It was only a few minutes’ drive past the Clio (affectionately known as “CL 10”) housing project. Tubby always told out-of-town visitors to the restaurant that the neighborhood looked worse than it really was. He braked hard to avoid butting a couple of kids who sped through a red light on their bicycles, yelling unintelligible warnings at each other and at him. He approached the unpretentious eatery, crooked wooden siding painted gray, and entered its garlic-rich atmosphere. The small dining room was packed with a combination of guys with ties, white shirtsleeves rolled up, and a jazzier clientele wearing floral dresses, vividly colored T-shirts, sandals, and jeans. He was filled with an aching hurt for oysters or shrimp, but all the tables, and even the seats at the bar, were taken. “Hey, Tubby.” A familiar voice rose above the din. Back in the corner Tubby spied the waving hand that belonged to Winnie Alphonse, a lawyer most noted for his mane of white hair and his pink Stetson cowboy hat.
