“Are you Jimmy T.?”
A man, slight, balding, reading glasses at the end of his nose, feet propped up on a green metal desk of a kind that might come from a Salvation Army store, looked up from his newspaper. The desk was bare save for an outdated black telephone and a small plastic container holding what appeared to be business cards. The office, in a compact storefront on Main Street in the tiny hamlet of Ville Pierre, was as sparsely appointed as his desk. A girly calendar from a local auto-parts store, flipped to the wrong month, was the sole decoration on drab beige walls.
Jimmy T. smiled as he shifted his feet off the desk and stood. “Yep, that's me. You the person who phoned about the Dupont house? I called the owners and I could get you in.”
“Alas, I'm not,” said the visitor. “My name is Julie Galjour, and I'm actually a friend of your brother's. I was hoping I could talk to you about something.”
Jimmy T.'s smile faded. “Oh, I see. The Guv's still mad at me?”
“I dunno,” Julie replied. “Should he be?”
“Well, he was. Did he send you here about, uh, our problem?”
Julie found herself pausing before answering. She examined Jimmy T. for a trace of resemblance to the dynamic Governor Joe T. Evangeline but could find none save perhaps in the younger brother's eyes. He seemed almost meek, though diffident might be a better description. She opted for a white lie.
“Yes, Joe sent me here—it's about the money.”
“So you know about it?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You're not law, are you?”
“No, of course not,” Julie replied. “As I said, I'm Joe's friend.”
Jimmy T. looked around, as though he expected to see someone lurking about. “I kinda blew it for my bro. Look, let's go get some coffee at Boudreaux's across the street. I get bored with this old office.”
Minutes later, in a booth in a diner that looked as though it had been built for a fifties movie set, Jimmy T. fiddled with his white ceramic coffee cup, into which he'd heaped three teaspoons of sugar and a generous helping of Coffee-mate.
“The money came one day out of the blue. Actually, what came was a note and a key to a safe-deposit box at the bank just up on the corner. Then a man called sayin’ Joe T. knew all about the money and would know what to do with it. He had a twang, like one of those Texas people.” He shrugged. “Me, I didn't know what to do, so I just went to the bank to take a look. It was in a big red bag. I brought it back to my office and dumped it out on my desk and counted it.”
He arched his eyebrows. “Man, it was more money than I'd ever seen.”
“So you called Joe about it?”
Jimmy T. looked at Julie sheepishly. “No, see, I didn't at first. I was havin’ troubles—well, not me, my wife. I mean, my ex-wife. She lives over in the next parish with our little girl, Alida. She's ten. She's somethin’, her—a pistol. Got more brains than me and my wife put together.” He batted the air. “Shuh, it's a good thing, too.”
Julie nodded. “I'm sure she's wonderful.”
Jimmy T. continued. “See, Bernadette—that's my ex—got custody 'cause I had me a drinkin’ problem for a while. I'm sober now—two years, AA and all that. But Bernadette, well, she got troubles, too. Video poker. Every gas station down here now has got those machines. I keep tellin’ Joe T. he oughtta make them things illegal. They're like a cancer. Anyway, she called me cryin’ the day after the money got here. Told me she'd burned up all of her savings, and a buncha money she'd borrowed from some crooked finance company, and had blown it all on video poker. I knew she played them things, but I had no idea she was addicted. Anyway, the people she owed had come knockin’ on her door. And the bank was gonna take away the house 'cause she was way behind on her note. It ain't that great of a house, but she and Alida would be out on the street. I couldn't have that.”
“Well, I'm sorry,” said Julie. “That's a terrible story.”
“Look,” he continued, “I didn't do it—take some of the money—for my wife. I did it for my daughter. She loves her momma, and I didn't want her to be embarrassed. Bernadette ain't got no kin who would take her in.”
“So, what did you do?”
“I counted out fifty thousand dollars, which was enough to get even with the bank and pay off the finance company. I gave it to her—but I told her that was it, I couldn't give any more. Then I called Joe T. Man, he was steamed.”
“That you'd given your wife the money?”
“No, not exactly. See, he said the money was a joke, that the jackass who sent it was some blowhard oilman who didn't have crawfish for brains. Joe T. had yanked his chain over some damned complicated political thing—the rig somethin’ or other—and the man had took him serious. So the money had to go back right away—Joe T. could be in big-time trouble if it didn't. But it couldn't go back, well, 'cause I'd spent a chunk of it.” He shrugged.
Julie looked intently at the Guv's younger brother. She, of course, was moved by this sad story. But it was all she could do to hide her private glee at this turn of events. “So, how have you left it with Joe T.?”
“I said I could ask for the money back, but Joe wouldn't hear of it. He was just mad that I didn't call him first to ask. He said maybe we coulda figured out another way.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, he made me promise not to touch the money again, and I wouldna anyway. I woulda never touched it for myself in the first place. So, now, well, he's tryin’ to make the pot right by sellin’ some property—his own property, a buncha acres outta town here that he bought before he was the Guv. I think he was gonna retire on that land one day. I feel bad, and I told him I would try to pay him back. Month to month, if nothin’ else. But I ain't heard from him in a while. Maybe he's still mad at me. Is he?”
Julie wished she had an answer for Jimmy T. Evangeline. “Listen,” she replied, “Joe T. spoke about you not too long ago. The money didn't come up, but it was clear that he is very fond of you. I'm sure this will all work out.” “
So, do you want the money—should I give it to you?” Jimmy T. asked. “I put what's left back in the safe-deposit box.”
“No,” said Julie. “You just hold on to it for now. But Jimmy, listen. Except for Joe and me, don't talk to anyone else about the money, okay?”
“No, course not. I didn't even tell Bernadette where I got it. Not that she cared. She didn't even ask.”
“Well, it's best that you didn't tell her,” said Julie.
Jimmy T. stopped as if in thought. “He's not in trouble over this, is he?”
Julie had to think about this. “No,” she finally said. “I think—well, I hope—he's going to be fine.”