truck from Ascension Parish, Louisiana, and tumbling around the Faubourg Marigny. Living hand to mouth, stealing cans of pork and beans off the shelves of the A&P. Mackey saw promise in him and gave Guidry his first real job. Every morning for a year, Guidry had picked up the cut from the girls on St. Peter and hurried it over to Snake Gonzalez, the legendary pimp. Five dollars a day and the quick end to any romantic notions Guidry might have still had about the human species.

“Please, Frankie,” Mackey said.

“What do you want?”

“Talk to Seraphine. Get the lay of the land for me. Maybe I’m crazy.”

“What happened? Never mind. I don’t care.” Guidry wasn’t interested in the details of Mackey’s predicament. He was only interested in the details of his predicament, the one that Mackey had just created for him.

“You remember about a year ago,” Mackey said, “when I went out to ’Frisco to talk to a guy about that thing with the judge. Carlos called it all off, you remember, but—”

“Stop,” Guidry said. “I don’t care. Damn it, Mack.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie. You’re the only one I can trust. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Mackey waited. Guidry tugged the knot of his tie loose. What was life but this? A series of rapid calculations: the shifting of weights, the balancing of scales. The only poor decision was a decision you allowed someone else to make for you.