He’d shorn his braids since she’d seen him on the streets, keeping it close now, and he had a long, wispy goatee hanging from his chin like Spanish moss. His puffy down vest was open, and against his chest, over his thermal tie-dyed shirt, lay his telltale cowrie-shell necklace.
Behind Shadow stood Wilburn and Cordts, each gripping one of Shadow’s upper arms in one hand. The officers were stone-faced. They hated what she asked of them, Maureen thought, which was bodyguarding her while she questioned a known fugitive and possible conspirator in cop killings, and did so off the record. Too bad, she thought, if they hated her. Or maybe, she thought, they just hated the pungent dogshit odor of the high-grade marijuana. Shadow sighed.
“He’s unarmed,” Wilburn said.
“Only love,” Shadow said, raising his chin, eyelids heavy and low. “Only love.”
This guy, Maureen thought, was gonna be her big breakthrough? If there were ever a time and occasion, she thought, that required Preacher’s touch … but tonight, there was no Preacher. There was only her and what she’d learned from him in too short a time together.
Maureen searched Shadow’s face for any indication he recognized her. She found nothing. She wasn’t sure he knew where he was or what was happening. She was surprised at his condition. There might be more than THC in his system, she thought. Out of character for someone with a reputation as a consummate operator. Then again, in her short time on the force, Maureen had found the common criminal element pretty disappointing. With very few exceptions, nobody lived up to the rep that preceded him on the streets. Not the criminals, not the cops. Maureen was determined to be one of the exceptions.
“Bring him in,” she said, opening the gate. “You guys, too.”
Wilburn and Cordts traded glances, then marched Shadow into the bar. They wouldn’t question her in front of a criminal. Wouldn’t leave her alone with him, either. She was counting on these things. Stick with me, guys, she thought.
“Shadow,” Maureen said, “follow me to the table over there.” To the other cops she said, “Can you guys wait at the bar?”
Wilburn rolled his shoulders. He spoke in a low voice as they watched Shadow stroll over to the cocktail table. “That’s three of us, Coughlin, off the streets when we should be out there. If we get a call, we have to roll. I’m not gonna broadcast anything, but I’m not gonna lie about where I am. You do what you gotta do, we’ll cover for you as best we can, but…” His voice trailing off, he completed his sentence with a shrug.
“That’s plenty,” Maureen said. “This shouldn’t take long. I appreciate your help.”
“If you can get a coherent sentence out of that guy,” Cordts said, “about anything, you deserve that detective shield, like, tomorrow.”
Maureen left them at the bar and crossed the barroom to sit with Shadow. He slouched deep in his chair. She said, “You’ve been told what this is about?”
Shadow slid a cigarette from the pack Maureen had tossed on the table. He lit it using the candle. “Some kind of parlay.” He coughed one time, sharp, like a bark. “I do for you or the wrath of God burns down the neighborhood.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Some shit like that.”
“Yeah, some shit like that,” Maureen said. “You heard what happened today.”
Shadow nodded slowly. “White boys killing cops. In a big way. Crazy, for sure. But not nothing that had to do with Shadow.”
“But you’re here.”
“Not for you,” Shadow said. “For I.”
“You remember a guy named Cooley, another guy named Gage? Clayton Gage?”
“The things I do,” Shadow said, “I meet a lot of people. Shadow diversified, you could say.”
“Well, I believe you met them during one of your diversification efforts,” Maureen said. “White boys from outside the city. They call themselves Sovereign Citizens. They were raising a militia called the Watchmen Brigade. They wanted to move guns, lots of guns, into and around New Orleans.”
“Sounds to Shadow like they got that shit done.”
“Because you helped them,” Maureen said.
Shadow held out his hands. “See these hands? These hands never so much as picked up a gun.” He pressed his palms together. “That’s not Shadow’s way.”
“You connected Cooley and Gage to Bobby Scales. You set them up in New Orleans.”
“You set them up in New Orleans,” Shadow said. “Your people. It was a cop that made Shadow make that connect. What happened today? What goes around, comes around, feel me? Y’all did this to y’all selves. Karma. Payback a bitch.”
He eased deeper into his chair, grinning, confident in his wisdom.