At one time he was probably the best homicide investigator NOPD ever had. Now he ran down bail skips in the projects for Nig Rosewater and Wee Willie Bim-stine.

"So I'm hooking up Little Face Dautrieve when her pimp comes out of the closet with a shank and almost cuts my nipple off," he said. "I paid three hundred bucks for that suit two weeks ago."

"Where's the pimp?" I asked.

"I'll let you know when I find him."

"Tell me again about Little Face."

"What's to tell? She's got clippings about Letty Labiche all over her living room. I ask her if she's morbid and she goes, 'No, I'm from New Iberia.' So I go, 'Being on death row makes people celebrities in New Iberia?' She says, 'Brush your teeth more often, Fat Man, and change your deodorant while you're at it.'"

He put a beignet in his mouth and looked at me while he chewed.

"What's she down on?" I asked.

"Prostitution and possession. She says the vice cop who busted her got her to lay him first, then he planted some rock in her purse. He says he'll make the possession charge go away if she'll provide regular boom-boom for him and a department liaison guy."

"I thought the department had been cleaned up."

"Right," Clete said. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and picked up his coat. "Come on, I'll drop this at the tailor's and take you out to the project."

"You said you hooked her up."

"I called Nig and got her some slack… Don't get the wrong idea, mon. Her pimp is Zipper Clum. Little Face stays on the street, he'll be back around."

We parked under a tree at the welfare project and walked across a dirt playground toward the two-story brick apartment building with green window trim and small green wood porches where Little Face Dautrieve lived. We passed a screen window and Clete fanned the air in front of his face. He stared through the screen, then banged on the frame with his fist.