Black Cherry Blues by James Lee Burke Page B

right, Batist?” I said as I gave him a paper plate with slices of boudin on it.

    “What?” His and Alafair’s attention was focused on the image of Donald Duck on the television screen. Outside, the fireflies were lighting in the pecan trees.

    “This is our Cajun land, right, podna?” I said.

    “We make the rules, we’ve got our own flag.”

    He gave me a quizzical look, then turned back to the television screen. Alafair, who was sitting on the floor, slapped her thighs and squealed uproariously while Donald Duck raged at his nephews.

    The next day I visited Dixie Lee again at Lourdes and took him a couple of magazines. The sunlight was bright in his room, and someone had placed a green vase of roses in the window. The deputy left us alone, and Dixie lay on his side and looked at me from his pillow. His eyes were clear, and his cheeks were shaved and pink.

    “You’re looking better,” I said.

    “For the first time in years I’m not full of whiskey. It feels weird, I’m here to tell you. In fact, it feels so good I’d like to cut out the needle, too. But the centipedes start waking up for a snack.”

    I nodded at the roses in the window and smiled.

    “You have an admirer,” I said.

    He didn’t answer. He traced a design on the bed with his index finger, as though he were pushing a penny around on the sheet.

    “You grew up Catholic, didn’t you?” he said.

    “Yes.”

    “You still go to church?”

    “Sure.”

    “You think God punishes us right here, that it ain’t just in the next world?”

    “I think those are bad ideas.”

    “My little boy died in a fire. A bare electric cord under a rug started it. If I hadn’t been careless, it wouldn’t have happened. Then I killed that man’s little boy over in Fort Worth, and now I been in a fire myself and a young girl’s dead.”

    I looked at the confusion and pain in his face.

    “I had preachers back home tell me where all that drinking and doping was going to lead me. I wouldn’t pay them no mind,” he said.

    “Come on, don’t try to see God’s hand in what’s bad. Look outside. It’s a beautiful day, you’re alive, you’re feeling better, maybe you’ve got alternatives now that you didn’t have before. Think about what’s right with your life, Dixie.”

    “They’re going to try and pop me.”

    “Who?”

    “Vidrine and Mapes. Or some other butthole the company hires.”

    “These kinds of guys don’t come up the middle.”

    He looked back at me silently, as if I were someone on the other side of a wire fence.

    “There’re too many people looking at them now,” I said.

    “You don’t know how much money’s involved. You couldn’t guess. You don’t have any idea what these bastards will do for money.”

    “You’re in custody.”

    “Save the dog shit, Dave. Last night Willie out there said he was going for some smokes. It was eleven o’clock. He handcuffed my wrist to the bed rail and came back at one in the morning, chewing on a toothpick and smelling like hamburger and onions.”

    “I’ll talk to the sheriff.”

    “The same guy that thinks I’ve got fried grits for brains? You think like a cop, Dave. You’ve probably locked a lot of guys up, but you don’t know what it’s like inside all that clanging iron. A couple of swinging dicks want a kid brought to their cell, that’s where he gets delivered. A guy wants you whacked out because you owe for a couple of decks of cigarettes, you get a shank in your spleen somewhere between the mess hall and lockup. Guys like Willie out there are a. joke.”

    “What do you want me to do?”

    “Nothing. You tried. Don’t worry about it.”

    “I’m not going to leave you on your own. Give me a little credit.”

    “I ain’t on my own. I called Sally Dee.”

    I looked again at the roses in the green vase.

    “Floral telegram. He’s a thoughtful guy, man,” Dixie Lee said.

    “It’s your butt.”

    “Don’t ever do time. You won’t hack