"If they're jamming you up, Cool Breeze, it's not on your sheet," I said.

"What you call Isolation?"

"The screw says you asked for lockdown."

His wrists were immobilized by the cuffs attached to the chain around his waist. He shifted in his chair and looked sideways at the door.

"I was on Camp J up at Angola. It's worse in here. A hack made a kid blow him at gunpoint," he said.

"I don't want to offend you, Breeze, but this isn't your style."

"What ain't?"

"You're not one to rat out anybody, not even a bad screw."

His eyes shifted back and forth inside his face. He rubbed his nose on his shoulder.

"I'm down on this VCR beef. A truckload of them. What makes it double bad is I boosted the load from a Giacano warehouse in Lake Charles. I need to get some distance between me and my problems, maybe like in the Islands, know what I saying?"

"Sounds reasonable."

"No, you don't get it. The Giacanos are tied into some guys in New York City making dubs of movies, maybe a hundred t'ousand of them a week. So they buy lots of VCRs, cut-rate prices, Cool Breeze Midnight Supply Service, you wit' me?"

"You've been selling the Giacanos their own equipment? You're establishing new standards, Breeze."

He smiled slightly, but the peculiar downward slope of his eyes gave his expression a melancholy cast, like a bloodhound's. He shook his head.

"You still don't see it, Robicheaux. None of these guys are that smart. They started making dubs of them kung fu movies from Hong Kong. The money behind them kung fus comes from some very bad guys. You heard of the Triads?"

"We're talking about China White?"

"That's how it gets washed, my man."

I took out my business card and wrote my home number and the number of the bait shop on the back. I leaned across the table and slipped it in his shirt pocket. "Watch your butt in here, Breeze, particularly that ex-jarhead."