The jail was a gray and blue two-tone, but the drab colors could not make the place any more abysmal. Tex’s eyes patrolled the cell for some flaw, some weak structural integrity that may have hidden an escape plan. The Count of Monte Cristo escaped, so did Papillion the butterfly, even Timothy Leary broke out of the famous Folsom Prison. And he was smart enough.
Tex’s appearance and his true worth could not have been more opposite. The boy’s tall, slender build was covered in tattoos that brightly contrasted his cream coffee skin tone. His long, shoulder-length dreads framed his delicate features pierced by nose and eyebrow studs that looked more at home on Ziggy Marley than on the first boy ever to score perfects on all three college entrance exams…at fourteen years old.
“Stop thinking of ways to escape,” George said, sitting up and reading a magazine in the corner of the cell.
“I can’t help it.”
“It’s pointless. There is a reason we are here.”
“Have you figured it out yet?”
“Almost. I’ll let you know. It’s illegal for them to hold us without notifying our parents, so we can leave as soon as we demand it. But I can feel this is part of the puzzle.”
“I know! It’s like everything we’ve done this summer is part of a script.”
“This summer? Everything since the fourth grade!” Spider cut in.
The bars racked open a few inches, then slammed closed, signaling the inmates in the TV area to seek their individual cells.
“Hey, vatos, there are two detectives at the door. They are probably going to question ya’ll. Stay tough and stick together.” Perez advised while passing the boys’ cell and throwing them two Hubig’s sweet potato pies. Hubig pies are a delicacy in New Orleans, a true Epicurean delight. They are a glazed pastry filled with every kind of filling from black berry to sweet potato.
The four boys were enjoying their pies when the two detectives unfolded two chairs and sat in front of the cell.
“So, it looks like ya’ll are making friends.”
Spider snapped back, “It’s easy when you have a common enemy.”
Detective Rogers answered, “Look, we are not your enemy. We just want to get to the bottom of this case so we can eliminate you as suspects.”
“Suspects of what? You haven’t got squat.” Buddha quipped.
“Squat, huh?” Detective Rogers leaned back in his chair comfortably. “We’ve got sixteen one-hundred dollar bills covered in blood that I am willing to bet is Julian Polk’s. That’s motive. Plus, we have you four boys trying to attack Justin Greene at a bus stop in Arabi where you were apprehended.”
George, upon hearing the name Justin Greene, felt his blood pressure soar. “Tell you what, Columbo, lock us in a cell with our old friend Justin and we’ll give you a crime to solve.”
“You kids think you’re tough?”
“Only compared to some.” George retorted.
Detective Rogers rubbed his temples. “Can you just answer a few questions about Julian Polk?”
“Shoot.” George waved a hand as if inviting the Detectives to sit and have tea with them.
“Can you tell us about your relationship with Julian Polk?”
George answered, “Why are you wasting time with stuff you can read in the paper? Everyone in the city knows my brother shot Julian in the face four months ago.”
“Did you know he was a Spanish gangster disciple?”
Spider grimaced, “Julian was black, didn’t even look Spanish.”
Tex jumped in, “Listen, you are wasting your time. You know what we will and won’t say. Julian Polk was 36 years old, 6 foot 5 inches tall, approximately 275 pounds. He was All-State running back at Jesuit, played in college at Grambling, left his junior year for reasons which I have never asked, but I am pretty sure had to do with the fact that he liked to dress up as a woman and call himself Simone Devereaux and sing show tunes. Despite his angelic soprano voice and sexual orientation, Julian had our backs when we got in fights, read us the Riot Act when we were screwing up, in short, was a real friend and mentor. So don’t imply we caused him harm because his untimely death still causes us pain.”
“Did ya’ll run drugs for Polk?”
Spider jumped up. “I wish he were here right now because Julian would beat the both of you senseless for asking that, and Simone would just kill you.”
“Like I’m scared of a guy in a dress,” the other Detective spoke up.
“Bobby shot him point blank in the face and he lived. I’m sure he could take two pigs with mace.”
Detective Rogers took over, “How did ya’ll win the raffle?”
That was more than Spider could take. He creamed the Detective in the face with the soft brown filling of his Hubig pie. He looked down at his own face on the cover of LowRider magazine smiling beside the other boys and Julian Polk at the raffle and fought back tears.