Sisters
of the Mist
Eric Wilder
Published by Gondwana Press
Edmond, Oklahoma
Front Cover by Andres Grau
© 2017 by Gary Pittenger
All Rights Reserved
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Please check out all of Eric’s books at his Smashword’s homepage and his Website.
Front Cover by Andres Grau
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or in part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
Thanks for taking the time to read this book. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or tell your friends about this series to help spread the word. Thank you. I greatly appreciate your support.
I wish to thank Don Yaw for providing hours of editing and structural advice. I also would like to thank beta readers Michael Redd, Ray Roush, and Linda Hartle Bergeron for all their helpful recommendations. I want to thank my wife Marilyn, and the readers for being wonderful.
Excerpt – New Orleans Dangerous
A silent moan died in my throat as my cat Kisses awoke me from a recurrent nightmare. She was standing on me, kneading dough on my chest as she licked my face with her emery board tongue. My heart raced, and I wondered if she could feel it. When I’d regained my senses, I gave her a full-body stroke that ended with the tip of her mostly missing tail.
“Did I wake you?” I said.
After arching her back to maximize my caress, she stopped licking and kneading and jumped off the bed. Grabbing my old robe, I followed her to the door leading to my second-floor balcony. The wind had blown it open sometime during the night, and a chill breeze greeted me as I stepped out onto the little terrace overlooking Chartres Street. Though it was dark, the lack of visibility resulted from more than just a power outage.
Thick fog rolling in from the river had all but engulfed the French Quarter thoroughfare. Headlights penetrated dark gloom as I stared up the street. A slow moving taxi, searching for one last fare, passed beneath me, honking its horn at a stray dog. The taxi swerved to miss the dog, and then disappeared into murky darkness. The foghorn of a passing freighter on the nearby river sounded muted and far away. Feeling a damp chill in the air, I pulled the robe tightly up around my neck.
Kisses stood at the edge of the balcony, her head protruding through the wrought iron railing, staring at something I couldn’t see.
“What is it, girl?”
Whatever she was staring at was invisible to me because of the dimly illuminated rolling fog. It didn’t matter. Cats see in the dark. I had no doubt something had focused Kisses’ attention. It was then I saw it: another set of headlights shining through the fog as it moved toward us.
Unlike the glare from the taxi, this was as dim as the fog itself. I watched, transfixed as the long hood of a ghostly white limousine penetrated the fog. It passed beneath me on the street. More vehicles followed. Except for one, all were ghostly white, their passengers but gray outlines through the smoky windows.
A black carriage pulled by a prancing stallion, tendrils of steam wafting from its nostrils, appeared through the dense fog. In the back of the carriage, wreaths and garlands of white roses draped a gold coffin. The carriage was a funeral hearse. It had no driver.
One last vehicle followed the black hearse: a pearly white, stretch limo. Its tinted windows, all except for one, were closed. As I stared at the passing vehicle, the young woman in the window with snowy white hair gazed up at me. It was a person I recognized. Rushing to the railing, I leaned over and called to her.
“Desire, is that you?”
She followed me with her eyes; bewitching eyes I could never forget. Sadness masked her face, and she didn’t answer. The limo had disappeared down the street when I realized the passing funeral procession had never made a sound.
A gloomy day had turned rainy and overcast as Eddie Toledo waited in the drizzle outside the main building of the racetrack. Rain had begun dampening his long hair. Pulling the trench coat over his head, he gave up his grandstand seat and made a run for the entrance. After a quick glance at his watch, he let the door shut behind him.
His friend, Wyatt Thomas was thirty minutes late. It was still an hour before the first race. Plenty of time to lay a bet or two. He double-stepped up the escalator to an upstairs bar he liked, planning to settle in at a table overlooking the track.
Eddie had invited two attractive women he’d met at Bertram Picou’s Chartres Street bar. They hadn’t shown, and he was miffed. He needed a stiff drink and a racing form. The racing form could wait, and he could get a scotch in the dark bar. As he approached the bar, a familiar voice called to him.
“Trying to ignore us, Mr. D.A.?”
Eddie could barely see the person who had just spoken, though he recognized the gravelly voice in an instant.
“Mr. Castellano,” he said, shaking the older man’s hand.
“It’s Frankie,” the man said. “My dad was Mr. Castellano.”
Castellano was probably mid-sixties with dark hair just beginning to gray around the edges. A red carnation matching the silk handkerchief in his coat pocket protruded from the lapel of his suit. Had it not been so dark in the cozy fern bar overlooking the expansive racetrack, you could have seen your reflection in his thousand dollar shoes. Frankie wasn’t alone. His companion, a very attractive, middle-aged woman, bounded from her seat and hugged Eddie.
“How you been?” she said in her Italian-laced, old Metairie accent.
“Adele! Been missing you, babe. How’s marriage treating you?”
“Frankie swept me off my feet the first time I met him. Things haven’t changed. We been to Italy twice, Bermuda and two cruises. Believe me when I tell you I’m ready to stay home awhile and cook cannolis and lasagna for my wonderful husband.”
Adele had dark hair and eyes, and a perfect olive complexion. Her welcoming smile left no doubt about how much she liked Eddie. Another woman was with the happy couple. When Eddie’s eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, he saw she looked like a young Sophia Loren. Their eyes locked. For the first time in his life, he was speechless. Frankie rescued him.
“Don’t have a coronary. This is my daughter, Josie.”
“Then you better shoot me now because I think I’m in love.”
The comment brought a frown to Frankie’s face, and a smile to the young woman as Eddie grasped her hand. He was wrong. She didn’t look like Sophia Loren. More like a Greek goddess with dark liquid eyes and black hair braided in intricate cornrows. Her black dress matched Adele’s, and he could only catch his breath.
Adele bumped his shoulder with the palm of her hand. “What’s the matter, Eddie? Never seen a pretty girl before?”
“Sorry,” he said, regaining his senses. “It’s just I didn’t expect to be in the presence of the two most gorgeous women in New Orleans.”
“You haven’t changed a bit,” Adele said, hugging him again.
“Watch it,” Frankie said. “Don’t be disrespectful or I may have to bump you off.”
“Something I would never do,” Eddie said. “But you’d kill me now if you knew the thoughts I’m having about your beautiful daughter.”
When Frankie frowned and started to stand, Josie grabbed his arm. She was laughing, her eyes dancing.
“He’s just kidding, Papa. Isn’t someone going to introduce us?”
“This pretty boy with the big mouth is Eddie Toledo. A Federal D.A. who works with the G-men downtown.”
Josie ignored her dad’s sarcasm. “Happy to meet you, Eddie,” she said. “Will you join us?”
Frankie grumbled as Eddie grabbed the chair beside Josie. His daughter’s laughter had stemmed his anger. It helped when Adele kissed his forehead, sat in his lap, and squeezed him to her ample breasts.
With the races nearing, patrons had begun pouring into the bar. Frankie’s table was the best seat in the house with a panoramic view of the track through the wall-sized window fronting the room. Frankie’s frown returned.
“What’s the matter?” Eddie asked. “Your horse throw a shoe before the big race?”
“I don’t own quarter horses,” Frankie said.
“Oh, why not?”
“Thoroughbred racing is the sport of kings. Nobody likes quarter horses except a bunch of damn Mexicans.”
“You kidding me?” Eddie said. “Quarter horses are among the fastest animals on earth. It’s still misting rain, and just take a gander at all those people filling the outside grandstand. What do you have against Mexicans?”
“They been flooding the place ever since Katrina. Taking jobs that should go to Americans, living off welfare and paying no taxes. They also control the quarter horse business around here, and it’s time someone investigated.”
“Is that a hint?” Eddie asked.
“Someone needs to stop their nonsense.”
“Most Mexicans I know are hard-working, church-going, law-abiding citizens,” Eddie said.
Frankie snickered. “Now I get it. You’re a tree-hugging, bleeding heart liberal. I hope, at least, you’re not on their payroll.”
Eddie let the thinly veiled accusation of corruption pass without replying to it.
“I’m here to watch the ponies run, not to talk politics,” he said. “If you don’t like quarter horses, why are you here?”
Josie raised a hand. “Blame me. They’re my favorite. I wanted to see the races today, so I dragged Dad and Adele along. He couldn’t come to a horse race without an entry, so he bought one.”
“You’re running a horse today?” Eddie asked. “Thought you said you don’t own quarter horses.”
“For Josie, I made an exception.”
“And where did you get the horse?”
“Just an old nag I picked up for next to nothing. Like Josie said, I hate watching a horse race unless I have one running.”
“Uh huh. How’d you get a trainer and a jockey so fast?”
Josie answered the question for him. “Dad has a horse farm north of Covington. Murky Bayou Farms. One hundred eighty acre working horse facility. All pasture under fence with pipe on three sides. Three stock ponds, sixteen-thousand square foot metal barn with twenty-four twelve by twelve stalls, tack room, feed room, wash rack, stocks, and storage galore. Exceptional apartment above barn with three bedrooms and two baths. Ten loafing sheds in the pasture.”
“You sound like a real estate agent,” Eddie said.
Josie nodded. “Because that’s what I am.”
“Josie’s been in the ten million dollar club three years in a row,” Adele said.
“Impressive,” Eddie said.
“Are you in the market for a horse farm, Eddie?” Josie asked.
He laughed. “Never gonna happen on my salary,” he said.
Frankie frowned when Josie said, “You can visit Murky Bayou Farms anytime you like.”
“Sounds like a great place,” Eddie said.
“And so secluded. On the banks of a scenic bayou and ten miles from the nearest town. It’s like a slice of heaven on earth. Dad’s not a fan.”
“Give me the city anytime. I don’t like having to drive twenty miles for a decent plate of spaghetti,” Eddie said.
“You don’t have to drive anywhere,” Josie said. “Your very own world-class chef works full-time at the farm, and cooks you anything you like.”
“That just ain’t the same,” Frankie said.
“Sounds like heaven to me. Josie, I’ll take you up on that offer,” Eddie said. “I love horses.”
“Want to see Dad’s quarter horse?” Josie asked.
“Love to.”
“You’ll miss the first race,” Frankie said. “Who you betting on?”
“I don’t even have a racing form yet. You betting?”
“Always, even if they are quarter horses.”
“Then here’s a twenty. Can you pick a winner for me?”
“You trust me with your money?” Frankie said.
“You kidding? If I had your money, I’d burn mine.”
Josie grabbed Eddie’s hand. “We’ll be back,” she said.
She led him through the crowd starting to gather for the first race. It was still misting rain when they reached the paddock. Eddie didn’t care, too enthralled by the gorgeous young woman pulling him through the throng of spectators viewing the horses parading out for the first race. The crowd abated when they reached the stalls.
“That’s Lightning Bolt,” she said.
She petted the mane of the black stallion, its head protruding from the stall.
“This is your dad’s horse?” Eddie asked.
“Isn’t he beautiful?”
“Doesn’t look like a nag to me. Check out his muscular hindquarters and barrel chest. He’s the best looking horse in the paddock area.”
“He is simply beautiful,” Josie said. “I love the lightning-shaped blaze on his face. That’s how he got his name.”
Eddie glanced at the horse. “What blaze?”
Josie touched the wet dye on Lightning Bolt’s forehead.
“Someone must have used shoe polish to cover it up.”
“Why would they do that?”
“No idea. You’ll have to ask Dad,” she said,
Even without the distinctive blaze, the horse was gorgeous. Someone had braided its mane and tail with a red ribbon and decorated his fetlocks with bright red tape. He looked ready for a horse show competition.
“The way he’s all dolled up, someone must expect him to win.”
“Dad says he’s never won a race. Precisely the reason he was able to buy him so cheaply. He’s forty-to-one in the morning line.”
“Guess looks are deceiving,” Eddie said. “We better head back. From the sound of the crowd, the first race just finished. If we stay away much longer, your dad will come looking for me with a gun.”
“He wouldn’t do that, silly. He’s a pussycat.”
Eddie knew differently, though refrained from voicing his opinion. He followed her through the crowd of people, some with smiles, others with frowns, returning from the betting windows.
“If you say so,” he said.
Adele was back in Frankie’s lap, and both were smiling when Josie and Eddie joined them at the table overlooking the track. Frankie handed Eddie a wad of cash.
“You won,” he said.
“Wow! Must have been a long shot.”
“Can’t make any money betting on the favorite,” Frankie said.
“How’d you know it would win?”
“Betters’ luck,” Eddie said. “There’s no other way to bet on these damn quarter horses.”
A waitress in a revealing skirt and skimpy blouse brought everyone fresh drinks. Josie saw Eddie glancing at the young woman’s long legs clad sexily in black mesh stockings. She smiled at him when he realized she’d caught him looking. He grinned back at her and shrugged his shoulders. Adele also noticed.
“Eddie likes the ladies,” she said.
“Guilty as charged, your Honor,” he said.
“At least he ain’t looking at my legs,” Frankie said. The comment caused both Josie and Adele to erupt into laughter. “What’s so funny?” he demanded.
Neither of them answered, or stopped laughing. Frankie rolled his eyes as he sipped his drink.
“Can I have a look at your racing form?” Eddie said.
Frankie handed it to him. “For all the good it’ll do you,” he said.
Eddie thumbed through the magazine. “Is pure speed all you look at?” he asked.
“Lots more than that,” Josie said.
“Please tell me.”
“The races are short. Most are less than a quarter mile and last only twenty seconds, or so.”
“What’s your point?”
“There isn’t much time to correct a mistake made coming out of the gate. A bump can end a horse’s race before it starts. There’s also the matter of track bias.”
“Most of the races have no turns,” Eddie said. “How can there be a track bias?”
Josie handed him a pair of powerful binoculars. “Look at the turf directly in front of the gate. Specifically, the fifth through the tenth spots. What do you see?”
“The dirt’s not as even,” he said.
“Whoever smoothed the track left the turf in front of the last five slots deeper and more furrowed than the first five.”
“That can’t make that much of a difference,” Eddie said.
“In a race that takes only twenty seconds to complete, every tenth is critical. Trust me. In this race, horses one through five have a definite advantage. Gate three has the smoothest exit from the gate.”
Eddie glanced at the racing form. “The number three horse is a twelve to one long shot.”
“And it’s the horse I’m betting on,” Josie said.
Frankie didn’t comment, though Eddie noticed his wry smile.
“Tell us who you’re betting on, Frankie,” he said.
“Not the three horse.”
“You think he’s too much of a long shot, even with the favorable track bias?” Eddie asked.
“Nope,” he said. “I think an even bigger long shot will win.”
“You know something you’re not telling us?”
“The number three is a plant. Everyone in the paddock knows he’s supposed to win. He’ll be bet down to less than three to one by the time they come out of the gate.”
“This is all sounding complicated,” Eddie said. “How do you know so much?”
“The four horse is gonna come across the track and bump the three,” Frankie said. “He’ll veer to the left and take out the one and two. The six-horse is a twenty to one that’s never won a race. It’ll win this one.”
“How do you know that?” Eddie said.
“His owner is Diego Contrado, the nephew of Chuy Delgado.”
Chuy Delgado, the Mexican drug lord?” Eddie asked. Frankie nodded. “Should I believe you?”
“I’m not making it up.”
“Who owns the number four?” Eddie asked.
“Angus Anderson. He owns the three and the four.”
“Angus Anderson, the president of Anderson Energy Corporation?”
“Probably the richest man in New Orleans. He’s also a media mogul and owns more radio and TV stations, newspapers, and Internet properties than you can count.”
“The four is the favorite to win. Why would he ruin his own horse’s chance to help Chuy Delgado?” Eddie asked.
“Maybe he owes him a favor.”
“If what you say is true, your sources are better than those we have downtown. Who are your sources?”
“I didn’t say,” Frankie said.
“You know I can subpoena you and get all the answers I need,” Eddie said.
Frankie smiled again. “Answers to what?” I can’t even remember what we were talking about.”
Eddie took a deep breath as he stared at Frankie. “I gotcha,” he said. “You’re probably pulling my leg, anyway. Horses one and two are both good bets. If the four doesn’t win, my money says it’ll be the one or the two.”
“You’re a smart man, Eddie. I wouldn’t bet all my money on it if I were you.”
“Stop it, you two,” Adele said. “We’re here to have fun.”
“She’s right, you know?” Josie said. “You shouldn’t disrespect your new bride by arguing in front of her.”
Frankie grabbed Adele’s hand and kissed it. “My wonderful daughter speaks the truth. Please accept my humble apology. There’ll be no more harsh words out of my mouth the rest of the day. Forgive me?”
Adele hugged his neck. “You big galoot, you know I do.”
“I’m also sorry,” Eddie said. “Let me buy the next round of drinks. I’m on vacation for the whole week. I intend to quit thinking about work, and I promise to keep my big mouth shut.”
“Good idea,” Frankie said. “I’m gonna place my bet. You coming, Josie?”
Josie grabbed Eddie’s wrist again. “Come with me to the betting window?”
“Why not? I have money burning a hole in my pocket.”
“Not for very long unless you take my advice,” Frankie said.
Frankie hurried ahead through the crowd, Josie and Eddie holding hands as they followed him.
“No matter what your dad thinks, I’m betting with you, babe.”
“I was going to bet a hundred to win on the three-horse,” she said. “Dad sounded pretty sure of himself. I’m putting the hundred on the six-horse instead.”
“You think your dad has inside information?”
“Don’t be silly. He has excellent instincts when it comes to horse racing, though from the absolutely crazy story he told us, I’d say he has a bit of fiction writer in him.”
“Then I’m betting with you,” Eddie said.
Fresh drinks waited for them when they returned to their table. Frankie and Adele were standing outside on the balcony, preparing for the start of the next race. Eddie and Josie joined them.
“Hope your prediction proves correct, Frankie. I put all my money on the six horse. If it doesn’t win, I’ll be living off my credit card for the rest of my vacation.”
“Hey, no guarantees,” Frankie said.
The starting bell rang as they watched the horses bound out of the gate. The three horse was almost too fast for Frankie’s scenario to occur. Almost. The four veered toward the rail, bumping into the three horse. The collision caused the three to impede the path of the one and the two. Taking advantage of the chaos, the six-horse raced into the lead, holding it all the way through to the finish line. Josie and Eddie were going wild.
Eddie clutched Josie to him, twirling her twice before returning her feet to the balcony.
“Oh my God!” he said. “We won.”
The other spectators on the balcony weren’t so happy, most of them frowning as they wadded their tickets and tossed them into the trash. Eddie and Josie, smiling as they counted their money, were soon back at their table overlooking the track.
“How much did you win?” Adele asked.
“Almost three grand,” Eddie said. “Gonna be a hot time in the old town tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Frankie said. “You amateur betters are all the same. You’ll be penniless when you leave the track.”
“No more tips?”
Frankie crossed his arms. “You’re on your own, big boy. My horse is running in the next race. Hold the fort down up here. Josie, Adele and me are gonna watch from the owner’s box near the track.”
Eddie blew Josie a kiss as she, her dad and Adele disappeared down the escalator. He wasn’t alone for long.
I’d almost forgotten about attending the races with Eddie Toledo. Bertram Picou, my landlord, and owner of the French Quarter bar I lived above, reminded me when I wandered downstairs.
“Kinda running a little late,” he said.
A gloomy fall day outside, the bar was practically empty, Bertram sitting on a barstool, rubbing Lady, his dog’s head.
“What?” I said.
“Eddie left here more than an hour ago. Said you were meeting him at the track to watch the ponies run.”
“Damn,” I said. “Can I borrow an umbrella?”
Bertram reached behind the bar, handing me a Mardi Gras colored umbrella complete with fleur de lis. He called to me as I rushed out the door.
“Hey, don’t forget where you got it.”
***
When Eddie wasn’t in the grandstand, I knew I’d find him in his favorite track bar. Instead of the two beautiful women he’d told me who’d be joining us, he was sitting alone at the best table in the house.
“Where you been?” he asked. “The races are half over.”
“Sorry. Where are the two babes you promised, and how did you manage to snag the best table in the place?”
“The two ditzy blonds were no-shows. Just as well because I ran into Adele and Frankie Castellano, and Frankie’s daughter Josie. I gotta tell you, Wyatt, I think I’m in love.”
“First time this week?”
“Don’t make fun. This time, I’m serious.”
“Sitting with the Castellanos explains the table. Where are they?”
“Frankie has a horse running in the next race. They’re watching it from the owner’s box down by the track.”
“Aren’t you afraid that some of your cohorts might see you with the Don of the Bayou?”
“I have clearance, as long as I report anything suspicious I learn to my boss.”
“If you go to hell for lying, seems to me you’d already have one foot pointed south,” I said.
“All in the way you spin a tale,” he said.
I could only shake my head as I grabbed the binoculars resting on the table.
“You mind?”
“Knock yourself out. Take a look and give me your best pick.”
The horses were parading up to the starting gate, a spotted bay bucking and kicking up turf.
“I don’t even have to think twice about this one,” I said. “The big black horse will win by a length or two.”
“Hardly. It’s a forty to one long shot.”
“No way. Let me see your program.”
Eddie sipped his scotch as I studied the racing form.
“This says the name of the black horse is Warmonger. I don’t think so. Looks like another quarter horse to me,” I said.
“I doubt it,” Eddie said. “Frankie bought the nag for next to nothing so he’d have a horse running today. Josie says it’s never won a race.”
“That horse isn’t Warmonger, and he’s won lots of races.”
“How do you know that?” Eddie asked.
“You know I never forget a face.”
“That’s a horse, not a person.”
“You have a short memory,” I said. “We both won money on him last time we hung out at the off-track betting site in the Quarter.”
“Let me see,” he said.
Handing him the binoculars, I watched as he studied the horses.
“Now that you mention it, he does look familiar,” he said. “Except that horse had a . . .”
“Lightning blaze on his forehead. His name was Lightning Bolt. Undefeated in ten races.”
“That’s the name Josie called him. Shit!” he said, suddenly remembering something. “The blaze is gone because Frankie used shoe polish to dye it. Why would he do that?”
“Shenanigans,” I said.
Eddie glanced at the time on his cell phone. “Let’s place a bet. We still have a few minutes before they load.”
“You’re a Federal D.A. You can’t bet on this race if you know it’s rigged.”
“Nothing is stopping you from betting the farm,” he said, counting out almost three thousand dollars in cash. “I’m lending you half of this. Bet it all on Lightning Bolt. You can pay me back with the winnings.”
“Where’d you get so much money?” I asked.
“Frankie placed a bet for me while his daughter was showing me his new horse. It won.”
“Must have been a long shot,” I said. “You think Frankie had insider information?”
“Hell, he’s the Don of the Bayou. What do you think?”
I didn’t bother responding to Eddie’s question because we both knew what the likely answer was.
“What difference does it make who places the bet? If they find out about it, won’t your employers see it as the same difference?”
“If you do it, then I’ll have plausible deniability,” he said.
“You lawyers are all a sorry bunch,” I said.
He was grinning as I took the money and headed toward the cashier.
“Yes we are, Mr. Disbarred Attorney.”
I let the remark pass as I headed toward the betting window. Eddie had a pitcher of lemonade waiting for me when I returned to the table.
“Don’t worry about the drinks,” he said. “I’m buying.”
“Thanks, moneybags,” I said, showing him the betting voucher. “Where do you think Frankie got the horse?”
“Wasn’t it running at a track in Oklahoma when we bet on it?”
“You’re right. I can see how the locals might not recognize the horse as a plant. What about the jockey and the trainer?”
Eddie tapped his glass against mine. “Don’t know. If Lightning Bolt wins, we’ll be rich and won’t have to worry about it.”
“And if he doesn’t, we’ll each be out almost fifteen hundred dollars.”
“C’est la vie,” he said. “I didn’t have it when I walked in the door.”
“No, but I’ll still owe you my half.”
“I’ll worry about that if it happens,” he said. “Meanwhile, let’s enjoy the moment.”
“Better enjoy it fast,” I said. “They’re starting to load.”
“Then let’s go out on the balcony.”
“You can’t see any better from out there than you can from here.”
“No, but if we lose, I can jump over the edge.”
“Shut the hell up, Eddie,” I said as I followed him out to the balcony.
This was the big race of the day, the balcony crowded with spectators. The starting bell rang as we tried to get closer to the railing. We didn’t quite make it as Lightning Bolt broke cleanly from the gate, a full half-length ahead before he’d gone a hundred yards. He won by three lengths, everyone giving Eddie and me dirty looks as we screamed and cheered. Finally realizing we were a minority in the crowd, I grabbed Eddie’s arm and pulled him back into the dimly lit bar.
“Wait for me,” I said. “I’m going to cash this before I lose it.”
Eddie, a big grin still on his face, was motioning our waitress for more drinks.
“Go for it,” he said.
I returned with a check for sixty-six thousand dollars. “Got it,” I said.
“What took you so long?”
“Had to fill out a butt-load of paperwork for the I.R.S. I’m getting thirty-three thousand dollars less the fifteen-hundred I owe you, but it’s me that’s going to get a W2-G for sixty-six thousand dollars.”
“Deal with it, loser,” he said. “And keep the fifteen-hundred. You deserve a fifty-fifty split seeing as you were the one that recognized the horse.”
“Let’s hope we don’t get mugged before we leave the place. I’d hate to lose my share before I have a chance to pay Bertram his rent this month.”
“There’s a mail drop in the gift shop. I’ll bet they have stamps there. Put the check in a birthday card and send it to yourself in the mail.”
“You trust the U.S. mail?”
“More than I trust you and me. You were causing quite a scene on the balcony.”
“Me?” I said. “You were pounding an old man’s back so hard you practically knocked him over the railing.”
“Then hurry up and go to the gift shop. You may have jinxed us by blabbering about being mugged.”
They did have stamps in the shop. The cashier smiled when she rang up the birthday card I’d bought.
“That one’s very funny,” she said. “Who’s having a birthday?”
“Friend of mine,” I said, paying for the card. “Better also ring up one of those souvenir pens.”
“Surely that’s not the present you’re buying,” she said.
“No way. This is for me.”
“To remember your day at the track?”
“Don’t need a souvenir pen for that. I just need it to address the envelope.”
After stuffing the check into the birthday card, I kissed it before dropping it into the mailbox. I was halfway out the door when I returned to see what time the mail would go out. Smiling at the nosy cashier, I waved and hurried back out the door.
“Well?” Eddie said when I rejoined him.
“Check’s in the mail,” I said.
Eddie had the binoculars in his hand. “Funny. The Castellanos just left the winner’s circle. Looks like they got one big trophy.”
“Bet that isn’t all he’s collecting. If we made sixty-six grand, I can only imagine how much he’s going to get.”
“At least ten times as much,” Eddie said.
“Can’t imagine he’d be so blatant. If we figured out the scam, how many others did as well?”
“Maybe that’s the point. He told me before you got here that Mexican drug lords are pretty much running the quarter horse game right now. Maybe he’s trying to pick a fight with them.”
“And the authorities?”
Eddie pushed the binoculars across the table. “They’re probably already in Frankie’s pocket. I doubt he has anything to worry about there.”
“Sounds like the opening salvo of an old-fashioned turf fight. Maybe you better sever your connections with Frankie’s daughter before you get in too deep.”
“I know this may sound crazy. I’m sensing Josie doesn’t have a clue her father is a gangster.”
“What makes you think so?” I asked.
“Some of the things she’s said. Either she’s the best actress in the world, or else doesn’t know what business her father’s in.”
“Surely someone would have told her by now. She can’t be that naïve.”
Eddie fidgeted with the straw in his drink. “You really think I should forget about her and move on down the road?”
“That’s what I’d do if I were you. You know lots of women. This one can’t be that much more special.”
“You’re about to see for yourself. Here they come. And Wyatt, I think we should keep it to ourselves about winning big money on Frankie’s horse.”
“Probably a good idea.”
Frankie had a large silver trophy in his arms. When they joined us, I was too stunned to react, other than to stare at the gorgeous young woman like a bumbling fool.
“Told you she was a knockout,” Eddie said.
“I’m Josie,” the woman said. “Frankie’s daughter.”
Adele grabbed me around the waist and hugged me. “You look like you seen a ghost,” she said.
Frankie had a smug grin on his face as he put the trophy in the center of our table, and then shook my hand.
“My beautiful daughter has that effect on men.”
“Please, Dad,” Josie said.
With my arm around Adele, I shook Josie’s hand. “I’m Wyatt. Hope I’m not disturbing your party.”
“It’s just beginning,” Adele said. “Frankie’s horse won its first race.”
“I know. We watched it from the balcony,” I said.
“You don’t look very happy,” Eddie said.
“Because some clown bet big on Warmonger just before the race started. It lowered the odds from forty to one down to twenty-two to one,” Frankie said. “Cost me big time. Wasn’t you, was it?” he asked, looking at Eddie.
Eddie showed them his empty wallet. “No way. I’m leaving with no money, just like you said I would. You’ll have to take a rain check on those drinks I was gonna buy.”
“Your money’s no good today. Like my wonderful wife said, we just won big time.”
Adele pulled me to the table, directing me to sit between her and Josie. It must have been Eddie’s chair because he gave me a dirty look.
Josie was drinking Manhattans, one of my favorite drinks from my alcoholic past.
“You’re drinking lemonade?” she said.
“Long story. I’m a recovering alcoholic.”
She pushed her drink aside. “Then I’ll drink lemonade with you. I know how hard it must be to break an addiction.”
I grabbed the drink, smiling as I returned it to her. “You’re an angel. Drink your Manhattan and enjoy yourself. You can’t live in New Orleans without being around people consuming adult beverages. I’m used to it.”
Adele rested her hand on my shoulder. “I wasn’t lying when I said you look like you seen a ghost. Everything okay?”
“When I first saw Josie, I thought she was someone else.”
“Who?”
“A woman I knew. Her name was Desire.”
“We’re trying to have a party here,” Eddie said. “None of us want to hear your heartbreak story.”
“I do,” Josie said, grasping my hand. “Was Desire someone you loved?”
“Very much so,” I said.
By now, Eddie’s body language left little doubt that he was growing increasingly angry. His legs and arms were tightly crossed, and he’d pushed his scotch an arm’s length in front of him. I could also feel the chill radiating from Frankie’s eyes.
“Please tell me about it,” Josie said.
I smiled and took a sip from my lemonade. “It was a while back. I’m over it now and don’t want to spoil the party.”
Josie glanced first at Eddie, and then at her dad. “I sense Wyatt has something important to tell us. Do you mind?”
“Not me,” Eddie said.
“Go right ahead,” Frankie said.
“Wyatt, tell us what’s bothering you?” Josie said.
“You’re very perceptive. I didn’t realize I was broadcasting my feelings.”
“Like a beacon,” Adele said. “I’m with Josie. I want to hear your story.”
“Did Desire die?” Josie asked.
“I’ll make it short and sweet, and then we can celebrate your dad’s victory. She didn’t die. When her twin sister committed suicide, Desire became a nun and cloistered herself for life in a nunnery. She somehow felt that I was responsible for her sister’s death. I never had a chance to explain that I didn’t.”
Josie hadn’t released the grip on my hand. “Oh, Wyatt, that’s so tragic.”
“Like I said, it was a while back. I’ve moved on with my life, except . . .”
“Except what?” Adele said.
“Early this morning, I saw her again for the first time since she went away.”
Suddenly interested in what I had to say, Eddie leaned across the table.
“You didn’t tell me you saw Desire.”
“Because it was almost like a dream, except it wasn’t.”
Frankie held up a palm, waving it to get my attention.
“I need a drink first,” he said, motioning our waitress. “Doll, bring us fresh drinks, six dozen raw oysters and keep them coming till we tell you different. You can go ahead now,” he said after she’d left the table with the order.
“Yes, Wyatt, please,” Josie said.
A roar went up from the people in the bar, and the crowd outside. We’d missed the last race of the day. Patrons began clearing their tabs and filing out. Josie and Adele didn’t seem to notice. Frankie frowned as he glanced at his watch.
“My cat woke me this morning, and I followed her out to the balcony of my apartment. I live over Bertram Picou’s bar on Chartres Street. The door was ajar, ground fog outside so thick, it was rolling across the floor. I know this sounds strange, but I think Kisses saw something that spooked her and came in to wake me up.”
“Get outta here,” Eddie said. “Cats aren’t that smart.”
“You’ve apparently never owned cats,” I said. “They’re intelligent creatures.”
“I’m a dog person,” Frankie said. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Go on with the story,” Josie said.
“The fog was like proverbial pea soup. I couldn’t even see the railing. I don’t know what time it was. A cab drove past. It was the only vehicle on the road. At least until . . .”
“Until what?” Josie said.”
“Kisses’ attention was focused on something I couldn’t see, at least until a pair of approaching headlights appeared through the fog.”
“Another car?”
“Yes, and unlike any car I’d ever seen. A limousine, colorless and almost indiscernible from the fog.”
Adele was staring at me. “You mean like a ghost car?” she asked.
“Yes. As I watched, more cars passed on the street below, all ghostly and none with any engine noise. Ephemeral light glowed from inside each vehicle, and I could see blurry shapes of people inside them. All except one.”
I stopped for a moment to take a sip of lemonade. Eddie’s grin was gone, as was Frankie’s.
“Don’t stop now,” Frankie said.
“A black, horse-drawn hearse carrying a gold coffin trotted past. There was no driver. Another limousine followed close behind, its back window open. The person inside stared up at me. It was Desire.”
The retelling of the story affected me more than I cared to believe. My hand trembled as I reached for the lemonade. When I returned the glass to the table, Josie clutched my hand. Adele stood behind me and began massaging my shoulders.
“You were dreaming,” Frankie said.
“Maybe, maybe not. A dream doesn’t explain this,” I said, taking something from my pocket.
Everyone’s attention focused on the object in my hand.
“What is it?” Frankie asked.
“A diamond and opal bracelet. There’s an inscription engraved on the back. It says, ‘For my two precious daughters.’ I found it on the edge of my balcony after Kisses pointed it out to me.”
“What makes you think it was Desire’s bracelet?” Eddie asked.
“Desire and Dauphine were born in October, opal their birthstone. I saw this bracelet on Desire many times. This is October. Maybe there’s a reason I’m getting it now.”
“She wore that particular bracelet, or maybe one that looked like it?” Eddie asked.
“Don’t know. She never took it off.”
“Your cat showed you the bracelet?” Frankie said.
I could tell by Frankie’s tone that he was skeptical.
“Please, Dad,” Josie said. “Don’t be so negative.”
“Kisses was pawing at the bracelet, almost as if it were a mouse. She went back and forth between the bracelet and my leg until I decided to see what she’d found.”
Frankie forked an oyster, dipped it in red sauce and popped it in his mouth.
“You’re not talking about Gordon Vallee’s daughters, are you?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“You know him, Dad?” Josie asked.
“I did. A wealthy socialite banker. Once was the crème de la crème of this town’s top-tiered citizens. He’s dead now.”
“How did he die?” she asked.
“A cop blew him away when he tried to resist arrest. He’d just killed Claude Sonnier, his former best friend, and another wealthy banker. They lived in adjacent houses in the Garden District.”
“Why on earth would he kill his best friend?” Josie said.
“Claude was bonking Junie Bug. Guess he’d finally had enough.”
Josie looked at me. “Who is Junie Bug?” she asked.
“The mother of Desire and Dauphine,” Adele said, answering for me. “They used to come eat at the Via Vittorio Veneto.”
“Wyatt, was Desire’s mother sleeping with another man?” Josie asked.
“There’s lots more to the story, though that’s the gist of it,” I said.
“The Via Vittorio Veneto was the best Italian restaurant in the metro,” Eddie said. “Haven’t been there since you left. Is Pancho still at it?”
Adele smiled at the mention of Pancho, her father. They were running an Italian restaurant in old Metairie when she’d met Frankie. I knew because I’d met her the very same night.
“When I married Frankie and stopped cooking, he sold the place to a cousin of mine and retired. It’s still mine and Frankie’s favorite place to eat.”
“Your cousin’s almost as good a cook as you are,” Frankie said. “Don’t matter none. I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”
She was smiling when she shook a fist at him. “You better not.”
Frankie grabbed her hand and pulled her into his lap. “I’d have to have my head examined if I ever did. You’re the best woman on earth.”
Having apparently witnessed the same scene many times before, Josie rolled her eyes. Eddie reached across the table and used a cocktail fork to spear an oyster.
“Leave a few for me,” Frankie said. “I may need all I can eat before the night is over.”
“Please,” Josie said when Adele kissed him on the neck.
Adele finally pulled away from Frankie’s grasp, though she didn’t move far away.
Josie had the opal bracelet in her palm and was giving it a closer look.
“What happened to Junie Bug?” she asked.
“Still lives in the same house in the Garden District, though she became reclusive after the death of her daughter,” Frankie said.
“How do you know that?” Josie asked.
“I still read the society page of the newspaper. The Vallees were the talk of New Orleans for awhile,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have taken you for the type that reads the society page,” Eddie said.
“Why not? It’s the best way to keep up with what the social elite in this fair city is doing. They don’t like outsiders, and I’m at the top of their list. Don’t matter none because they’re some of my best clients.”
“You said you knew Desire’s father. Did you know Junie Bug?” Josie said.
“I knew her. Desire was a supermodel. I’d see her pictures on the front covers of magazines everytime I went through a check out line.”
“Oh my God!” Josie said. “Now I know who you’re talking about. You dated her? She had to be one of the most beautiful women on earth.”
“Present company excluded,” Frankie said. “You look enough like Desire to be her sister.”
I nodded. “When you walked up, I thought you were her,” I said.
Josie didn’t comment. “Tell me about Junie Bug,” she said.
“She was also a looker,” Frankie said. “A famous runway model that got her daughter her first modeling job. Gordon married her when she was still in her teens. I remember because everyone in New Orleans was gossiping about it.”
The place had emptied out after the races. Frankie frowned when two nattily dressed men came through the door and sat at the bar. Eddie didn’t miss much, and couldn’t contain his interest.
“Friends of yours?” he asked.
“Hardly. It’s Diego Contrado and Angus Anderson. An odd couple if there ever was one.”
“Dad, they’re staring at us,” Josie said.
“I’m sure they’re pissed about losing the race. I’m going over there.”
Frankie walked over to the two men at the bar. We watched as he patted their shoulders and shook their hands. Motioning the bartender, he directed him to put Contrado and Anderson’s drinks on his tab. He wasn’t smiling when he returned to our table.
“Spineless bastards,” he said.
“Don’t sugar coat it, Frankie,” Eddie said. “Tell us how you really feel.”
“That, I’d like to do. Not with ladies present, though. We gotta go now. I left the tab open for you. Eat and drink as much as you like.”
Eddie grabbed Josie’s hand. “Stay and celebrate with us?”
“Love to, but I’m showing a luxury condo over on Riverfront. Where will you be later on?”
“Picou’s Bar on Chartres.”
“My appointment could take several hours, especially if I close the deal. Wait on me?”
“I’ll stay until you get there,” he said. “Even if it’s the middle of next week.”
“You’re so sweet,” she said. “And Wyatt, what about you?”
“I’ll be there if I can,” I said. “I have something I need to do first.”
“Bye guys,” Adele said, giving us both a hug.
Frankie was already halfway out the door as she hurried after him.
“I’m going with them,” Josie said. “It’s getting dark outside, and they’ll walk me to my car.”
They were already out the door when Eddie noticed the trophy still sitting on the table.
“They forgot something,” he said.
“We’ll take it to Bertram’s. They can get it later.”
“Feeling better now?” he asked.
“I’m fine. Do I look sick?”
“When Josie walked in the door, I thought you had a heart attack. She does look like Desire.”
“Like I said, I thought she was when I first saw her. It shook me after what I saw last night.”
Eddie began mixing horseradish and cocktail sauce, and opening packets of crackers. He was soon consuming the succulent mollusks at an alarming rate.
“I can’t eat six dozen oysters by myself. Dig in,” he said.
We’d managed to work our way through most of the oysters when a Hispanic-looking man entered the room, joining Anderson and Contrado at the bar. After a whispered conversation, they glanced at us and the trophy on the table.
“Bet he’s packing heat beneath that fancy black sports coat,” Eddie said.
“We might find out. He’s coming our way.”
The man didn’t look happy when he stopped at our table, though he sported a false smile. He’d brought his bottle of Mexican beer with him.
“Hola mi amigos. You work for Senor Castellano?”
“Not us,” Eddie said.
“You got his trophy,” he said, his smile disappearing.
When he leaned over our table, supporting his weight with his hands, we could see the skull and crossbones tattoos on his knuckles. The tats looked amateurish as if he’d used a sharp pencil to do the work himself.
“He forgot to take it with him,” I said.
The man grabbed the trophy off the table and put it under his arm.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“No need,” Eddie said. “We can handle it.”
“Thought you said you don’t work for him,” he said.
“We don’t.”
“You a liar,” the man said. “I don’t like liars.”
Turning his beer upside down, he began emptying it over Eddie’s head. As cold Corona rolled down Eddie’s face, the lime dropped into his lap. The thug walked a few steps, then wheeled around and pointed his finger.
“Bang,” he said.
The three men were laughing as they exited the door. Eddie’s long hair was plastered to the back of his neck. I grabbed a couple of bar rags from the bartender and tossed them to Eddie.
“Frankie wasn’t right about his assessment of all Mexicans,” he said. “But I hate the hell outa that one.”
I was grinning when I asked, “Why didn’t you just kick the big mofo’s ass?”
“I didn’t notice you coming to my rescue,” he said.
“Then forget about it. That guy’s a pro.”
“And packing heat, just like you said. I caught a glimpse of his pistol when he bent over to take the trophy.”
“You’re about my size. I have clean clothes at my place you can wear. You can dry off and clean up for your meeting with pretty Miss Josie.”
“You think she’ll show?”
“She doesn’t strike me as a tease,” I said. “She’ll show.”
“Then let’s get the hell outa here. My shirt is drenched.”
Bertram’s wasn’t far from the track, and Eddie managed to find a parking place on a side street. I handed him the keys to my room.
“Grab some clothes from the closet. I’m not going with you.”
“You kidding? We got celebrating to do. You haven’t forgotten about the sixty-six grand, have you?”
“There’s something I need to do first.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“I wasn’t looking for answers when I went to the track, but you and Josie gave them to me.”
“Which is?”
“Pay Junie Bug Vallee a visit and find out what this means,” I said, turning the bracelet in my hand so he could see it.
“Desire and Junie Bug, as I recall, weren’t really happy about what they perceived as your involvement in the murder.”
“I did my best to stop it. You know that, and so will Junie Bug when I have a chance to explain.”
“How you gonna get in the front door?”
I flashed the opal heirloom. “She’ll let me in when she sees this.”
“Then wait for me while I change out of these wet clothes. I’m going with you to Junie Bug’s.”
“No way. I don’t want to be responsible for causing you to miss seeing Josie again. I can catch the streetcar on Canal.”
“If she shows up before we get there, Bertram won’t let her leave. You brought me luck today. I know how much you loved Desire. Now, I’m going with you.”
During the fall of every year, it often rains bucket loads in New Orleans. Heavy rain had fallen in relentless waves for the past three days. It had finally stopped, fog forming on St. Charles blacktop as we headed toward the Garden District and the mansion of Junie Bug Vallee.
“You’d think we were in London,” Eddie said. “Wish this tub had fog lights.”
The street was damp. When a cat ran across the road in front of us, the big Ford skidded as Eddie tapped the brakes.
“Want me to drive?” I asked.
“Didn’t know you could,” he said.
“Funny.”
“Thanks for letting me use your shower, and for the dry clothes,” he said. “My hair was a little sticky.”
“Getting drenched with beer isn’t the worst thing that could have happened with that big goon.”
“Got that right. Hope you got a good look at him.”
“Not to worry,” I said. “I’d never forget that pug-ugly face.”
“Good, because I want you to ID him so I can determine if he’s legal.”
“Or wanted for some crime, maybe even murder,” I said.
“Wouldn’t that be sweet? I’d love to have a reason to install that thug in a Federal maximum security prison.”
“Hell, Eddie, what’s wrong with Angola.”
“Why not? He’d probably fit in well,” he said. “How old do you think Junie Bug is?”
“She was only eighteen when she got pregnant with the twins. Desire isn’t thirty yet. I’d say Junie Bug is in her late forties. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering,” he said.
“You remember the way to her house?”
“I’d better. There’s no GPS in this government rumble bucket.”
Eddie remembered, parking beneath a giant live oak across the street from her house. The old mansion was dark, not another car in sight. We kicked up wafting ground fog as we shut the iron gate behind us and knocked on the front door. Someone answered almost immediately. It was a young woman dressed, in jeans and tee shirt.
“I’m Abba, Dr. Morrison,” she said. “Thanks for arriving so quickly. Please come with me, and hurry.”
Eddie and I followed her through the house, a smell of must and age I hadn’t noticed during my previous visit. Dim lighting barely illuminated the resplendent ballroom I remembered from the Mardi Gras party I’d once attended there. Dust covers draped all the furniture I could see through the gloom. Abba led us to a large bedroom; the same room where the police had shot Gordon Vallee dead as Desire and I watched.
Junie Bug was lying in bed, her face ashen, eyes closed. At first, I thought she was dead. Eddie put his face close to hers, then began performing CPR, stopping only briefly to slap her cheeks, pump her chest, and then began the routine anew as Abba and I watched in frozen horror.
“Wake up, Junie Bug,” he said, shaking her like a rag doll.
Abba dropped to her knees, her hands clasped together. Tears streamed down her face in rivulets as Eddie worked on Junie Bug at a fevered pace.
“Don’t die on me. God damn it, don’t do it. Get me some water,” he said, staring up at me.
An empty tumbler and an antique porcelain ewer sat on a nightstand beside the four-poster bed. I quickly filled the glass and handed it to him. Halting his CPR, he trickled a few drops between her lips as a man with a goatee and doctor’s bag came rushing into the room. He prepared a large syringe from his black bag, injecting directly into her heart without hesitation.
Junie Bug’s eyes opened immediately, and I was the first person she saw. Her words were groggy as if she’d just awoken from a deep sleep.
“Wyatt, is that you?”
“It’s me,” I said, grasping her hand.
“Are you Dr. Morrison?” Abba asked.
The older man dressed in a seersucker suit with a bright yellow bowtie nodded. His goatee, like the sparse hair left on his head, was snowy white.
“I am,” he said.
Abba’s tears turned quickly to anger. After glancing at Dr. Morrison, she shoved Eddie.
“Then who are you and what right do you have pretending to be the doctor?”
“I’m Eddie Toledo, and this is my friend Wyatt Thomas. You let us in the door,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”
“Stop it,” Dr. Morrison said. “Junie Bug would be dead now if this man hadn’t gotten here before me. He saved her life, not me.”
“Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?” I asked.
Dr. Morrison glanced first at Abba, then at Junie Bug. He was glaring.
“I was given no choice in the matter. You pull this stunt one more time Junie Bug, I’ll see that you’re placed in a rehab facility. You almost didn’t make it tonight. If it weren’t for Mr. Toledo, you’d be dead now.”
Junie Bug dismissed his rebuke with a toss of her head. “I’m fine, Reggie,” she said. “You did your job, and I thank you. You can go home now.”
“Not so fast. I want to check you into the hospital for observation,” he said.
“I’m going nowhere,” she said, throwing off the sheet and bounding out of bed.
She was stark naked and didn’t try to cover herself as she hurried to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She reemerged dressed in a shiny gold robe that must have cost a fortune. Pouring herself a shot of vodka from the cut glass decanter on the nightstand, she downed it before facing off Dr. Morrison.
“Thanks for coming, Reggie, now get the hell out of here,” she said. “I’m fine now.”
“Don’t put me in this position again, Junie Bug,” he said as he scurried out the door.
Junie Bug sat on the side of the bed. “Abba, this is Wyatt and Eddie. They’re friends of mine. I need to speak with them. Alone,” she said.
Abba looked at me, and then at Eddie before leaving the bedroom and shutting it behind her without saying another word.
“She works for you?” Eddie asked.
“Personal assistant,” she said. “Headstrong and smart as a whip.” She began to smile. “I haven’t needed much assistance lately except for someone to keep me stocked with vodka.”
“You were on death’s door,” I said. “Why didn’t she call 9-1-1?”
“She and Reggie have their orders. I don’t want to die in a hospital,” she said.
“You’re too young to die,” Eddie said. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“Have you ever lost your husband, your lover, and your two twin daughters the same day, Eddie?”
“No.”
“Then shut the fuck up,” she said, pouring another shot of vodka.
“Fine,” he said. “If you’ll share your hooch with me.”
“Why not,” she said, pouring him a shot.
“What’s with all the dust covers?” I asked. “Last time I was here this place was alive with people. You had at least a dozen servants. Where are they?”
“They all quit.”
“Because you didn’t pay them?”
Junie Bug grinned. “Gordon died, but he didn’t take his money with him. The staff was afraid of ghosts. One by one, they quit, finally leaving me all alone.”
“Because?” I asked.
“The house is haunted.”
“Claude and Gordon?”
“Among others, most I don’t even recognize. Everyone except Dauphine.”
“They’ve accosted you?” I asked.
“They’re harmless. I even enjoy knowing I’m not alone here, though that hasn’t worked for everyone else.”
“And Abba?”
“A student at Tulane. She needs the money and is trying her best to deny her own eyes.”
“What’ll you do if she quits?” Eddie asked.
“Be totally fucked,” she said.
“Then why don’t you move?” I asked.
She hesitated a moment before answering. “Because I’m trapped in this house; just as Claude and Gordon are trapped here.”
“You came damn close to joining them a few minutes ago,” Eddie said.
For a moment, the room grew quiet, and I could almost feel the icy presence of Claude and Gordon. Eddie must have felt it too because he poured himself another shot of vodka, downing it in one slug.
Realizing I was still standing in the same spot as when I’d entered the room, I sat on the bed beside Junie Bug and squeezed her hand.
“You could at least call some of your friends,” I said. “Go to a movie, maybe. You can’t just lie around here and drink and drug yourself to death,” I said.
“What friends? Instead of embracing me during my time of need, they ousted me from the country club and from their lives. None of my girlfriends would take my call. I finally gave up trying. It’s as if I no longer even exist.”
“Because of the murder?” Eddie asked.
“Because Gordon was black, and had been passing as white his entire life. The crowd we ran with could have forgiven him for murder. Not for being a nigger,” she said, spewing the hateful racial slur.
“Neither you nor Desire have a racist bone in your bodies,” I said.
“I can’t say as much for Gordon, Claude, and Dauphine, or the socialite crowd we ran with. I miss Claude and Dauphine, and even Gordon, though not my fake friends. I’m glad they’re gone. It’s just hard living with such loneliness.”
Eddie embraced her again. “You’re still young, Junie Bug, and still a very attractive woman. Get out of the house. Meet some new people. With your personality, it won’t take long.”
Pulling away from Eddie’s embrace, she turned to me. “I wish I could. What brings you two here on this utterly dreadful night?”
Her somber expression faded into a smile of recognition when I handed her the opal bracelet.
“I found this on my balcony.”
“Impossible,” she said.
“Obviously not.”
“This was Dauphine’s bracelet. She always wore Desire’s and Desire hers. It was a statement to the strength of the bond between them. This can’t be the bracelet I remember because Dauphine was buried with it on her wrist.”
Eddie poured her another shot of vodka when she began weeping.
“It’s okay,” he said.
“Oh Wyatt, do you think it was stolen by grave robbers?”
I could only shake my head. “I think Dauphine left it on my balcony.”
“But Dauphine’s dead.”
“Mama Mulate would tell you that she’s only crossed over into a different state of cosmic awareness.”
Junie Bug stared at the bracelet as I told her about watching the ghostly funeral procession pass beneath my balcony. She waited in silence until I’d finished the story.
“Why would Dauphine give you the bracelet?” she asked.
“Maybe she wanted to warn me about something.”
“Desire?” Junie Bug said.
“That very idea has been percolating in my brain. Have you heard from her since she became cloistered?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t even know where she’s at. You think she’s in danger?”
“I don’t see any other possibility.”
“I have something to show you.”
She disappeared into another room, returning with a photo album in her arms. Sitting on the side of the bed, she began thumbing through it. Finding what she was looking for, she removed a photo from its plastic pocket. I stared at it in disbelief.
“Let me see,” Eddie said.
It was an old black and white photo of Desire and Dauphine taken when they were about five. Someone had written the girls names in ink to distinguish one from the other. The photo was curled and yellowing at the edges, over Desire’s face the faint image of a superimposed skull.
“The ghosts move things around at night. I found this album on the floor, the photo sticking out like a bookmarker. It’s a sign; God forbid, Desire may already be dead.”
“That’s why I’m here. I’ll tear this town apart if I have to to find out. I just need a place to start. Can’t you tell me anything about where she might be?”
Junie Bug buried her face in her hands and shook her head.
“Desire forbade me from being present when the people came to get her. Doesn’t matter because I was peeking through the door. She left here with two people: an older woman dressed in a nun’s habit, and a little man dressed in an awful-fitting black suit.”
“A priest?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “A funny looking little man. The woman introduced herself as Sister Gertrude. She called the man Father Fred.”
“Can I take the photo with me? I have someone I can show it to. It may be a clue. At any rate, we have to go now.”
She handed it to me, draped her arms around my neck, buried her face against my shoulder and began to sob. There was little I could do except gently pat her back.
“Wyatt and I are meeting someone at Bertram’s Bar on Chartres. Why don’t you come with us? We’ll bring you back home.”
“I can’t. I haven’t been out of the house in almost a year. I’m not dressed, and my hair’s a mess.”
“No excuses,” he said. “Get cleaned up and dressed. Wyatt and I will wait on you.”
Junie Bug’s expression brightened as she sprang up from the bed.
“Abba,” she said, calling from the door. “Come help me. We’re going out.”
Eddie and I waited in the parlor for Abba and Junie Bug to get ready, Eddie drumming the arm of his chair with a nervous forefinger to pass the time. They didn’t disappoint when they finally came out to join us.
“You two look great,” I said.
I wasn’t kidding. Eddie couldn’t stop staring, earning laughter from Junie Bug. Abba was wearing either Dauphine or Desire’s dress. While both tall, neither was as tall as Abba, the seam of the skirt rising at least twelve inches above her knees.
Though Junie Bug was old enough to be Abba’s mother, she still had the face and body of the runway model she’d once been. Abba was slender, stood six inches taller than Junie Bugg, and had the shapely legs of a dedicated runner. Unlike Eddie, I tried not to stare.
As we left the Garden District and headed toward Bertram’s, we learned the weather conditions had only grown worse. Rampant fog and the resultant visibility problems it brought with it had kept his normal patrons at home, and the tourists already asleep in their hotel rooms waiting for morning. Bertram was sitting at the bar with Josie. They didn’t see us come in the door.
Junie Bug was laughing, not yet paying attention to Josie as we approached. When Eddie tapped Josie’s shoulder, and she turned around, Junie Bug’s smile disappeared. Clutching her heart, she collapsed to the floor.
“What the hell!” Bertram said, wheeling around when he heard the thump.
Eddie had already dropped to his knees, preparing to perform CPR for the second time the same night. Before he could proceed, Bertram stuck smelling salts beneath Junie Bug’s nose. In a moment, her eyes popped open.
Josie was on her knees beside Eddie. When Junie Bug realized she wasn’t who she’d thought she was, she relaxed.
“You okay?” Josie asked.
“When I first saw you, I thought you were my daughter,” Junie Bug said. “It gave me quite a start.”
Eddie explained when Josie cast him a puzzled glance. “This is Junie Bug Vallee, mother of Dauphine and Desire, the two twins we told you about at the track. Junie Bug, this is Josie Castellano.”
“Josie Tanner,” Josie said. “Though I’m divorced, I still use my former husband’s last name in deference to my son.”
“You have a son?” Junie Bug asked.
Josie squeezed Junie Bug’s hand. “Yes, and I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to him. I’m so sorry about your daughters.”
“I didn’t know you have a son,” Eddie said.
“Franklin Joseph. Everyone calls him Jojo because there’s already a Frankie in the family.”
“You didn’t tell me you have a son, or that you’re divorced,” Eddie said.
“What difference does it make?” Josie asked.
“Nothing, I guess,” he said.
Josie handled Eddie’s look of concern with a dismissive frown. “We’ll talk about it later,” she said. “Junie Bug and I need to go to the ladies room so I can help her clean Bertram’s dirty floor off her pretty dress.”
“Thanks, baby,” Junie Bug said when Josie and Abba gave her a hand. “These gentlemen would have left me sitting on the floor all night.”
Josie, Abba and Junie Bug were chattering like old friends as they headed toward the ladies room. Bertram twisted his mustache.
“Where you boys been,” he asked in his bayou-flavored Cajun drawl.
“Not where we been,” Eddie said. “Where we are now. Drinks are on me tonight. We’re celebrating.”
“Oh hell! Musta hit the big one at the track,” Bertram said. “How much you win? Hundred, two hundred, a thousand?”
“Try sixty-six thousand,” Eddie said. “Half for me and the other half for Wyatt.”
Bertram held out his hand. “Good,” he said. “Now you can pay me the six months rent you owe me.”
“When the check clears the bank I’ll pay you, along with another six months in advance.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Check’s in the mail. Same song, second verse.”
“That’s where it is,” I said. “I mailed it to myself, so Eddie and I wouldn’t lose it before the banks open tomorrow.”
Bertram turned to Eddie. “Is he pulling this old Cajun’s leg?”
“Not this time,” he said. “Break out the hooch and put it on my tab.”
Eddie and Bertram had already had a round when Abba, Josie, and Junie Bug returned from the ladies room. Abba pulled up a stool beside me at the bar. Josie and Junie Bug kept walking to an empty booth in the back.
“Looks like those two hit it off,” I said. “Eddie’s buying. Want something to drink.”
“A glass of Chardonnay would be nice,” she said.
The bar was empty of customers, Eddie and Bertram deep in conversation as they joined us.
“I’ll get it for you,” I said, ducking under the entrance.
Bertram was cheap, though he didn’t serve cheap booze, or wine, in his bar. I found a nice bottle of chardonnay in the wine cooler, uncorked it and poured Abba a glass. She smiled and licked her lips after taking a sip.
“Absolutely wonderful. Join me in a glass?”
“Love to,” I said. “I could never stop at one, so I had to stop drinking altogether.” I tapped her glass with my own glass of lemonade. “Cheers.”
“I love this place,” she said. “It’s so . . .”
“Eclectic?”
“Not exactly the word I was looking for, though close. How in the world did all those bras, panties and undergarments end up hanging over the bar?”
“A testament to lost inhibitions; a common malady for first time French Quarter visitors.”
“I’ve lived here all my life. It’s not just the visitors.”
“That’s a fact,” I said. “New Orleans casts spells on people that are impossible to break.”
“What’s your last name, Wyatt, and what’s your story?”
“Thomas is my name, snooping my game. I’m a disbarred attorney turned private investigator.”
“Is there big money doing that?”
“More often than not, I’m broker than a church mouse. I won big today at the track. Right now I’m rolling in dough.”
“Are you pulling my leg?” she asked.
“No, but I’d like to.”
Abba was quite handsome, her deep brown eyes matching the curly hair that draped her bare shoulders. She was at least ten years younger than me, and my comment made her grin.
“You’re quite the flirtatious one,” she said.
“A bad habit that gets me into trouble every time I sit beside a pretty girl.”
“How do you know I’m not married?”
“I don’t see a ring.”
“Some people don’t wear rings,” she said.
“Are you married?”
“No. Are you?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been?”
“Once.”
“What happened?”
“Didn’t work out.”
“Your fault or hers?”
It was my turn to smile. “Are you in law school?” I asked.
“Why is that?”
“Because if you’re not, you’re missing a good bet.”
“I’m in medical school at Tulane.”
“A doctor,” I said. “You’ll soon be driving a Lexus.”
“I don’t think so. I’m contemplating working at some disadvantaged hospital in Africa.”
“Very noble of you,” I said. “A close friend and business associate teaches at Tulane.”
“Oh, and who is that?”
“Dr. Mulate.”
“You know Dr. Mulate?” she asked, her gorgeous brown eyes beaming.
“Yes, I do.”
“Then you also know she’s an honest-to-God voodoo mambo.”
“How do you know Mama Mulate so well?” I asked.
“I was on the track team until I graduated. I still work out every day. Mama’s one of my running buds. Neither of us has ever competed in a marathon, and we’re training to run one together.”
“Mama was on the track team at the University of South Carolina,” I said. “She doesn’t talk about it, though I think she may have competed professionally for a while.”
“Get out of here,” she said. “Mama never told me that.”
“We’ve run together many times. She hates to lose.”
“You’re a runner?” she asked.
“Almost every day. I can still run a five-minute mile,” I said.
“You’re bragging,” she said.
“Nope. Lying.”
“You’re funny,” she said as I topped up her glass. “You smoke?”
“One vice I’ve never partaken of. You?”
“My mother smoked herself to death. Lung cancer. I would never touch those nasty things, although I used to have to light them for my grandmother, Marlene.”
“Your last name wouldn’t be Gigoux, would it?”
Abba stopped sipping her wine, her eyes narrowing as she stared at me.
“How did you know that?” she asked.
“I was working on an investigation for Junie Bug’s husband when I met Mama Marlene. How’s your dad doing?”
“He’s doing well, thank you.” After a pause, she said, “What else do you know about Mama Marlene and my father?”
Abba’s smile disappeared as she drained the rest of her wine.
“I’m disbarred though I’m still an attorney,” I said. “I promise you I haven’t discussed your family’s business with anyone.”
“Then you know my father is really Gordon Vallee.”
I nodded, and when she drained her wine, I poured her more. “Does Junie Bug know your real identity?”
Abba shook her head slowly. “Dad refused to acknowledge that he was switched at birth with another baby. It’s strange, now that I think about it.”
“What’s strange?”
“My mom’s color wasn’t just chocolate brown. She was black as a well-used cast iron skillet. Mama Marlene could have passed as white or black. Dad has blond hair and blue eyes and is as lily white as if he’d come from Sweden.”
She smiled when I said, “Maybe why he and your mom named you Abba.”
“Maybe so. My skin is somewhere in between Mom’s and Dad’s. Doesn’t matter because all my life I’ve thought of myself as black. So has Dad.”
“Your grandmother Marlene was a great lady. ‘There’s a lot of both black and white in all of us,’ she once told me.”
Her smile turned into a grin and then she began to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Dad doesn’t have an ounce of black blood in his body. He’s white as the Pope.”
“And Gordon Vallee, a black man by birth, spent his entire life pretending he was white. Are you ever going to tell Junie Bug who you really are?”
“That was my intention when I went to her house. She thought I was there applying for a job as her assistant. I needed the job, and she pays very well. She was so sad and helpless, I just couldn’t tell her who I am.”
“The house and everything she owns is rightfully yours and your dad’s. Mama Marlene wasn’t your blood grandmother.”
“I know that,” she said.
“You could do DNA and prove it.”
“That’s what I intended to do, but . . .”
“But what?”
“I saw what all that money did to corrupt Mama Marlene’s real son, and how it destroyed his family. Every day, I see how happy my dad is. I decided to choose happiness.”
“You may someday change your mind. If and when that day arrives, I’ll back you up,” I said.
Josie and Junie Bug had finished their conversation and were holding hands as they joined us at the bar.
“Thank you for bringing me with you,” she said. “I haven’t been out of that dreadful house in so long, I’d forgotten there are real people in the world.”
“Our pleasure,” Eddie said.
“Sorry the place is so dead tonight,” Bertram said. “Damn fog’s ruining my bidness.”
“You’d complain about a sharp stick in the eye,” Eddie said.
Bertram had no chance to reply, fog rolling through the door when someone opened it and entered. The tall man joined us at the bar. It was Rafael Romanov, a friend of mine.
“Well look what the cat drug in,” Bertram said. “Pull up a stool and start drinking. Eddie’s buying tonight.”
“Lucky me,” Rafael said. “What’s the occasion?”
“Wyatt and I won a small fortune at the track today,” Eddie said.
“Lucky you, and lucky for you to be in the company of three beautiful women. Please introduce me to these lovely damsels.”
Rafael stood six-three or four, his slender frame resplendent in khakis, blue blazer and gold cufflinks. His silk shirt splayed open to show his hairy chest and the heavy gold chain around his neck. Thinning hair, dark eyes, pointed nose and olive complexion did more than hint at his gypsy heritage. There were handshakes all around, and I noticed Junie Bug’s curious glance when I introduced Abba as Abba Gigoux.
“Rafael and I were married to the same woman,” I said. “We became friends when I met him at her wake.”
Josie patted my shoulder. “I’m so sorry about your wife,” she said.
“We were divorced, Rafael married to her when she died.”
Bertram had put two ice cubes in a tumbler, handing it, and a bottle of scotch, to Rafael.
“Enough about the past,” Rafael said. “Tonight, I intend to enjoy some of Eddie’s generosity.”
“Hot tip,” Eddie said, winking at me.
“Yeah, yeah,” Bertram said, pouring himself a shot of Cuervo and then downing it. “I predict you two yahoos will burn through all that money before the week’s out.”
“I’m going to try my best,” Eddie said as he topped up his own tumbler.
Junie Bug was all smiles as she held Rafael’s hand in both of hers.
“When I was a model in the New York rag trade I used to date all the drop-dead gorgeous male models. If that’s not what you do for a living, then you’re missing a good bet.”
“Rafael’s a priest,” I said.
“Rent-a-priest,” Rafael said. “The mother church defrocked me.”
“What’s a rent-a-priest?” Josie asked.
“I do weddings, special religious gigs, funerals, you name it. I also have an ongoing job on a cruise ship that sails out of New Orleans.”
“If you were defrocked,” Josie asked. “How can you still act as a priest?”
“Luckily for me, once a priest, always a priest,” he said.
“Wyatt, show him the picture,” Junie Bug said. “Maybe he can shed light on what it means.”
I handed him the old photo of Desire and Dauphine. He squinted as he held it toward the light for a better look.
“My knowledge of the priesthood serves no benefit in interpreting this photo. My gypsy heritage does, however.”
“You’re a gypsy?” Abba said.
“Part of the reason I was defrocked; that and because my mother is a witch.”
“A real witch?” Josie asked.
“Yes, my dear, a very real witch. Are these two young twins your daughters?” he asked, looking at Junie Bug.
“Desire and Dauphine, taken when they were five.”
“Is it Desire with the web over her face?”
“How did you know?” Junie Bug asked.
Rafael squeezed her hand. “I know what happened to Dauphine. Desire is alive, though she’s in grave peril.”
“I just changed my opinion of you,” Josie said. “Even if what you say is true, it was exceedingly mean of you to say it.”
“No, dear,” Junie Bug said. “Wyatt and I already suspected Desire is in danger, and I’ve known about my other daughter’s death for some time now. Rafael just confirmed what we believed to be true.”
“Did you know before answering the question?” Josie asked.
“Being a gypsy and the son of three generations of witches, I have certain senses most people don’t possess. I knew when I first saw Junie Bug that she had a grave question that deserved an honest and direct answer.”
“Then I’m sorry,” Josie said. “Forgive me?”
“I could never be mad at you, my dear. Not even for a moment,” he said.
I returned the picture to the pocket of my own sports coat. “You’ve answered a question as a gypsy. Now, we have a question about the church,” I said.
“Hit me,” he said.”
“When Desire decided to become a nun she was secretive about where she was going. Junie Bug was peeking through the door when two people arrived at their house to take her away. A woman dressed as a nun and a strange looking little man in an ill-fitting black suit.”
“Do you remember their names?”
“Yes, they introduced themselves as Father Fred and Sister Gertrude. Heard of them?”
Rafael’s smile disappeared. “Yes.”
“Why are you frowning?” Junie Bug asked.
“I should clarify a few things,” he said. “The Catholic Church is more than a religion. It’s one of the largest organizations on earth. There are those that make their living off the church. Custom letterhead, for example. Quite benevolent.”
“And?” I said.
“There are others that feed off the church that aren’t so benevolent. Father Fred and Sister Gertrude fall into that category.”
“You’re frightening me,” Junie Bug said.
Eddie’s back had been to us as he sat at the bar, nursing his drink. Because of something Rafael had said, he became suddenly interested.
“To what exactly are you referring, Padre?”
“Some provide services for Catholics such as adoption. They attempt to place Catholic children with Catholic families.”
“I’m still not following you,” Eddie said.
“Catholics have faults and commit sins like everyone else. I’m saying, there’s someone out there catering to whatever whim a person might have.”
“Like human trafficking?” Eddie said.
“Among other things,” Rafael said.
“I’m Catholic, and I’ve never heard anything like that,” I said. “Where are you getting your inside info.”
“As part of the clergy, I was privy to lots of information not readily available to most members of the religion.”
“Then tell us about Father Fred and Sister Gertrude,” Eddie said.
“I’m afraid I don’t know any of the particulars,” Rafael said, silent for a moment to sip his drink. “I do, however, know a person that does. I can take you to see him tomorrow.”
Suddenly animated, Abba grabbed my hand. “I’m going with you.”
Former N.O.P.D. homicide detective Tony Nicosia always slept with his cell phone and his handgun on the nightstand beside his bed. When his phone rang at three A.M., he answered it without even thinking twice. Old habits die hard.
“Lieutenant Nicosia here. What’s up?”
It was Tommy Blackburn, Tony’s old partner on the force. Tommy was still with the N.O.P.D.
“You awake?” Tommy asked.
“I sure as hell am now,” Tony said, glancing at his watch. “Why are you calling me at three in the morning.”
“I got promoted.”
“Congratulations. Couldn’t you have waited until daylight to tell me?”
“I’m on my first homicide as Chief Detective.”
“Is this important?”
“Kinda,” Tommy said.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You’ll know when you get here. Can you come look at this one for me?”
“You’ve seen hundreds of murder scenes. Why is this one any different, and why do I need to see it? You don’t need me to hold your hand.”
“I got my reasons. Can you come?”
When Tony switched on the nightstand lamp, his little white dog bounded off the foot of the bed where he always slept.
“Come on, Patchy boy. No rest for the wicked. We got work to do.”
Tony was pulling on his trousers when his wife Lil awoke.
“Where you going?” she asked.
“A murder scene.”
“Have you lost your mind, Tony? You’re not a homicide detective anymore. Come back to bed and go to sleep.”
“Maybe I’m retired from the force. Don’t matter cause tonight, I’m a homicide detective,” he said.
“You sleepwalking again? Please come back to bed.”
“Tommy just called. He’s on his first case as Chief Homicide Detective and needs my help.”
“Call him back and tell him no. It’s three in the morning, and he’s a big boy.”
“And it’ll be four before I get there unless I leave now.”
Lil got out of bed, pulling on her robe as she headed for their little kitchen. Tony was coming out of the bathroom when the aroma of bacon and eggs caused his stomach to growl. Lil was putting breakfast on the table for him when he entered the kitchen.
“This is just a one-time deal,” he said. “You didn’t have to make me breakfast.”
“Lord knows, I don’t have to do anything, Tony. No matter how much I hate this, I can’t let you start the day hungry.”
Tony kissed her, and then pinched her butt. “You’re a wonderful woman, Lil,” he said.
“No, I’m not. If you’re going out in the middle of the night, then keep your hands off my ass.”
Tony grinned and kissed her again.
***
When Tony had left the police force, he’d bought a Mustang convertible with the severance money he’d received. The sleek, red car remained his all-time favorite possession. He usually drove it with the top down and his dog Patch in the front seat beside him. Tonight was different, thick ground fog making visibility almost nil.
As always, Patch occupied the passenger seat, wanting to stick his head out the window though restrained because Tony wouldn’t open it. Tony reached across the console and gave his head a rub.
“You excited, boy? Feels like old times for me,” he said.
Tommy had called from City Park, the sprawling public recreational area within the city limits of New Orleans. Left in a state of disarray after Hurricane Katrina, the scenic park had been reclaimed by the diligent work of volunteers and citizens of the city. Now, it was again the showplace that it had been before the killer hurricane had devastated New Orleans.
Happy that he’d had fog lights installed the previous spring, Tony entered the park, driving cautiously through the damp mist. Tommy had given him the coordinates of the murder scene, and he’d programmed them into his car’s GPS. A good thing because once inside the park, the visibility had become almost negligible.
Tony couldn’t see what was beneath the wheels of the car though he could tell it wasn’t pavement. He hoped he’d make it to the murder scene and out again without becoming mired in the mud. On a couple of occasions, he wasn’t sure that it was in the cards. His fingers finally relaxed on the wheel when he saw rays of ghostly light piercing the cloud of fog in front of him. Tony parked the car, got out and stretched.
When his headlights finally went out, he saw dim figures moving in the distance. It was the murder scene crew, their appearance altered by fog swirling as it was blown by a slight breeze. He called out to them before entering the clearing.
“Tommy, it’s me, Tony.”
“Over here,” Tommy said, his voice muffled by the atmosphere. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it. Did Lil make you eat breakfast before letting you leave the house?”
“You know Lil too well,” Tony said. “What you got here?”
“Double homicide,” Tommy said.
The gasoline motor of a portable light plant droned in the background, working hard to penetrate the misty haze, though doing little more than casting an eerie glow on the surroundings. Technicians, on their knees by the bank of a lagoon, were searching for evidence. A tow truck was pulling something from the water.
“Who reported the homicide?” Tony asked.
“Two teenage couples were parking near here. One of the couples apparently wanted some privacy. The kids in the back seat decided to take a walk and got lost. They tripped over one of the bodies.”
“Hope it wasn’t their first date,” Tony said.
“Probably their last, I’m betting,” Tommy said. “They called 9-1-1 on their cell phone, and we used their signal to track them here.”
“You don’t think they might have done the killing?”
Tommy shook his head. “No chance in hell. The only murder those two kids know about is what they seen on TV. They didn’t kill nobody.”
“You said it’s a double homicide.”
“That’s right,” Tommy said. “One of the victims was shot in the back of the head. The other man apparently made a run for it and got as far as the lagoon before the killer put a slug in him.”
As they watched, the front end of a large trailer made for transporting horses popped out of the water. The sign on its side said Murky Bayou Stables. When a policeman opened the back of the trailer, he jumped aside as water, and the body of a dead horse came pouring out.
“Jesus!” Tommy said. “Two murder victims and a dead damned horse. What next?”
“Hopefully not another body in there with it,” Tony said. “Who owns the trailer?”
“Murky Bayou is Frankie Castellano’s horse farm.”
“Who are the victims and how are they connected to Castellano?”
“A trainer and jockey that worked for him. The jockey was still dressed in his colors. He was holding a trophy he’d won in a quarter horse race on one of Castellano’s horses. The trophy had a couple of bullet holes in it and was filled with horse shit.”
“So why did you call me out here in the middle of the night if you already have all the answers? You got a gangland hit on your hands. You know that. Frankie has so many enemies, the killer could have been anyone.”
“You been off the force a while now,” Tommy said.
“So?”
“Things have changed.”
“Like what?”
“That’s what I’m getting at. There was another murder tonight outside a local restaurant.”
“And?”
“The victim was Diego Contrado. Gunned down as he walked out the door. The killer was gone before his bodyguards got to him.”
“He had bodyguards?”
“And his mistress was with him, not his wife. You know who he is, don’t you?”
“Just that it’s rumored he’s somehow associated with the Mexican cartel,” Tony said.
“Fact, not a rumor. He was Chuy Delgado’s nephew and ran the cartel’s racehorse business for him.”
“Another gangland hit,” Tony said. “So what?”
“Our evidence points to one person.”
“Who?”
“Frankie Castellano. The way the murders went down, it looks like Frankie had Contrado popped, and then Delgado’s people retaliated by killing Frankie’s jockey and trainer.”
“Frankie ain’t stupid. If he’d put a hit out on someone, and I don’t say he hasn’t, he would have made sure there was no way to connect the dots to him.”
“Me and you both know that. Don’t matter none. The killing has got the attention of our fair city’s holier-than-thou mayor, and he’s been after Frankie for awhile now.”
“Don’t Frankie grease his palm enough?”
“Not as much as he’s used to having them greased now. The Mexican drug cartel has arrived in town. They’re paying top under-the-table dollar for our crooked local politician's goodwill.”
“I thought things had gotten better,” Tony said.
“Worse. On the outside, the mayor’s doing all sorts of social reform. You musta heard he’s got the city divided because of his crazy politics.”
“Oh, I’ve heard all right. You can’t read the papers or watch TV around here without hearing about it.”
“Well, taking down statues isn’t his only agenda. One of his other goals is getting rid of Frankie Castellano. Now, he has all the ammo he needs.”
“More powerful men then the mayor have tried taking down Frankie,” Tony said. “Last time I checked, he was still big business in this town.”
“Not for long if Mayor Portie has his way,” Tommy said.
“Why did I have to come all the way out here for you to tell me this? Couldn’t we have talked about it over breakfast at Culotta’s?”
“Like I said, things are changing. The department’s different now than it was when you was there. Way different.”
“Maybe you better spell it out for me,” Tony said.
“It started with the Mexican cartel spreading big influence bucks to anyone that would take it. Those that didn’t were drummed out of the force, or worse. Our greedy politicians didn’t take much convincing.”
“You ain’t gone over to the dark side, have you, Tommy?”
“It’s gotten so bad, you got to be careful who you tell what. Almost everyone has dirty hands.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Tony said. “Are you taking money under the table?”
“I don’t like it. Don’t matter what I like cause I got no choice in the matter.”
“Dammit, Tommy, you don’t have a dishonest bone in your body. What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Staying alive until I can change things. It’s either that or quit and leave town.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“Worse. One of the officers you don’t know was killed because he threatened to talk to the Feds. You don’t hate me now, do you, Tony?”
Tony put his hand on the big man’s shoulder.
“I broke you out on the force and worked with you for ten years. I could never hate you. I just don’t want to see you go down on a corruption charge.”
“Better than a bullet through the back of the head like that poor slob on the ground over there. That’s why I called you tonight, and that’s why I need your help.”
“What do you want me to do?” Tony asked.
“You know Castellano. You’ve worked for him. Tell him what’s going down.”
“Why do you give a shit about Castellano? He’s one of the bad guys. You know that.”
“Because his family always did as much to stop neighborhood crime as the police did.”
“That’s a fact,” Tony said. “Frankie’s probably done more good for New Orleans than we’ll ever know. He’s still a bad guy.”
“You told me yourself that sometimes your worst enemy can be your best friend. When it comes to getting these bastards out of power, he wants the same thing you and I want. You think you can swing his help?”
“Maybe. When it comes to organized crime, Frankie’s hands are as dirty as they come. Still, he’s never lied to me. And like you say, we’re working the same side of the fence on this little problem.”
“Will you ask him?”
“He wouldn’t piss on us if we was on fire. Unless that is, he needed us to help him. Frankie’s a smart man, and we got something he needs.”
“And I’m betting he’s smarter than that pack of jackals down at City Hall,” Tommy said.
“The problem is with you and me. We gotta stay one step ahead of Frankie, or we’ll wind up like those two stiffs your boys are slipping into body bags.”
“You up to it?”
“Maybe. Siding with Frankie is kinda like keeping a rattlesnake for a pet,” Tony said.
“Then don’t get bit,” Tommy said.
A big fish broke the dark surface of the lagoon, the sound echoing through the fog. Patch was sitting at Tommy and Tony’s feet. His low whine ceased when Tony scratched his ears.
“Since I’m poison to your career,” Tony said. “How are we gonna keep in touch?”
A smile lit Tommy’s expression for the first time.
“Hell, Tony, N’awlins is the murder capital of the country. I could call you out to join me most any night.”
Tony slapped Tommy’s broad shoulders before turning back to his car.
“Then try not to make it so late next time,” he said as he turned to walk away. He stopped before he and Patch had gone ten feet. “Lil misses you. Sneak by for a bowl of her gumbo sometime. And Tommy, don’t get yourself shot. I’ve sorta grown fond of your homely chops.”
Tony was sleeping late the next morning when his cell phone began ringing. Thinking he was dreaming, he rolled over without awakening. Lil shook his shoulder until he opened his eyes. When he did, she handed him the phone.
“That you, Tony?” the coarse voice on the other end said.
“It’s me. Who is this?”
“Your voice sounds a little weak. Did I wake you up?”
“Had a late night. Who is this?”
“Frankie Castellano. We need to talk.”
“I’m awake now. Go ahead.”
“I don’t mean over the phone. In private.”
Tony was rubbing his eyes when Lil handed him a cup of steaming coffee. He took a sip, wishing the caffeine would take effect before he had to respond, though knowing it wouldn’t.
“Sure, Frankie. At your house on the lake?”
“I have a place a little further away from New Orleans in mind.”
“You tell me,” Tony said. “I’ll be there.”
“My horse farm, about a half-hour north of Covington. Can you come right now?”
Tony set his cup on the nightstand and glanced at his watch.
“It’s already two. I probably can’t get there before five.”
“I’ll text you directions. Come as soon as you can. And Tony, bring that dog of yours I like.”
Frankie hung up the phone without saying goodbye. Lil was standing at the foot of the bed, her arms folded.
“Want to explain what was so important that you had to meet Tommy at three in the morning?”
“I ain’t gotta girlfriend if that’s what you mean,” Tony said.
“Sure about that?” Lil asked.
Tony popped out of bed, kissing her square on the mouth before proceeding to the bathroom. Lil was still standing at the door, waiting for him when he exited.
“Like I said, I got no girlfriend. I learned my lesson on that one. I promise you’re the only woman in my life,” he said.
“And Patch?”
“He pinched her chin. “I like you every bit as much as I do Patchy.”
She was smiling when she shook her fist at him. “Who was that on the phone?”
“Frankie Castellano.”
“What did he want?”
“He didn’t tell me. Wants me to meet him at his horse farm north of Covington.”
“He didn’t tell you for what?”
“Not over the phone,” Tony said. “I have an idea, though. Two of his men got popped last night. The murder case I was helping Tommy on.”
“You think it means he has another job for you?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t that be nice? Last job I did for him paid for our trip to Italy.”
Hearing about the prospect of a new, high-paying detective job for her husband changed Lil’s demeanor immediately.
“Why does he want you to meet him that far away from New Orleans?” she asked.
“Frankie’s as secretive and paranoid as they come. In his line of work, he has to be. If I was in his shoes, I’d be the same way.”
“You won’t be involved in any of that, will you?” She asked.
“Hell no,” he said. “In my whole life, I never even had a traffic ticket.”
“Sometimes, you’re a little too honest,” she said.
“Can’t be too honest.”
“I got a pot of gumbo simmering on the stove. You need to eat something before you go.”
Tony kissed her again. “Lil, you’re the most wonderful woman on the face of the earth.”
“Tell it to one of your girlfriends.”
****
As Tony entered the Causeway spanning Lake Pontchartrain, he wondered if Lil would ever really forgive him for the affair he’d had with a younger woman. When Patch barked at a passing vehicle, his attention returned to the road.
The late October day had turned dull, gray clouds hanging overhead like damp cotton balls. Except for the pickup he’d passed after entering the bridge, the road in front of him was empty. Almost thirty miles long, the Causeway was one of the longest bridges in the world to cross a body of water. Reaching across the console, he rubbed Patch’s head, feeling glad he wasn’t alone.
Frankie’s horse farm lay in the rolling countryside north of Covington. Tony knew before reaching it that any place owned by the mob boss Frankie Castellano would be quite spectacular. As he entered the majestic front gate and followed the narrow brick-lined road cutting through acres of manicured grass, regal barns and stalls, he wasn’t disappointed.
Many beautiful horses were grazing in the fields. Starting at the front gate, he also passed several brand new Tahoes with matching black paint jobs. Their occupants were keeping vigilant eyes on the comings and goings of the farm. It didn’t take Tony long to realize the place was on high alert.
The main residence was a sprawling, single-storied house; a cross between a Texas ranch house and a Louisiana plantation home. A banistered veranda encircled the house, a man with a shotgun in his lap guarding the front door.
“I’m Tony Nicosia. Frankie’s expecting me.”
The rough-looking little man with a pock-marked face glanced at Tony’s driver’s license before signaling him to go into the house. Frankie met him inside the door, handing him an icy tumbler of scotch.
“What took you?” he said.
“Plane’s in the shop. Had to come in the car.”
Frankie grinned. “Glad to see you. How’s that dog of yours?”
“From the way he’s wagging his tail, I’d say he’s glad to see you.”
Frankie had a dog treat hidden in his hand and Patch gobbled it up.
“This is quite a place,” Tony said. “I didn’t know until yesterday that you raise horses.”
“Some of the best Louisiana-bred thoroughbreds going,” Frankie said.
Like the inside of a Garden District mansion, the floors were done in marble and polished hardwood and covered with Persian rugs. Paintings of champion horses decorated the walls. Slow-moving fans graced the ceilings.
“Real nice,” Tony said.
“My daughter Josie found it for me.”
“How she doing?” Tony asked. “And your grandson Jojo?”
“Thanks for remembering,” Frankie said. “Jojo’s outside in the pool with Adele. Josie met your buddy yesterday and they been inseparable ever since.”
“Oh, who’s that?”
“Eddie Toledo. We met him and Wyatt at the track yesterday. Eddie was on Josie like a hound on fresh meat.”
“You don’t sound too happy about it.”
“Because I told her to get her butt out here. Things are dangerous right now in the city. She’s about a hard-headed one, her. Said she was too old for me to tell her what to do.”
“Eddie has that effect on women,” Tony said. “I noticed your farm is like an armed camp. Something to do with last night’s murder?”
“Hell, Tony, let’s go to my office. I’ll tell you all about it,” Frankie said.
Tony followed Frankie down an elegant hallway to his office. The dapper mob boss bypassed the massive oak desk and sat on an expensive leather couch instead, motioning Tony to join him.
“Nice,” Tony said.
“My little home away from home; a country retreat when the pressures of the city become too great. Now tell me, what do you know about last night’s murders?”
“Probably more than you do,” Tony said. “Just so happens I was at the murder scene.”
Unsure of what Tony had just told him, Frankie could only stare at him for a moment.
“What did you just say?”
“I was at the murder scene. My old partner Tommy Blackburn wanted to talk. He woke me up. Asked if I would join him.”
“Blackburn was your partner?”
“Yes sir, he was,” Tony said.
“I’ve heard good things about him.”
“He wanted my opinion on something. He says things are getting dirty in the department, and down at City Hall.”
“Tommy’s right. Damn Mexicans are ruining things for everybody,” Frankie said.
“He also said the mayor is out to get you and won’t stop till he does.”
Light jazz began emanating from hidden speakers when Frankie strolled over to the well-stocked wet bar and poured himself another drink. He returned to the couch with scotch, tongs and ice bucket in hand. After refreshing Tony’s drink, they tapped tumblers.
“Cheers,” Frankie said.
“I’d almost forgotten that you’re a jazz fan, not to mention one of the best trumpet players in New Orleans.”
“Thanks for remembering. The mayor’s a certifiable headcase, even without the bottomless pit of Mexican drug money corrupting him. And you’re right. He will get me unless I get him first.”
“I’m wondering how he ever got elected,” Tony said. “He’s managed to piss off practically every person in town.”
“Like I said, his agenda includes getting rid of me. Problem is, I’m not as easily removed as a Confederate statue.”
“Hope not. I don’t think our city can survive a human Katrina. Why did you call me here? From the looks of the firepower you’re sporting, I’d say you have things well in hand.”
“You’d think,” Frankie said. “There’s one small problem my men aren’t equipped to handle. You are.”
“Such as?”
“The assassins did more than kill two of my men last night; they stole my grandson’s horse. Though I don’t need the cops to help me settle a score, my boys aren’t up to finding and recovering the horse.”
“The horse seems like the least of your problems,” Tony said.
“You got kids. Sometimes the most important things in life are making sure you keep your promises to the ones you love.”
“Which horse are you talking about, and how is it connected to the deaths of your two men?”
“Long story,” Frankie said.
“I got scotch in my hand and my butt’s planted on this comfortable couch,” Tony said. “Start from the beginning.”
“I told you I like thoroughbreds, and that I’ve never cared much for quarter horse racing. Josie loves it, and everything about it. She talked Adele and me into going to the quarter horse races at the track.”
“They still running quarter horses? I thought the meet was over,” Tony said.
“Yesterday was the final day of the meet. Anyway, I hate going to the races without a horse of my own entered. A trainer that works for me from time to time called someone he knew in Oklahoma. He found a horse of championship caliber. He’d already won ten races in a row. I had him transported here and flew in his regular jockey to ride him for me. Believe me when I tell you he cost me an arm and a leg.”
“You bought an expensive racehorse for one race, sight unseen?” Tony asked.
“That’s right.”
“I understand that you wanted to have a horse running. Was that the only reason?”
Frankie slugged his scotch and poured himself another before answering. The overhead fans seemed to be keeping time with the clarinet solo coming through the speakers.
“The damn Mexicans have been getting in my back pocket ever since they started arriving in town after Katrina. Since I was going to the quarter horse races, I decided to beat them at their own game. Show them who’s still boss around here.”
“Pour me another shot, if you don’t mind, and then tell me how you planned to do that,” Tony said.
“I didn’t just plan to do it, I pulled it off.”
“Explain it to me.”
“I forged some pedigree papers on the horse. His real name is Lightning Bolt. I give him the name Warmonger. Even went so far as to fake his starts. According to the records, he’d never even come close to winning a race.”
“Let me guess. You entered him in a race yesterday, and he went off as a thirty to one longshot.”
“Almost,” Frankie said. “Some asshole bet big on him to win and it lowered the odds a bunch, though not enough for me not to recoup my investment first.”
“I guess there were lots of pissed off bettors,” Tony said.
“And owners,” Frankie said. “Chuy Alvarado was staring a hole through me when I hoisted the trophy in the winner’s circle.”
“Surely you weren’t planning to ever race the horse again,” Tony said.
“Right about that. I give him to my grandson Jojo after the race. Adele and I put him on Lightning Bolt’s back and let him ride around the paddock before the races started yesterday. It was Jojo’s first time on a horse, and that big stallion loved it as much as my grandson did.”
“Your grandson was at the track with you?”
“With his nanny. She brought him back to the farm after leaving the races. Said he talked about the horse all the way here.”
“Can’t you just give him another horse, or a pony, maybe?” Tony asked.
“Adele took their picture at the track. When Jojo got here, he hung it on the wall in his bedroom. First thing he did when he got up this morning was to go looking for the horse. Hardest thing I ever did was to explain to him that someone had stolen Lightning Bolt.”
“Doesn’t sound like he took the news very well,” Tony said.
“He said, ‘Papaw, please find Lightning Bolt.’ I was on the phone to you ten minutes later. It’ll be worth the world to me to get that horse back for JoJo.”
“You know I’d do my best,” Tony said. “But . . .”
“I know,” Frankie said, holding up a palm. “Those damn Mexican mobsters have probably already cut him up to sell as dog food in Mexico. I been waiting for a video showing those bastards killing him.”
“I think you’re too late,” Tony said. “There was a dead horse in your trailer last night. My guess is that it was probably your horse.”
Frankie’s hand went to his forehead. “Dammit!” he said. “You absolutely sure about that?”
“Nobody identified the horse, far as I know.”
“Then it’s possible it wasn’t Lightning Bolt.”
Tony sipped his scotch before answering. “Anything’s possible.”
Frankie got up from the couch and began pacing in circles. Finally, he sat back down.
“I want you to assume Lightning Bolt is still alive. Start your investigation. If nothing else, it’ll buy me some time to think of an explanation for Jojo.”
“I can do that,” Tony said.
“While you’re at it, find out who ordered the killing of my men and get me a name of the shooter. Think you can handle it?”
“I’ll do my best,” Tony said. “I’ll conduct a thorough investigation as if I had never seen the dead horse slide out of the trailer.”
“Thank you, Tony. I feel better already. Where do you intend to start?”
“Lightning Bolt’s stable at the racetrack. Whoever killed the jockey and the trainer no doubt took your horse at the same time.”
Frankie smiled and slapped Tony’s shoulder. “I knew I could count on you.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Tony said.
“The farm’s under surveillance. My men will follow you to the Causeway. After that, you’re on your own.” Tony was half-way to the door when Frankie stopped him. “If you see that daughter of mine, tell her she needs to get her ass out of Nawlins, and join me, Adele and Jojo until things cool down.”
“Hell, Frankie, just call and tell her to bring Eddie with her. He’s on vacation and has time on his hands. You know he’s a Federal D.A. Maybe he can pull some strings and help you with your problem with the mayor.”
“Good idea, Tony. Guess that’s why I pay you the big bucks. Speaking of which, here’s your retainer,” he said, handing Tony a check.
Without bothering to look and see how much Frankie had given him, Tony grinned and kept walking.
Bertram’s watering hole was empty when I came down from my upstairs room the next morning. All except for Rafael Romanov. He was alone at the bar, sipping from a mug of steaming coffee.
“Stay up all night drinking, Padre?” I asked.
“Eddie’s free liquor was tempting. I went home after dropping off Abba and Junie Bug.” He grinned. “I half expected to see Eddie still here when I arrived.”
“Not a chance. He’s too enamored over Josie, the new woman in his life.”
“Did she take him home?” he asked.
“Lawyer-client privilege,” I said. “I couldn’t tell you even if I knew the answer.”
“Damn those professional obligations,” he said.
Bertram’s mailman came through the door, still wearing his summer uniform. He saluted when he saw me at the bar, and then handed me a letter.
“Send this one to yourself, Wyatt?” he asked.
“That I did, Steve. I’d almost forgotten about it till I saw you come through the door. Kind of nippy out there for summer shorts.”
“With the miles I put in, I usually don’t notice the chill, even in late October,” he said.
“Then don’t get transferred to Chicago,” Rafael said.
“Hope not. Bertram, you got mail,” Steve said.
Bertram stuck his head through the kitchen door. “Probably not a damn thing but bills and advertisements,” he said, taking the handful of mail from Steve.
“You going to the bank today?” I asked.
“Don’t I always?” Bertram said.
“With the money you make in this cash cow, you probably have to go twice.”
“Yah, yah,” he said. “What you need?”
“Will you put this in my account for me?” I said, handing him the check for sixty-six thousand dollars and a deposit slip.
“You and Eddie weren’t kidding when you said you won big at the track. Sure you trust me with this?” he said.
“More than I trust myself. If you lose it, I’m staying here free for the next five years.”
He snickered. “What else is new? Next thing I know, you’ll be wanting me to pay you.”
“Now that’s an idea,” I said.
“Lots of money you got there,” Rafael said. “Most I ever won at the track is a few hundred dollars. Don’t ask me how much I’ve lost.”
“Let's just say Eddie and I had a hot tip on a longshot.”
“Call me next time you get another hot tip like that,” he said.
“Me too,” Bertram said, shouting through the open door of the kitchen.
Before we had time to further discuss the horses, Abba popped through the door looking stylish in jeans, ankle-length boots, and a down parka over her white braided sweater. She tapped a foot when she saw us sitting at the bar.
“You two at it already?” she said.
“Just mugs of Bertram’s coffee and chicory,” Rafael said. “Join us?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” she said.
Bertram was already on his way out of the kitchen, an empty mug in one hand and a steaming pot of coffee in the other.
“Why so glum, Bertram?” I asked. “Didn’t make enough money off Eddie last night?”
“If I hadn’t, I’d have had to pad the boy’s bill,” he said.
Bertram was lots of things. Dishonest wasn’t one of them.
“We both know better than that,” I said.
As he poured coffee for Abba, we all knew he’d been kidding about padding Eddie’s tab.
“Smells wonderful,” she said. Smacking her lips after taking a sip. “This is the best cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted. What’s your secret?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he said. “It’s a recipe my mama taught me that not many people in the world know.”
“Whisper in my ear,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Her eyes grew large when he whispered his secret into her ear.
“Now promise ol’ Bertram you’ll never tell nobody.”
“You can trust me,” she said.
“What’d he say?” Rafael asked once Bertram had disappeared back into the kitchen.
“Eggshell and a touch of salt mixed into the coffee grounds,” she said.
“I heard that,” Bertram said, sticking his head through the door. “Can’t trust nobody these days.”
“Everyone in town already knows your recipe,” I said.
“Yeah, what other secrets of mine have you been spreading around?”
Bertram went into to the kitchen, not waiting for my reply. He wasn’t mad because he soon returned with crawfish omelets and Creole hashbrowns.
“Thanks, Bertram,” Abba said.
She grinned when he said, “You’re welcome, and no, I ain’t giving you the recipe.”
“I bumped into the mailman down the street,” Abba said. “Did he bring your winnings from the track?”
“Thank God, yes,” I said.
“Were you worried?” she asked.
“Tell you the truth I’d forgotten about it,” I said.
“I’d never forget sixty-six grand,” Rafael said.
“Me either,” she said. “I saw a bit of early morning news on the Internet before leaving the house. I think you might be interested.”
“Like what?” I asked, sipping the steaming cup of coffee.
“There was a murder in town last night,” Abba said.
“In this town, what else is new?” I said.
“Double homicide,” she said. “They found a body floating in a lagoon at City Park. Since you and Eddie were at the track yesterday, I thought you’d like to know.”
She suddenly had my attention. “Go on,” I said.
“The two victims were a jockey and trainer from the track. The jockey was still wearing his colors. Want to see a picture?”
The picture of a track trophy, riddled with bullet holes caused me to do a double-take as I held Abba’s cell phone.
“Can you text me the link?” I asked.
My phone beeped as the file was transferred from Abba’s to mine. I quickly forwarded it to Eddie’s, along with a terse message.
“Problem?” Rafael asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “That trophy was in our possession last night before a Hispanic thug took it from us. Eddie and I may be accessories to murder.”
“Need to leave and take care of the situation?” he asked.
“Eddie will know what to do, and I’m not changing our plans,” I said.
A gentle rain had replaced the fog from the previous night, a cool draft of air flooding the bar when a customer entered through the Chartres Street door. Abba zipped up her parka.
“Though I love these old French Quarter buildings, they can be drafty in the winter,” she said.
“Then thank God we rarely ever get much of a winter here,” Rafael said.
I finished my omelet and pushed the plate aside. “Who are you taking us to see, Raf?” I asked.
“An acquaintance. We’ll need to leave soon because we’re meeting him in thirty minutes,” he said.
“Then wherever we’re going must not be far from here,” Abba said.
“St. Roch Cemetery and Chapel,” he said.
“Seems a strange place to meet someone,” Abba said.
“You’ll understand why when we get there.”
Bertram waved Rafael off when he called for the tab.
“I make a decent living selling alcohol to lost souls. Least I can do is provide them an occasional free meal,” he said.
He blushed when Abba reached over the bar and gave him a hug.
“Thanks, Bertram,” she said as we walked out into the crisp autumn weather.
“My vehicle is in a parking lot not far from here,” Rafael said.