“Most of the men I used to work with were gone—burnt-out, transferred, retired, or dead—and the two detectives I talked with were of no help. One was a new man from Jefferson Parish, and the other was bored and uninterested by a case that had nothing to do with his workload. In fact, he kept yawning and playing with his empty coffee cup while I described the three intruders to him. Finally I said, “They don’t sound like local talent, huh?” “They don’t clang any bells for me.” I had given him my ...business card. His cup had already made a half-moon coffee print on it. “But you’ll rack your memory, won’t you?” I said. “What?” “If I wanted to have somebody whacked out in New Orleans, who would I have to see?” His face began to grow attentive with the suggestion of the insult. “What are you getting at?” he asked. “There are at least four guys in the Quarter who can arrange a contract hit for five hundred dollars. Do you know who they are?” “I don’t care for your tone.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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