Fat Tuesday(69)

"Well, when all the shouting is over, the wife-beater is dead on his kitchen floor, and his wife and kids are enjoying the first peace they've ever known. But the officer who shot the son of a bitch is being investigated by Internal Affairs.

"See, some of the desk jockeys in the department wondered if maybe that cop was so sick and tired of this turkey using his wife and kids as punching bags that he popped him when he had a chance, and only claimed it was self-defense.

"The drunk came at the cop with a butcher knife long as his arm,but the facts didn't matter to I.A. It's bad p.r. when a suspect is killed by an arresting officer. N.O.P.D gets nailed in the press. Everybody gets on this kick about police brutality. Anyhow, nobody sided with the cop.

"Nobody except Basile. Basile stood by him when no one else would even speak to him. The other cops didn't want to be seen associating with an officer under investigation, you see, but Basile made a point of befriending him when he needed a friend most and none were to be had."

Having finished his story, Dredd removed the tray from her lap and carried it to a bureau across the room."What happened to the officer?" Remy asked.

"He resigned under pressure."

"And established Dredd's Mercantile?"

He turned around to face her."That was eight years ago. Haven't shaved since." His beard split to show a brief grin.

"Was it self-defense?"

"Yes, but that's not the point. The point is that Basile gave Officer Dredd Michoud the benefit of the doubt. Basile had no rank, but he sided with me and made no secret of it, even though it was the unpopular and unpolitick thing to do."

When he returned to her bedside, he brought with him a cobalt blue bottle. Uncorking it, he poured a drop of the substance into a cup of tea, which had been steeping on the shipping crate that served as a nightstand.

"Here, now, drink this, cher'. I've worn you out with all this jabbering. It's time you went back to sleep."

"What are you giving me?" she asked.

"You wouldn't recognize the name if I told you."

"I think it's Bayer dissolved in water." Remy glanced up to see the topic of their conversation standing in the open doorway. He added drolly, "But the mysterious-looking bottle is a nice touch, Dredd.

Makes you look like a genuine alchemist."

Dredd scowled."Shows how much you know. A shot of this would knock you on your smart ass and keep you there for about a week."

The room was already crowded with Dredd's junk collection, but it seemed to shrink even smaller when Basile wedged himself between the bureau and the foot of the bed.

"How is she?"

"Why don't you ask her?"

Actually Remy was glad Basile hadn't spoken directly to her. She'd rather ignore him."Where did you learn your nursing skills, Dredd?"

"From my grandmother. Ever hear of a traiteur?"

"A treater?"

"You know French?"

That from Basile, who sounded surprised."And Spanish," she replied evenly, then addressed Dredd again."The Cajun dialect is different from classroom French, isn't it?"

"You could say so," he cackled."When we're talking among ourselves, other folks can't tell a word we're saying. And that's the way we like it."

"What was your grandmother like?"

"Scary as all get-out. She was already old when I was born to her youngest son. For some reason I never could figure, the old lady took a shine to me. Used to take me with her into the swamp where she'd gather the natural ingredients for her potions. She had dozens of them.

People would come to her to cure everything from jaundice to jealousy."

"She sounds like a fascinating woman."

He nodded his grizzly head."Treaters have been around for as long as there've been Cajuns. Some think of them as witches practicing black magic. Actually they're women with a special healing touch and a knowledge of herbs."

"Women?"

"For the most part. I'm rare," he said, almost as a boast."I didn't learn all that Granny Michoud knew, not by a long shot, but once I moved out here, I started mixing up some of her less complicated elixirs." Basile said, "One of these days you're going to poison somebody."

"Well, not tonight," Dredd retorted. Then, making a point of snubbing Basile, he pressed the cup of tea to Remy's lips."Drink up, cher'."

Basile could be right. The tea could be toxic and she would sleep so deeply she would never wake up. But she felt an instinctual trust for Dredd, so she drank until the cup was empty. He added it to the supper tray and carried it as far as the door, where he paused and growled to Basile, "Don't bother her."

Once they were alone, Remy avoided looking at him. He seemed more menacing than the alligator skull atop the bureau behind him or the six-foot snake skin tacked to the newspapered wall. Actually she favored being alone with Dredd's macabre decorations to being alone with Basile.

A welcome drowsiness was already stealing over her, but she felt vulnerable lying there with her eyes closed while he stared at her.

Above the hem of the dingy sheet, her shoulders were bare. She didn't remember how she had come to be undressed. She didn't want to remember.