CHAPTER THREE

Three of Wands, Reversed

mistakes may be made through carelessness

 

 

 

We stumbled out of the Parade at five-thirty in the morning.

The sky was starting to lighten, but it was still a dark gray outside. There was a slight rain with a cold wind. There weren’t many people still out in the street, but street cleaners had yet to come by, so the gutters were still heaped high with trash. I was drenched in sweat from dancing for almost seven consecutive hours without much of a break. The residue of the Ecstasy in my system was still making my skin hot and sensitive, so when the cold wind hit me as I stepped down onto the damp sidewalk the immediate shiver I felt went right down to my spine. I was in a lull—Ecstasy makes you high in waves. There’s an initial high that lasts for several hours, and during those hours the waves take you so high it’s almost indescribable; it’s like you’re flying up in the clouds. You just feel beautiful and happy, and the world is a wonderful place. After that initial high wears down, you’re still a little high, but you can stand still without bouncing and can take a break from the dancing—but the waves still come to sweep you up into outer space again. As it wears off, the waves don’t last as long and aren’t as intense, and the time in between them becomes longer and longer. Sometimes they’ll still be hitting you in the afternoon of the next day, and I had a feeling this stuff was so strong we’d still be riding waves well into the next evening.

I grabbed my thin cape and wrapped it around my shoulders in a vain attempt to protect my hot skin from the cold wind. My feet ached and my lower back was sore from the dancing and my socks were soaked completely through. My legs were also exhausted. My boots had rubbed raw spots on my lower legs and a blister had formed on the back of my right heel. Although it was only a walk of about eight blocks, I knew if we tried to walk home, we’d get sick from the cold and the rain—and that would effectively ruin the rest of Carnival.

“Let’s grab a cab,” I suggested, through chattering teeth.

“Good idea,” Colin replied, and he and Frank huddled close to me on the corner as I looked up St. Ann. With a prayer of thanks to the Goddess, I saw a black and white car heading toward us with the telltale United minibillboard on its roof. I waved, and it crossed through the intersection and pulled over. We piled into the welcoming warmth of the cab, and Frank shut the door behind us. I gave the driver the address and she pulled back out onto Bourbon Street.

“You boys have a good night?” The driver was a slender woman with shoulder-length brown hair who looked to be maybe in her early thirties. There was a statue of the Blessed Virgin on her dashboard. She looked in the rearview mirror at us and smiled as she turned up the heater. “Nice costumes.”

“Thanks. We had a great time,” I replied, rubbing my arms to try to warm them. “You have a busy night?”

“Eh. So-so.” She laughed. “Dumb drunk tourists! I wish I had a dime for every one of them who forgot where they were staying tonight.”

I laughed with her. Surviving the hordes of tourists during Mardi Gras always forms a common bond for locals in town during the madness. “I hope this rain lets up.”

“It’s supposed to get up into the seventies and be sunny later.” She shook her head. “Y’all are my last fare. I’m going home and sleep as long as I can.”

We chatted about inanities as she maneuvered around pedestrians staggering down Bourbon Street. Colin was running his left hand up and down my thigh, and the leg Frank had pressed up against mine on the other side was shaking slightly. I gave him a reassuring smile and he gave me one of his sweetest ones. I wanted to lean over and give him a kiss. When we got home we were going to have some incredible sex, and as far as I was concerned we couldn’t get there fast enough. . . .

Damn, that was some good Ecstasy!

“Did you hear about the murder up on Burgundy?” the cabbie asked as casually as she had discussed the weather forecast, as she turned right onto Esplanade.

“Murder?” That got my attention. Had I heard that right? On either side of me, the boys stiffened. “No. What happened?”

She shrugged. “At a house up by the Rawhide, on Burgundy. Some guy—I don’t know who—got killed. Shot, ’swhat I heard. They had the street closed off for a while.” She shook her head. “The crime in this city is really getting out of hand.” She started rambling about our ever-rising crime rate, the usual litany all the locals go through whenever something bad happens in our neighborhood or to someone we know.

I closed my eyes, a sinking feeling in my gut. No, it couldn’t be, I tried to convince myself. That would be too much. I tried to close my mind to my external senses and empty my thoughts to try to commune with the Goddess, but she was silent. Unfortunately, I can’t summon my gift at will, or even how it will manifest itself to me. It used to be that I just read the tarot cards and she would speak to me through them. But in the last year, the gift had changed. The cards still worked, but recently I started having visions about what was going on, dreams that showed me the path to follow for the truth.

I’ve even communicated with the dead. Now that was an experience—one I hope I won’t have again, at least not for a while.

But if the Goddess isn’t willing to talk to me, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

You can see why I usually keep it to myself. Both Colin and Frank know; they’ve witnessed it in action. My family knows; my brother Storm refers to it jokingly as my “psycho gift” and teases me about it. But you know how people are about differences—they’d think I was some kind of freak or something if I told them about it, so I generally don’t. But this time there was nothing—no sense of anything. I tried to relax, but when we turned the corner onto Decatur I saw the white SUV parked illegally at the corner and knew for a fact I was screwed. The SUV belonged to Eighth District Police Detective Venus Casanova, who I’ve gotten to know far better than either of us would prefer. Don’t get me wrong—for a cop, Venus is incredibly cool, but the only times previously we’ve come into contact were when I’d found a body. I hadn’t found one this time, but it didn’t take any psychic ability to figure out Misha was dead, and somehow the police knew I had been there last night. Their presence at my front door made me think they wanted to talk to me pretty badly, probably badly enough to take me down to the station.

And I still had nine hits of Ecstasy in the change pouch of my wallet in my right boot.

This was not a good thing. I was going to have to call Storm and get him out of bed. And I would never hear the end of it.

The cab pulled over in front of the white SUV and I shakily handed the cabbie a ten, waving off the change, saying thanks and “Happy Mardi Gras” to her as Colin opened his door and started to step out. Frank did so on the other side as well. I had just climbed out as Venus and her partner, Blaine Tujague, stepped out of the SUV and started walking toward us.

Not a good sign.

“Detectives,” Frank said, folding his arms, “happy Mardi Gras.”

I could see that both his and Colin’s pupils were still highly dilated.

Which also meant that mine were too.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not good, not good at all. I closed my eyes and tried to focus. Fortunately, I was still between waves.

“You guys have a good night?” Blaine asked. He was smiling. He was a great-looking guy of about thirty, about five nine with thick hair the same blue-black as Colin’s, but his was straight and parted on the right side. I think he’s gay. At least, I think I’ve seen him around in the bars a few times, but then he could have been working undercover looking for drugs. You never can be sure in the Quarter. He was wearing a thick, wool navy blue trench coat over gray wool slacks. He joined Venus on the sidewalk.

“Yeah,” I said. “Quiet night for you, I hope?”

Venus shook her head. She’s a tall black woman, quite striking, with smooth, dark skin and almond-shaped eyes, her hair cut close to the scalp. Even in her overcoat you got a sense of coiled muscle and strength. “No offense, Scotty, but I was kind of hoping I’d never run into you in a professional capacity again.” She was holding a large cup of Circle K coffee and gave me an enigmatic smile.

“Yeah, well.” I bit my lower lip. “No offense, but that makes two of us.”

“What’s all this about?” Colin interrupted. He folded his arms and started bouncing to try to keep warm. “Can’t we go inside and get warmed up? We’re not exactly dressed for the weather.”

“I need Scotty to come with us to the station.” Venus took a sip from her coffee. “You two can go on in.”

My heart sank. The nine hits in my sock were burning a hole in my leg.

“You didn’t answer his question,” Frank replied, coming to my rescue. “Scotty, you don’t have to go with them. He isn’t under arrest, is he, detective?”

She shook her head. “Not at this time. We just want to ask him some questions.”

Okay, that was a good sign. “Then I’m afraid I’m not going with you,” I said. One of the great things about having activist parents is they get arrested all of the time. Their rap sheets are probably about a mile long. They’ve been arrested so many times that it’s kind of unusual when they go to a protest and don’t wind up behind bars. The New Orleans police department is very well acquainted with Mom and Dad—and I am sure their FBI files would make pretty fascinating reading. Storm, Rain, and I were well versed in what the police can and cannot do, and our civil liberties, almost from the day we learned how to talk. We certainly knew our rights by the time we were old enough to carry protest signs. They used to drill us before protests. In my head, I could hear my mother’s voice: “If you are not under arrest, you are not obligated to go with the police. You are not obligated to talk to them about anything, even if you are under arrest. They’ll try to make you feel comfortable, like chatting with them will clear everything up and then they’ll be on their merry way, but don’t fall for it. If you don’t talk to them, they’ll tell you it’ll make you look guilty. Don’t fall for that, either. Looking guilty and being guilty are two entirely different things, and if you’ve done nothing wrong, there’s no reason for you to talk to them unless and until they tell you why they want to talk to you in the first place.”

Rain swears her first words were “I want a lawyer.” She might not be wrong.

This so totally and completely sucked it wasn’t funny. I hadn’t killed Misha—then again, I didn’t know for a fact it was Misha who’d been killed—but there was also no way in hell I was going down to the Eighth District police station with nine hits of Ecstasy in my boot. Some overzealous ADA could see that as “possession with intent to deal.” And that would mean the loss of my private eye license; quite possibly the Blackledge Agency’s license to operate in Louisiana, if not some jail time. This sucked! To make it worse, my refusal to cooperate would only serve to make Blaine and Venus even more suspicious of me than they already were. The cops can make your life miserable when they want to, and even when you’re cleared they don’t have to apologize or correct any of the damage done. It was easy for my mother to say, “Don’t talk to the police,” but the times she’d been arrested hadn’t been for drug possession—or suspicion of murder, for that matter.

I tried again as Blaine and Venus exchanged a glance I didn’t really like. “Give me a break, Venus! I’m tired and I’m freezing to death. I sure as hell don’t want to go down to the station dressed like this for who knows how long, okay?” I gestured at my tights, boots, and bare chest, for added emphasis. “These boots are fucking killing me! Why don’t we all go inside, let me change into something else, and then we can talk in my nice warm apartment, okay? I’ll even make coffee. If you still want to bring me down to the station, then I’ll come down with you. Deal?” And I’d have Frank or Colin call Storm to meet me down there.

Venus relaxed a little. “That’s fine. But we want to talk to you privately.” She glanced at Frank and Colin. “No offense, guys.”

“No.” Frank’s teeth were chattering. “Don’t do it, Scotty.” He was scowling, and I didn’t need my gift to know what he was thinking: I knew the Ecstasy was a bad idea and would land us all in trouble.

I dug my keys out of my boot and felt my wallet still tucked into my sock. The wallet seemed to be radiating heat against my ankle.

The Goddess smiled on me that time, and I managed to keep my hand steady as I unlocked the gate and led our little party down the passageway to the back stairs. I could hear movement in my landladies’, Millie and Velma’s, apartment, which meant they were awake. This was both a good and a bad thing. Millie is a lawyer—that was a good thing—but they’d both be pissed about this mess, especially if we’d woken them up. They both hate being woken up early in the morning, and when Millie is pissed at you, it’s probably a good idea to pack a bag and leave the country until she’s over it. I unlocked my door and stood aside for everyone to troop into the apartment. I turned up the thermostat, and Colin went into the kitchen to start coffee. I started toward my bedroom, but Blaine stepped in my way.

“I’m going to change my clothes,” I said, looking him right in the eye. “Do you want to come in and watch?”

“That would be a serious invasion of your privacy, Scotty, not to mention grounds for a lawsuit,” Frank called from the living room. Blaine flushed and stepped out of my way. He stopped me as I started to close the door.

“With the door open. I won’t look.”

If I wasn’t so terrified, the thought of a sexy police officer watching me undress would have been more than a little erotic, but that was the last thing on my mind as I walked into my bedroom and sat on the bed, trying to fight off the trembling. The Ecstasy was still working, sending me a tiny wave of highness. I bit my lip and started breathing deep to get it back under control.

“You okay?” Blaine asked from the door.

I looked up. He wasn’t looking in but was standing just outside the door. “Just a little nauseous.” I tried to keep my voice from shaking. “I guess I partied a bit too much.”

“Well, it is Mardi Gras, after all,” he said sympathetically from the doorway. His back was still to me.

I slid off my left boot after removing my wallet and placing it on the nightstand. I looked back over my shoulder—Blaine had his back to me, good as his word—and I casually opened the change pouch in my wallet and removed the little baggie. With them in my hand I slid off my other boot, then quickly placed the hits under the crumpled blanket. It wasn’t good enough to survive a search warrant, but it would have to do for now. I stood and peeled off my damp tights, tossing them with my socks into the laundry basket. I pulled on a pair of Saints sweatpants and a dirty, black long-sleeved T-shirt from off the floor. I walked past Blaine into the living room just as Colin was pouring coffee. I sat down in my reclining chair and curled my legs up underneath me. I was thirsty and dehydrated, but there was no way I was going to drink any coffee. The caffeine would kick the drug back into high gear. My heart sank as I saw Frank and Colin sip from their cups, but there wasn’t any way to warn them.

“Now, what’s this about, Venus?” I asked.

“Scotty, where were you this past evening at eight o’clock?” Venus, sitting down on the edge of the couch nearest my chair, pulled a notebook and pen out of her jacket pocket.

“At eight o’clock I was walking up Burgundy Street.”

“Where were you going?” Blaine walked over and stood behind Venus, his arms folded.

“To a friend’s.” I looked him straight in the eye again. His face was expressionless.

Venus sighed. “Scotty, please. You were going to Mikhail Saltikov’s house on Burgundy Street, correct?”

“Mikhail Saltikov? You mean Misha?” I’d never known his real name; he’d always just been Misha to me.

Venus put her notebook down and crossed her legs. “Okay, fuck this. I’m going to be up front with you, Scotty, and you know I don’t have to be. We know Saltikov was a drug dealer, okay? If you went there tonight, you went there to buy drugs. That’s fine. I can see why you wouldn’t want to admit that. But I don’t give a rat’s ass about busting you for that, okay?” She pointed at Frank and Colin. “You’ve got two witnesses to my saying that.” She gave me a crooked smile. “Your esteemed brother could make serious hay out of that in court, am I right?”

I grinned back at her. Storm was a great lawyer. Mom always said he could argue a nun out of her panties. I felt a little better. Venus might be a cop, but she had always been fair with me in the past, even when she probably shouldn’t have been. “Let’s just say I went to Misha’s for whatever reason and arrived at eight o’clock on the dot. I looked at my watch when I rang his bell.”

“And about what time did you leave?” Venus arched an eyebrow up.

“Probably around eight-twenty, eight-thirty maybe. I didn’t look at my watch. I got back to Lafitte’s to meet the guys about then, right?” I looked over at them for confirmation. Frank was scowling. Uh-oh, I thought, I’m gonna have some “splainin’ ” to do later.

“I’d just looked at my watch when he walked up,” Colin added. His feet were bouncing on the floor. “It was just after eight-thirty, wasn’t it, Frank?”

“Something like that.” Frank wouldn’t look at me—not a good sign. He was definitely pissed. My heart sank. I was definitely going to hear about this later.

“He was alive when I left,” I blurted out.

Both Venus and Blaine turned to look at me.

“Our cabdriver told us someone on Burgundy Street was murdered last night.” Frank put his coffee cup down. He was starting to sweat again. “In the same area Scotty’s friend lives—lived—and you were here to meet us when we got home, and you say you aren’t interested in any drug purchases that might have occurred.” He wiped at his face. “So, it stands to reason that this Saltikov person was murdered, and somehow you know Scotty was there, which is why you’re here.”

“Very impressive, special agent.” Venus bowed her head to him. They’d worked together during the Southern Decadence mess, and I knew she had a lot of respect for his professionalism, even if he wasn’t a federal agent anymore.

I have to say I was impressed with both Frank and Colin. Even high, they were able to say things with—what was it Storm called it?—oh, yeah, plausible deniability.

Venus went on, “Yes, Mikhail Saltikov, Misha”—she nodded at me—“was murdered last night. And as far as we know, you were the last person to see him alive.”

“And how do you know that?” Frank wiped his forehead with a Kleenex. His face was getting red, and his feet were tapping up and down. Beads of sweat were forming at the base of his throat.

“Because Misha had a video camera hooked up to his front door with a time stamp on the tape. He recorded everyone coming in and out of the place,” Blaine replied. “He turned it off right after you got there. Now, why would he do that, Scotty?”

Oh, sweet Goddess, that’s just great. I hadn’t seen that one coming. I remembered him flicking a switch without a light coming on anywhere. Why hadn’t I thought anything about it at the time? Dumb, dumb, dumb! I could feel a major headache starting to form right between my eyes. I took a few deep breaths—and remembered handling the lockbox with all his drugs in it.

My fingerprints were all over it.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“I have no idea,” I said. Damn you, Misha!

“What did the two of you talk about?” Venus picked up her notebook again.

“Nothing really.” I thought about it. “We talked about Mardi Gras, how much fun we were going to have, that kind of stuff.” Think, Scotty, think! “Oh, he got a call on his cell phone. He left the room to take it and shut the door behind him.”

“Do you know who called?” Blaine’s voice was just as disinterested as Venus’s. I wondered if they were getting ready to go all good cop/bad cop on me.

“No. He just said he had to take the call and walked out of the room. He wasn’t happy about it.” I remembered the loud voice in the next room. “He was yelling at whomever it was; I could hear him through the door. I couldn’t understand what he was saying. I mean, with the door closed and all I could just barely hear his voice, but it did sound like he was yelling in Russian.” I thought for a minute. “Well, I assumed it was Russian. It could have been another language, I guess.”

Blaine and Venus exchanged glances again. “And when he came back?”

“He was upset—I could tell—and he rushed me out.” Maybe I should have stayed, made him talk about it. Oh, man. This so totally sucked. But, then again, if I’d stayed, I might have been there when the killer arrived.

Happy Mardi Gras, my ass.

Both Venus and Blaine stood. “And then you walked back to Lafitte’s?”

I nodded.

“Did you notice anyone or anything that seemed out of place around Saltikov’s?” Venus asked.

“It’s Mardi Gras, Venus. Everything looked out of place.” I sighed. “There were a lot of people milling about, hanging out around Rawhide, but I didn’t really pay much attention. I was in a hurry to meet the guys at Lafitte’s.”

Venus flipped her notebook shut. “Well, that’s all for now.” She signaled for Blaine to walk out of the apartment, and she followed, with me right behind them. When we reached my bedroom door, she stopped. “Would you mind if we took your clothes?”

“Why?” I wasn’t expecting that.

“If you’re innocent, they’ll clear you.” Venus gave me her enigmatic smile.

With the Ecstasy safely out of my boots, I didn’t care what they did with my clothes. There wasn’t anything on them that would connect me to Misha’s murder, since I didn’t do it. I walked into the bedroom; picked up the tights, cape, and socks; folded them over the boots; and presented them to Venus at my front door. She shook open a plastic bag, placed them inside, and wrote on the label while Blaine wrote out a receipt for me, and then I shut the door behind them.

I staggered back into the living room, fighting down nausea.

“You shouldn’t have given them your clothes,” Frank said. “Your sweat—now they have your DNA.” His face looked tired. “I am assuming you managed to get the drugs put away first?”

“Appearances to the contrary, I’m not stupid, Frank.” It came out a lot bitchier than I intended, but I was beyond caring. I sank down wearily into my wingback chair. Another wave was starting to come over me, so I started taking deep breaths again, and began tapping my hands on the chair arms.

“You need to flush them down the toilet,” Frank went on. His face was really flushed. “Right, Colin? There’s no safe place to hide them from a search warrant.” His scar seemed to darken. His eyebrows came together again. “I told you it was a dumb idea.”

“Yeah, well, maybe, but we have to deal with it now.” I scowled back at him. If he said, “I told you so,” I was going to throw something at him—something heavy that would hurt.

“Give them to me,” Colin instructed. “They won’t have probable cause to search our apartment, Frank.”

“Are you crazy?” Frank stood up. He was trembling. Maybe it was just another wave, but it might have been anger. “We just need to get rid of them and be done with it.”

I stood up without saying anything, walked into the bedroom, and pulled them out from under the blanket. I stood there with them in my hands and thought about it. Maybe Frank’s right, and I should just flush them down the toilet. But if I do, we won’t have any more and Misha’s dead. . . . I walked into the bathroom and stood over the toilet with them.

But I didn’t have anything to do with killing Misha, and do I really want to ruin my Mardi Gras?

I said a quick prayer to the Goddess for guidance, but she didn’t answer. I hate when she does that. Oh, sure, I know it’s because I am supposed to make my own decisions, but a little help every once in a while isn’t too much to ask for, is it?

I looked at myself in the mirror and started to shake. Whether it was another wave or not, I couldn’t tell, but my teeth started chattering and I wrapped my arms around myself. Maybe I should have forced Misha to tell me what was going on. I put the baggie down on the counter and turned on the hot water. Misha was dead. I stared at myself in the mirror. He’d been such a sweet guy—always so happy to see me, always so friendly and affectionate, but never in a sexual way. I’d really liked him, and now that he was gone, I was sorry I hadn’t made more of an effort to get to know him better. But now that chance was gone, and I felt the tears coming. I had always felt connected to him somehow; able to just relax around him and be myself. I stood there for a few moments and let the tears come. As I cried, I said some prayers to the Goddess for Misha. I was going to miss him. I remembered how his big strong arms felt around me as he hugged the breath out of me every time he saw me and spun me around. Why would someone kill him? He was a sweet, kind man. I splashed water on my face and pulled myself together.

I took a deep breath and walked back out of the bedroom. Maybe it would turn out not to be the smartest thing in the world to hold on to the drugs, but Colin didn’t seem to want to get rid of them, either. I walked into the living room and handed them over to Colin.

Frank looked at both of us, his head going from side to side. “You know what? You two are fucking crazy!”

“Frank—” I started to say, but Colin cut me off.

“Frank, they aren’t interested in the drugs, and you and I both know Scotty didn’t have anything to do with this, and Venus knows it too.” Colin folded his arms. “Think about it. You’re not in your right mind right now—”

Frank turned completely purple, his scar almost glowing in intensity. “And why the fuck am I not in my right mind, huh? I might have known you’d take his side on this—you’re just as bad as he is.”

“Hey! You’re not being fair!” I protested.

Frank stood there for a moment, glaring at us both, his fists clenching and unclenching. “You know what? I think I’m going to go stay at David’s for a while.” He walked out of the apartment. The door slammed behind him, and I heard him stomping down the stairs.

David is not going to be happy, I thought. David had disappeared from the dance floor a few hours before we left, which generally meant he’d picked someone up. I jumped up to go after him, but Colin grabbed me from behind and kept me from moving.

He is remarkably strong.

“Let him go, Scotty. He needs to work this out on his own. Right now he’s not happy, and talking when he’s like this will do more harm than good. Trust me on this.” Colin kissed my neck. “Part of it’s the Ecstasy; you know that. He’s upset, and it’s amplifying his mood. When he comes down a bit, he’ll calm down and feel like a complete ass, and he’ll come back.” He squeezed me a little tighter. “Our first fight, huh?”

I felt like crying. I hate confrontation. I felt another wave coming over me, and I gave into it, leaning back into Colin’s bare chest. I closed my eyes. His arms felt so good around me. At least he loves me, I thought. And I guess he’s right. Frank’ll get over it and come home. Sure, he will. He loves me too—and Colin.

“I’m sorry, Colin,” I said softly and held on to his arms. I started to cry softly. “First Misha, and now Frank’s mad at me.”

“Oh, baby.” He nuzzled my neck. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? How were you supposed to know Misha was going to get himself killed? Frank knows that, and once he thinks about it, he’ll come home.” He let go of me and spun me around so I was facing him. “We both knew what we were getting into when we signed up for this ride, you know.” He winked at me. “Never a dull life with you around.”

I couldn’t help myself. I grinned back at him. “Yeah, well, dull would be nice for a change.”

“I think”—Colin walked over to the phone—“it’s time to call Storm.”