I never made it to Poteet's. A half-block from Toulouse Street a crowd had gathered at the entrance to an alley. They were restrained from entering by a flimsy strip of yellow crime scene tape and a cop who had his hand in the chest of a local news cameraman. I heard the high whine of an ambulance as it crawled up Toulouse through the early drinking crowd, coming to a stop by a patrol car. Two plain clothes cops exited the car and guided the paramedics through the crowd.

I overheard a woman talking to a man next to her." This is the second murder in this alley in three months." Her friend said "another shooting?" "Yes...I heard the shots, both of them. Sounded like a cannon. They're doing live coverage on channel 4." The man said "not surprising with a victim of this.." "Caliber?" laughed the woman. The entire scene had a nightmare carnival aspect to it, enhanced by the absinthe I had imbibed. Flashing blue and red emergency light illuminated the faces in the crowd. "Who was the victim?" I said to the woman." LaFever,I think his name is. The DA." Her friend piped up "LaTourneau." I heard the blood rushing to my brain as a roar in my ears as I stumbled over to lean against a wall. "Are you ok?" asked the woman.

The crowd parted to allow the paramedics to wheel the gurney with its blanketed corpse through. I watched as they loaded it into the ambulance. I collected myself and noticed the bald detective patting his pockets,looking for a lighter for his Pall Mall. I lit his smoke, and mine."He was a friend of mine," I said."Sorry. Mine too," said the cop.He exhaled a cloud of smoke and confided "Twice in the chest. Big gun, but he didn't die immediately." "How do you know?" I said. He looked me in the eye."You Madison?" he said. I nodded. "He mentioned you. Come with me." We walked back through the crowd, past the police line, to the middle of the alley where there was a large pool of blood. He shone his flashlight on the adjoining wall, and said "he wrote it with his finger," said the cop. Phil's last words were crude but legible- W.P. Algiers. "He fell there," said the cop," but the first slug caught him over here." He turned away, and I took advantage of the moment to pocket something metallic that had caught the flashlight's beam. "Thanks," I said," I've seen enough." I staggered out of the alley, and followed my nose to the Mississippi, to where Phil and I had caught the Ferry for Algiers so many times on those long ago drunk and blues-hungry nights.