4 Shelter From The Storm Read Online Free PDF

through the introductions without a hitch, and it did not take her long to find the teenagers she knew who had isolated themselves in a distant corner of the yard. Having been abandoned by his escort, Tubby joined the men standing around the pirogue full of ice and Langenstein’s Lager.
    “Make way for lawyer Dubonnet.” Jerry, hale and hearty with beer foam on his upper lip, pressed a wet bottle into Tubby’s fist.
    “Happy Mardi Gras, son,” he said. “Let’s get this day going right.”
    Tubby inhaled deeply the peppery vapors of crawfish steaming and took a long cool swallow. It looked like they even had an entire turkey frying in one of those pots. A child darted in for a handful of ice, and somewhere a clock chimed eleven.
    “I saw you on the
Angela
Show,” somebody said to Tubby. “You were talking about some scam a drug company was running over at the Moskowitz Labs. Or was it a murder?”
    “It was a murder,” Tubby said, accepting a fried oyster from a tow-headed six-year-old in charge of a full tray.
    “Yeah, it was a very interesting program.”
    “I tell you what, Angela’s really great,” Tubby said.
    “She always has on them earrings.”
    “Yeah. I thought she was real nice looking.”
    “Didn’t I see you come in here with some babe?”
    “Uh, that was my daughter.”
    “Oh. Have another beer.”
    And where could she have gotten to, Tubby wondered, looking around.
    * * *
    An old man named Russell Ligi was getting more and more nervous, which made him more and more angry, the longer he had to wait at the Algiers Ferry landing. He was sitting in his car with his door open, feet planted on the iron ramp, furiously puffing a Swisher Sweet. A seagull landed beside him, and he kicked at it. His instructions had been to take the eleven o’clock boat and someone would contact him. The ferry was late, of course. He had been watching it piss around on the far side of the river for half a hour. He desperately needed to use the can.
    The boat finally chugged up and discharged its load, and a punk in an orange vest waved him aboard. By then, Ligi was ready to pop off at anyone who volunteered. A dozen other vehicles rumbled onto the ferry behind him, and they were all crammed together in three tight rows on the open deck.
    As soon as he could shut his engine off Ligi was out of the car. He leaned on the rail and crushed the butt of his cigar into the sheet metal deck with his heel. Sunlight broke through the overcast sky for a moment, causing the river to sparkle wildly. He had to squint to see the face of the large, square-jawed man who had appeared on the railing beside him.
    “Ligi?” the man asked.
    “Yeah, sure!”
    “C’mon, let’s get in my car.”
    The big man turned away without waiting for a reply and led Ligi to a mustard-colored Cadillac parked further back in the jam. Ligi hopped from foot to foot while the man worked the locks. He got in and slammed the door.
    “So? What?” Ligi had out another of his Sweets and tapped it on the dashboard.
    The stranger, with curly blond hair worn long to cover a few sparse patches, stared at Ligi until the old man stopped fidgeting.
    “Mr. Ligi, the deal is all set. That’s what I’m supposed to tell you. The sale is going ahead. I’ve got the papers right here for you to sign.”
    “Sign? Right now? What about the fucking letter I told them about? You got that?”
    “We’re getting it. It will all be taken care of.”
    “You got old Parvelle to give it up? What’s that old thief getting out of this?”
    “That’s not your affair. You made your deal, and the deal is going down on Mardi Gras Day.”
    “You got to be fucking joking,” Ligi sputtered. “When do I get paid? Why am I signing now in the front seat of a car on a goddam ferry boat? Where’s my money?”
    “You’re going to get it later this week,” the man explained patiently. “Right after Mardi Gras.”
    “This is bullshit, sonny. That’s what the chickees say