Tony Dunbar - Tubby Dubonnet 07 - Tubby Meets Katrina Read Online Free PDF

lonesome. Tubby considered slipping a nip from his bag, but a police car, lights atwirl and flashing, came slowly down the Avenue from the direction of the park.
    “Mandatory Evacuation!” bleated from the car. Tubby saw a female officer behind the wheel. He smiled and waved as if he understood the rule and knew exactly what he was doing, which he didn’t. “Mandatory Evacuation!” the car repeated. Tubby and the messenger continued in opposite directions.
    He had hoped to find Fat Harry’s open, a good place to buy a beer and a burger and maybe pick up another bottle for the house. But the bar was all shuttered up. He could hear music inside, so he beat on the doors. A bearded gentlemen holding a mop cracked open the massive castle-like gates.
    “Are you closed?” Tubby knew it was a dumb question.
    The man nodded his head and chewed his mustache.
    “How about a hamburger? I’ll pay ten bucks.”
    The man shook his head.
    “How about a bottle of Jack? I’ll pay twenty bucks.”
    The man’s eyes crossed. He closed the door. Tubby waited hopefully for a few minutes, then gave it up.
    A trash can went rolling down the street. A light rain began to fall, blowing around in swirls. The pedestrian realized it was time to get himself under cover.
    Down at Central Lockup, Bonner Rivette was scoping around for an escape plan. That would be the only way he’d ever get out of this joint. They had him again, but they didn’t appreciate what they had.
    He asked one of the few guards when he would be arraigned, “You know, booked?” He thought maybe the man with his slick bald head and polyester black uniform might not speak English. Finally the guard looked him over and said, “Screw your arraignment. There ain’t no judges.” That was that.
    Bonner was in a cell with eight other men, two whites and six blacks. There were no chairs or benches in the cell, so they sat on the floor or leaned against the wall. Bonner squatted next to one of the white guys, who had long shaggy hair and a face toasted by booze or weather to a radiant shade of purple.
    “What’s the deal with food around here?” he asked. “They gonna feed us?”
    “Doesn’t look that way,” the man grunted. “Say the kitchen’s closed. They ain’t even got a damn telephone that works.” He gestured to the pay phone bolted to the wall. The steel cable dangled uselessly from the box; there was no handset at the end. “Say there’s nobody around to fix it. Everybody left town. Can’t even call a damn lawyer.”
    The man displayed a worn business card in his grimy fingers, Bonner saw the name “Dubonnet & Associates.”
    “Is that a good lawyer?” Bonner asked.
    “Oh, hell if I know. It’s just something they pass around in here.” He flicked the card onto the concrete floor and closed his eyes. Bonner stretched over to get it. “Tubby Dubonnet,” he read. He noted the address and stuck the card into his shirt pocket.
    He heard two guards talking outside the cell and went to the bars to get their attention. “Yo, officer,” he called.
    They ignored him.
    “Yo, officer,” he repeated, and one came over to the bars.
    “Are we gonna, like, get a hearing, or have bail set, or get a lawyer or anything?”
    “Beats me, fella,” the guard said. “I’m leaving here in five minutes to go home and protect my family from assholes like you.”

5
     
    Tubby got very little sleep that Sunday night. For a while his television worked just fine, and he could see the ominous approach of Katrina, hour after hour after hour. Just sitting in his kitchen he could see how he was a target. This thing was coming after him personally. And the same message was blaring out of his living room and bedroom. Wherever he went in the house there was a TV. Different channels, but same picture. And he was in the middle of it. It made the adrenaline flow.
    Tubby could hear the wind picking up outside, feel the branches of the trees scraping his roof, hear the