“I’ll be okay here.” He noticed a faded red Jeep parked before a sagging garage. “Is that mine?”
“Not until you fill out the paperwork, but, yeah, essentially it’s yours. I bought it from a cousin. Runs great, drinks a bit of oil, and has a little over two hundred thousand on the engine.”
“Just broken in.”
“That’s what I thought. The tires are decent, and I figured you might want a set of wheels.”
“Seein’ how you had to sell the Jag.”
“Seein’ how.”
Cole eyed the beaten Jeep and gave a quick nod of approval. “I like it.”
“Fill out the papers. The title’s in the glove box, locked with a second set of keys, a copy of the bill of sale, and the registration.”
Deeds popped the trunk of his 760, and Cole pulled out a slim black briefcase and fatter laptop bag. Deeds had managed to retrieve the two small cases from the police. No doubt the hard drive on the computer had been compromised and all of the information on Cole’s cell phone, Palm Pilot, and personal files was no longer private. After all, he’d been considered a criminal. Probably still was, in some circles. At least Deeds had gotten his stuff back; that was all that really mattered.
He grabbed his things and glanced again at his new home, if you could call it that. The ramshackle cottage was a far cry from his last house, an Italianate two-story manor whose exterior still boasted its original cast-iron grillwork and wide porticos cooled by slow-turning ceiling fans and shaded by centuries-old live oaks. The interior had been renovated to its original charm with gleaming hardwood and marble floors, smooth granite and marble countertops, shiny white baseboards and doors, built-in pine and glass bookcases in the library, and a wrought-iron and wooden staircase that swept from the grand foyer to the library and bedrooms located above. Outside, behind thickets of crepe myrtle hedges, cut into the smooth stones of the backyard, was a lap pool that he used each morning before the sun had come up, before he drove his Jaguar into the private parking lot of the offices of O’Black, Sullivan and Kravitz, Attorneys at Law.
What was it his pa had said not long before he’d taken off? “The higher they climb, the harder they fall.” His old man had been a bastard, a part-time preacher, part-time grifter, and full-time loser, but he’d left his only son with a dog-eared Bible and a few pearls of wisdom.
Maybe old Isaac Dennis had been right. Cole certainly had experienced his own personal tumble. Nearly to hell. This pathetic little cottage only served to remind him of that.
As if reading his thoughts, Deeds said, “It was the best I could do.”
“This place is just my style,” Cole lied, managing the kind of conspiratorial smile he’d been known to flash a jury when cross-examining a witness and closing in for the kill. He’d never looked smug or self-righteous, just not surprised when the prosecution’s star witness was led down the garden path, trapped into admitting things he or she had tried to hide.
“Give me a break,” Deeds said. “Think of it as temporary.”
“Now you give me a break.” He and Deeds both knew that not only his credit but his reputation had been destroyed in the past quarter of a year. His once-sizable bank account had withered to a few thousand bucks. His house, Jaguar, and job had disappeared. But he was still good with his hands, able to fix about anything broken, so Deeds had somehow convinced the owner of this shack to rent to him despite his current lack of employment.
“I need a job.” Cole rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. Jesus, he hated asking for anything from anyone.
“We’re working on that.”
By “we,” Deeds meant the partners at the law firm, where Cole had once been their brightest star. Now his license to practice law had been suspended and was currently “under review.”
“You can still clerk at the firm.”
Cole nodded. He’d swallow his pride if it meant getting a paycheck, but it still stuck in his craw that the very interns and law students he’d mentored would now be higher on the food chain than he’d be. Well, so be it. He’d been in tight spots before and had always landed on his feet.
He’d do it again.
Besides, he had a plan. One he couldn’t tell Deeds about. A plan that was his personal secret.
A gust of wind swept down the street, trailing after a rumbling, converted bus spewing exhaust. The driver ground the gears as he reached the intersection, and somewhere, a few houses down, a dog barked. Lights began to glow in some of the neighboring windows though night was still far off. A few kids played on skateboards and bikes, and rap music blared from a beat-up garage two doors down, where a couple of twenty-something men were working on the engine of an older Pontiac.
“I had a moving company put your stuff inside. Still in boxes, I’m afraid.” Deeds handed him a small ring with two keys, one for the house, the other for the Jeep.
Cole managed another wry smile. “It’s not as if I don’t have some time on my hands.”
Deeds snorted. It was almost a laugh. Almost. “So, I’ll be talkin’ to ya.”
“Yeah.” Cole stuck out his hand. “Thanks, Sam.”
Deeds grabbed Cole’s palm. Squeezed hard. “Stay out of trouble.”
“I will.”
“I mean it.” Deeds didn’t let go of Cole’s hand. “And for God’s sake, don’t go looking up Eve or anyone associated with Roy’s death, okay? It’s a closed chapter.”
“Of course it is,” he said, forcing conviction into his tone as Deeds finally dropped his hand. He had to play this carefully. No one could suspect what he intended to do.
Deeds’s eyes narrowed as if he weren’t buying Cole’s new attitude. Thin lines of frustration were etched on the lawyer’s high forehead. “Just so we’re on the same page. Whoever killed Kajak has either left the vicinity or is laying low.”
“Or is dead.”
Deeds held up a hand, silently warning Cole not to say anything else. “Maybe. Doesn’t matter. You keep your nose clean. You and I both know that you’re not the New Orleans PD’s favorite son, so don’t give them anything to work with. We’ve still got that small charge to deal with.”
Cole’s jaw tightened when he thought about the misdemeanor that was still smudging his record. “I was set up,” he muttered through lips that didn’t move. “I haven’t smoked dope since I was an undergrad.”
“Even if I believe you, the weed was found in your glove box while you were out on bail.”
The muscles in Cole’s jaw tightened even more, and his fingers were clenched so tightly over the handle of his briefcase that he knew his knuckles had blanched. “Someone yanked the taillight fuse of my Jag to make certain I’d be pulled over. When I reached for my registration, the bag of marijuana fell out. If the stuff was mine, would I have been so stupid? So careless?”
“Hey, you don’t have to convince
