Sam drummed his fingers against Maire"s headboard as he stared at the moonlight shadows. He and Maire had feasted on a scrumptious dinner at Muriel"s on St. Ann"s in Jackson Square. The pork chops were the best he had ever had, but he still had a craving or two. He wanted a drink again. The need just wouldn"t go away, and the recent gifts of beer and Cuervo from Duval had only increased his struggle.
Did Duval want him to stay loaded, Sam wondered? Drunks are sloppy. They overlook a lot, and their information is not considered dependable. Perhaps that was what Duval was counting on. Sam may have returned to town in the middle of something that had progressed too far to stop, and thus, Duval had to deal with his old cop friend without tipping him off. Was Sam the bone that was to keep the
