“We’re pursuing leads about the shootings today,” Maureen said. “And we have to act quickly. We need your place for a meeting, tonight. Sometime between now and dawn.”
LaValle chuckled. He opened the door wider, propped one arm up on the frame. He kept the gate between him and the outside world locked. “You want me to do the police a favor? In this neighborhood? What do you think that does to my business? I feel bad about them young officers getting killed, and them other two getting shot up. But not everyone around here feels like I do, you know what I’m saying? And I gotta live here, do business here. It was out-of-town crazies that shot at y’all. White boys. It wasn’t nobody from this neighborhood.”
Maureen felt rage squeezing her throat closed. She fought to keep her head clear. She kept thinking about the fear in Preacher’s voice as he told his story. She imagined the wails of the wives of the two young officers who’d been killed. Patience, she told herself. Diplomacy. Don’t start with threats. They don’t leave much wiggle room. Get results right now, she thought, opening and closing her gloved fists. She couldn’t go back to Preacher’s bedside having blown up everything with her temper. He’d forgive her, maybe, but she’d never forgive herself. This night was her chance to make things right. To prove herself. To prove she wouldn’t always be the Sixth District problem child.
“There’s things going on,” she said, “ties to this neighborhood that would surprise you. You work with me, nobody gets hurt. Nobody even gets arrested. I’m explaining the reality of things to you. Right now, I’m the one running things. I’m the only one who knows what’s going on. In a matter of hours, that is going to change. Everyone on the NOPD will know what I know. The FBI will know what I know. I’m going to have to tell them that I came to you for help, on the day four officers got shot, and that you turned me away.”
She rested her hand on the metal gate. “You have to live with your neighbors, that’s true. And, believe me, I know how many of them are, especially about cops. But you have to live with us, too. We’re part of the neighborhood. Forever. Longer than Bobby Scales. Longer than Big Mike. And longer than whoever comes after him. We’re not going away. And we never, ever, ever forget.”
LaValle’s face had hardened. “What exactly are you saying, Officer?”
“I’m saying you can deal with me tonight,” Maureen said, “when I can control what happens. Or the circus comes to town tomorrow, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. You, either.” She paused. “All I need from you is a table and chairs inside and a little bit of time and patience.” She flashed a smile. “Maybe a drink or two.” She raised her eyes to the camera. “And for you to turn off the recorders when I ask you.”
LaValle stared at her for a long time through the metal bars of his security gate.
“You can stay in the office,” Maureen said. “You won’t even know we’re here.”
She heard LaValle suck his teeth. Then she heard the brass bolt slide home as he unlocked the gate.
31
Once she was locked inside the Big Man Lounge, Maureen was stuck doing the one thing she hated the most: waiting. She flipped a chair and sat at a table where she inspected her gun. She eyed the whiskey bottles across the room behind the bar. She put her gun back in her holster, sitting and waiting, tracing her fingers over the scratches in the tabletop. Names. Curse words.
LaValle was locked in his office, doing his numbers for the night. He’d taken three cold bottles of Budweiser back there with him. She’d halfheartedly tried to get him to leave her the key and go home. She realized right away she’d have an easier time getting answers out of Shadow than she’d have getting LaValle to turn his bar over to the cops.
When she got tired of sitting, she got up from the table, put a dollar in the jukebox, played Otis Redding and Dr. John and Muddy Waters. Otis sat on the dock of the bay. Dr. John walked on gilded splinters.
Everything, everything, everything gonna be all right this morning, Muddy sang.
I fucking hope you’re right, she thought, pacing the smooth, cigarette-burned wood floor as the music played.