Fat Tuesday(13)

" "But I'd wager my left nut it's Duvall," Mac said.

Pat asked, "You're sure Sachel would go for a deal?"

"He's got a kid who plays football," the undercover cop explained.

"Sachel's crazy about him, bragging always. He's going to LSU next year, and naturally Sachel wants to see him play. It would be hard for him to make the games if he's doing time, even for a chickenshit dealing rap."

Burke hated the whole concept of making deals with people who broke the law. It was a cop-out in the strictest meaning of the term. Sachel would come back to haunt them. As soon as he was free, he'd get right back into business.

But Burke wanted Duvall. He was willing to sacrifice a sleazoid like Sachel in exchange for Duvall.

They had concluded the meeting with the narc telling them that this club was one of Sachel's favorite haunts, which stood to reason since the dancing girls were gorgeous and the crowd upscale. And since one of Pinkie Duvall's dummy corporations owned it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Burke saw Sachel pause to light a cigarette while watching the featured dancer massage her crotch against a vertical brass pole. He seemed totally captivated by her act.

After the dancer's simulated orgasm, he applauded enthusiastically, then moved on, wending his way through the smoky room, gladhanding and calling out greetings, seemingly in search of someone, whom he ultimately found occupying a table in a dim corner.

His first customer of the evening was a well-dressed yuppie who was lean to the point of emaciation. His quick motions and darting eyes made him look long overdue for a snort of coke. Sachel signaled a cocktail waitress and ordered a round of drinks.

"Damn!" McCuen exclaimed, coming to his feet."She was something else, wasn't she? I've never seen anything like that. There's something about a shaved * that drives me crazy. I got to go to the can."

He left the table he'd been sharing with Burke and headed for the rest room at the rear of the club. Burke also came to his feet and pretended to review the tab the chesty cocktail waitress had handed him.

When McCuen reached the door that led to the rest room, he dropped a matchbook and bent down to pick it up.

Burke saw the yuppie pass Sachel what appeared to be a folded bill.

With a cardsharp's sleight of hand, Sachel slid his palm over the money, while reaching into the pocket of the yellow sport coat with the other.

Burke hurdled several tables and was across the room before the band's next drumbeat. Pistol drawn, he shouted for Sachel to freeze.

McCuen was already there, the barrel of his pistol resting on the patch of skin behind the yuppie's right ear.

Two other cops from the division posing as drunken Shriners had been waiting for a signal. They burst through the door leading to the rest room and assisted in the arrest. As he was read his rights, the anorexic yuppie was trembling and weeping and blubbering that he couldn't go to jail, man, he'd f*cking freak out in jail. As Sachel was handcuffed and relieved of the small handgun he was carrying in an ankle holster, he viciously cursed the arresting officers and asked what the f*ck they thought they were doing.

Obviously they didn't know who they were f*cking with. Then he demanded to speak to his lawyer, Pinkie Duvall.

"Ten to one the bastard beats us uptown," McCuen said as he and Burke left the club.

"That's a safe bet, Mac."

'"Lieutenant Basile, it's good to see you again so soon."

"You wouldn't have the pleasure, Duvall, if you didn't have criminal friends coming out your ass," Burke shot back.

As Mac had guessed, the lawyer was already at the department by the time they arrived. A loyal employee of the club must have immediately notified him that Sachel had been caught red-handed in a drug transaction.

"Still carrying a chip on your shoulder over the outcome of Wayne Bardo's trial?"

Burke would have liked nothing better than to ram his fist into Duvall s handsome, smug face and rearrange his expensive smile. Although it was nearing midnight, when one would expect him to look a little rumpled and fresh from bed, the lawyer was wearing a three-piece suit and a stiff white shirt. He smelled of shaving cream. Not a single silver hair was out of place.

Sensing a potential for trouble, Doug Pat stepped between them.

"I'll take Mr. Duvall in to see his client. Burke, they're waiting for you."

He nodded toward an interrogation room where, through the glass, Burke could see the arrested yuppie puffing on a cigarette like it was the last one ever to be rolled.

"What's his name?" Burke asked.

"Raymond ..." Pat consulted the label on the file before handing it to Burke."Hahn."

"Priors?"

"Possession, misdemeanor. He was given probation."

As Burke turned and moved toward the room, Duvall said, "Instead of arresting him, why didn't you just shoot him, Basile?"

Knowing Duvall was trying to goad him into doing something he could file assault charges for, Burke kept moving and didn't stop until he was in the relative safety of the interrogation room, with the door firmly closed and serving as a barrier between him and the lawyer.

He watched Pat escort Duvall into a similar room, where Sachel was waiting. Duvall would advise Sachel to say nothing, which he wouldn't.

But there would be a time when they had Sachel to themselves.