CHAPTER FIVE
Memorial Day, 8:10 a.m.
“Just look on the label, ree-tard,” Broussard said. “Prune juice is one of the main ingredients in Dr. Pepper.”
Little Fontenot took a big swig from his 20-ounce Dr. Pepper bottle and said, “So what?” He then brought the bottle up to his face, squinted, and started reading the ingredients, moving his lips as he did so.
“So what?” said Broussard. “Dr. Pepper is a laxative, that’s what. That’s why you always gotta take four or five bathroom breaks during your shift. Long, stinky, messy bathroom breaks.”
“What the hell do you care?” Little Fontenot asked, knocking back the rest of the contents of the plastic bottle, then producing a big, satisfying belch. He tossed his bottle toward the trash can in the corner of the break room (which the chief insisted on calling the “staff room”) and missed it by a good six inches. “Oh, and that label don’t say shit about there bein’ any prune juice in there.”
“I care, Little Fontenot,” Broussard said, speaking slowly, as if to someone slow-witted, “because I’m your partner. What you do affects me.”
“We ain’t got permanent partners on this force,” Little Fontenot said. “Remember what Chief said? We’re partners with whoever we’re assigned to during a given shift.”
“Well, I don’t see nobody else here today,” grumbled Broussard, “so I guess today we’re partners, like 9 out of 10 times I come to work. So today, Little Fontenot, I would much rather be able to keep cruising the streets for my entire shift, rather than taking bathroom breaks at the Stop and Shop every fifteen minutes.”
“I never go to the Stop and Shop,” Little Fontenot griped. “You know that. I always take my bathroom breaks at Ned’s Bayou. Bathroom’s more private there.”
Broussard groaned in disgust. He then stood up, walked over to the corner of the room, picked up the Dr. Pepper bottle and threw it in the trash, since it was obvious Little Fontenot was happy to let the bottle remain on the floor. “I’d sure hate to be the fella who goes in that men’s room at Ned’s Bayou right after you.”
“Hey, I light a match,” Little Fontenot explained.
“I’m surprised there hasn’t been a methane explosion,” Broussard drawled.
While Little Fontenot’s slow brain was forming a suitable retort, Chief Cardiff walked in the room, holding his clipboard. “Mornin’, boys,” Joshua said cheerfully. “Happy Memorial Day.”
Joshua knew it was important to act as if everything was normal, run-of-the-mill, and just like any other day. He knew he shouldn’t do or say anything out of the ordinary. But what was out of the ordinary? He was the sort of person who talked about anything that came into his head. Everything was interesting to him. So, when it came to conversation, who could say what was normal and what wasn’t?
But Joshua wasn’t really worried about anything he might say. No, he was much more worried about what he might do -- some odd mannerism or facial expression he was completely unaware of that might give him away. He was still rattled by the fact that Emily had been able to tell with just a glance that something was wrong. He didn’t want that same thing to happen with the officers on duty today. It probably wouldn’t with these guys, though. For one thing, they were guys, and Joshua subscribed to the belief that there really is an actual force in the world called women’s intuition, but he wasn’t convinced a corresponding power existed in men. And for another thing, although Broussard and Little Fontenot were decent peace officers, they were both pretty dense. Especially Little Fontenot (Little Fontenot’s personnel file included something called an “Administrative Override” attached to the I.Q. section of his police academy exam, which was sort of like giving a low-performing high school kid a passing grade in senior English to make sure he graduated). Neither of these guys was what Joshua would consider detective material.
For the next few minutes, Joshua simply wanted to maintain his casual, emotionally unburdened persona until he could get these guys out the door and on their way. But he had to be careful; he didn’t want to seem like he was rushing things. Beneath his (hopefully) calm exterior, his mind and his emotions were screaming inside him, telling him to get rid of these guys as soon as possible so he could get on with everything he needed to do. The sooner he got these men assigned to their daily tasks, the sooner he could begin his own private investigation.
“Happy Memorial Day back at ya, sir,” said Broussard.
“Whatever,” Little Fontenot said, sounding bored. “One day’s the same as the next to me.”
“You sure about that?” said Joshua, casually walking over to the neatly-maintained marker board he used to schedule the shifts for the officers. He pointed to an entire block of names with red dots next to them. “Only reason I ask is, a full fifty percent of my police staff is made up of Fontenots, and all the other Fontenots, all of ‘em -- Big Fontenot, Baby Fontenot, Old Man Fontenot, Blue Blood Fontenot, and Regular Fontenot -- they all asked off today. They’re all working the night shift, on account of the big annual Fontenot Memorial Day family reunion and barbeque. Today sounds like a very special day for the Fontenot clan.”
“Nah. Just another day,” said Little Fontenot. “I can take it or leave it.”
Broussard started chuckling and said, “Tell the Chief why you ain’t goin’ to the reunion this year, Little Fontenot.”
“Shut your damn mouth, Broussard,” Little Fontenot shot back.
“Chief,” said Broussard, his voice pitched high with merriment, “Last year, Little Fontenot got drunk, and kissed his cousin Sally. And not like a peck -- more like this gropy, messy kinda thang.”
“I said, shut your mouth!” Little Fontenot yelled, truly angry now. “You don’t know what happened. You wasn’t there.”
“No, I wasn’t there,” Broussard cheerfully agreed, “but Bubba Fontenot sent me pictures of the event from his cell phone.”
“Damn that Uncle Bubba,” said Little Fontenot, in an angry whine. “Say, that reminds me, Uncle Bubba called me this mornin’ --”
“Now, now, Little Fontenot,” Broussard mock-scolded him, “you don’t get to change the subject. Not before we get to the punchline, anyways.”
“There’s a punchline?” Joshua asked, trying to help the story along.
“Chief, do you know his cousin Sally?” Broussard asked.
“Don’t think so,” Joshua said. “The only Sally I know here in town is the one over at Claudine’s Liquor Store. She’s Claudine’s… girlfriend, I guess you call her. Looks a little like that guy from Fargo.”
“Steve Buscemi,” Broussard says helpfully. “Everybody says that about her. Well, that lovely lady is his cousin Sally.” Broussard burst into full-on hysterical laughter. Little Fontenot began pounding him on the shoulder. Between bouts of laughter and yelps of pain, Broussard yelled, “Little Fontenot kissed his lesbian cousin ‘cause he thought he could turn her straight!”
“I was drunk, dammit!” Little Fontenot yelled, pounding with both fists now. “I didn’t know what I was doin’!”
“Blind drunk, I’m guessing,” Broussard said, fending off Little Fontenot’s punches with both hands.
“All right, guys,” Joshua said in a voice he tried to fill with authority, “Knock it off. We’re wasting time, and I need to get you guys out on the street.”
“You expectin’ a crime wave, Chief?” Broussard asked.
“We might ought to,” said Little Fontenot, immediately forgetting his anger. “That’s what I was tryin’ to tell y’all before. Like I was sayin’, Uncle Bubba called me this mornin’ before I left the house. He’s a C.O. at the F.C.I..”
“Yeah, we know,” the Chief and Broussard murmured together.
“Yeah, well,” Little Fontenot continued, “Uncle Bubba told me they’ve had an ex-scape over at the prison this mornin’. One inmate’s missing, and another one is dead.”
“One’s missing, you say?” asked the chief, feeling blindsided by this new information.
“Yep,” said Little Fontenot with authority. “One missing, and one dead.”
Broussard rolled his eyes and said, “If they’ve really got an escaped prisoner, I’m surprised they ain’t contacted us with a BOLO. That’s how they always did it in the past.”
“There’ve been escapes before?” Joshua asked, unease creeping into his voice.
“Not real escapes,” Broussard said. “Just guys walkin’ away from the work camp. Never had anybody escape from the actual prison part before. Not since I been here, anyway.”
“You’re right,” Little Fontenot agreed, “This is gonna ruin Warden Ponder’s perfect record, right before he retires.”
Joshua looked through the open staff room door toward the closed door of his office, thinking about what was still on his desk in there. “An escaped convict,” he mused. “Broussard’s right. You’d think they would’ve contacted us by now. Officially, I mean.”
“Well,” Little Fontenot said, enjoying his position as the source of information, “Uncle Bubba says the warden is thowin’ a real shit fit, makin’ ‘em double-check and triple-check everthang. They wanna make damn sure he’s really gone off the property before they make any kind of announcement.”
“I guess that’s… prudent,” Joshua said, not sounding like he believed what he was saying. “But we need to keep our eyes and ears open, just in case.”
“Got it, Chief,” Broussard said. Little Fontenot nodded and gave a grunt.
“And you can’t tell anybody about the escape,” Joshua cautioned.
“Alleged escape,” Broussard said.
“Exactly,” said the chief, snapping his fingers and pointing at Broussard in agreement. “Say nothing until it’s official. I’m sure the F.C.I. is showing wisdom by being cautious. It might be nothing.”
“We gotcha covered, Chief,” Broussard assured him. “So… anything on the calendar today? Any special assignments?”
Joshua looked down at the empty form on his clipboard. “Not a thing today,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Nothing special. Just patrol at will. I know everybody’s taking half-shifts today with the holiday and all, so y’all will be relieved at noon."
“Stupid rule,” Little Fontenot grumbled.
“Well, it’s my stupid rule,” Joshua said. “It keeps the holiday pay spread around. Instead of 6 people working 8 hour shifts and getting paid double, everybody on the force works 4 hours, and gets paid for a whole shift.”
“I miss the old days when I used to rack up all the holiday pay,” Little Fontenot said, almost under his breath.
“Yeah, and that was one of the problems the mayor’s office pointed out after last year’s city audit,” Jacob said, not really wanting to go over this tired argument again. “Just a few people were getting all of the holiday pay.”
“Nobody complained about it,” Little Fontenot said, almost whining now.
“Like hell they didn’t,” said Broussard. “Your name got drug through the shit every holiday.”
Joshua sighed heavily and said, “Let’s just drop this and get to work, all right?” Little Fontenot and Broussard stood, nodded at the chief, then moved to their small lockers on the far side of the break room and began equipping their duty belts with various necessary (and not-so-necessary) paraphernalia. As Joshua watched Broussard clip his police radio mic to the shoulder loop of his shirt, he suddenly had a thought. “How would you like to be duty officer today, Broussard? Just during your shift?”
Broussard looked at the chief, confused. “But… I’m on patrol with Little Fontenot today, right?”
“Yeah,” the chief said slowly, thinking through his plan, “but I think today, half-shift and all, Little Fontenot could patrol solo. What do you think, Little Fontenot?”
Little Fontenot grinned. “Hell yes, Chief!”
“That’s okay by me, Chief,” Broussard said. Then, after a moment, he added nervously, “But Chief, we ain’t supposed to patrol solo. That’s an iron-clad rule.”
“You’re right about that, Broussard,” Joshua agreed. “But there are some official things I need to work on… and I kinda need to get them done this morning.” He stood staring awkwardly at his clipboard for a moment, then, thinking out loud, he said, “I guess I could call somebody in early…”
Broussard said, “You wanna find out about that escaped convict, don’t you, Chief?”
Joshua nodded, and said, “Yes I do, Broussard.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Surely when he investigated the murder of the other convict, he would discover the escaped convict was somehow tangled up in it somehow.
“We gotcha covered, Chief,” Broussard said, unpacking his duty belt. “I’ll mind the store while you go do what you’ve gotta do.”
“And I’ll do my first ever solo patrol,” Little Fontenot said, with a bit of a kid-on-Christmas-morning lilt to his voice.
Broussard laughed and said, “And don’t spend the whole damn time in the crapper at Ned’s Bayou, Little Fontenot.”
“Screw you, Broussard,” said Little Fontenot. “I’m the one on patrol today. I’ll go wherever I damn well please.”
“And this solo thing,” the Chief said, “it’s just this once, all right?” He began moving slowly but steadily toward his office. “Don’t make me regret this decision.”
“Oh, I won’t, Chief,” said Little Fontenot, grinning at the car keys in his hand. “You can trust me. I’ll make you proud. Besides, it’s not a whole shift; it’s just four hours. What trouble could I get into in four hours?”
That question -- and the decision to break his own rule and allow Little Fontenot to go on patrol by himself -- would haunt Police Chief Joshua Cardiff for many years to come.
