Tony Dunbar - Tubby Dubonnet 00.5 - Envision This by Tony Dunbar Page B
Authors: Tony Dunbar
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three weeks.”
“What for.”
“God only knows. That’s too bad.”
“Who else have you got?”
Tubby thought about it.
“Well, Raisin Partlow is a pretty good man to have around. I don’t know whether he’s available. Only thing is he usually doesn’t answer his phone. I’d have to go find him.”
“Should I call him?”
“No. I’ll give it a shot and call you later. Meanwhile you can just…”
“I’m going to go home and chill. Just like I’ve been doing for the past week until I decided to call you. Just chill out with my little Beretta by my side.”
* * *
Raisin Partlow was one of Tubby’s oldest friends. Come to think of it, after a couple of untimely deaths over the past few years, Raisin had made it to the head of the class. He had never been one to dwell on the more sobering aspects of life, like holding down a steady job. Maybe that was why he stayed so healthy.
Tubby expected to find him holding down a stool at Mike’s Bar in the Irish Channel. One other thing about Raisin. Hurricane Katrina had hit everybody around New Orleans hard, but by and large they came back, though it might have taken a few years. Raisin, on the other hand, still showed his wounds. He had always been too friendly with smoky whiskey. So was Tubby and almost everyone else he knew. But now the boy really did drink too much. Even his girlfriend the nurse, the most forgiving soul in the world, had finally booted him out.
Tubby walked through the door of the dimly-lit establishment and Raisin, sitting at the bar, greeted him with a perfect smoke ring and a cough. Raisin was rugged, dark-skinned, and had an unruly mane of curly black hair. He had ladies parked on both sides of him because Raisin was a popular guy. They were probably paying for his gin and tonics.
Tubby patted them all on shoulders, hard and soft, and pointed Raisin to a table. Larry, the ghostlike bartender, gave the late arrival the twitch of an eyeball. He knew what Tubby wanted to drink.
Raisin relocated, and the two men sat by the blacked-out window off to the side near the video-poker machine. Larry delivered an Old Fashioned to Tubby. Raisin handed his empty glass to the barkeep, who drifted off to refill it. Tubby leaned over the wet tabletop and told Raisin he had a job for him.
“Whoa!” Raisin sat back. His eyes widened like he’d been visited by a spirit of uncertain origin.
“Don’t worry,” Tubby assured him. “Short term. Probably just two days. And in a very nice house.”
He laid it out for Raisin. The bodyguard would cruise over to the Boaz bungalow, four bedrooms and change overlooking Lake Pontchartrain. There would be maid service and ample hospitality. And all he would have to do was keep Jason alive and be good company.
There was some discussion about the pay. Tubby got Jason on the phone and they worked all that out. Tubby vouched for Raisin’s character and the deal was done.
“So,” Raisin said when they hung up. “This should be fun.” He signaled for another drink.
“Not too much fun,” Tubby warned. “Jason is sleeping with a .9 millimeter and you need to be on your toes.”
“Don’t worry about me boss. I can handle this.” Raison squared his jaw and stuck a Camel between his lips.
“I know you can, brother. You’re a survivor.”
Raisin lit his smoke and drained his glass till the ice rattled against his teeth.
“That I am, boss. That I am.”
* * *
So it went for the next 24 hours.
Tubby had other business to attend to, part of which involved actually going to his office downtown in the Place Palais building and getting brought up to speed on all his files by Cherrylynn, his irreplaceable secretary. She ran things pretty well without him and was indispensable when it came to reminding him of upcoming court appearances. That and getting paid. She was great at collecting bills.
“Mrs. Margolis is finally sending a check,” she cheered. “$314,000 came in her mail today, she said, and
“What for.”
“God only knows. That’s too bad.”
“Who else have you got?”
Tubby thought about it.
“Well, Raisin Partlow is a pretty good man to have around. I don’t know whether he’s available. Only thing is he usually doesn’t answer his phone. I’d have to go find him.”
“Should I call him?”
“No. I’ll give it a shot and call you later. Meanwhile you can just…”
“I’m going to go home and chill. Just like I’ve been doing for the past week until I decided to call you. Just chill out with my little Beretta by my side.”
* * *
Raisin Partlow was one of Tubby’s oldest friends. Come to think of it, after a couple of untimely deaths over the past few years, Raisin had made it to the head of the class. He had never been one to dwell on the more sobering aspects of life, like holding down a steady job. Maybe that was why he stayed so healthy.
Tubby expected to find him holding down a stool at Mike’s Bar in the Irish Channel. One other thing about Raisin. Hurricane Katrina had hit everybody around New Orleans hard, but by and large they came back, though it might have taken a few years. Raisin, on the other hand, still showed his wounds. He had always been too friendly with smoky whiskey. So was Tubby and almost everyone else he knew. But now the boy really did drink too much. Even his girlfriend the nurse, the most forgiving soul in the world, had finally booted him out.
Tubby walked through the door of the dimly-lit establishment and Raisin, sitting at the bar, greeted him with a perfect smoke ring and a cough. Raisin was rugged, dark-skinned, and had an unruly mane of curly black hair. He had ladies parked on both sides of him because Raisin was a popular guy. They were probably paying for his gin and tonics.
Tubby patted them all on shoulders, hard and soft, and pointed Raisin to a table. Larry, the ghostlike bartender, gave the late arrival the twitch of an eyeball. He knew what Tubby wanted to drink.
Raisin relocated, and the two men sat by the blacked-out window off to the side near the video-poker machine. Larry delivered an Old Fashioned to Tubby. Raisin handed his empty glass to the barkeep, who drifted off to refill it. Tubby leaned over the wet tabletop and told Raisin he had a job for him.
“Whoa!” Raisin sat back. His eyes widened like he’d been visited by a spirit of uncertain origin.
“Don’t worry,” Tubby assured him. “Short term. Probably just two days. And in a very nice house.”
He laid it out for Raisin. The bodyguard would cruise over to the Boaz bungalow, four bedrooms and change overlooking Lake Pontchartrain. There would be maid service and ample hospitality. And all he would have to do was keep Jason alive and be good company.
There was some discussion about the pay. Tubby got Jason on the phone and they worked all that out. Tubby vouched for Raisin’s character and the deal was done.
“So,” Raisin said when they hung up. “This should be fun.” He signaled for another drink.
“Not too much fun,” Tubby warned. “Jason is sleeping with a .9 millimeter and you need to be on your toes.”
“Don’t worry about me boss. I can handle this.” Raison squared his jaw and stuck a Camel between his lips.
“I know you can, brother. You’re a survivor.”
Raisin lit his smoke and drained his glass till the ice rattled against his teeth.
“That I am, boss. That I am.”
* * *
So it went for the next 24 hours.
Tubby had other business to attend to, part of which involved actually going to his office downtown in the Place Palais building and getting brought up to speed on all his files by Cherrylynn, his irreplaceable secretary. She ran things pretty well without him and was indispensable when it came to reminding him of upcoming court appearances. That and getting paid. She was great at collecting bills.
“Mrs. Margolis is finally sending a check,” she cheered. “$314,000 came in her mail today, she said, and
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