"Got cigarettes?"

"Don't smoke."

He drew both feet in, flexed his toes, and jiggled one leg up and down on the bal of his foot. Again he went mute. Then, "I had nothing to do with that piece of work in Pointe-St-Charles."

"So you said." I pictured the gruesome scene at Les Appartements du Soleil.

"This asshole Claudel is trying to cut my dick off. Figures if he sweats me hard enough I'l cop to burning Cherokee."

The jiggling intensified.

"Sergeant-Detective Claudel is simply doing his job."

"Sergeant-Detective Claudel couldn't blow a fart and get it right." There were times I agreed with that assessment.

"Did you know Cherokee Desjardins?"

"I've heard of him."

He ran a finger back and forth along a groove on the countertop. "Did you know he was dealing?"

Now Dorsey shrugged. I waited.

"Maybe the stuff was for personal use. You know, medicinal. I heard he had health problems."

He ran the finger through the hair on his chin, then went back to working the groove.

"You were seen at Desjardins' building around the time he was shot. They found a bloody jacket in your apartment."

"The jacket ain't mine."

"And O.J. never owned the gloves."

"What kind of moron is gonna keep souvenirs after a hit?" He had a point.

"Why were you in that neighborhood?"

"That's my business.

He shot forward and spread his elbows on the counter. My heart did a hop, but I didn't flinch.

"And it had nothing to do with wasting Cherokee."

I noticed a tightening around his eyes, and wondered what scenario he was constructing for my consumption.

More silence.

"Do you know who kil ed him, George?"

Mistake.

"Ohh, whee!" He curled his fingers and rested his chin on the back of one hand. "And can I cal you Tempe?"

"This isn't a social cal . You asked to meet.

Dorsey turned sideways and stretched a leg toward the wal . One hand played with the phone cord as he kicked at the baseboard with a laceless boot.

Outside the door a man's voice cal ed to someone named Marc. I waited. Final y. "Look, I'm tel ing you. That hit was Amateur Hour. The only thing missing was Ted Mack."

Dorsey swiveled back and tried to stare me down. Then his gaze dropped and he opened and closed his fingers several times. I watched the letters F.T.W change shape across his knuckles,

"And?"

"That show was not four star, that's al I'l give up right now."

"Then I can't help you. We've already determined it was a sloppy hit."

Dorsey lunged forward again and spread his forearms on the counter.

"Your boy Claudel may think I'm just some Heathens coolie ass wipe, but he's got one thing wrong. I'm not stupid. And neither are they."

I didn't point out that he'd listed two points of error.

"He likes you for this one."