A Morning for Flamingos
“The sky was black, the windows fogged with humidity, and white veins of lightning pulsated in the bank of thunderheads out on the Gulf.“Tante Lemon’s going to be waiting for you,” Lester Benoit, the driver, said. He was, like me, a plainclothes detective with the sheriff’s department. He wore sideburns and a mustache, and had his hair curled and styled in Lafayette. Each year he arranged to take his vacation during the winter in Miami Beach so that he would have a year-round tan, and each year ...he bought whatever clothes people were wearing there. Even though he had spent his whole life in New Iberia, except for time in the service, he always looked as if he had just stepped off a plane from somewhere else.“You don’t want to see her, do you?” he said, and grinned.“Nope.”“We can go in the side door and bring them down the back elevator. She won’t even know we’ve been there.”“It’s all right,” I said.“It’s not me that’s got the problem. If you don’t feel good about it, you should have asked off the assignment.MoreLess
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