They were also beautiful and new vaults could cost the same as a house for the living.
But there was something more poignant about the old, and this was the oldest of its kind in the city. Along the walls, the “oven” vaults—bodies stacked on bodies in the mausoleum style, but without benefit of the mausoleum structure—were often cracked and broken. Or open and empty.
The walls of many of the small family vaults were chipped, peeling. Struggling shrubs and flowers grew around stone paths. Only the sliver of a moon joined with the echo of streetlamps, and the cemetery was dark. It was easy to imagine shadowy dangers in the lost mist that rose from the fog as the moisture of day gave way to the cooling temperatures of night.
He looked down the length of the wall by the gate; she appeared out of the mist, walking toward him swiftly and yet with care. In places, the foundations of the vaults stretched out into the paths. Little steps were sometimes hidden by the weeds, and broken cherubs sometimes lay undisturbed wherever they’d fallen.
Despite her attempt at dressing down, she moved toward him like an elegant wraith. She knew the cemetery, he realized, as well as he did.
But even if she wasn’t aware of the life her father had led, she was a child of the French Quarter. She had surely brought out-of-town friends to visit the famous funerary grounds—and then, of course, she’d grown up with Angus. That meant a house that had a mummy or two, coffins, urns, not to mention a few movie monsters.
He spoke quietly when she reached him, a slight smile twitching his lips. “You seem to know where you’re going.”
She was somber, but she didn’t seem dismayed by their surroundings. She smiled a little grimly at his question. “I spent a few summers as a tour guide.”
The City of the Dead by night did not seem to disturb her. He knew a few hardy cops of whom he couldn’t say the same.
“It’s a big cemetery, so we should split up,” she suggested.
His smile faded. “Don’t you watch any horror movies? People always get it with a chain saw or they’re attacked by zombies as soon as they split up.”
“I haven’t heard about zombies terrorizing this cemetery. And I’d hear a chain saw,” she told him.
He shook his head. “These are bad guys—with guns,” he said.
“Okay.”
“And we should move quietly. We don’t want to spook Numb Nuts if he is here.”
She nodded. “Where?” she asked.
“Let’s start at one end, follow the rows as much as the jagged streets allow,” he answered.
She turned and backtracked the way she’d come. He saw that she had a little penlight that didn’t radiate far, but hinted at what lay before her.
They moved in silence, following the perimeter of the wall to the corner, and then taking a left. A bone protruded from a vault. Danni paused; once, such sights might have been common but the church had been trying to keep the graves, mausoleums and vaults better sealed than in previous decades.
Quinn walked past Danni, taking her light. He reached in for the bone.
“Rubber,” he told her, pushing the object back into the broken vault. “Someone playing jokes on the unwary.”
She grimaced and kept going.
The sliver of moon disappeared behind a cloud.
The pale glow of streetlights touched the City of the Dead. Angels prayed and cherubs looked sadly toward heaven, seeming almost alive in the eerie light.
They didn’t find Numb Nuts until the third row. He was sleeping on one of two low vaults that lay side by side, a river of weeds between them.
“Let me,” Danni whispered. “You might scare him into a heart attack.”
He gave her a sardonic look, but then shrugged.
Danni walked over to the sleeping man and touched his shoulder. He opened his eyes and stared up at her. He didn’t seem frightened or alarmed. “Lord Amighty!” he said. “An angel done come for me, right in the old burial ground. Am I dead, then—and not in too much trouble for all the sinning I done?”
“I’m not an angel, Mr. Johnson. My name is Danni Cafferty. I’m here with a man named Michael Quinn, and we’re trying to make sure you don’t meet any angels before your appointed time.”
Numb Nuts struggled to sit up. He frowned as Quinn stepped through the weeds to join Danni.
“Numb Nuts—Sam—we need your help. And I can help you. I can get you into a safe house.”
The old man’s weathered face seemed sorrowful. “Why, I done thought they’d found me already,” he said. “I was kind a glad, thinkin’ maybe I’d just gone easy and painless, and that there really are angels.”
“If they find you, it isn’t going to be easy or painless,” Quinn said.
Numb Nuts nodded at that. “All right. I’m not sure as how I can help anyone. I only know what I heard—and that Leroy stole the damned bust, got hisself killed and poor Ivy, too. Why that girl ever stayed with him is beyond me. Well, now, I’m prayin’ there’s an angel come for her. She weren’t really a bad sort. Just an addict, you know? Even so she didn’t cotton to hurtin’ people.”
“Then I imagine Ivy will be fine in the hereafter,” Quinn said. “But we need to get you out of here and I need to know who killed Leroy and stole the bust from him.”
Numb Nuts nodded again, but didn’t move.
“Sam, can I give you a hand?” Quinn asked him.
He agreed, and Quinn set an arm around his shoulders, guiding him into a standing position. “Got no strength left in me, not after all that chemo and radiation,” Sam wheezed.
“You’re freezing.” Danni took his arm to steady him as he stood.
“Nah, this N’Awlins, girl. Maybe, now and then in winter, you get a really cold night. But tonight? It’s just the breeze—and the cold of death, I guess. I’m all right.”
“How are we going to get him out of here?” Danni asked Quinn. “It was one thing for you and me to get in, but...”
Quinn knew he could call Larue; Larue could get the gates opened for him. But he didn’t want anyone, not even the cops, knowing where Sam Johnson was. He didn’t think they had dirty cops at the department—he still knew half of them—but even clean cops could accidentally say the wrong thing to the wrong person at the wrong time.
“I can manage,” he told Danni.
She frowned, but didn’t disagree. “This I’ve got to see,” she murmured.
Yes, she would see, and he was sorry, but there was no help for it.
“Let’s go.” But then he paused. He heard Wolf barking behind the gates.
“Someone is on to us,” he said quietly.
“I don’t hear—” Danni began. She stopped as Wolf let out a howl that could wake the dead themselves.
That was followed by the sound of a thud from near the gates. And then another.
“Lordy, Lordy,” Sam said. “You two young folk get away from me, you hear? Looks like I am going to meet the angels—or other—this night. Don’t want you hurt ’cause of the mess my life has gotten me into.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Danni said. “We’re not leaving you.”
“But we are leaving. We’re out in the open,” Quinn told her. “Come on!”
“Where are we going?”
“The society tomb!”
While they might look like houses, and often had gates that were like entries, most of the tombs were sealed—until there was another death.
Most.
Quinn kept Danni in front of him, pushing her toward the large tomb that housed the remains of at least one hundred members of the Loyal Order of Biblical Brothers. It was a massive domed structure, with a knee-high wrought-iron fence around it. Danni hopped the gate easily; Quinn lifted Sam Johnson off his feet and set him over it, then made the little scissor leap himsel
f.
They crossed the few feet of overgrown rock trail that led to the tomb’s gate. The doorway behind the gate seemed to be sealed, but Quinn knew it wasn’t. He slipped open the gate, flinching as it squealed in the night. He bent down, pressing the lever at the foot of the seal. The block of concrete that covered the opening slid inward—loudly.
“Get in!” Quinn commanded.
Danni went first; Sam followed her. Quinn closed the seal as soon as he entered.
At first, they could see nothing. Danni trained her little flashlight ahead of her. There was an altar at the rear of the domed tomb. Four concrete tombs stood in the center and, to the sides, were a few rows of chairs. The walls around them were lined with the tombs of long-gone Biblical Brothers.
Dust covered the chairs. Quinn hadn’t been in the mausoleum himself in years. He surmised that no Biblical Brothers had recently departed this earth—if there were any left. He brought his fingers to his lips, warning them both to silence as they listened.
“It came from here!” someone shouted in a low, husky voice.
Quinn wished he’d kept the gate oiled.
He could hear footsteps around the tomb. He tried to place the sounds and count the number of men prowling in the cemetery—far too close to the tomb.
“This is tighter than a drum!” he heard, the voice about thirty feet to the other side of the tomb.
There was a third set of footsteps.
“They’ve got to be in one of the big ones,” another hoarse voice said. The three were trying to whisper—difficult when they needed to be heard by one another.
He thought quickly.
If he’d been alone...
If he’d been alone, he could have waited, ready to ambush the trio from the tomb.
But he wasn’t alone. Although he was big and even “blessed,” he wasn’t sure he could outfire three paid assassins on his own.
In the pinprick light he saw Danni’s eyes—they were wide, somber, and her expression assured him that she was awaiting his lead.
He hurried across the tomb, seeking the drawer with its spiderweb-covered brass plaque that read Angel Morrero.
“Quinn?” Danni asked.
He ran his hands along the tomb, trying to find the lever. To his relief, the marble slab that covered the tomb rotated, sliding to an angle and revealing a black void.
“Get in,” he said. Both Danni and Sam stared at him.
“Now!” he urged.
Danni plunged into the darkness.
Sam followed.
He listened; he heard footsteps as their pursuers hopped the low gate.
He went in after the other two, entering the cold darkness of the tomb.
Chapter Eight
SOMEHOW DANNI KEPT from screaming.
Her hands seemed to sink into a pile of ash. Was it a decayed body—or the naturally cremated remains of a man?
She could see nothing before her, but could tell she was on a slant. Numb Nuts, Sam, was close behind her—nearly on top of her—in the stygian darkness. She could hear his heartbeat and smell his fear.
And his unwashed body.
He crashed into her as Quinn came into the tomb, pushing them forward so he could slide the marble covering the “drawer” back in place. She wondered where they would go.
And then, as she squeezed farther to allow Quinn room, she began to slip, pitching downward.
She managed not to scream as she fell—into a fetid pool.
Sam fell against her. He almost let out a yelp, but she knew Quinn was with them and that he’d clamped a hand over the other man’s mouth.
“Walk forward,” Quinn said. “Stay low or you’ll crack your head.”
Moving forward, Danni realized she was in a bit of awe and a bit of shock. She’d lived here all her life and had never imagined that such a tunnel existed. The French had built the Vieux Carré on high ground, but even the high ground in New Orleans was below sea level.
So it made sense that the tunnel was filled with water. Icky, smelly, horrible water.
She was bent over as she moved because the tunnel was narrow. The water came nearly to her ankles, and she could only guess what might be in it. She didn’t know where she was going but it was so tight there was no way Quinn could get in front of her.
It felt as if they walked for an eternity.
She remembered she had her penlight—actually clenched in her fingers. She pressed the little button seconds before she would have banged her head on a rock wall.
“Dead end!” she whispered.
“Push on it until you feel it give,” Quinn said.
She could hear Sam breathing hard. He was trembling behind her. She groped the cold earth and stone before deciding that, no matter what she’d seen so far, Quinn was crazy. There was no way out of here. Then, just as her frustration was reaching the panic stage, she pressed harder and heard stone scrape against stone.
They had to back up as the slab swung around.
There was another dark gaping hole ahead of her. She crawled into it. It was even tighter, scattered with some kind of soot or remains, as well.
“Push until you find the right pressure to make the outer slab revolve!” Quinn whispered from behind her.
She took a breath, holding her nose, fighting the waves of claustrophobic panic that were washing over her. She pressed and pressed...and something gave.
A minute later, she landed on a floor. Her little light fell from her hand and rolled away from her. Crawling on the tomb’s floor, she groped for it blindly.
She nearly screamed when she touched some small furry creature.
A squeal sounded; she gulped back another cry as she realized it was a rat.
Her fingers finally curled around the light. She turned it on. They were in another tomb, another “house” in the City of the Dead. This one barely had room for the three of them to stand between the shelves holding the dead.
“I gotta get outta here, man,” Sam muttered. “Can’t move, can’t breathe—”
“They get you with a couple of bullets, you sure won’t be breathing,” Quinn told him
They were jostled and shoved as he reached into his pocket for his cell phone. Though it was dark other than for Danni’s little light, she was certain he’d hit speed dial because a minute later he was speaking softly into his phone, asking that patrol cars get to the cemetery as fast as possible—sirens blaring.
She felt Sam shaking and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Breathe. Just breathe slowly and you’ll be fine.”
She sensed that his eyes were on hers. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”
He spasmed for a second, trembling rapidly. Then she heard him take a deep breath. They were going to make it.
Whoever Quinn had called—she assumed it was Larue—had power.
Although sixty seconds seemed like an hour in the tomb, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before she heard sirens, the sound coming closer and closer. She felt Quinn move and the pressure of his fingers against her lips.
“Listen,” he whispered.
She heard what he was waiting for—the sound of footsteps as three people ran past the tomb.
“Hold on—just a few more minutes,” he said.
Then, finally, he pressed the right point on the slab that was really a false front for the tomb they were in. The iron gate opened.
And they could feel the rush of cool night air. Sweet, clean, fresh, delicious.
Officers surged toward them, warning them to halt, to raise their arms. Quinn called out, “It’s Quinn. Whoever was in here ran over to the rear wall.”
For a moment, Danni was blinded by the high-beam flashlights trained her way. Then she saw a man walking t
hrough the uniformed officers.
It was indeed Larue.
“Hell, Quinn, what are you doing in here?”
“Trying to keep this man alive.” He dropped his hands and approached Larue, indicating Numb Nuts, explaining that they’d heard a rumor he hung out in the cemetery. Larue looked at the old man and then at Danni. Sheepishly, she lifted her hand in greeting.
“We’ll try to get it all untangled at the station,” Larue said with a sigh.
* * *
Quinn had no idea just how repulsive they were until they were seated in Larue’s office. He glanced over at Danni. She was obviously uncomfortable—and she resembled a ghost. She was covered in dust. Bone dust, dirt...some of it turned to mud from the flooding in the tunnels.
Wolf sat by Quinn’s side, the cleanest among them.
He was loved at the station house. Quinn knew the men there were usually far happier to see the dog than him.
Stroking Wolf’s head, Quinn watched the man they’d saved and decided that he liked old Numb Nuts. Sam sat there humbly, trying to tell them what he knew.
“I guess I was expectin’ to die,” he said, lean elbows on his knees, chin sunk into his hands. Quinn thought that at one time Sam had probably been an intriguing man. His skin was a light café au lait and his eyes were large and expressive, very dark. He spoke with both humility and dignity. Since he’d learned that life could beat a man down—or make him soar so high he didn’t know he’d ever crash—he wondered about the Sam Johnson who might have been, before he’d succumbed to scratching out a living in any manner he could find.
At the moment, of course, he looked like a sewer rat. But he had a fine bone structure and he sat as if he wasn’t covered in slime.
“I mean, I’d heard about the shooting out in the Ninth Ward,” Sam said quietly. “I figured there was something going wrong.” He shrugged. “I like the old cemeteries. I like ’em a lot. I figured if I was hanging out there, only my friends would know where I was and, if I was found, I wouldn’t bring others down with me.” He offered Larue a weak smile. “Yeah, it’s illegal to be there at night. But, hey, I am a Catholic.”
“I’m not holding you for being in the cemetery,” Larue said. “We need your help.”
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