Bourbon Street pulsed under a cloud-bloated sky. A short-lived downpour around ten o’clock had left a glossy veneer over everything. The damp flagstones reflected a smeared rainbow of neon.
Rusty kept a slow pace along the sidewalk. A glance at his watch told him it was six minutes before midnight. He’d killed the past few hours idly canvassing the Quarter, sitting out the brief storm over a ruminative drink at the Old Absinthe House.
Even with his thoughts consumed by Marceline, it was hard not to stray into a nostalgic fugue. The nine years since he’d last seen the Quarter felt like a tick of the clock too miniscule to measure.
This place had once constituted his entire world. It held everything he could ever want. He’d had the greatest mentor a fledgling illusionist could ever hope to study under. Nightly crowds of spectators in front of whom he could practice his trade, making small but essential improvements with each sidewalk performance. Most of all, he had Marceline, the perfect companion for his first clumsy forays into the realms of love and sex.
When exactly did I decide this wasn’t enough? Rusty wondered as he walked.
He concluded it had occurred right after his twenty-first birthday, when he’d announced to Prosper and Marceline that the time had come to abandon NOLA for a bigger and brighter stage. Las Vegas beckoned, and he’d been convinced that’s where his ultimate destiny lay waiting.
Father and daughter had accompanied him on that starry-eyed westward pilgrimage, despite their reservations. Abandoned everything they’d called home out of love and loyalty for him.
Yeah. And I sure as shit paid them back.
Rusty shook off that familiar stab of self-reproach and quickened his pace, reignited with purpose.
Hold on, Marcie. Please. Wherever you are, I’m coming for you.
At Bourbon and Conti he reached his destination. A red neon apple the size of a satellite dish hovered over the entrance to Temptations.
Inside, a musky black-lit darkness enveloped him like an invisible cloak. It was a small place, nowhere near the cavernous strip clubs he’d frequented with almost nightly regularity when living high in Vegas. One narrow stage stretched down the far wall, a single smudged pole rising from the middle.
Twisting around the pole was a diminutive blonde, clad only in high heels and everything she was born with. A thumping hip-hop bassline guided her movements, which were energetic if less than polished. A cluster of men huddled over their drinks in the glare of the footlights. Based on the paltry sprinkling of bills Rusty spotted on the grooved floor of the stage, it was a stingy crowd.
He scanned the room, looking for Monday Reed. No sign. He took the end seat in front of the stage to make himself as visible as possible.
The blonde dancer fluidly sashayed his way, dropping to all fours when she got close enough to offer a personalized view. She seemed grateful to have some fresh attention, and threw herself into a series of contortive gyrations that left Rusty impressed.
A napkin materialized in front of him. He looked up to see Monday standing with a cocktail tray in hand. Her wardrobe consisted of a pink tanktop revealing plenty of midriff and some sprayed-on black tights. The glimpse of ink Rusty had noticed beneath the collar of her nurse’s uniform revealed itself as a well-rendered rose tattoo, complete with thorns from which a single drop of painted blood tricked onto her clavicle.
“You’re punctual,” she said.
“One of my few redeeming qualities.”
“So I’ve heard. What are you drinking?”
“Scotch, rocks.”
“Dewar’s all right?”
“Unless there’s any Glenlivet 18 hiding back there.”
“I’ll see what I can rustle up. You’re buying me a Captain and Coke, too.”
She turned away, then stopped.
“And show Tiffany some love. It’s her first night, the girl could use some encouragement.”
Rusty dropped two twenties on the stage just as the hip hop track ended. The blonde picked them up with a childlike smile, then collected a few other bills from the stage.
Three minutes later, Rusty and Monday occupied a table in the back corner. They each had a drink in front of them that sat ignored on its leather coaster. There was a break in the action on stage, with some brass band jazz playing over the PA at a subdued level.
“OK, hold up,” Monday said, interrupting a question about Marceline’s recent state of mind. “I get that you’re worried, and you seem sincere enough. This just feels a little weird.”
“What does?”
“The timing. Marceline goes missing, then a few days later her old flame shows up out of nowhere?”
“I admit the timing’s odd. Before I got here, all I was worried about was an awkward reunion with her and her father. Then I find out she’s fucking vanished.”
“You used to be pretty tight with the family, huh?”
“For a long time, they were practically my family.”
“What happened?”
“Long story. I’m hoping you can fill me in on what’s been going on these past few months.”
“Well, she’s excited about the baby. Not worried or anxious, far as I can tell. She seems to be in a good state of mind, overall.”
“But not entirely.”
“Let’s face it, she’s not in an ideal situation for an expectant mother.”
“Trouble with the baby’s father, you mean.”
Monday made a sour face. “I take it you’re not acquainted with Joseph Abellard?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure of his company.”
“I really don’t know that much about him,” she said, her expression darkening further. “So I don’t want to give any false ideas, OK? I just know I don’t like him.”
“Don’t hold back. Prosper hates his guts, that much is clear. What’s the story with this guy?”
“I only met him a couple times. The last time, it wasn’t pretty. I’ve been telling Marcie for months she should break it off. Even if she’s carrying his child, she doesn’t have to put up with…whatever he made her put up with.”
“Did he abuse her?”
The question yielded a pause.
“Talk straight with me, Monday.” Catching the interrogative tone in his voice, he added, “Please.”
“He never abused her, that I know of. At least not physically. But he’s got a mean temper. I saw that for myself.”
“When?”
Monday inhaled and took her time expelling the air, as if surveying a bridge and mulling whether or not to cross.
“He came by the hospital two weeks ago. They had an argument, right in front of the nursery. It didn’t get physical, but he was totally out of his mind. Like, foaming. Took two security guards to haul him out of there.”
“Did they call the cops?”
Monday shook her head, diverting her eyes.
“No one got hurt, so…”
“Jesus. Did this incident at least get reported after she went missing?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“That’s something the NOPD needs to hear about, for Christ’s sake. Pretty hard to believe you don’t understand that.”
She glanced up at him sharply, any trace of hesitancy vaporizing.
“Watch how you talk to me, asshole. Who are you to stick your nose into this, anyway?”
A waitress emerged from the darkness with fresh drinks, though they’d barely touched the first round. Rusty almost waved her off, then figured it was probably a two-drink minimum. He paid the waitress, using the brief interval to regain his cool and hope Monday was doing the same.
“Just help me understand this,” he said in a calmer voice. “Abellard came to the ward two weeks ago, right? Prosper said it’s been more than a month since she broke it off with him.”
“That’s true. I was thrilled when she told me. Like, finally.”
“You think he was trying to get her back?”
“I don’t think he ever believed she’d left him. Doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d just accept it. But that’s not what they were arguing about. There was something else. Something about the hospital, I think. I only heard bits and pieces before the guards dragged him off.”
“Did you ask her what it was all about?”
“Sure. She wouldn’t say, just made it clear she was done with him and not to worry about it. I’d tell you if I knew more.”
“Fair enough. What else is there to know about this guy? What’s his line?”
“He owns the Carnival Casino, out in Vacherie. Know where that is?”
Rusty nodded, though he only had a vague impression. “Cajun Country, right? To the east?”
“About eighty miles, but it might as well be off the map. Vacherie is half swamp, half plantation land. Whole lot of nothing in every direction. Really poor country, aside from the tourists who bus in to see what it was like in Old Dixie.”
“Seems like an odd place for a casino. Pretty out of the way.”
“I agree, which makes me think they got more going on than blackjack. Being in the sticks probably gives Abellard a lot of breathing room. To do exactly what, I wouldn’t try to guess.”
“Ever been out there?” Rusty asked.
She nodded, wrinkling her nose with distaste.
“It’s a shithole. Makes the riverside casinos in Shreveport look like Monte Carlo. I went one time with Marceline, back before she called it quits with Abellard. We didn’t stay long, just had a drink and I made her drive me back.”
“How’d she get hooked up with him in the first place?”
“Some charity event at Tulane. I gather he’s involved with various do-gooder things. Probably to whitewash his image, which I’m sure needs it.”
“You saying he’s a crook?”
“He’s a casino boss in the middle of Cajun Country,” Monday answered with a shrug, as if that was a distinction without a difference. “Got a few other businesses out there, too. Couple of car washes, shrimp and po’ boy shack on the old River Road, stuff like that. Fronts, I’m guessing.”
“Hard to see her getting involved with someone like that. Granted, we parted ways quite a while back, but it seems out of character.”
“Maybe she just has poor taste in men.”
Monday gave Rusty a blunt look to drive home that observation. He didn’t offer a retort.
“Abellard probably has his charms,” she continued after draining her drink. “I tried to steer Marcie away, but didn’t make a dent. She kept insisting he’s a respectable member of the legal gaming industry. Finally, she got wise.”
“Yeah, maybe too late for her own good,” Rusty uttered. He took a swallow of scotch, fighting off a tide of unease that swelled with each new detail Monday provided about the man whose baby Marceline was carrying.
“I gotta get back on the clock. Hope I’ve been able to help a little.”
“You have. Really, I appreciate the time. Especially since Marcie hasn’t given you much reason to think I was worth it.”
Monday started to step away but paused. Rusty didn’t need to employ any mentalism techniques to read the unasked question on her lips.
“What are you wondering about?”
“I was going to ask what went wrong with you two, out in Vegas.”
“Like I said, long story. You can hear it chapter and verse, once I know she’s safe.”
Monday shook her head, a long amber curl falling over the rose tattoo.
“None of my business, and I don’t need to hear another sad story in that department. That’s why I tried not to give Marcie too much grief about Abellard. With my track record, it’d make me a bigtime hypocrite.”
“The cops questioned him, you know. Not the NOPD, the Sheriff out in Vacherie.”
Monday’s brows arched with what looked like surprise.
“No shit. What did he say?”
“Doesn’t know where she is, and he claims to be worried. I don’t know anything more specific than that.”
“Maybe it’s the truth. I’d like to think so.”
“Not good enough for me. I’ll be dropping by the Carnival Casino tomorrow, and I won’t be leaving till I get a little face time with Joseph Abellard.”
Rusty delivered those words without raising his voice to be heard over a blaring metal track that heralded the next dancer’s appearance on stage. Monday heard him clearly enough. She appraised him for a moment, her face taking on a warmer aspect.
“Let me see your phone,” she said, reaching out with an upturned palm.
Rusty handed her his mobile and watched as she dialed a ten digit number with a 504 prefix.
“Call me when you learn something. I’d really like to know our girl’s all right.”
She turned and disappeared into the hazy neon gloom of Temptations. Rusty cast a quick glance at the stage, where a curvy Latina was stepping out of a white lace thong. With a deft flick of her foot, she launched it airborne toward a drunken trio hunched below her.
Rusty watched the guy in the middle snatch it from the air with a triumphant leer and decided he’d had enough of this place. He rose without bothering to finish his drink and cut a straight path for the exit.