Jason, deep in the sleep of the dead, lay cradled in the arms of Morpheus. Sand on the beach beneath him warmed the bare skin of his back as he watched a bikini babe wade through the surf toward him. Their hands never touched because something kept jostling his shoulder.
“Jason, wake up. Someone’s banging on the door downstairs.”
Jason’s eyes popped open as one of Mama’s cats walked across him on the bed. He didn’t immediately remember where he was.
“What time is it?” he managed to mumble.
“Six,” Mama said. “Can you go downstairs and see who it is?”
“Burglars or maybe an angry ex-boyfriend?”
Jason’s blurted comment miffed Mama Mulate. “Fine, then I’ll go.”
“Wait,” Jason said, grabbing her arm. “I’m awake. I’ll go.”
Muted light from the bedroom window silhouetted Mama’s naked body.
“No problem. It’s your first rational response since we got here. I wanted to have wild sex to celebrate your return from the past. You just wanted to sleep.”
Feeling the warmth of her body, he said, “Maybe we can remedy the situation. At least if the person at the front door will go away.”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” she said.
Mama got out of bed, gliding across the room to the closet, quickly returning with robes for both of them.
“Party pooper,” he said as he pulled the frayed cotton robe over his shoulders and started downstairs.
“I’ll be in the kitchen making coffee. Perhaps we can give the New Year a better start once you get rid of whoever it is trying to knock down the door.”
Jason padded into the hall, wishing he had slippers for his cold feet.
“Who is it?” Jason said.
“Eddie and Tony.”
“Starting early, or up all night?”
“Let us in and we’ll explain,” Tony said.
“And hurry,” Eddie said. “There’s a cop car cruising the neighborhood, and I don’t feel like spending New Year’s Day in the Parish poky.”
Jason slipped the deadbolt and let them in, a gust of cool air flooding across his bare legs.
“Nice robe,” Tony said.
“A little short, but the polka dots become you,” Eddie said.
Jason just grinned, not bothering to respond. “Mama’s got a pot of coffee on in the kitchen. I think you boys could use a cup.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Tony said.
Once in the light of the hallway, Jason noticed Eddie’s bruised and swollen face.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“Train wreck,” Eddie said.
“I hope you got the license number. You okay? You look as if you should see a doctor.”
“Feeling a little punk, but I’ll live.”
“What’s that under your arm, Tony?”
“Instrument case. It’s why we’re here.”
Tony nodded when Jason said, “Frankie’s lost cornet?”
Mama glanced up from the coffee pot on the stove as they entered the kitchen.
“Oh my God, Eddie!” she said, grabbing his arm. “What happened to you?”
She gave him no chance to answer, dragging him to a kitchen chair, and then stripping off his coat and shirt. A hand went to her mouth when she saw the bruising, and swollen marks on his chest and arms. She grabbed the jar from her stash of herbal potions, ointments, and medicines.
“You must be in pain,” she said.
“Lil gave me a shot of morphine before we left Bertram’s. It’s pretty much worn off.”
“I don’t have morphine but I have some pills that will help.”
“Prescription?” Eddie asked as he popped two with a glass of water.
“Juju,” Mama said.
Still hours before rush hour traffic, tires screeched on the main street near her house. Tony waited for the sounds of a crash that never came as Jason poured him a cup of coffee. Pulling up a chair, he put the instrument case on the table and opened it.
“Where’s the horn?”
“Long story.”
“I have all day.”
“We think it’s in a warehouse in Algiers where old Mardi Gras floats are stored.”
“What makes you think that?” Jason asked.
“Like I said, long story. If we can’t locate it, can you tell us anything about the horn from the case?”
Jason touched the purple felt lining. “It’s hand crafted. Probably means it housed an artist horn.”
“A what?”
“A one-of-a-kind created for a particular musician.”
“Which musician?”
“Can’t tell you without doing some research.”
“Frankie wants answers now.”
“Hey, the sun’s barely up.”
“Tell me about it. I’m so tired I can hardly think straight, and Lil’s gonna knock a knot on it when I get to the house.”
Mama’s three cats, Bushy, Cliffy, and Ninja came wandering through the kitchen, soon creating a commotion as they scratched on the front door.
“What’s the matter with those cats?” Mama asked. “You didn’t leave a mouse on my front porch, did you Lieutenant?”
“No ma’am. They probably hear the cat in my car.”
Mama stopped dabbing lotion on Eddie’s wounds and gave Tony a look.
“Why do you have a cat in your car?”
“Long story.”
“Is that all you have to say this morning? Whose cat is it, anyway?”
Eddie snickered. “Tony’s, now. At least until Lil gets a load of it. She’s gonna kill him.”
“No, she ain’t. You want another cat, Mama?”
“Trying to give away your cat? What kind of man are you? Give me your car keys,” she said.
She headed toward the front door when Tony tossed her the keys. Her three cats followed her into the kitchen when she returned, cradling Paco’s cat in her arms.
“The poor little thing’s eaten up with fleas,” she said, glaring at Tony.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “This time yesterday, she wasn’t my responsibility.”
“Well, she is now,” Mama said.
Finding some flea medication, she applied it to the back of the cat’s neck. When she released her grip, the frightened creature bounded into Tony’s arms.
“I don’t know who Paco is, but it looks like she’s your cat now.”
Eddie snickered again. “I’ll refrain from making a crude comment.”
“Shut up, Eddie,” Tony said.
Mama wagged her finger in Eddie’s face. “If you want more of Mama’s loving care, you’d better take the Lieutenant’s advice. I’m still mad at you, you know.”
“I’m sorry,” Eddie said. “I’ll be good.”
“Are the pills working?” Mama asked.
Eddie gave her a thumb up. “Don’t know what’s in your juju pills, but the pain has gone numb.”
Jason had continued to examine the cornet case, and ex-homicide detective Tony Nicosia noticed something in his expression.
“What? You see something?”
“Maybe. There’s an emblem engraved on one of the brass snaps.”
“Show me,” Tony said, squinting to see the tiny engraving. “What is it?”
“A crescent moon.”
“What’s it mean?”
“It’s the symbol of the craftsman that made the instrument.”
“Do you know who?”
“Ordinarily I wouldn’t. This one I recognize.”
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Tony said.
###
The sun peeked over the horizon as Tony and Eddie left the house. Mama and Jason stayed behind, nursing their hangovers and Tony’s new cat. Mama’s balm had worked wonders on Eddie’s face and body, the bruises and swelling already starting to heal. Tony didn’t notice as he barreled across the Crescent City Connection to Algiers, the New Orleans’ ward on the other side of the muddy Mississippi River.
“Slow down. I don’t want to be in another train wreck,” Eddie said.
“I’ve never had an accident.”
“Then stop pressing your luck. You barely missed the back fender of that pickup we just flew by.”
“Knock it off, Eddie. I’m the only one in the car capable of driving right now so live with it.”
A hint of anger in Tony’s voice caused Eddie to stop nagging. As they neared Algiers, New Orleans’ skyscrapers and the city’s hustle and bustle disappeared in their rearview mirror, replaced by quiet streets and frame houses with gingerbread exteriors. Tony slowed the Mustang to a crawl.
“We made it. You happy now?”
“Good. Now what?”
“Find Pancho’s Mardi Gras float.”
“Easier said than done. There are dozens of warehouses on this side of the river that store Mardi Gras floats. How will you know where to start?”
“No idea, but I know someone that does.”
Tony rounded a corner of one of the ward’s narrow streets and pulled to a stop in front of a ramshackle apartment building. An open door led into the apartment, a man, and a woman sitting outside on the sidewalk in cheap lawn chairs.
“How you doing, Lieutenant?” the man said when Tony stepped out of the car.
“Passable, Bruno. You?”
“Like a fat hog in warm slop.”
The man was probably mid-forties, black hair draping the shoulders of his faded Hawaiian shirt. It failed to cover the bald spot that widened his brow, seemingly even more offset by his dark eyebrows and bushy moustache.
“Bruno Steegle, this is Eddie Toledo.”
“Glad to meet you, Eddie,” Bruno said, pumping his hand. “This is Jan. We been married eighteen years.”
“How you doing, Jan?” Tony said. “Should I congratulate you, or give you my condolences.”
Bruno and Jan both laughed. “He can Cajun two-step better than any man alive. Guess I’ll keep him.”
She grinned when he elbowed her and said, “That ain’t all I can do better than any man alive. You boys want a beer?”
“Love one,” Eddie said. “And I’ll take Tony’s if he’s not thirsty.”
Jan and Bruno were both laughing as he disappeared into the dark hallway, quickly returning with two cans of Pabst.
“Were you in a car wreck, Eddie?” he asked.
Eddie smiled as he popped the top on the beer. “Bar fight. Believe it or not, I won.”
Jan and Bruno’s laughter turned into a belly roll. “And I bet you got a bridge in Brooklyn you want to sell me,” Bruno said.
“Hey, it’s an excellent bridge,” Eddie said.
“You’re up early for New Year’s Day,” Tony said.
“What makes you think we’ve been to bed yet?” Bruno said. “We been partying since dark last night.”
“Good for you. Wish we could say the same.”
“What’s up, Lieutenant? You didn’t come to Algiers to talk about bridges, bar fights and all night parties with old Bruno.”
“You right about that. We got a float we need to find.”
“Then you came to the right place. What krewe you looking for, and what year?”
“Don’t know the krewe, or year, but it was about forty years back.”
Bruno slugged the rest of his beer, crushed the can, and threw it into the flowerbed.
“Tall order, Lieutenant. We got warehouses filled with Mardi Gras floats here in Algiers.”
“How many krewes are there?” Eddie asked.
“Hell, thousands—Pegasus, Venus, Iris, Rex, Hermes... A good many have come and gone. It would help to know the krewe you’re looking for.”
“The old man that set us on the trail was only a member for a year. He was half drunk and don’t remember much about it.”
“You could say that about ninety-nine percent of the krewe members that ride them floats.”
“That’s a fact,” Jan said. “You boys want another beer?”
“I’d love another,” Eddie said. “And morphine, if you have a shot. That and Mama’s juju pills are my new favorite drugs.”
“Don’t have any of that, but we could smoke a little pot.”
Eddie grinned and shook his head. “Better pass. My boss would frown on that.”
“Make you take Monday piss tests, huh?” she said.
“Not quite that bad, but almost. I’ll have that beer, though.”
Jan returned with a beat-up old ice chest and bag of pot. After handing Eddie a beer, she proceeded to roll a joint, taking a long drag and then passing it to Bruno.
“You’re not afraid your neighbors will turn you in?” Eddie said.
Bruno and Jan both laughed. “Hell, man,” Bruno said. “Where do you think we got it in the first place?”
“In that case, toke away.”
“You know the parade route, or anything, Lieutenant?”
“Pancho has lived in Metairie all his life.”
“Hell, then it was probably Thor. It started in ’74.”
“Could be,” Tony said. “You know where the warehouse is?”
“Hell, Lieutenant, does an alligator shit in the swamp?”
###
Tony and Eddie were soon driving down the road paralleling the river, Bruno in the backseat giving them directions. Metal warehouses lined the street, most seemingly inactive.
“That one, Lieutenant,” Bruno said, pointing to an empty parking lot.
“You know I ain’t with the force anymore,” Tony said as Bruno began sorting through keys on his giant keychain.
“I heard what happened. No matter. You the best cop I ever known. You’ll always be Lieutenant Nicosia to me.”
“Thanks, Bruno. Can you find the key?”
“It’s here someplace. No one has been in this warehouse in a while. It’s full of old floats and Mardi Gras bits and pieces.”
The door finally opened with a metallic screech, expelling years of must and mildew in a dampened wave. Though Bruno seemed unaffected, it sent Eddie and Tony into coughing jags.
“Smells like hell in here,” Tony said.
“Sweat, puke, and rat shit.”
“Sorry I asked.”
With no light fixtures in the old warehouse, Bruno left the front bay open. It didn’t help much as they began wading through littered debris of carnivals past—Egyptian pharaohs, faded dragons, giant jester’s heads with mouths locked in perpetual smiles, a plaster pig no longer quite pink. Eddie ducked when something swooped over his head.
“What the hell!”
“Bats. We must have kicked up some bugs. Don’t let ’em get in your hair.”
“Peachy,” Tony said. “Are these all Thor floats?”
“Yes sir, Lieutenant. What you looking for?”
“The theme that year was jazz in the Big Easy.”
“Don’t remember that one. Must have been a while back. Maybe these will help.”
Bruno tossed flashlights to Eddie and Tony. Once lighted, their swaths reflected years of dust stirred up by the three intruders. Eddie continued cursing beneath his breath.
“There must be a hundred floats in here,” Tony said.
“What exactly are we looking for, Lieutenant?”
“Brass horn.”
“You mean like a bugle?”
“More like a trumpet.”
“And you think it’s in one of these floats?”
“If not, we’re back to square one.”
“The only way we’re gonna find it is to crawl inside each one and give them a look see,” Bruno said.
“Then let’s get started,” Tony said.
After divvying up the territory, they began searching through rubble piled in the old floats.
“Jesus,” Eddie shouted. “Check out what I found in this one—two used condoms, a pair of panties, and a set of false teeth.”
“No telling what you’re liable to come up with. We uncovered a dead body once,” Bruno shouted, his words echoing against metal walls. “And it wasn’t no homeless person. Oh and hey, better watch out for copperheads and rattlesnakes.”
“I hope you’re kidding,” Eddie shouted.
Bruno’s sly laugh told him he probably was. Tony tried to ignore the banter as the batteries in his flashlight began to grow dim.
“I never seen so many empty beer cans and liquor bottles,” he said.
“Six hours or more on a slow float to Chalmette can become kinda tiring,” Bruno said.
“I’m surprised they could still throw their beads and doubloons.”
Bruno laughed again. “Some of them can’t. Every year we find one or two still passed out when we drag the floats into the warehouses.”
He laughed again, when Tony said, “Bruno, you’re so full of shit!”
“Speaking of shit, I’ve found a petrified pile or two,” Eddie said.
“Some of the older floats didn’t have portable toilets, and lots of hours in a parade make for a long day.”
“You’re a hell of a tour guide, Bruno, and you’ve already given me too much information,” Eddie said.
Tony coughed. “My flashlight just died. Got any more batteries, Bruno?”
“I didn’t think we’d take this long. Mine’s about gone, too.”
“Then let’s call it a day and try some other time,” Tony said.
“Not yet, Lieutenant. I may have found it. You boys come help me.”
The three men were soon scratching through the litter strewn everywhere in the old float decorated with giant horns and floating musical notes. Eddie had launched into a fit of sneezing caused by dust blown up by their search. He’d even stopped swatting at bats that continued to zoom past his head. Their search ended with an abrupt war whoop that rattled Tony’s eardrums.
“I found it, Lieutenant.”
“Hope you ain’t kidding,” Tony said.
Bruno put his lips to the mouthpiece and blew a sour note to show he wasn’t.
“Good work, Bruno,” Tony said. “Damn bats are getting a little too close for comfort. Hang on to the horn and let’s get the hell outa here.”