by G A Chase
Kendell couldn’t remember her bass-playing bandmate ever flirting with a guy—if that was even what she was doing.
“I didn’t need the help,” Scraper said.
Joe looked to be enjoying her attention. “Didn’t say you did. That guy never saw it coming. But fights in the Quarter have a way of attracting other participants.”
“I can usually tell when I’m being followed, but you were on my ass before I had a chance to really express my feelings to that guy. You came out of nowhere.”
Polly saved the group from further embarrassment. “It’s getting to be slim pickings out there. During the last rainstorm, I couldn’t even find a decent umbrella. Anything that even remotely resembles a walking stick is getting snatched up. Just to be safe, we’ll start searching in teams of two. It’ll slow us down, but the treasure seekers out there are getting a little handsy. It’ll also double our shadowy protective guard.”
Lynn drew lines through each street on the map they’d searched, with X’s corresponding to the shops just to ensure they hadn’t missed anything. “You know, when I’m flirting with a guy, eventually I have to either let him get close or cut him loose. It’s a game of cat and mouse where the mouse is toying with the cat. I’m worried the felines are growing tired of the pursuit.”
The situation wasn’t hard to imagine. The paramilitary force keeping an eye on the girls would be feeling like older brothers assigned to keep an eye on their little sisters as they went shopping. That was hardly the type of work the men were trained for, and if others were covertly keeping an eye on the women and their protectors, they weren’t about to show themselves.
“We need to poke the dragon,” Kendell said.
“What do you mean?” Myles asked.
“We’re assuming Joe’s guys aren’t the only ones keeping an eye on the band. And if there’s another group in the shadows, we have to accept they’re watching the two of us as well. If we spend too much time with Delphine—or start wandering out to the swamp—they might catch on that the cane isn’t still hiding in some unsearched back room.”
Joe shifted uneasily on the couch. “Do you suspect Colin or Luther?”
Kendell hadn’t wanted to express her reservations about the mysterious gentleman in the abandoned building. “When someone tells me not to trust anyone except those in the room, he goes to number one on my list of suspicious characters. You’ve done a lot for us. I do trust you. And you vouch for your team, who clearly would follow you to the gates of hell. But Luther’s agenda doesn’t mesh with ours. He’s admitted to wanting the cane for himself, and that means he might have someone keeping an eye on the band’s progress. As for Colin, even if he does know where the cane is, it would only make sense for him to keep tabs on us as well—just in case we stumble onto something.”
Polly perked up. “If more men are watching us, maybe we can pit the groups against each other. Making men jealous is easy enough.”
Kendell knew the allure of being pursued. “Easy, Helen of Troy, I don’t want to start a war—just find out who’s watching.”
“There may be another way,” Myles said. “If we acted like we’d found something, it might flush out our watchers.”
Kendell inspected the map Professor Yates had pulled out with the circles indicating areas he’d searched with his equipment. “To fool Luther Noire, it’ll have to be an actual enchanted object, and it’ll have to be bigger than the trinkets we found from the baron Malveaux. Professor, could you increase the sensitivity of your equipment to pick up more than just the cane?”
Professor Yates loomed over Kendell’s shoulder and looked down at the map. “I should be able to. I originally modified my lab equipment with the thought that an object from Guinee would put out so much energy it would be easily identified. If we’re not trying to hide our activities, I can use more batteries to boost the sensitivity. My traveling snake-oil-salesman trailer is going to start giving me a workout to pedal around town.”
Myles took the two maps, laid one on top of the other, and held them up to the window. “Start by searching the areas neither you nor the band have checked out yet.” He set the maps down and turned to Kendell. “Once the professor finds something, we’ll need to be stealthy at grabbing it. The more secrecy, the more likely our shadows will make themselves known.”
“Leave that to me,” Polly said. “With the four of us running around town, we’ve gotten pretty sneaky at losing our tails. We’ve got moves that would put a basketball team to shame.”
* * *
With the risk of unknown groups spying on everyone, Myles insisted all future meetings be held in more clandestine locations. If he were to see things from the pursuers’ perspective, Kendell’s apartment would be his first spot for setting up surveillance. Besides, between band practice and gigs, she was in constant contact with her bandmates. With Joe and his team constantly watching the girls, getting messages to him only involved Scraper giving him a flirtatious look. That left only the professor as the one out of the loop.
The con man’s sideshow trailer had become something of a fixture around the Quarter. Taking the show on the road to the rest of the city, however, would’ve attracted more unwanted attention from the police than Myles felt was necessary. The Bywater became the logical solution. With its usual cast of bohemian artists, street performers, and musicians, the eclectic neighborhood welcomed the new addition as one of their own.
Myles had to watch his step on the uneven brick sidewalks. Between the brass bands practicing for their nightly street-corner gigs and the gutter punks sleeping off the previous night’s adventures, finding someone to ask about the steam-punk fortune teller with the gypsy trailer proved a challenge. By noon, he’d walked the distance from Frenchmen Street to the Industrial Canal twice, each time being assured the crazy old man was just a couple of blocks away. He’d met an old gypsy woman whose trailer was little more than a shopping cart covered in colorful blankets, a young woman wearing scarves and little else, and a dirty, long-haired gentleman who couldn’t speak in full sentences, but no Professor Yates.
“Hey, mister, are you looking for Professor Cornelius?”
Myles looked down at a young kid who’d stopped banging on his plastic five-gallon bucket. “You know him?”
“He used to pay me to find information about the marks that were looking to have their fortunes told around Jackson Square.”
Myles had suspected the professor had some kind of con going on. “Have you seen him recently?”
“He was dragging that heap of a trailer behind his bicycle toward the Ninth Ward yesterday. I kept thinking I’d see him heading home, but I never did.”
Myles fished five dollars out of his jeans. “Thanks. If you see him, tell him Myles is looking for him.”
The youth stashed the bill in his shoe. “You Myles?”
“Yep.”
He tilted the bucket drum and pulled an envelope from underneath. “He said if anything funky happened and you came looking that I should give you this. Is he okay?”
Myles took a quick look inside and saw a map of New Orleans with red circles and newly marked X’s. “I don’t know, but if you hear something, there’s another five in it for you. I’ll be back this way before dark.”
“And if you’re not?”
Despite the heat, the hairs on the back of Myles’s neck bristled. “Find Kendell Summer. Anyone from the homeless population should be able to direct you to her. Tell her what you told me, and give her the envelope. I’m writing ten dollars on the outside so there won’t be any mistake on what she’s to pay you. Understand?”
“You don’t have to be a prick about it. Prof C is a friend of mine. I just hope he’s okay.”
“Me too.”
Myles hustled the half block to a bike rental shop that specialized in self-guided tours. The black single-speed cruiser wasn’t much to look at, but it would beat walking. He wasn’t crazy about crossing the Industrial Canal bridge. Some areas of New Orleans
he avoided out of personal safety and some out of respect for those living there. The lower Ninth Ward encompassed both criteria.
As soon as he got off the bone-jarring overpass, he checked behind himself to see if he’d been followed. The people of the Bywater weren’t happy about authorities patrolling their neighborhood, so if someone had been keeping tabs on him through the morning, he’d have heard about it.
If he did have a tail, they were doing a damn fine job of being invisible. He started his grid search of the area by following the most redeveloped streets he could find. Brightly painted new homes had sprung up among the vine-covered shacks yet to be torn down, like zydeco irises in a field of dollar weed. As though pedaling through a graveyard, Myles did his best to keep to a respectful pace while trying not to be too obvious in his attempts to spot the professor’s trailer in the back lots.
People looked up from their porch activities to see the out-of-place white dude on the bicycle. An old man pushing a lawn mower in a futile attempt at taming the four-foot weeds in a vacant lot let the gas motor die out. “Can I help you?”
After a morning of trying to describe the professor’s rig, Myles had shortened his inquiry to the bare minimum. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. He pulls a circus-like trailer behind his bike. Last anyone saw of him, he was headed this way.”
“Haven’t seen him. If he was trying to escape someone, he probably headed away from the river.”
“Why would you assume that?” Myles asked.
“Not many people come over here unless they’re gawking or running.” Covered in sweat, the man gave the pull cord a hard yank to restart the rattly engine.
“Thanks.” Myles doubted he’d been heard, but politeness needed to be expressed even if the courtesy wasn’t always acknowledged.
Though the streets had the same names as those that ran through the Quarter and the Bywater, the expensive neighborhoods on that side of the canal made the road signs in the Lower Ninth Ward seem like cruel jokes. Over ten years had passed since the flood, and walls and doors still bore the additions of large spray-painted X’s and numbers referring to how many dead had been found by rescue teams.
He stopped at a yard that looked to be slowly devouring a handful of broken-down cars. Fresh tracks cut through the tall grass to a shed out back, which housed a brightly colored trailer.
He was in no condition for confrontation. Strangers poking around supposedly empty properties had a way of being greeted by gun-toting neighbors. Professor Yates had possibly taken refuge with a friend and parked his gear out back, but Myles wasn’t hopeful as he approached the water-stained front door.
An old woman across the street yelled from her rocking chair on her porch. “There’s no one home, mister.”
“Any idea who dropped off that trailer out back?”
She returned to snapping her garden peas. “I don’t want no trouble. He seemed to be a nice old guy.”
Myles pushed his bicycle across the street to talk to the woman without the whole neighborhood listening in. “He’s a friend of mine. I’m worried about him. Anything you can tell me would help.”
“A black van cut him off. Three, maybe four, guys jumped out and shoved him and his scientific equipment in the sliding door. Then they hauled his empty trailer out back. Me and my boy were having breakfast when we heard the commotion. I don’t want no trouble.”
Myles doubted he’d have done anything different in her shoes. Bravery only made sense if the numbers worked in his favor. An old woman and a child against four thugs didn’t add up well.
“I understand,” he said. “It’s not like the police patrol out here on a regular basis.”
The woman’s laugh conveyed both warmth and sarcasm. “Child, they don’t come out here for nothing.”
He could see she wouldn’t have any idea of where they were headed, so he was reduced to grasping at straws. “Did he seem to be hurt?”
“Those guys were on him before he had a chance to get hurt. But I don’t think he was what they were after. They gutted that trailer like they were stripping a BMW. I doubt you’d find a pocket calculator left in that wagon.”
* * *
With the versatility of the bicycle, Myles was able to double back numerous times on his ride from the Ninth Ward to the rental shop. Between the paranoia of believing he was being followed and the faces he’d seen repeatedly through the day, he grew suspicious of everyone. Dropping the bike off was nearly a relief. If someone was following, they’d either kidnap him or go back to being unnoticed in the shadows.
Kendell had suffered enough without having to endure more fear for his safety. He sneaked halfway up the stairs to her apartment. If anyone was on the street, he wouldn’t see them, but if they checked the locked door to the street, he’d hear it.
Cheesecake, however, hadn’t been consulted about the stealthy trap he’d set for any pursuer. She loosed a barrage of barking upon hearing him on the stairs. It’s not like they wouldn’t know where I was headed.
After the door to Kendell’s apartment burst open, she stood at the entrance, glaring down at him. “Thank God you’re okay. What were you thinking, sending a kid to warn me about you putting yourself in danger? And where is your goddamned phone? I told you to start carrying it with you. It doesn’t do much good in the cushions of your couch.” Her ire contrasted with Cheesecake, who stood at her side, smiling down at him.
Her concern warmed his heart. “Like you’ve never bolted into trouble without consulting me. You think maybe I forgot about you pulling out of my arms and jumping onto that paddle wheeler?”
Her attitude instantly changed. “Oh, yeah. I guess I’m not going to live that one down anytime soon. Did you find the professor?”
He took her in his arms before entering the apartment. “I found his trailer. An eyewitness says he was shoved into a black van. His assailants took his equipment. Did you take a look at his map?”
“It’s on the table. You think it might give us a clue as to what happened?”
Between fearing for his own personal safety and keeping an eye out for the professor, he’d had plenty of time to consider the options. He tore a piece of paper into little rectangles and drew a cartoon van on each. “The way I see it, there are three possibilities. This was a professional abduction, so for the moment, I’m leaving out any unknown operatives from the dark web.” He drew a big M on the first slip of paper. “We know Colin Malveaux is out chasing Sanguine, but he can’t be one-hundred-percent sure she has the walking stick. He’s got the resources to hire a paramilitary force. Hell, he probably has his own.”
“That doesn’t make sense. He’d be better off following the professor and letting him do all the work. We know he doesn’t have the cane.”
Myles set the slip of paper on the Central Business District. “That’s what I thought, too. But if they did take him, I’d expect they’d be holding him somewhere secure.” He wrote a P on the second cartoon van. “That brought me to the police and the chief. I don’t think Joe Cazenave is involved, but I do think the police are either keeping an eye on his activities or he’s secretly still reporting to the chief. As a member of the Laroque family, the chief might be playing his own game.” He put that cartoon van on the French Quarter police station.
Lines formed at the corners of Kendell’s tightly closed lips. “Maybe, but we don’t have enough to show for the chief to act so impulsively. I’d expect the police chief to wait until we’ve found something significant before moving in.”
Finally, Myles jotted down WTC on the final slip. “That brings me to Luther Noire and that damn World Trade Center. He’s got the resources. Again, I don’t think Joe’s guys are involved, but Luther could be keeping tabs on them or just getting the story firsthand from Joe. Luther is pretty sneaky. He knew the professor had modified his equipment. Look at all those X’s on the map. Those would look like pirate booty to Luther. If he’s funding one secret force, why not two?” He drew a skull and crossbones flag ato
p the last van.
Kendell picked up Cheesecake so she too could inspect the map. “That would explain why they took both the professor and his equipment. The cane is just one enchanted object. With his equipment—once he was forced to tell them how to use it—they could scour New Orleans for all kinds of stuff.”
He tossed the slip of paper onto a series of new circles and X’s that stretched out toward New Orleans East. “Suppose for a moment that the professor wasn’t on the run but had gone to the Ninth Ward as part of his research. If he got some readings from the city, he’d need to triangulate the position of his finds.”
“I might be able to make an educated guess. Six Flags has been abandoned since Katrina, and being out in the elements, it’s gotten run-down and overgrown.”
Myles drew a question mark over the amusement park. “Great. Creepy clown ghosts.”
“I’ll round up the girls. They’re not going to want to be left out of this search.”
He hated his next idea, but he didn’t know when they’d get their next chance. “You shouldn’t come along.”
She gave him the hard-eyed stare he’d grown accustomed to that said, Try and stop me. “Please don’t pull that macho bullshit on me. You’re not good at it.”
“This isn’t my desire to keep you safe. Actually, it’s the opposite. We laid out this plan to figure out who was following us. With the professor captured and me and the band headed to the abandoned amusement park, we should have every potential pursuer on our tail. That will free you up to head out to the swamp to meet Sanguine.”
Kendell was able to see the rational choice, which was one of the things he admired most about her. “You would be leading them in the opposite direction. I don’t suppose a swamp witch would have much use for a car, so someone would have to go get her. And with Colin still on her tail, I’d be able to keep track of him. You know, you have your moments of brilliance.”