“Your whole family seems pretty busy,” I say. “But I’ve heard you don’t always get along. You’ve accused some of them of lying to you over the years. Of stealing from you. Of bribery and blackmail, too. Am I right?”

He swears at me. “Get out. Why should I answer you?”

“Because a lot of questions are out there about you, David. Some circulating among law enforcement. Maybe I could make them go away if you tell me the truth, how you and your family don’t get along.”

“That’s nonsense,” he says. “I love and trust all of my relatives. We have our disagreements now and then, sure, but—”

I break his chain of thought, trying to get him frazzled. “Tell me about Ibrahim Farzat. What did he know that was so damn important to you?”

“Ibrahim who?” he asks. “I’ve never heard that name before in my—”

“Look,” I say, interrupting him again. “I get it, David. We’re talking tens of millions of dollars here. Not to mention betrayal from those closest to you. Of course you’d want to get even. Publicly, too. Really stick it to them. Maybe by torching one of your cousin’s restaurants. Bombing a street fair where they’d set up a tasting booth. And with the kind of ex-military folks on your payroll, you certainly have the means. Am I getting warm?”

My suspect’s expression now turns to outraged indignation.

“What in the hell are you talking about? Are you honestly accusing me of—”

I grab him by the scruff of his stained chef’s whites.

“What are you planning, David?” I demand. “Why are all roads leading back to you? What the hell is going to happen on—”

Ch-chink.

The unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked.

I turn to the driver, who’s holding a jet-black Jericho 941 inches from my face.

“You will remove your hands from Mr. Needham and exit the vehicle at once,” he says calmly, speaking in a now-familiar Middle Eastern accent.

I guess he was more than just a driver after all.

With no other choice, I obey. I let go of David’s collar and keep my hands raised.

But I’m not leaving without an earnest plea.

“You’re a New Orleans native,” I say to him softly. “Just think about what you’re doing. What it will do to our city. Please.”

If my words have any impact on this man, he certainly doesn’t show it. His eyes shoot daggers at me as I open the car door and step out.

Without waiting for me to close it, the driver peels out in reverse, back down this quiet, tree-lined street. He pulls a full J-turn, much more smoothly than I did, then disappears around the next corner.

I exhale and rub the back of my weary head.