Once they reached the kitchen, Jair asked Jim what he wanted to eat.
"Whatever you like best, Jair, and order big – I'm paying." Jair smiled broadly and ordered something from the cook in rapid Cajun. After he finished he turned to Jim and led him to a small table in the corner of the kitchen, out of the cook's way.
"I am sorry I did not say more about this place; there was no time, really," he said, sitting down, looking a little shamefaced.
"I understand," Jim nodded compassionately and sat down as well. "You were hungry and didn't want to scare me off," he said.
"Miss Amii is a good woman, although she is a little deaf. My mother worked here, but she died. Miss Amii kept me around as long as she could afford. I still come back sometimes—especially if I'm in trouble."
Jair told his story without shame. This life of debauchery and thieving was all he had ever known. He had no idea that being the son of a dead barmaid was anything to be ashamed of or that pick pocketing was more than just a reason for the police to chase you.
"She treated you like her son. I was beginning to wonder…But now: to business. Would you be willing tell me all you know about places in this area and help me watch them for certain things?" Jim held his breath. If the boy didn't accept, Jim didn't know what he would do. He and Artie had chased every possible lead, the note Artie had given him at the dock had informed him that their last contact had been found dead. A bullet in the back; it was a nasty situation. Jim had been looking for the bar Artie had told him about when the gang jumped him and then Jair helped him out. The bar was their designated meeting spot and for the life of him, Jim just couldn't find it. He knew he really needed a guide.
"Yes, sir, I would be glad to. Would I also be telling the man you met on the docks what I learn?" Jim was surprised; he hadn't noticed Jair at the docks until about five minutes or so after he and Artie had met.
"Yes, you may also be reporting to my partner," Jim said. Jair looked a little disappointed. "Something wrong?"
"You are not surprised that I know this?" the boy asked, his eye looking at Jim sadly. Jim laughed and shook his head.
"Au contraire, Jair; I am very surprised," Jim said, smiling. The boy looked shocked.
"But you did not seem-" Jim stopped him with a wave of his hand.
"I have learned how to keep my thought in my head instead of on my face." That made little Jair grin and it was his turn to shake his head.
"I would like to learn this. How- how does one learn that skill?" Jair asked eagerly.
Jim's reply was simple and to the point, "Practice."
The cook called roughly to the boy in Cajun. Jair cheerfully answered and pointed at Jim. The large man sized Jim up and named a price for the meal. To Jim's surprise, Jair started bargaining with him; whittling down the price. Soon the price had traveled from highway robbery to petty theft and the cook would go no lower. Jair turned back to Jim, who had been doing his best to follow the rapid exchange while keeping a blank look on his face. Jair sighed sadly and told Jim the price. Jim got out his wallet and set a bill on the table that was several dollars above the price. Jim noticed the boy's good eye quickly observe where he returned his wallet. Jim was more thankful than ever for the deceptively deep pocket he had shoved his wallet into. No pickpocket could reach his wallet – without receiving a fist in the face first, at any rate.
The cook walked over and picked up the sizable bill. He slowly and painstakingly checked it to ensure it was genuine and then nodded amiably. He shook Jim's hand and then, after putting the satisfactorily large bill in his apron pocket, brought over their meal. A few mouthfuls later, Jim was already beginning to sweat. Jair had ordered a good, spicy Cajun dinner – Jair was a true son of Louisiana, no matter who his mother was.
Jair looked at this man called West in wonder and shook his head. So many adventures he had had! Jair felt that his life suddenly looked rather dull. West had taken a long time to finish his meal because Jair had been asking many questions. Finally, he was almost finished with his meal in the kitchen of the "Lord of Chance" bar and hostel. Much to Jair's amusement West was both red and sweating after eating the spicy dish. Notherner, Jair thought and giggled to himself.
West rose and thanked Cook in broken Cajun for the meal. Jair leapt to his feet and began to show West the way out when Cook grabbed the boy's sleeve. West seemed to understand that Cook wanted to speak to Jair alone, because he nodded and said, "I'll meet you outside, Jair."
When West had completely disappeared from view, Cook said, Jair, you be careful of him. Government men are dangerous. Their friends don't live very long. Cook drew his finger across his throat and then gave his young friend a worried look.
Jair nodded and smiled at Cook, I'll be careful, Cook. See you later! With a bound Jair followed after West. Jair wasn't in this to make friends; this was business.
West was still in the hall just before the door, trying to politely extricate himself from a conversation the "working girls" had trapped him in. West looked a little frustrated, but he didn't seem embarrassed by the situation.
Hey! Jair shouted at them, back off you… he used several of the more descriptive terms he knew as he pushed through them, dragging West after him. West seemed a little shocked hearing such language in the mouth of a young a boy, but the girls seemed unperturbed. They continued to call after Jair and West until they had passed out of the alleyway and into the street.
"Bar and hostel, huh?" West murmured under his breath, "seems more like 'Bare and Hostile' to me."
Jair pretended he didn't hear and tried to keep his thoughts from showing up on his face. West looked down at him and nodded approvingly.
"Good job; I almost couldn't tell you heard. But, Jair," West paused a moment to ensure he had Jair's full attention, "when you are keeping your thoughts in you head and off you face…" he paused and Jair nodded, wishing West would get to the point. West stopped in the street, hooked his thumbs on his belt-buckle and looked very intently at Jair, "Don't hold your breath."