Thin Slice of Life

Chapter 26

Neon Leon Guidry moved like a Mardi Gras float through the dim lights that lent the Cloak Room a sepulchral air. Leon wore a shocking pink Hawaiian print shirt, crumpled white linen slacks, and a sweat-stained porkpie straw hat. The legislators and lobbyists who inhabited the deep booths turned to stare at Leon as he meandered through the happy hour crowd. A cheap cigar clenched in the corner of his mouth emitted a cloud of acrid smoke. “Shoeshine” Jesse Miller, the doorman who had guarded the portals of Austin’s premier political watering hole for years against just such riffraff, approached Guidry. “Can I help you…sir?” he asked, with only the thinnest veneer of politeness. A nearby bartender watched Jesse; if Jesse surreptitiously raised two fingers, it meant “call the cops.” The bartender’s hand was poised to dial. “Thanks, Cap,” Guidry rumbled. “Ah’m lookin’ for one of yo’ public soivants. Short little fella in a $300 suit. Big diamonds on his fingers. Prob’ly feed your baby to a dingo for a nickel.” Jesse Miller’s mask of imperturbability did not shift a millimeter. That don’t narrow it down much in here, he thought. But he replied with perfect finesse. “Ah, yes sir, Senator Cudihay said he would be expecting someone. I should have guessed. Please follow me.” CHAPTER 26 174 26| The doorman led Leon to a smoky back corner of the bar. The tables were empty, except for one, at which sat Llewellyn Cudihay and an owlish-eyed young man who looked about fifteen years old. Cudihay had two cigarettes burning in an ashtray and a highball glass full of Cutty Sark in front of him. His companion sat staring slightly cross-eyed at four glasses of his own, the ice slowly melting in each. Apparently, he wasn’t used to the pace of “conferences” with the Senator. “Thanks for coming,” Cudihay said effusively, rising up to pump Leon’s hand as though pimping for votes. Guidry shook his head; some things never changed. “Force a’ habit, Leon,” said the Senator, plopping his bulk back down in his chair. “Take a pew, Brother Guidry. Have a drink.” “Naw, I don’t think so. I got ta make this short. L.C. Hebert is playing Soap Creek Saloon tonight, and I got ta meet him for sound check in an hour.” “Yes, I think I read about that,” the Senator said. “You might have finally picked yourself a winning racehorse, Leon. Going to be a big show. Maybe I’ll bring my sax, come sit in.” “L.C. would kill you, Lou-Ellen. An’ if he didn’t, I might. The last time you sat in at one of my shows, you got shitfaced and invited a waitress an’ the guitar player’s wife to play ‘Escaped Convict and the Warden’s Daughters’ out in your limo. It cost me two large to keep dat club owner and my guitarist from skinnin’ you like a nutria.” The Senator’s pink face flushed. But only just a little. “Yes, well…people in public life tend to have outsized appetites… But it’s really L.C. I wanted to talk to you about, Leon.” For once, Guidry was surprised. He struggled to keep from showing it. A Texas senator shouldn’t even acknowledge the existence of a black guitar player; it didn’t fit. The only black people Cudihay took an active interest in were of the shapely female persuasion. “You wanna autograph, Lou-Ellen?” asked Guidry, puzzled. The Senator exhaled a lung full of smoke and leaned forward, the bonhomie gone from his eyes. He seemed to be staring inward, like a doctor contemplating the best way to deliver bad news to a patient. “Yes, Leon, that’s exactly it. I want an autograph.” Guidry suddenly felt wary. He cut his eyes toward the young man at Cudihay’s elbow, who thus far had not uttered a word. “Who’s your prom date?” he asked. 175 |26 The Senator favored the boy with a smile. “This is Robbie Mack. His daddy has been an invaluable supporter over the years. Robbie Mack is in the first year of law school over at the University. He helps me with some legal research and, uh, preparing documents.” His smile positively twinkled. As though Cudihay had pushed a coin into a slot, Robbie Mack leaned over, opened...