by Martha Reed
Me? How is this suddenly about me? “Cheryl, we weren’t going to work out. We’re two different kinds of people. We’ve got nothing in common.”
“I knew you was unnatural the minute I laid eyes on you.” She hissed. “And I know who you really are. Looked you up on the church computer. You’re a murderess! Killed that man in cold blood. Shot him dead.”
The Internet lives forever. Jane counted to three. That’s the problem these days. No one reads the whole story. They read the lurid headline, make their judgment and move on. “If you read about the case you know the charge was dismissed.”
“Sure it was! No judge is gonna send a cop to prison.” The tiny ruby cross at the base of her throat trembled. “Moral corruption, I’m sure that’s all that was.”
“A U.S. District Court judge dismissed the federal charge,” Jane interrupted angrily. “This didn’t happen in someone’s backyard.”
“I don’t care what a federal judge did. Does Leslie know she’s harboring a criminal? I’ll bet you forgot to tell her that when you moved in.” She aggressively jabbed her finger. “That dead boy’s father sued you personally in court seeking justice.”
Jane struggled to remain calm. “Mason Hollister wasn’t a boy and his father sued me in civil court. That charge also got dropped.”
“Only because the father had a stroke and died fighting you -”
“Mason Hollister’s mother dropped the lawsuit because she sided with me.” The mad PTSD hornet started buzzing in Jane’s ears. “Why would Marjory Hollister do that if she didn’t think I was justified?”
“I don’t know why she did that.” Clamping her eyes tightly shut, Cheryl blindly flapped her hands at her temples. “It’s unnatural, a mother siding with her son’s killer.” Her eyes blinked open. “What kind of mother would ever do that?”
“Mason Hollister was a monster,” Jane stated flatly. “And Marjory Hollister knew it. Nothing she could ever do would fix that and believe me, she tried.”
“You need to go.” Cheryl stiffened. “You need to leave. You brought some evil kind of juju down on us when you moved in. All of this trouble, all of this death is your fault. All of this evil started with you.” She stepped closer. “This used to be a nice neighborhood, friendly.” She stared up, unblinking. “Never had a lick of trouble before you moved in.”
“Cheryl, I’m sorry you feel that way.” Jane crossed her arms. “I’m not leaving.”
“You’re a devil.” Cheryl nervously fingered her cross. “Some kind of demon. You need to be cast out.” She swept her arm at the hoodoo doll. “You’ve been warned.”
“This was you?” Jane snatched up the doll. “You did this? You left this on my bed?”
“What if I did?” Cheryl sneered. “Nothing you can do about it.”
“I could have you arrested for trespassing on private property.”
“Good luck with that.” She dug into her pocket. “Ain’t trespassing when Leslie gave me the keys.”
“Drop them or keep them, it’s all the same to me,” Jane stated. “The locksmith is on his way. This is the last time you’ll get into my place without me knowing and the next time I’ll be ready.”
“I ain’t afraid of you, bitch.” She glowered. “You threatening me?”
“Take it any way you like.” Jane caught the rattle of an approaching diesel engine. Stepping into the doorway, she saw a Fortress Protection panel van pulling into the driveway. Spotting her, the driver leaned out of his window.
“Ma’am? You called for a locksmith?”
“We did.” Jane waved him in. “Perfect timing.”
“I ain’t done with you.” Cheryl rudely dropped the key ring to the floor. “You ain’t seen the last of me yet.” She muttered, brusquely brushing by.
Whatever. Jane released her breath. Don’t engage. Let her have the last word. Just let it fucking go.
Grasping the hoodoo doll in both hands, she snapped it in half. It broke in a shower of bark and splinters. The dress pin thrust through its neck etched a bloody welt across her palm that raised a line of tiny perfect crimson droplets. Unlatching the trashcan, Jane thrust the doll in as the welt started to sting like a paper cut. She swiped her palm against her pants. What’s the voodoo protocol for this? Should I have burned the doll or buried it like a dishonored flag?
“Superstition.” She scoffed. I’ll need to ask Aunt Babette. And I am through apologizing for my life!
Chapter Forty-Eight
Gee tightened her grip around Jane’s ribcage. “Gimme! I want one of these! Don’t tell The Boat. She’ll get jealous.”
The Ducati Monster clicked and growled as Jane changed gears, weaving the sporty motorcycle around an illegally parked car near the Old Ursuline Convent on Chartres Street. Tapping her shoulder, Gee pointed to the classical French building that covered half a city block.
“That convent used to be a vampire prison. Did you know that?”
“A what?”
“A prison. For vampires. Nuns locked ‘em up on the third floor. Those shutters are nailed shut with silver nails blessed by the Pope.”
More voodoo hoodoo. I can’t get away from it. “You’re shitting me, right?”
“Oh hell, no! Shutters blew open during Katrina. Folks avoided Chartres Street like the plague until the Pope sent a new keg of blessed silver nails and they got hammered shut again.”
I’ll play. “Did the vampires get out?”
“They surely did. Heard they flew to Houston. They like it better there. S’less humid. Doesn’t mess with their hair.”
“And the nails?”
“What?”
“The nails? The Pope’s new nails. Were they silver-plated or sterling?”
“Girl? You crazy? Pure silver, of course! Plated nails wouldn’t stop a vampire for more than a minute.”
Jane swerved to avoid a drunken amorous couple stumbling along the curb. “Sounds like a solid con for getting money outta the church to me. How many of those pure silver nails actually made it to the shutters?”
“Shame on you, Jane, for thinking that way! Not everyone’s running a game. Where’s your faith in humanity?” Gee rested her bony chin on Jane’s shoulder. “Cut right after Kerlerec. Grab the first spot you find. We’ll need to walk in.”
Jane slowed as a mournful brassy horn began to wail its lonesome notes into the night. NOLA is the only town where you can hear trumpets playing at midnight and nobody minds. What is it about that sound that makes me feel like I’ve forgotten something important? She braked to a stop in front of a space between two SUVs. “Hop off. I’m backing in.”
Gee dismounted and strolled to the sidewalk, pulling a cigarette case from her breast pocket and looking very James Dean-ish in her denim jacket, white T-shirt, ankle boots and skinny jeans. Flicking her lighter, she lit a toothpick thin spliff.
“Puff, puff, pass. You want some of this?”
“No, thanks.” Jane carefully muscled Monster into the narrow gap. “You do recall the FBI is listening to your every word, right?”
“I do.” Gee popped a perfect smoke ring that hung in the air until she stuck her finger through it. “Carter said ‘act normal.’” She inhaled sharply through her teeth. “This is normal ‘Nawlins, Saturday night.” Exhaling, she pointed at the bike. “You forgot your key.”
“Keyless ignition. Monster doesn’t have one. Pings off the fob in my purse within fifteen feet. One reason I bought a Ducati.” Jane surreptitiously checked the concealed carry holster clipped to the waistband of her leather skirt. Now that I’ve ditched my belly fat, I’m loving this appendix carry again. Tucks Lucy away where no one would expect to find her. She reached up to straighten the spaghetti straps on her shimmering silver halter-top.
“Speaking of technology,” Gee eyed Jane’s outfit, “where d’you pin your mic? Not for nothing, Jane Byrne, but you’re walking around in public half naked. Looking all sexed up there, girlfriend. When we get to Femme du, they’re going to eat you alive.�
��
“I pinned it to the underwire in my bra. Where’s yours?”
Gee slipped the denim jacket off her shoulders like a striptease, waggling her eyebrows as she flipped the lapel. “Testing, one, two, three.” She lowered her voice an octave and growled. “Mayas? Carter? You boys there?”
“Don’t do that, Gee. Don’t fool around.” Jane quickly scanned the deeper shadows of the alleys. “You don’t know who’s watching.”
“You’re right.” Gee strolled for the blazing lights of Frenchmen Street. “Where do you think they’re at?”
“Wouldn’t be surveillance if we could see them.” Jane trotted in her unfamiliar heels to catch up.
“Smart ass.” Gee stepped aside as a courtyard door on her right unexpectedly opened and two women stepped onto the street.
“Can’t wait to show you this club, Liselle.” The woman with the hot pink hair drawled. “It’s totally lit. My favorite place in all of NOLA.”
Wiping her nose, her heavily tattooed friend sniffed. “How did you come to find it?”
“As soon as I got to town, I asked: Where them gay bitches at? Took me about a minute and a half to find the lavender line where all the LGBTQ clubs are.”
Gee grasped Jane’s arm. “Follow them. We’re still safer walking in groups. There’s been some new stupid trouble since the election.”
They merged into the sidewalk traffic flowing toward Frenchmen Street. The jazzy NOLA energy was electrically palpable. Jane’s head swam as she felt her elevated heartbeat thumping in her throat and in her ears. Look at all these people. I feel like a salmon swimming upstream. She got shoulder-checked by another laughing partier and spun around. The night sky was a blurry smear of red, white and green neon light spilling from the bar signs. The thumping beat ebbed and flowed with each step she took as they passed the panhandling musical buskers camped out on every corner. A lone, maniacal drummer using peeled sticks pounded a drum set of overturned plastic pickle buckets, his setup in perfect alignment with the crumbling curb. Spotting Jane, he pointed one drumstick, threw his head back and laughed, his teeth gleaming like a beacon against the shadowy streaming crowd.
Gee paused. “Jane? You okay?”
“I think I’m tripping.”
“Don’t you love it? Isn’t it great?” Gee looked aroused, her eyes wide with excited delight. “Look at all these humans being human. We’re all part of the same zoo, right? Part of the same team?”
The crowd parted for a couple waltzing down Frenchmen Street. The woman was dancing topless. Her freely swinging breasts were painted with a garland of silver and gold stars and her cheeky red shorts left nothing to the imagination. Her male partner was more formally attired in a tuxedo jacket and a glittering gold top hat. A note pinned to his back read: Will Pose for Tips.
“This is what people really want. Life!” Gee triumphantly raised her fists. “Real life and being free to do whatever they fuck they want to do.” She squinted. “Why do we make it so fucking hard on each other? Why do we keep doing that?” She rapped her temple. “That’s what’s really wrong with us. You do know that, right?” She knit her fingers together. “We turn everything into a competition and then we judge everything. It’s such a fucking waste of time and energy.” She pulled Jane toward a chrome door set into a black stucco wall. “We should enjoy the time we have. Enjoy being with our friends and our family. That’s the fucking point.” Her mascaraed eyes filled with sorrow. “That’s what Fancy knew. And Dee.”
Jane gasped as their souls touched, as lightly as a feathered puff of tomb dust.
“Welcome, ladies.” A bald, beefy bouncer held the door open for the two women ahead of them. “You two, hold up. Not so fast.” He raised a hand the size of a Virginia ham. “Can’t let you in right now.”
“Come on, Muscles. Don’t be like that.” Pulling out her wallet, Gee palmed a ten-dollar bill. “She’s with me.”
“No can do, Gee. Keeping a count. It’s capacity.” His tight black T-shirt stretched transparent as he folded his arms. “Can’t let you two in ‘til somebody else leaves. Don’t want no trouble with the Fire Marshal tonight.” Lumbering to his feet, he folded Gee in a bear hug, squeezing her until she coughed. “It’s good to see you, girl. How you been?” Stepping back, he kept a grip on Gee’s biceps as he lowered his bowling ball head to search her eyes. “Heard the hard news about Fancy and Dee-Dee. Heard we might got a serial killer. That true?”
“That’s only a theory,” Jane inserted quickly.
He looked at Gee quizzically. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Thanks for asking. I’ll let you know. Meet my friend, Jane.”
“Hey, Jane. Looking fleek, sweetheart. That’s a good look on you. I like it.”
“Muscles?” Gee rested her hands on her hips. “What are you still doing here? I thought you got deployed to Afghanistan.”
His shoulders hunched to his ears. “Change of plans. Trump banned my transition. Said I didn’t have a ‘medical need.’ Fucker dropped me smack dab between my surgeries.” He pointed to his crotch. “Obviously, I can’t go back like this, half-cocked.”
“That sucks!” Gee looked outraged. “What are you going to do?”
“This.” Muscles laughed bitterly. “Let the courts and the Justice Department duke it out.” Raising both fists, he pretended to spar. “Some judge in Baltimore issued an injunction, saying Trump’s order violated the equal-protection guarantee in the Constitution, but we’ve already seen how well that Presidential motherfucker responds to that. Does anyone know if he can even read?” Shaking out his hands, Muscles dry-rubbed his palms together. “Nobody tells me not to serve my country. Nobody. I don’t care who the fuck you are. I can tell you my C.O. was pissed. Doesn’t give a shit what gender I am as long as I keep up my sniper skills.”
“Muscles holds the long distance kill record for his brigade,” Gee stated.
“Fuck that. I hold the long distance kill record period at 1,700 meters.”
One point oh six miles. Jane was impressed. That’s crazy good.
“Fuck them little Taliban motherfuckers. Never see me coming.” Muscles smiled proudly. “My C.O. had to reach out to another unit to find my replacement. Upset my combat team.” He ran his hand over his head. “FUBAR way to run a military program, IMHO. Bustin’ up a team increases the risk, but what the hell, not my call. Up to our clueless Commander-in-Chief. Him with the bone spurs, motherfucker.”
The door to Club Femme du Monde swung open. Muscles quickly retreated to his stool as an intoxicated couple stumbled out to the techno beat of Rihanna singing This Is What You Came For.
“Slide on in.” Muscles gripped the door with one huge hand. “No cover charge for you tonight.” He winked. “Just catch the scumbag who hurt Fancy and Dee-Dee.” He waved them in. “Don’t forget we’re the good guys. Don’t let that motherfucker win.”
“Which one?” Gee sidled by. “Trump or the serial killer?”
“Both!” Muscles barked, bumping his fists together, one on top of the other before cocking his fists like a prizefighter. “Be the change you want to see.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
The street door slammed shut, cutting off the outside ambient light. Jane tried to adjust to a disorienting pitch-black darkness so profound it felt like she had stumbled into an occupied coalmine. “Gee?” A chilling PTSD frisson spiraled up her spine. “Where y’at? I can’t see.”
“Blink a few times. It’ll help.” Gee’s voice trembled with excitement. Reaching back, she grasped Jane’s outstretched fingers. “I forgot! You’ve never been here before. Follow me.”
Jane tapped Gee’s heels as they turned a right-angled corner down a sloping tunnel lit by bands of blinking neon rainbow light strips set in arches high above their heads.
“Almost there!” Gee danced on her toes, laughing with delight. “Honey? I’m home!”
Jane’s retinas swam as she followed Gee’s silhouette down an eerie black-lighted path create
d by the imprint of thousands of glowing florescent green footprints stamped on the club’s uneven concrete floor. Jane registered a niggling memory, but in a flash it was gone. Her eyes watered and her nose rebelled at the sudden surging scented tsunami of male cologne, female perfume, funky human perspiration and sex. The walls seemed to be vibrating to match the club’s raging techno beat as Jane fought to stay focused.
“Gee? Have you known Muscles long?”
“What?” Gee’s trilling laughter carried over the music. “Oh, yes! Long enough to remember when he was still being called Michelle!”
They slipped past an anonymous cluster of partiers and turned left. Jane gasped as they left the pitch-dark tunnel and she looked up.
Club Femme du Monde was one voluminously huge floor to ceiling space approximately four hundred feet square. An old warehouse had been gutted to the bricks, leaving only the outside shell standing. The dance floor was on the ground level with a separate and private club floor balcony cantilevered overhead. A drum-shaped glass elevator serviced the VIP balcony with its entry secured by two of Muscle’s bouncer friends.
Jane felt deafened by the solid wall of thumping bass provided by the disc jockey entertainer, a laughing woman with swinging waist-length golden braids. Raising her champagne flute, she toasted the dancing crowd from her soundboard on an inset stage behind a mirrored bar that ran the length of the rear wall.
“Whazzup, party people?” She shrieked into her Bluetooth headset. “Are you ready to par-tee?”
She was met with a roar of approval from the heated dancers on the floor which appeared to be a chessboard of Plexiglas squares that randomly lit up in time to the thumping beat she put down. The VIP guests above scanned the dancers below, drinks in hand, laughing and pointing out anything exceptionally outrageous. The entire partying crowd gasped in unison as a rising techno alarm sounded and multiple ceiling installed smoke machines fired off, blanketing the club in a dense cloud of pink fog, which was then split up and lit by a flashing multi-colored laser light show like lightening seen from above as from a plane.