by Martha Reed
“Won’t the police already be doing that?”
“They should be.” Jane turned to open a window. The stuffy air was parching her sinuses. She felt light-headed and dizzy. Reaching up, she unlatched a shutter and raised the double hung panes. Cooler fresh air immediately spilled into the room, refreshing her face. “They’d need to ask a judge for permission to release the records and subpoena the phone company, but it’s not that big of a deal.”
“Any way we could do that on the sly?” Gee asked.
“Only if you know someone who works at the phone company.” Jane unlatched a second shutter. A triangle of bright sunlight fell on the Toulouse-Lautrec cat print hanging over the mantle. She shrugged. “And it would be illegal.”
“Rules were made to be broken,” Gee stated firmly. “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission.” She squinted narrowly. “You seem to know an awful lot about breaking the law.”
“I used to be a cop.” Jane stopped. Wait. Did I just say that out loud?
“What? Huh? Hold up.” Gee gaped. “When were you a cop?”
“Four years ago.” Jane swallowed drily. “A different place, in another world.” Out of everything I went through, why do I keep pinging off that rattle my locker made that final day when I slammed it shut for the last time?
“Where were you a cop?” Gee persisted.
“Back east, in Massachusetts, on Nantucket. It’s an island, thirty miles off the coast.”
“I had no idea. Why didn’t you say so? Why did you stop?”
Jane studied the sunlight dappling the floor. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. “I resigned. I was forced to resign,” she admitted. “I responded to a kidnapping/assault call. A hostage situation got ugly.” Taking a ragged breath, Jane faced the searing truth. “I shot a scumbag, shot him dead. Removed the threat.” She lifted her chin. “I’m not sorry I did it, not one bit. He was torturing a friend of mine.” She pressed her fingertips to her eyelids. I can still see Sarah zip-tied to that bed, screaming, with that fucker Mason holding that knife to her throat. Jane dropped her hands. “The Grand Jury dismissed the charges. ‘Excessive use of force,’ but his father sued me in civil court. Took me two and half years to get through that legal shit. Lost everything I had paying for the lawyers.” She shrugged resignedly. “Could’ve been worse. I was facing prison time with the federal charges until they got dropped.”
“Jane, I’m so sorry. I had no idea -”
“Don’t be.” She straightened. “I knew what I was doing. Needed to get done. It was the right decision to make. That scumbag deserved everything he got.”
“That’s incredible, Jane.” Gee paused. “Do you miss it? Your old life?”
“I miss the people,” she admitted. “I do miss them. I miss my family and my old crew.” She sighed, staring at the sunbeams streaming through the windows. “But you have to let that shit go. Doesn’t do any good trying to get after it once it’s gone. After that, it’s dust and ashes. Some part of me died after that trial. That’s not my life, anymore. That’s not who I am, anymore.” She tapped her heart. “I can’t go back. When I think about it now, I feel hollow. There’s nothing there left for me to go back to.”
“I could never leave NOLA.” Gee whispered, horrified. “I’d dry up and blow away if I ever tried living someplace else. I wouldn’t know who I was any more.”
“Sometimes,” Jane said, bitterly, “you don’t get a choice.”
“Girls?” Miz T reentered the room with a satisfied looking Piddles tagging happily on her heels. Jolting to a stop, she spread both hands like starfish. “Who opened them shutters?”
Jane flinched. “I did. Why?”
“You stupid, ignorant girl!” She spat. “You let Fancy’s spirit out! Now she’s truly gone!”
Gigi blanched.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Jane sputtered. “Did you find Fancy in the kitchen?”
“I told you there was no one in that kitchen,” Miz T argued, “but as long as them shutters stayed shut Fancy’s spirit kept inside the house.” Tottering over, she stretched out her right hand. “Quick! Give me twenty dollars. It might not be too late.”
“Twenty bucks?” Jane retreated a step. “What for?”
“To quickly go buy rum for Baron Samedi. If I pour it out for him he might not take Fancy or if he has, he might bring her back.”
Voodoo. Superstitious dread ruffled the hairs on Jane’s neck. “You’re talking voodoo. And I’m not giving you twenty bucks.”
“Miz T., wait.” Quickly pulling out her wallet, Gee rifled through her cash. “Please take this and go buy rum, some good rum, and maybe a fine cigar and ask Baron Samedi for his help finding Fancy. We’re going to need it.”
Miz T held the sawbuck up to her milky eyes. Puffing on it twice, she folded it carefully before tucking it into her black bra. “You maybe he’ll listen to.” Pointing her bony finger, she shuffled for the door. “Her? I’m not so sure. Tonight, I’ll offer Legba a special prayer and light a candle for Saint Expidite, regardless.”
Gee waited for the door to close before she spun around.
“Jane? You cannot talk to her like that! Miz T is one of the most powerful voodoo priestesses we have. She has special powers! You cannot piss her off.”
“I don’t believe in any of that voodoo crap.” Jane mulishly folded her arms.
“Doesn’t matter what you believe,” Gee sputtered, “but if you’re going to live in NOLA you’d better understand it because we do.”
“Really, Gee? Voodoo queens? Hoodoo dolls? Stick a pin in me, I’m done,” Jane scoffed. “Besides, how was I supposed to know who she was?”
“Didn’t you see what she was wearing?”
“That purple blouse?” Jane shuffled uncomfortably. “Sure, I saw it. Hard to miss. It was so butt-ugly.”
“With a black skirt,” Gee explained patiently. “Those are Baron Samedi’s colors. It was all there right in front of you. You were just too ignorant to see it.”
“Listen.” Jane bridled, raising her hand. “Voodoo is a long con job. We don’t even know if anything has happened to Fancy. We don’t have any hard data or facts. That woman is a grifter, playing off your fear.”
“Lower your voice.” Gee bounced both hands like she was dribbling a basketball. “She might be listening.” Slowing cracking the front door, she checked the street before waving Piddles through. “I’ll go talk to Aunt Babette. She may be able to help us.”
Halfway down the sidewalk, Miz T stopped dead. Her pleated black skirt puffed up like a pumpkin as she spun around.
“You’ll be calling on Babette Broussard, next? After me?” She shouted. Hawking loudly, she spat into the gutter. “That busybody? That witch? She can’t help you,” she stated, scornfully. “That woman works red magic.” She dug into her pocket. “You’ll need a powerful gris-gris to protect you from her, now.”
“Step on it, Gee.” Jane quickly opened The Boat’s passenger side door. Waving Piddles into the back seat, she slid in, pointing at the ignition. “Fire this thing up before she hits you for another twenty.”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Gee hissed. “Don’t antagonize her! You are messing with something you don't understand.”
Checking both mirrors for traffic, Gee cranked the wheel hard and peeled away from the curb. “I’m going to drop you back at the house and go make up those flyers like that detective said. Sounded like a good idea. Something I can do.” Frowning, she slowed The Boat for a busy intersection. “I’m a little worried about Piddles. Can’t lock him in a crate all day; that’s not fair.” She turned left. “Maybe Maman can watch him. Dee would pitch a hissy fit if I brought him home. She’s allergic to pet dander.”
“I’ll take him,” Jane blurted. “Piddles can stay with me.”
“Really?” Gee looked startled. “It would only be until Fancy gets back.”
Take it back! Jane winced as the imaginary shrieking
klaxons blared in her ears. Rescind the offer! Live free and ride light, right? I’ve avoided every other personal responsibility for years, so now I’m going to foster a dog? Jane tentatively poked at the crusted scab that stitched her bitter heart together. She was surprised to find it resilient; the thick scar held firm. Yes. My answer this time really is ‘yes.’ Her heart softened and her resistance melted like hot candle wax before it erupted into a geyser of blindingly fresh possibility that felt so overpoweringly magnificent it left her breathless. Yes. I’m going to take Piddles home with me and I’m going to trust my judgment that this is the right decision to make, the right action to take, the right fucking thing to do. She fell back against the cushioned seat, astonished by the sudden and unremembered feeling of benevolent universal promise and of hope with an upwelling gratitude so bone-shakingly deep she felt reborn and exposed to the world. Yes. I’m going to trust that everything will work out fine because I care about these people and I can help.
Chapter Sixteen
Jane adjusted the black elastic brace supporting the damaged ligaments and the lumpy scar tissue in her left knee. It had taken tough love discipline, a boatload of avoidance, and outright self-shaming standing naked in front of the dim bathroom mirror, but she had decided to run for an hour each morning straight after work instead of heading to The Deuce to drink her breakfast beer. Her heels were chapped and sore and her breathing was ragged, but her core already felt stronger. Baby steps. This will get easier the more I do it. Locking the door, she dropped the key down the front of her T-shirt, zipped her windbreaker up to her chin, settled her ball cap and studied the pink clouds and the baby blue dawn sky. Repeat an action for ten days and it becomes a new habit. She snorted. I could use a few new good habits in my life.
“Ready, Biggy P?”
Piddles yipped. He was evidently delighted to go for a run although the city sidewalks had already ruined his fancy pedicure. Jane had coughed up sixteen bucks to buy him a running harness with a retractable leash from the Dollar Store. It was well-made gear and she didn’t begrudge the expense. It’s nice having a running buddy. Spending part of my salary on a dog isn’t necessarily a bad thing, right? That is what the money is for, to help me enjoy my life. Her hidden cash stash wasn’t doing her any good rolled up in her hollowed-out copy of The Murderer’s Vademecum sitting on the bookshelf. I have $3,600 saved up. How much more do I need?
They started for the park. Yesterday, after Gigi had dropped them off, Piddles had been so terrified at being left behind that the poor dog had frozen stock-still in the middle of the courtyard, trembling until his pointy little teeth had chattered. Jane had instantly connected to the fearful uncertainty she saw in his intelligent brown eyes. Leslie had raised no objection to keeping Piddles temporarily; she had simply stated that it was Jane’s apartment and she could do as she pleased as long as she was prepared to pay for any damages. Jane had enticed Piddles inside using a wiggling slice of processed American cheese, knowing that she needed to do whatever it took to erase that kind of pain from his eyes. No one, not even a dog, ever deserved to feel that way.
She had fashioned a dog bed out of an armful of random musty pillows and a faded duvet she found stuffed in the laundry room cupboard and had barricaded Piddles in the kitchen using a wooden chair and a broom until she had the time and the money to buy him a proper crate. As she had climbed upstairs to grab some sleep, Piddles had started to cry. Not howl or whine, just whimper, a low, soft noise that had crushed her heart. Crawling under the covers, Jane had clamped a pillow around both ears, unsuccessfully trying to ignore the cry for fully twenty minutes before finally surrendering, throwing off the covers and bringing Piddles up to her bed. He had hopped up onto the mattress, circled twice, and settled in immediately to slumber next to her feet. Goddamn fucking dog. Didn’t take him long to form a new habit. Jane chuckled. Funny thing is, now that Piddles sleeps with me I pass right out. Didn’t even dream. Didn’t need to drink my breakfast beer or that funky tea, either. So, the question is, who saved who? Did I rescue Piddles or did he save me?
She scanned the sporadic traffic as they passed the Embry’s house on its lot facing Plessy Street, noting that the Delta Power van with bicentennial tag KRM 772 was still parked in the driveway. Ryan must not have left for work yet. Slow start today. Happy Monday.
Turning left on Dauphine, she picked up the pace. Her joints felt looser as her muscles warmed up and they cut catty-corner onto Piety running hard for Crescent Park. Jane caught the warning blast of a freight train and sucking wind, they raced for the pedestrian bridge over the riverside railroad tracks and the levee. Even in December, the park’s landscape looked lush and green and Jane felt a tingling flicker of nostalgia. I do miss seeing the changing seasons and the fall colors on the moor near Altar Rock. Then she recalled hauling the leaden twenty-pound bags of rock salt and battling the icy town sidewalks and frigid parking lots and she shuddered. No, thank you. I do not miss battling those crippling New England winters.
Her left knee started pinging ‘hello.’ Limping, she stiffly started climbing the arching steel bridge she had nicknamed the Rusty Rainbow challenge because of the staircase that led up and over the railroad tracks. The steep climb took resolve and a serious gut check, but the panoramic view of the Mississippi River and the downtown NOLA skyscrapers made the extra uphill effort worthwhile. Goddamn dog. Piddles didn’t seem to have an issue with the steps. He took them easily, two at a time.
Flicking the sweat from her face, Jane stretched out her hamstrings and took a breather, watching a massive commercial container ship slide by, its roiling wake feathering the greasy brown water into silvery ripples that semaphored the rising sun into her eyes. Crescent City, indeed. This big ass river is still the heart of this place. Trotting down the riverside of the arch, they jogged for Piety Wharf. But its soul is something bigger, something deeper, something darker and maybe something else?
A hot pink flyer taped to a light pole fluttered erratically with the breeze. Jane stopped in her tracks so suddenly that Piddles yelped when he got snatched back by the unexpectedly shortened leash.
“Sorry, Biggy. Wanted to see this.”
Fancy’s wide and toothy smile leapt out at her. Gigi had picked an extreme close-up for the Have You Seen Me? photo. Studying it closely, Jane could see Fancy’s outrageous personality shining devilishly from her eyes. Yes, that’s Fancy alright. So sassy, so full of life. Flattening the flyer against the light pole with her fingertips, Jane’s hand dropped to her side as she made the connection. I know this person. This isn’t someone anonymous, anymore. Piddles dodged left as she tripped forward a half step. I’ve put down roots. I’m a part of this community.
“On your right.”
Piddles skittered again as a cycling hipster in blue spandex shorts skillfully avoided their standing in the middle of the trail hazard. Turning his helmeted head, he stared over his left shoulder. Jane braced herself for the insult.
“Gonna get hot today,” he shouted, “but not as hot as you.”
Wow. Jane blinked in surprise. Positive reinforcement. I’ll take it. Whistling to catch Piddles attention, she started jogging for home. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something. Good job? Nice work? Keep at it? Shit. When was the last time that happened?
The Bywater neighborhood was fully awake now, its denizens up and preparing for work. As they dodged the oddly parked cars and the blue recycling bins that lined the crumbling sidewalk, Jane caught the clink of glassware and the metallic shiver of cutlery from personal kitchens hidden behind long blinds and shutters. Jogging under a spreading lemon tree, she scented rich country sausage with red-eye gravy and cheesy grit casserole and thinking of the Hi-Pro PowerBar waiting for her on the counter she picked up the pace.
At the Piety Street intersection they needed to wait for the light to change because of the increased vehicular traffic heading downtown. Jogging in place, Jane pumped both arms to keep her heart rate in the burn zone. The light
turned green.
“Take it home, Biggy P.”
She gave the run one final big push, racing for St. Claude Avenue and focusing on the finish, ignoring the pulse thrumming her carotid artery. Skidding to a stop in the driveway, she dropped Biggy’s leash and raised both arms in triumph. Did it! And I didn’t need to stop for that painful stitch in my ribs this time, not once! It’s a new personal best!
Piddles barked sharply. Her sneakers spit gravel like lost teeth as Jane spun around. A Delta Power van with Bicentennial tag KRM 772 was backed up to the shed attached to her apartment and her front door stood wide open. I locked that door before I left. Didn’t I? She clutched the key chain hanging around her neck. Crap. What’s Ryan doing here? I wanted to grab a shower and get some sleep before my shift. Her jubilant mood soured. What’s wrong with my goddamned apartment now?
Chapter Seventeen
Ken strolled around the back of the van, swinging a claw foot hammer. “Morning, Jane. Ryan’s snaking your tub.” He loosely waved the tool. “Going to fix this shed next. Got a packet of asphalt shingles. Hated seeing that Ducati getting dripped on. Give us an hour and you’ll be all set.”
Fuck. Jane fought the flutter of exhausted irritation as her temples throbbed. Ken still doesn’t get that I sleep during the day. He should know better. He used to be a rock star. I know he’s worked nights. She tempered her response. Behave! He’s actually doing you a favor. She pointed to his Ace bandage. “How’s the wrist?”
“Better. Only a sprain.” Switching the hammer to his left hand, he lowered his cheap sunglasses and winked. “You should see the other guy.”
Unsnapping Biggy’s harness, she watched him trot away to sniff the courtyard. “Any word from Fancy?”
“Not a peep.” Channels creased Ken’s mouth as he grimaced. “I’m doing my best to calm Gigi down. She’s been running all over town, posting flyers.”