A Morning for Flamingos by James Lee Burke

Author:James Lee Burke [Burke, James Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Mystery, General, Detective, Private Investigators, Mystery & Detective, Fiction - Mystery, Hard-Boiled, Mystery & Detective - Hard-Boiled, Robicheaux; Dave (Fictitious character), Detective and Mystery Stories, Mystery & Detective - General, Murder, Crime & mystery, Private investigators - Louisiana - New Orleans, Crime & Thriller
ISBN: 9780380713608
Publisher: Avon
Published: 1990-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

“I thought maybe you couldn’t find us,” Fontenot said. “It’s thick out there.”

“Lionel told me on the radio y’all would be coming past an oil platform,” Boggs said. “I just lay south of the rig and listened for your engine. This thing sounds like a garbage truck.”

Then Boggs looked down at me again. I still sat in the pilot’s seat. His wrists looked as thick as sticks of firewood.

“This guy give you any trouble?” he said.

“Not really,” Fontenot said. He had removed his raincoat and was putting on a life jacket.

“You guys get the stuff on board. I’ll take care of it here,” Boggs said. He took the nine-millimeter from Lionel’s hand.

Fontenot cleared his throat. “We wonder if you… if we really need to do that, Jimmie Lee,” he said.

“You got a problem with it?” Boggs said.

“The man isn’t likely to call the law,” Fontenot said.

“You got that right,” Boggs said.

“I don’t see the percentage,” Fontenot said. “Right now we’re simply transferring some product. Why complicate it?”

“I ain’t telling you what to think, Jimmie Lee,” Lionel said, “but the guy’s not going to do anything. He’s a fired cop, a drunk. He tries to make any trouble later, you can have him hit for five hundred bucks.”

“I don’t pay to clip a guy. Besides, you did a guy with a piano wire, Lionel. Why you giving me this bullshit?”

“I got out of it, too. I don’t want to go that route anymore,” Lionel said. “Look, he’s an amateur. You let the amateurs slide, Jimmie Lee. You whack out an amateur, their families make a lot of trouble.”

Lionel blew out his breath. The fog was white and so thick you could lose your hand in it as it rolled off the water and across the deck.

“I don’t want to have to lose my piece. I just bought it,” he said.

“Get the coke on board and bring me the shotgun. It’s clipped under the forward hatch,” Boggs said.

“You guys got to deal with Tony,” I said to Lionel and Fontenot.

“Good try, prick, but Tony’s history. He just don’t know it yet,” Boggs said.

“Sorry, Mr. Robicheaux,” Fontenot said. Then he looked at Lionel and said, “See no evil.”

The two of them started up the deck toward the forward gear box, where the two crates of cocaine were stowed. I was sweating heavily inside my clothes, and my breath was coming irregularly in my chest. The jugboat dipped in the ground swell, and the barrel of the automatic touched the side of my head like a kiss.

“I’ll say it once, and you guys can believe it or not,” I said. The front glass of the pilothouse was pushed ajar, and they could hear me out on the deck. “I’m still a cop. I’m undercover for the DEA. We’re on Coast Guard radar right now.”

I saw Lionel and Fontenot stop and turn around. The fog drifted across their bodies like strips of torn cotton. They started back toward the pilothouse.

“It’s all a sting,” I said. “Minos Dautrieve’s been running it from the start.

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