by Gred Herren
“Of course not,” I replied. “You have to ask?”
Colin pulled out a chair and sat down on the opposite side of the table with me. He wouldn’t look at me, keeping his eyes down on his coffee cup. An uncomfortable silence began. I took a drink out of my coffee and Colin finally said, “About last night, Scotty . . .”
“Colin.” I put my cup down and reached over, curling my right hand over his. I took a deep breath. “Thank you for telling me, for talking about something really painful. It was very brave of you.”
“Oh, Scotty.” His voice was quiet. “I was so afraid to tell you—and Frank. I mean, I knew I was going to have to at some point, but I just kept hoping I would never have to.” He gave me a sad smile. “In a way, I feel better now . . . like a burden’s been lifted off me.”
“I love you, Colin.” I meant it. “About Frank—”
“Scotty, I know how you feel.” He gave a sad little laugh. “I know it’s wrong, that we all agreed we could pretty much do whatever we wanted to, no explanations needed, no questions asked, but I really didn’t like seeing Frank with that guy last night. I didn’t like it one bit.”
I stared at him. “I know what you mean. I’ve been sitting out here slapping myself around for being bothered by it. And this whole thing with the uncles . . . I don’t know what to think of all this.”
He gave me a lopsided grin. “Well, we can always do some more investigating.” He finished his coffee and got up, rubbing at his eyes. “You want some more?”
I stood up, shaking my head. “No, honey, I think I want to go home. Let’s grab some clothes and get out of here.”
On the way back to the room, I opened the door to Rain’s old room. Sasha was sleeping on his stomach, snoring softly, wearing nothing but a pair of green-and-yellow-checked boxer shorts that reached down halfway to his knees. I stared at his back. Yes, there were the scars from the steroid-induced acne I’d noticed before. My uncle, I thought and then closed the door back again with a sigh. Why did you tell me your name was Misha?
It was a fucking lot to take in. No wonder I was feeling tired.
We found some old LSU sweatshirts of mine in the closet in my old room, and we put on our gold-painted shoes. We looked completely ridiculous, but we washed our faces and combed our hair before climbing down the back stairs to Dumaine Street. But one of the nice things about living in the Quarter is that no matter how disheveled you might look, no one even looks at you twice. After all, it’s not like it’s not a common sight. We’re so used to seeing strange sights we don’t even blink. You see someone wearing what they were wearing the day before and you just assume they haven’t been home yet. During Mardi Gras it’s also not unusual to see a man walking back to his hotel in just his underwear, having lost his pants sometime during the night. It’s never happened to me, thank God, but I’ve seen it a few times.
We held hands as we walked home, and his hand felt nice in mine. There were a lot more people out than I would have thought, but they were carrying plastic shopping bags rather than big-ass go-cups. Their necks were still adorned with beads, and every once in a while we’d pass a balcony with people out drinking and tossing beads down. The damp air got thicker as we walked, becoming almost a mist, not quite rain but wet enough to dampen my hair and form beads of water on the back of my neck. My legs ached from all the dancing and the blister on the back of my right heel had burst at some time, and it stung with every step I took. Finally we turned the corner at Decatur, and I got out my keys. I unlocked the gate and we headed for the back stairs. Millie was picking up trash in the courtyard, and she just gave us a wave as we started climbing the steps. She also gave us a bemused smile as she took in how we were dressed. I knew that look—she’d want details later, assuming we’d been on some sexual escapade.
The first thing I did when I got inside my apartment was check for Frank to see if he’d come home yet, but the place was empty and still. I stood in the living room for a minute, looking at the empty glasses we’d left and the empty tubes of gold body paint. Just over twelve hours ago we’d been getting ready for a fun night out on the town. I choked back a sob and then noticed the answering machine light was blinking. Maybe he had called.
The only message was from Venus, unfortunately.
“I don’t care what time you get in, Scotty, I want you to call me as soon as you hear this message. Do not, I repeat, do not go to sleep without calling me.”
Colin was starting another pot of coffee in the kitchen. “There’s a message from Venus,” I called to him as I dialed her cell number. He nodded as her line started ringing.
She answered on the third ring. “Casanova.”
“Venus, this is Scotty Bradley.” Colin brought me a cup of coffee and sat down on the couch. “You called me?”
She let out a long breath. “Scotty, are you at home?”
“Well, yeah.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.” She hung up before I could say anything.
I put the phone down. “She’s on her way over.”
“Did she say why?”
“No.” I shrugged. “Who knows what’s going on anymore?”
“Scotty”—he kissed me on the neck—“I know you’re upset about all this family stuff, and I don’t blame you. They shouldn’t have kept it from you. But that wasn’t your choice, you know.”
I was getting really annoyed. “That doesn’t make it right—and one of my uncles I didn’t know about is dead.”
He gave me a big hug. “It’ll be okay, baby.”
Venus was wrong. It was closer to fifteen minutes before I opened the door to let her and Blaine in. “Do you want some coffee?” I asked as we walked down the hall to the living room.
“I’ll have some. Just black is fine,” Venus said, taking off her jacket and sitting on the couch.
I went into the kitchen to get it, and Blaine followed me in. I got down a cup and started pouring while he watched me. I put the pot back and looked at him. “You don’t have to watch my every move, you know.” I knew it was procedure—they had to know where everyone in the apartment was at all times—but it wasn’t like I was going to pull a gun on him or anything.
I was about to say that when he half smiled. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”
“Of course I remember you.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re Blaine Tujague. You’re a homicide detective. Sure you don’t want any coffee? It’s no trouble.”
He shook his head. “And all this time I thought you were just being an asshole.”
“What are you talking—” I broke off and stared at him. He’d always looked sort of familiar to me, but I’d never really given it much thought. Everyone looks familiar in New Orleans, and I knew I’d seen him in the bars a couple of times. I kept staring at him, and I got a sudden mental flash of him naked. “I’ve seen you naked,” I blurted out.
Okay, I have to admit, I’ve seen a lot of men naked. I am even willing to admit that fact sounds pretty bad. I will even go so far as to say, yes, I am a slut. But just because I’ve seen a man naked doesn’t mean I’ve slept with him. I was a personal trainer and aerobics instructor for years. I’ve spent a lot of time showering in gym locker rooms. One night, when I was at the Pub with David, I looked around the room and realized with a start that I’d seen almost ninety percent of the men in the bar naked. But I’ve seen more straight men naked and in their underwear, I would dare say, than gay men.
Which is truly a frightening thought.
“You remember?” Blaine had a huge grin on his face now.
“Well, kind of.” I shrugged. It was weird. Despite the high number of men I’d slept with, I always remembered them. It was something I took a certain amount of pride in. I wasn’t one of those people who fucked someone and then forgot that they ever existed or that it had even happened.
Blaine reached over and patted my arm. “You were pretty wasted that night.” He shrugged. “I was, too.”
I just gave him a lame
smile, hoping that I wasn’t blushing with embarrassment, and walked past him with Venus’s coffee. I handed it to her and sat down. “So, why did you want to see me?” Blaine followed me in and leaned against the wall, watching me with that weird half smile on his face.
She took a sip from the coffee and then set it down on the table. “Something really weird came up in this case, and I was wondering if you knew anything about it.”
I glanced over at Colin, who gave an almost imperceptible shrug. Weird didn’t come close to describing my last couple of days, so I was curious to see what she thought was so strange. “Okay.”
“We ran his prints—the victim’s. Misha’s.” Venus looked from me to Colin and back again. “And there wasn’t a match in the system.”
“So?” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Why is that weird?”
“So we ran them through all the databases, and still nothing.” She was watching me pretty closely.
“I don’t get it.” I looked at Blaine, who’d stopped grinning at me at this point, then back at Venus. “What’s so weird about that?”
“He should have been in the INS database,” Colin interrupted. “The INS fingerprints applicants for resident alien status now. Isn’t that right, Venus?”
She nodded. “And what’s weirder is we pulled up his info in the INS database. The picture on file matches the victim’s face, but his fingerprints don’t. It doesn’t make any sense.” She rubbed her eyes. “Unless—oh, Lord, I don’t even want to say it out loud; it’s so crazy.”
“Go ahead.” I waved my hand. “I’m getting pretty used to crazy.” I gave Colin a half smile. “You might be surprised.”
“The only thing that makes sense, crazy as it is,” she paused again, as though trying to gather her nerve to say it out loud, cleared her throat, and went on, “is if there were twins.” She covered her face with both hands, dropping her head down. “I know, I know—it sounds crazy, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. That’s the only way the two sets of prints wouldn’t match. The victim wasn’t Misha Saltikov.”
It was all I could do not to laugh. If only it were just twins, Venus, was what I wanted to say. I could sympathize—it wasn’t going to be easy explaining this all to her lieutenant—but if the notion of twins freaked her out this much, what was she going to say when she found out it was actually triplets? That they were my uncles? And so on and so on and so on. Sheesh, what a fucking mess. I wasn’t even sure I could keep the whole thing straight.
She went on. “It would be pretty simple, I suppose, for Misha to come over here, get all of his immigration paperwork put together, and then mail it or courier it out of the country so his brother could get through Immigration completely under the radar . . . but why would they want to do that?” She shook her head.
“Unless the brother wouldn’t have been allowed to enter,” Blaine said. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
I shook my head. “Feel free.” I don’t smoke, but growing up over the tobacco shop as I did, smoke doesn’t bother me. Yeah, there’s the whole secondhand smoke thing, but as long as the air we breathe anyway isn’t clean and pure of toxins, I don’t worry about cigarette smoke. I got an ashtray out from one of the end tables and handed it over.
Blaine shook one out and offered the pack to Venus. She took one and gave me a guilty look. “I quit a couple of years ago, but—”
“Have you checked with the Russian authorities?” Colin asked. “Maybe it wasn’t so much that the U.S. would have denied him entry; maybe he was trying to get out of Russia without them knowing.”
“Yeah, I’ve got someone working on that.” Venus inhaled and blew the smoke up toward the ceiling. There was a look of pure pleasure on her face, and then she regretfully stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. “And the house—the crime scene? It belongs to Sylvia Overton, if you can believe that. And even weirder, Misha—the one who’s in the country legally—is here on a marriage visa . . . married to Sylvia Overton.” Venus shook her head. “Do you know who Sylvia Overton is? Christ, this just keeps getting crazier and crazier.”
I started to say something but Colin gave his head a little warning shake, so I kept my mouth shut.
Blaine took over at this point. “My mother knows Sylvia. Let’s just say she’s socially prominent and leave it at that. We’ve tried reaching her, but she doesn’t return our calls. We’ve stopped by her home a few times, but there’s never an answer when we knock and ring the bell.”
“Really?” I sat up. “That’s not good. I mean, we just saw Sylvia—when was it, Colin? I can’t keep track of the days anymore.”
Colin gave me a pained look. “We were there yesterday morning.”
Venus’s eyes narrowed. “And what were you doing there?”
“She’s an old friend of the family,” I replied. “She’s my grandmother’s best friend.” Venus and Blaine were looking at me, both with that suspicious cop look on their faces. I looked over to Colin for support, but he had a sour look on his face. It was perfectly apparent that he hadn’t wanted me to tell them anything about Aunt Sylvia and her husband. But I couldn’t exactly stop now and pretend I hadn’t said anything. “We were invited over for brunch. We just made an appearance; we were tired and wanted to get to bed, but I didn’t want to just blow it off.”
“And you didn’t think it strange that her husband looked just like your drug dealer?” Venus started tapping her fingers on her knee.
“We didn’t meet her husband. He wasn’t there,” Colin interrupted smoothly. “We only stayed for a few minutes, had a mimosa, and left. Did you even know she had remarried, Scotty?”
“No.”
“Don’t try to bullshit me, you two.” Venus pointed a finger at me. “Scotty, you expect me to believe that the guy you got your drugs from is murdered, and you just happen to show up for brunch at the home of the woman who owned the house the murder took place in the next morning, and she just happens to be married to the twin of the victim? And you didn’t meet him? Come on. How fucking stupid do you think I am?”
“I don’t think you’re stupid,” I said carefully, my mind racing. “Come on, Venus! Be fair. Blaine just said his mother knows Sylvia. She’s an old friend of my family’s. I didn’t know she’d remarried.” It sounded lame, even to me—even though it was true. “I mean, I never pay attention to stuff like that. . . .” Why had Colin said we hadn’t met Misha there? I was stuck, couldn’t think of anything else to say that wouldn’t dig me in deeper.
Venus shook out another cigarette from Blaine’s pack, her hand shaking a bit. “You two are investigating this, aren’t you?” She frowned. “And where’s Frank?” She looked from Colin to me, and back again. “What’s going on around here?”
I started to say something but Colin cut me off. “Frank met a guy last night and left with him and his friends. We’re not sure when he’ll be back.”
Friends? This was the first I’d heard of this. I frowned at Colin, but he avoided my eyes.
“Yes, we decided to do some checking,” Colin went on. “Wouldn’t you have? You two had basically come over here yesterday morning and all but accused Scotty of killing his dealer. We found the same things you did, Venus—that there were two of them, and one of them had married Sylvia Overton. We’d been invited over there for brunch, so we went. Her husband wasn’t around, and there wasn’t any way to talk to her alone—she had too many guests—so we decided not to say anything to her. We didn’t want her tipping off her husband. And we didn’t know until yesterday morning she’d remarried. Scotty was just as shocked to find out as you were, Blaine. It didn’t make any sense to us either.” He spread his hands out in a gesture of confusion. “So we decided to leave it all up to the police to do their usual fine job.” He gave her a winning smile. “Now, I don’t understand why Mrs. Overton isn’t returning your calls, or answering the door when you drop in on her, but it’s also Carnival, so I doubt if it’s anything sinister.” He stood up. “Now,
if you’ll excuse us, we haven’t been to bed yet, and we’re kind of tired.”
Venus and Blaine stood. I walked them to the door. Venus stopped. “I don’t believe for a minute you three aren’t looking into this,” she whispered to me at the door. “And I don’t think you’re being honest with me about other things. I should run you in for interfering with a police investigation, but I know your goddamned brother would be at the precinct in five minutes screaming.” She sighed. “So, I’m asking you to keep me informed of anything you find—and to be fucking careful.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” I smiled.
She just glared at me and then followed Blaine down the stairs. I shut the door and walked back into the living room. I plopped down in a chair. “What next, chief?”
“I think we need to head back over to Sylvia’s and have a little chat with Misha.” Colin flipped his cell phone open. “I’m going to call Angela again.” He walked into the bedroom to make the call.
I stared after him for a moment, a sharp retort on my lips. I got my cell phone out and called Frank’s phone again. After a few rings, the voice mail picked up. I hesitated, wondered what to say, and then just hung up. Anything I might say would probably sound jealous or angry, and I didn’t want to upset him. He had just followed the rules the way we’d spelled them out, and who was I to be jealous?
Feeling really ashamed of myself, I sat down on the floor in front of the coffee table and got my cards out. I cleared my mind of everything, all the doubts and fears, and said a quick prayer for strength, trust, and courage, then began shuffling the cards. I closed my eyes and tried to focus. I spread the cards out and began turning them over.
History repeats.
Pray for a brave heart.
The need for strength to do what is right.
Danger at every turn.
I stared at the cards and sighed. It wasn’t as reassuring as I’d hoped. What the hell did they mean? I remembered that strange moment the other night when Frank and Colin had confronted each other—the blue energy that had crackled off the two of them, the feeling I’d seen that happen before, that the scene had once played out before.