Royal Street Reveillon

by Greg Herren

  I couldn’t deal with Frank right now.

  He’s coming home today, you’re going to have to deal with him eventually.

  But it wasn’t Frank. It was a text from Colin: Park n Fly, N47.

  And I was relieved—relieved that it was just my accomplice, telling me where to pick up my car, which he’d used to dispose of a body.

  This is what my life has come to now.

  For fuck’s sake, Scotty, get a goddamned grip.

  I slipped my phone back into my pocket, compartmentalizing. Colin was fine, he was an adult and could take care of himself. I didn’t need to worry about him.

  I needed to worry about Taylor.

  And what I was going to find in the penthouse at the Royal Aquitaine Hotel.

  I headed down the passageway to Decatur Street, putting up the collar of my coat against the cold. Nobody would believe me if I told them about the last twelve hours of my life. I closed the steel door behind me and listened for the bolt to catch. There weren’t many people out—it was still early on a cold December Saturday morning. I scanned in every direction to see if anyone was watching our gate.

  So far, so good.

  I chose not to think about most professionals being too good for me to spot.

  I started walking as fast as I could to the corner and turned right. The wind coming from the river was icy cold, and the air felt damp, like it was going to rain again at any minute. I shoved my hands down into the pockets of my coat, cursing myself for forgetting to wear gloves. I reached the corner at Royal and turned left again.

  The sun was trying to break through the gloomy dark clouds as I hurried up Royal Street. A heavily bundled-up woman was walking her dog, who wagged his tail and barked a hello at me. I smiled and nodded at her, saying “good morning” while dodging around the dog. She gave me a startled look.

  I probably looked like hell but didn’t care.

  Every instinct inside me was screaming at me to break into a run.

  But I didn’t want to attract any attention, so I resisted the impulse.

  Maybe Taylor’s wrong and Eric’s just unconscious, what does he mean he doesn’t feel good he said he was naked oh my God what if he killed Eric I knew I shouldn’t have let him go with Eric but then he would have come home with me and—

  When I reached the corner at St. Philip Street, I stopped walking, closed my eyes, and took another deep breath.

  O Goddess, help me get through this whatever it may be, I know I have the strength to handle this, just guide me to do the right thing.

  Scotty, you know what to do, I heard her voice whisper. One of your greatest strengths has been your family.

  Family.

  Of course.

  Of course.

  Feeling calmer, I pulled out my phone. I pulled up my contacts and touched Storm’s name on the screen. Having an older brother can be a pain in my ass sometimes—he’s a horrible tease—but he’s also a damned good lawyer.

  Good lawyer trumps tease, every time. Believe me.

  “Scotty! What are you doing up so early on a Saturday morning?” He sounded out of breath. He’d started exercising lately—his cholesterol was high, and so was his blood pressure—and I’d helped design a workout program for him. “I was just doing some planks.”

  “I need your help,” I replied.

  “Why else would you be calling me? You only call me when you’re in trouble,” he teased.

  “Storm, not now—please. Not a good time.”

  He flipped a mental switch and went from pain-in-the-ass older brother to cutthroat lawyer instantly. “What’s going on? Are you in trouble, and how bad is it?”

  While it would have been a relief to tell him everything, I couldn’t involve him in the Colin mess—especially since I didn’t even know what it was.

  “It’s not me this time, believe it or not.” I was amazed at how calm I sounded. I started walking again. “I’m on my way to the Royal Aquitaine Hotel. Taylor just called me. He’s there and he’s in trouble.” I filled Storm in on everything else from last night, from me and Taylor going to the Sazerac Bar to Taylor’s call this morning. I just skipped coming home to a wrecked apartment and a dead body. “I told him to stay there and not do anything, not touch anything, and wait for me to get there. Please tell me that wasn’t the wrong thing to do?”

  “We’ll have to call the police, but that can wait until I get there. I’ve got you on speaker now, I’m getting dressed.” I heard my sister-in-law Marguerite say something unintelligible in the background. “Do not call the police before I get there, is that clear? Do not do a damned thing until I get there, are you listening? You wait in the lobby for me and we’ll go up together. I am not joking, Scotty. If you go up there without me, you can be charged with tampering with evidence or contaminating a crime scene. That won’t look good for Taylor. Taylor’s all right, though?”

  “He didn’t say he was hurt. He sounded funny, though.”

  “I’ve got an Uber on the way and I cannot emphasize enough that you are not to go up there without me, is that clear?”

  “Got it.” I put the phone back into my pocket, feeling better.

  I put my other hand in my coat pocket. The keycard for the elevator was still there. It was kind of strange that they hadn’t collected them back, wasn’t it, especially since those cards could be used to access the private penthouse floor? Kind of a huge security lapse, particularly from the hotel’s point of view.

  They couldn’t have been too thrilled to pass out all those key cards giving people access to a secured floor.

  That might be important. If everyone at that party had kept their cards…

  I still didn’t know what I was going to find when I got there, but knowing Storm was on his way was a load off my mind.

  The cavalry was coming to the rescue.

  I walked faster, my mind racing with every step.

  So, this must be what it feels like to be a parent, I thought as I went around the corner of the Royal Aquitaine, wincing as the cold wind blasted me in the face, almost knocking me back a step. I nodded at the liveried doorman with a smile as he held the door open for me, feeling warm air washing over me as I stepped into the opulent lobby.

  There were two people in uniforms at the front desk, but no one at the concierge stand. The big lobby was quiet and empty. It was still too early for checkouts and far too early for check-ins. I sat down in a wingback chair near the elevator banks.

  I couldn’t get the thought of a terrified Taylor up there in that penthouse, alone with a dead body, out of my head.

  But maybe Eric Brewer wasn’t dead? Maybe he was just unconscious, and Taylor was too scared to realize it.

  I would want me up there, if I were him. He called me, didn’t he? Wouldn’t he be wondering where I was, if I was coming?

  No, fuck this. I wasn’t going to wait.

  Sorry, Storm, I thought as I pushed the up button. The right elevator door opened, and I stepped in, using the keycard to activate the PH button. The doors closed, and the elevator started going up. I watched the numbers light up as the elevator passed each floor. It seemed to take forever, but finally the elevator jolted to a stop. The doors opened.

  The hallway of the penthouse floor was empty and silent. I walked over to the door to Eric Brewer’s penthouse. I didn’t hesitate. I held the card over the sensor and the light turned green. The lock clicked open.

  I used the tip of my index finger on the outermost edge of the handle to push it down.

  I stepped inside and let the door close behind me. I pulled out my phone and started taking photos as I walked down the little entry hallway into the main room of the penthouse.

  No one had cleaned up after the party. Both bars were still set up and the curtains were still open, exposing that stunning view of downtown and the river. There were trash cans full of empty bottles and plastic cups next to both bars. There were plastic cups everywhere, with varying amounts of liquid inside of them. The place sm
elled like sour alcohol and sweat.

  “Scotty?” I heard Taylor call from the right side of the suite. I barely had time to turn before Taylor almost tackled me. He was wearing his clothes from last night but was barefoot and shivering. He’s almost eight inches taller than I am but somehow buried his head in my right shoulder and started sobbing.

  My heart broke and yet I was filled with rage at the same time.

  “Shh, there, there, it’s okay, I’m here now,” I whispered, stroking his back. “Come on, let’s sit down and take a minute, okay? Where are your shoes?”

  He let me lead him over to one of the couches. He was ugly crying and his red nose was running. I sat him down and knelt in front of him. He looked terrible. His skin had a greenish pallor, his eyes were red, and his breath reeked of stale alcohol and vomit. “Storm’s on his way, shh. It’ll be okay, Taylor. I’m here now. Where are your shoes and socks?”

  “In-in-in-in th-thuh-thuh-there.” He gestured over his shoulder with his head. His hair was matted and sweaty.

  If Eric Brewer wasn’t already dead, I might just kill him myself.

  “You just stay here and I’m going to go take a look around and grab your shoes and socks, okay? I’ll be right back, okay?”

  He nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He looked about twelve years old.

  I crept over to the bedroom door and bit my lip.

  For the second time in less than twelve hours, I was looking at a dead body.

  There was no question about it. Eric Brewer was dead, all right. His glassy eyes were staring up at the ceiling.

  He was wearing a white fluffy hotel robe with Aquitaine embroidered in gold script over the right chest. The robe had fallen open, exposing his hairy chest and legs and a pair of red bikini underwear. He wasn’t wearing anything else. The right side of his head was just…well, gore. Someone had hit him very hard with something very hard on the right side of his head. His mouth was open, like he’d been surprised, and there was a puddle of blood coagulating under his head. The huge bed itself was rumpled, used, and the sour smell of vomit came from the bathroom. There were a couple of glasses on one of the nightstand with purplish red liquid in them. Right next to them was a bottle of red wine, about half full. There was also a package of condoms, and a condom wrapper tossed onto the floor on that side.

  You’re lucky you’re already dead, I thought, resisting the urge to kick the body.

  Taylor’s shoes, the socks carefully tucked inside them, sat next to the bathroom door. I took a picture of Taylor’s shoes before picking them up and bringing them to him.

  I wanted nothing more than to tell him to put them on and get us both out of there.

  But that would make things look worse than they already did.

  He was reclining on the sofa, his hand over his eyes. He’d stopped crying, but he still looked green.

  “Honey, are you okay?”

  “Scotty, I don’t feel so good.” He swallowed. “It’s not a hangover, I swear. I don’t understand what happened last night. I had two glasses of wine here at the party, and then Eric wanted me to take him around to some of the bars. I just had water everywhere we went. And then…when we were at the Brass Rail I started to feel, I don’t know, woozy and dizzy.” He sat up and moaned. “And Eric got us a cab, said he’d take me home. I don’t remember anything else, Scotty, until I woke up this morning and called you.” He swallowed. “And…when I woke up, Scotty, he was…he was just lying there on the floor and I didn’t have any clothes on…” His eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know what happened, Scotty.” His voice broke. “I don’t know if he did something to me.”

  Stay calm stay calm stay calm.

  “We’re going to have to take you to the hospital,” I heard myself saying. “What else happened this morning when you…woke up?”

  “I went into the bathroom and…” He started crying all over again.

  “As soon as Storm gets here, we’re going to get you to the hospital, okay?” I pulled him into a hug and kissed the top of his head. “Everything’s going to be okay, Taylor, believe me. We’re going to take care of you.”

  My phone vibrated. It was Storm. You’d better not be upstairs.

  “I have to go get Storm,” I whispered. “Stay right here. Don’t move or touch anything.”

  Taylor nodded.

  I cried all the way down to the lobby. There’s no worse feeling in the world than when someone you love is hurting, suffering, and there’s nothing you can do to make them better.

  I wanted to curl up in a ball and sob. I also wanted to put my fist through a wall.

  This is your fault, that insidious voice in my head whispered. You knew better than to let him go off with that pig.

  Storm was pacing in the lobby when I got out of the elevator. “Are you—” He stopped short when he got a look at my face. “Jesus, Scotty, how bad is it?” he whispered.

  “I’ll—I’ll tell you in the elevator.”

  By the time the elevator doors opened on the penthouse floor Storm’s face was as thunderous as I felt. “You shouldn’t have come up here in the first place,” he said, in a frighteningly calm voice as we walked into the penthouse. “They’re going to accuse you of tampering with evidence.”

  “I don’t fucking care.”

  He turned to me. “I want you to go back out into the hall and call Venus while I talk to Taylor.”

  “But—”

  “Scotty, from this moment on Taylor is my client. You cannot talk to him about this case, you cannot talk to him about anything because you could be called to testify against him.” He held up his hand when I started to splutter. “Shut up. You coming in here—that could be really bad, Scotty. I know why you did even though I told you not to, I get it. Believe me, I do.” He lowered his voice. “If that son of a bitch wasn’t already dead I’d kill him myself with my bare hands. Death is too good for him. I may be able to retain you and Frank as investigators, which may muddy the line of client-attorney privilege, but until then…” He shook his head. “I know, we’ve done that before but there have been some rulings lately I need to study in greater detail, just in case. Now, go in the hall and call Venus. We need to get him to a hospital, have a rape kit done, and get him on that drug that,” his voice broke, but he pulled it together, “that will keep him from getting HIV. Ask Venus if you can go to the emergency room or if she wants you to wait.”

  It felt like the floor had dropped out from under me. I’d not even thought about HIV or other STIs.

  This just kept getting worse.

  I walked out into the hall and called Venus.

  Venus Casanova is a New Orleans police detective. Our paths have crossed many times over the years, almost always over a dead body, and while I used to annoy her, I think she now has a grudging respect for me.

  What can I say? I grow on people.

  She answered on the first ring. “Casanova.”

  “Hey, Venus, this is Scotty Bradley.” I swallowed.

  “Please tell me you haven’t found another dead body.”

  “I really wish I could.”

  She sighed. “Where are you?”

  “The Aquitaine, on the penthouse floor.” Never answer any police question with more information than asked for, I could hear my mother and Storm’s voices both say in my head.

  “And the name of the deceased?”

  “Eric Brewer.”

  She inhaled sharply. “As in the producer of Grande Dames of New Orleans?”

  “Are you a fan?” It was amazing who all watched these shows—Academy Award–winning A-list stars were willing to show up on Eric’s horrible talk show just to talk about them.

  “Well, no,” she replied. “I’m actually on my way there.”

  “You are? Why?”

  She sighed. She obviously didn’t want to tell me, because it took her another few moments to say, “Because Chloe Valence was murdered last night. Her husband said we should talk to Eric. There was apparently so
me bad blood there.”

  I sat down hard on one of the chairs in the hallway. Chloe was dead? Someone had killed her?

  But—and I knew it was awful to think it—this was actually good news for Taylor.

  “And just how did you happen to stumble over Eric Brewer’s body?” Venus asked.

  “He had an after-party here last night after the premiere of the show at the Joy Theater,” I said carefully, my mind racing. “You’ve met Frank’s nephew Taylor? Well, he took Eric on a tour of the Quarter bars last night, and this morning,” I hated to say it, “Taylor woke up naked in Eric’s bed. He doesn’t remember anything. I think Eric roofied him and he also may have raped him. And someone killed Eric last night.”

  Silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Venus?”

  “I’m going to call the lab and get uniforms and techs over there,” she said slowly. “I’m also going to get an ambulance over there for Taylor, okay? You can ride with him to the hospital, but Blaine’s going with you. And I’m going to need a statement from you.”

  “I’m here waiting. Storm’s here, too.”

  She whistled. “Calling him was smart, Scotty, but I never said that. See you in a few minutes.” She paused. “I’m sorry about Taylor.”

  “Me, too,” I replied, turning off my phone and slipping it back into my pocket.

  I buried my face in my hands.

  Chapter Six

  Two of Cups, Reversed

  A too violent passion

  Time behaves very strangely when you’re under stress.

  The rest of that morning is lost in a vague fog, and there are gaps in my memory. I wasn’t allowed back into the penthouse, so I sat out in the hallway in one of those ornate decorative chairs placed discreetly away from the suite doors. Venus questioned me herself, while her partner, Blaine Tujague, interviewed Taylor—with Storm present. At some point that seemed like hours later, the crime lab technicians arrived, with their sheets and evidence bags and cameras. I knew Taylor was in good hands—Storm is a shark of a lawyer—but I couldn’t stop worrying. Yes, I knew intellectually that a crime had been committed and the cops needed to talk with him while his memories were still fresh.