Sisters of the Mist

by Eric Wilder

  “You mean like it was never there?”

  “Exactly what I mean. Barzoom took the dagger, and he and the Swamp Monsters disappeared back into the Honey Island Swamp. Now, it all seems like a dream to me.”

  “Maybe it was,” she said.

  “How are you, Wyatt and Desire?” he asked.

  “We’re okay, Desire back to her old self.”

  “How?” he asked.

  “Long story,” she said. “I’ll tell it to you when we both have more time.”

  “Good,” he said. “You haven’t forgotten about our date, have you?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said.

  When I opened the door to my room, Kisses jumped into my arms. I was as glad to see her, as she was to see me. Abba, Desire, and I were exhausted. We collapsed on the bed and fell asleep without bothering to undress. Kisses spent the night on my chest. She didn’t awaken me, I had no fitful dream, and we slept peacefully through the entire night.

  ***

  Next morning, Bertram was polishing a glass behind the bar when Tony Nicosia came through the front door.

  “What’s happening, Bro?” Bertram asked. “Survive Halloween okay?”

  “Barely,” Tony said. “Got any scotch in this place?”

  Bertram grabbed a bottle of Dalmore from beneath the bar. “Your favorite,” he said.

  “Not anymore,” Tony said. “Got any Monkey Shoulder?”

  Bertram removed his trapper’s cap and scratched his head. “What the hell is Monkey Shoulder?”

  “Scotch,” Tony said.

  “You’ll have to drink Dalmore till I get you some.”

  “That’ll work,” Tony said. “Seen Wyatt?”

  “He’s upstairs in bed with two pretty women and that cat of his.”

  “Except for the cat, it sounds like they may be having fun,” Tony said.”

  “Just sleeping. When I peeked in on them, they still had on all their clothes. Where’s Eddie?”

  “We’ve all been staying at Frankie Castellano’s horse farm north of Covington while Eddie and me was trying to solve a little problem for him.”

  “And?”

  “Everything’s copacetic,” Tony said. “Frankie thinks me and Eddie set the moon. He and Adele are taking me and Lil to Italy with them next month.”

  “And Eddie?”

  “You hadn’t heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “Eddie and Frankie’s daughter, Josie are a number now. Adele and Frankie are planning the biggest wedding this parish ever seen.”

  “Oh?”

  “Frankie’s going to make Eddie his chief counsel. He’ll be second in command of his whole operation. He’s also going to give him and Josie his horse farm as a wedding present.”

  “What’s Eddie think of all this?”

  “He left early this morning to run an errand and ain’t heard about it yet.”

  Bertram poured himself a shot of Cuervo. “Eddie’s never gonna settle down with one woman. He ain’t wired that way.”

  “He don’t have much choice,” Tony said. “Frankie will have him skinned alive if he trifles with Josie’s feelings. He’ll learn to love it. He just has to change his ways.”

  Chapter 40

  It was growing dark as Eddie parked his black sedan in front of a tiny wood framed house about a block from the main street of Sallisaw, Oklahoma. As he got out of the car, he saw that a young woman was sitting alone on the front porch swing. She continued to swing as he walked up the broken sidewalk to the porch.

  “Jessica Smith?” he said.

  “Do I know you?”

  “I’m Eddie Toledo. I met you a day or so ago.”

  Her eyes grew wider when he walked out of the shadows, and she got a good look at his face. Bounding out of the swing, she stepped off the porch and clutched his hand.

  “You’re the man that saved my life in the horse barn.”

  “I could see you were in danger.”

  “You’re a hero.”

  “Anyone would have helped.”

  “No they wouldn’t have,” she said. “Thank you so much, Eddie.”

  “Just glad I was there when you needed me.”

  “You thirsty? I got ice tea in the kitchen.”

  “Sounds great,” he said. “Please don’t go to any trouble.”

  “No trouble. Wait in the swing. I’ll be right back.”

  Rusty chains supported the old wooden swing hanging from the ceiling of the porch, their metallic creaks harmonizing with traffic sounds on the nearby highway. Jessica returned with a pitcher of iced tea and two tumblers. After pouring them a glass of tea, she scooted beside him.

  Her simple yellow dress didn’t cover her knees, the brown cotton sweater she wore her only concession to the night chill in the air. The swing being small, their bodies touched. Even in the dim light of a nearby streetlamp, he was close enough to see how pretty she was. She smiled when she noticed him noticing.

  “Why are you here, Eddie?” she asked.

  “I have something for you.”

  Taking a slip of paper from his shirt pocket, he handed it to her.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “A cashier’s check made out to you.”

  “This can’t be mine,” she said. “No one owes me thirty-three thousand dollars.”

  “I promise you, it’s yours,” he said.

  “Where did it come from?”

  “Your deceased husband, Kenny. He placed a bet on the last race he rode in. This is his winnings, and it belongs to you.”

  Tears began forming in the corners of her eyes. “This can’t be. I must be dreaming.”

  “It is, and you’re not,” Eddie said.

  Jessica put her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “You drove all the way from New Orleans to give this to me?”

  “I had the day off,” he said.

  “Thank you, Eddie. You don’t know what this means.”

  “I think I do.

  “No, you don’t. I just broke into my piggy bank and found three dollars and seventy-five cents in quarters, nickels, and dimes. It’s all I have in the world. I didn’t know how I was going to feed my baby this week.”

  “What’s your baby’s name?”

  “Stevie Ray. Named him after a guitar player cause I’m hoping he grows up with talent enough to make him rich and famous.”

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  “I’ve been eating ramen noodles for a week now.”

  “We could go someplace nice and get a steak.”

  Jessica wiped her eyes and smiled. “Stevie Ray’s asleep. I can’t go anyplace.”

  “I could get something and bring it back,” he said. “What are you hungry for?”

  “When I have a few extra dollars, I get fried chicken they sell at the convenience store.”

  Neon lights of the combination convenience store and filling station beckoned from across the street.

  “I’ll walk over and get us some. Anything else you need?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “What?” he said. “Tell me what it is. I’ll get it for you.”

  She giggled. “I’m almost out of baby formula. Little Stevie was breastfeeding until my tits dried up. Formula is so damn expensive, even the cheap kind.”

  Jessica was smiling when he returned from the convenience store with two grocery bags in his arms.

  “What in the world? Did you buy out the store?”

  “Potato chips, chicken, beer, and baby formula. I'd go back if I missed something else that you need.”

  They sat on the porch swing, eating chicken and potato chips, and drinking beer.

  “It’s getting late,” he finally said. I better get going. It’s a long drive back to New Orleans.”

  Jessica touched his wrist, gazed for a moment into his eyes, and then stole a quick kiss.

  “Please, this is the best night I can remember for so long. I don’t want it to
ever end. Can’t you come inside and stay for just a bit longer?”

  As the front door shut behind them, Eddie heard the horn of a semi motoring past on the highway. It sounded far away, deep and mournful, like a jazz funeral marching through the French Quarter.

  ####

  Excerpt – New Orleans Dangerous

  Chapter 1

  Although only thirty-four years of age, Taj Davis was old by NBA standards. His surgically repaired left knee still ached whenever he ran or jumped. Arthritis had begun affecting his fingers although no one had yet noticed the knots deforming the digits of his shooting hand. As he followed a bellman down the hallway of a New Orleans hotel, he felt ancient.

  Taj had hoped to play in Cleveland during his final years in the league. An early morning call from an assistant coach had informed him his dream was not to be. He’d had about three hours to pack his apartment before taking a taxi to the airport and flying to New Orleans, the team that had acquired him in an unexpected mid-season trade.

  The bellman stopped in front of a door and opened it with a key, the odor of must and age accosting Taj’s senses as he followed the little man into the room. The person in the red velvet coat sat the suitcase on the bed, smiling when Taj handed him a twenty.

  “Aren’t you Taj Davis?”

  “Right on, brother. What’s your name?”

  “Tommy. You’re way bigger than you look on TV. How tall are you?”

  “Six-nine. You like basketball, Tommy?”

  The little man massaged the stubble of beard on his chin. “Nothing much I like better, especially the Pelicans. They gonna be champs one of these days.”

  “Hope it’s sooner rather than later,” Taj said. “At least now that I’m in town. I’ve dreamed of a championship ring, and I’m running out of time to find a winning team.”

  “I hear that,” Tommy said. “Hope you’re good enough to replace Zee Ped. He been filling up the baskets lately.”

  “Why in the world did the Pels trade their best player?” Taj asked.

  “Beats the hell out of me,” Tommy said. “Nobody around here knew a thing about the trade until a few hours ago.”

  “Neither did I. An assistant called this morning and told me to meet him in the locker room. He had a plane ticket and itinerary ready for me when I got there. I had no chance to say goodbye to anyone, and barely enough time to pack my apartment.”

  “You mean today was the first you heard?”

  The curtains on the large room’s windows were open. Taj nodded as he glanced out at the flashing neon of the French Quarter and running lights of boats out on the river.

  “I had no clue,” he said. “I know it’s late. Any chance of scoring something to eat around here?”

  “You kidding? This the Big Easy. Lots of places serve food, no matter what hour.”

  “I mean here in the hotel. This unexpected move has dogged me out. All I want to do is eat, take a hot bath and then crash.”

  “I hear that. Tell me what you want. I’ll have someone bring it up.”

  “Ribeye, rare, and a bottle of your driest cabernet.”

  “Our chef makes the best gumbo in town,” Tommy said.

  “Just the steak. I’m not much on seafood.”

  “Better learn to like it,” Tommy said. “You might be here awhile, and this is the gumbo capital of the world.”

  “Hope you’re right about me spending some time here. This is my third team in the past five years. I was hoping to play my final season in Cleveland. Tell you the truth, I’ve never eaten gumbo,” Taj said.

  “I’ll bring you a cup, along with the steak. Give it a try. Nothing else like it on earth.”

  “If you say so,” Taj said.

  “Ever stayed here before?”

  “First time. The Cavs use one of the newer hotels on Canal when they come to town. How old is this place?”

  “Just short of a hundred and forty years. The oldest hotel in the French Quarter.”

  “Love it,” Taj said. “The elegance, architecture, and service are impressive. What’s not to like?”

  “Maybe the evil spirits hanging around every corner,” Tommy said.

  “You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?”

  “Me and everybody else in town. You might too after tonight.”

  “You have information I need to hear?”

  Tommy massaged his chin again. “I think I already said too much. I better go get your order in.”

  “Not so fast,” Taj said. “You have something to tell me, so. . .”

  “This hotel ain’t just haunted, it has more ghosts than St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 over on Basin Street.”

  “And. . . ?”

  “This room, 1413.”

  “Go on.”

  “It’s really room 1313. This is the thirteenth, not the fourteenth floor. The hotel stopped using this room before I came to work here.”

  “How long ago was that?” Taj asked.

  “Almost thirty years.”

  “Bet you got lots of stories,” Taj said.

  “When it comes to the Big Easy, ain’t much I don’t know about.”

  “Then tell me why I’m staying in a haunted hotel room that hasn’t been used in more than thirty years?”

  “We’re extra busy during the holidays, people coming to town to see the Christmas lights and all. Guess management put you here because they couldn’t turn down a call from the Pels, and this was the only room that wasn’t booked.”

  “It may be haunted, but it has to be the most beautiful suite in town,” Taj said, staring at the panoramic vista through the corner window. “I can’t imagine a better view in New Orleans. Why on earth would the hotel let a few spirits of the night stop them from using it?”

  “Someone was murdered here,” Tommy said.

  “Whoa, man,” Taj said. “Somebody was murdered in this room? You’re making this up, right?”

  Tommy wasn’t smiling as he stared at the floor. “A cleaning lady found a body in the bathtub. The murdered woman’s head was missing and was never found.”

  “A crime of passion?”

  “Don’t know,” Tommy said. “The police didn’t solve the murder.”

  “How is that possible?” Taj asked when Tommy grew silent. “Wasn’t she a guest?”

  “Like I said, it happened before I started work here.” Tommy handed Taj the key to the room. “I’ll go put in your dinner order.”

  The little bellman smiled and hurried away down the antique hallway after Taj had given him another twenty.

  It was the weekend, the Pelicans on a road trip out west, and Taj didn’t have to report to the training facilities until Monday. He’d visited New Orleans many times during his tenure in the NBA, though he’d never ventured far away from where the Pelicans played basketball at the Smoothie King Center or his hotel room. Tomorrow, he intended to change all that.

  He glanced out the window again before shutting the curtains. Mid-December, the weather had turned cold. Though not as frigid as Cleveland temperatures, the humid climate in New Orleans was uncomfortable. Taj turned up the thermostat, opened his suitcase, found a sweater and pulled it over his head.

  Checking his email on his cell phone entertained Taj until a white smocked waiter knocked on the door. He was pushing a squeaky cart complete with tablecloth, fine china, and silverware. After opening the bottle of wine with a ceremonial flair, he accepted his tip with a nod and departed after saying almost nothing.

  “Nice,” Taj said, sipping the cabernet.

  Taj had forgotten Tommy’s story of murder as he twisted the tap on the antique porcelain tub, and then tested the water with his palm. When it grew hot, he returned to eat his steak. He turned up his nose at the steaming cup of gumbo, pushing it aside without so much as tasting it.

  As haze wafted up from the tub, Taj sat the wine bottle and his glass on the barbershop tile floor, and then stripped off his clothes. Not bothering to test the temperature, he slid over the side, sinking
into the water to the top of his shaved head.

  Taj had a powerful frame for such a big man. Used to battling in the paint, he had a chest covered with bruises, contusions, and even a few cuts. The hot water soon began to soothe his sore body, and he finished drinking the wine straight from the bottle. After draining the last drop he closed his eyes, falling asleep.

  ***

  Sometime later, Taj’s hand relaxed. He released his grip on the bottle, his eyes popping open when it shattered on the tile floor. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but the water was tepid. Worse, the lights had gone out, the only illumination coming from a crack in the curtains. When he got out of the tub, he stepped on broken glass, cutting his foot.

  Finding a towel, he wrapped it around his bleeding foot and hobbled to the window. Unable to find a light switch in the darkness, he pulled open the curtains, red flashing neon from the French Quarter flooding through the window.

  The room had grown icy cold. Sticky globules dripped from the windowpane and Taj recoiled when he touched the gooey substance. The inhuman sound of something coming up behind him sent a shiver up his spine.

  Though Taj wasn’t a person easily startled, the disturbing sound of heavy feet shuffling across the floor, along with the rattle of chains made him do a double take as he wheeled around. What he saw caused him to draw a gasping breath into his lungs.

  Neither man nor beast, it was a cloud of white light with flashes of reds, yellows, and blues instead. Something alive, though anything but human, reeked of death as it floated toward him, the droning noise emitting from the specter sounding like the muted whine of a revving chainsaw.

  Fists clenched in a fighter’s stance, Taj took a swing at the advancing demon. When his hand passed through it, he realized he needed to run instead of fight. Sidestepping the entity, he stumbled to the door. When he reached it, he found it locked. He couldn’t open it as he glanced over his shoulder at the terrifying apparition cloaked in a pulsating cloud of noxious gases.

  With renewed effort, Taj slammed his fists against the door, trying to break the doorjamb and get away from the supernatural being behind him. He fell on his face into the hallway when it opened of its own accord. Even with the bloody towel wrapped around his cut foot, he sprinted into the arms of an inebriated couple returning from a French Quarter bistro.