“I’m gonna miss living here.”
Grady headed past her on the steps. “You find another place to live yet?”
She followed him to the first floor. “There’s a place further up Esplanade; it’s not as nice, but it’s reasonable. I called them yesterday when I got my letter, and they said I can move in next month. At least I’ll be able to get out of here before Al’s deadline.”
“You would think she might have given everyone a little more than four weeks’ notice,” Grady griped, reaching for the doors.
“Her letter said she was flexible if people could not find another place in time.”
Grady opened one of the oak and glass doors for her. “I doubt she’ll be very flexible about letting people stay on.”
“Are you still leavin’ next week?”
He nodded, while holding the door for her. “Yep. My agent found Matt a replacement for me at the club. Five more days and I’m out of here.”
Suzie paused in the doorway. “Are you sure you don’t wanna stay?”
“Positive. I’ll be better off somewhere else.”
Suzie walked outside. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, Grady. Maybe one day, you’ll sound like you believe it.”
* * *
Lake Lawn Metairie Funeral Home was located next to the vast complex of Metairie Cemetery. Originally built as Metairie Race Course in 1838, the site became a cemetery in 1872, and still housed the largest collection of elaborate marble tombs and funerary statuary in the city of New Orleans.
As Grady drove his car through the black gates that led to the funeral home, he spotted a modern mausoleum built of white stone and art deco stained glass on his right. He was taking in the grand structure when Suzie began dabbing a tissue at her eyes.
“Are you all right?”
“I hate funerals,” she asserted from the passenger seat. “I never go to these things because they make me so emotional, but I wanted to be here for Doug. He was real good to me.”
Grady parked the car in front of a plain, one-story, orange-bricked building with a tall, white steeple on the roof.
He worriedly counted the small number of cars in the parking lot. “I sure hope we’re just early; otherwise, this is going to be a real cozy affair.”
Suzie searched the parking lot with her watery eyes. “Who else is gonna come besides the few of us at the house and the guys he worked with at Pat O’Brien’s? I don’t think he had any other friends.”
Grady turned off the engine. “You want to go inside or sit out here for a while?”
Suzie’s lower lip quivered ever so slightly. “Just give me a minute.”
“Take your time,” he assured her, checking his stainless watch. “The service doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.”
A red Porsche 911 Carrera pulled into the lot and parked a few feet over from Grady’s Honda.
Suzie’s eyes immediately perked up as she spied the car. “Nice,” she mumbled.
Grady’s apprehension grew and he waited to see who emerged from the car. Within seconds, Geoff climbed from the driver’s side, adjusted his dark sunglasses, and then fastened the buttons on his black suit jacket.
Grady’s anger quickly retreated when Geoff casually stepped around to the passenger side of the car. Grady sucked in an anxious breath. After Geoff opened the passenger door, Al stood from the car, wearing a demure black dress with white fluting about the hem and neckline.
“Oh, look,” Suzie chirped, pointing to the couple. “There’s Doc Handler.” She paused as Geoff placed his arm about Al’s waist. “Well, well, would you look at that? Never thought she would go for a married man.”
“He’s the reason you’re having to move out of the house,” Grady explained. “It seems the good doctor doesn’t want Al renting to our kind anymore.”
“Ha! That’s a good one. Half his business is strippers and dancers. Every girl I know workin’ on Bourbon goes to Doc Handler. Don’t know where he thinks he’s gonna get business from if word gets around about that.”
Grady waited to see if Al would spot his car in the parking lot, but Geoff quickly ushered her toward the orange-bricked building.
“Maybe we’d better go in now, Grady.”
Grady never took his eyes off Geoff and Al as they entered the front glass doors of the funeral home.
“Sure, Suzie, let’s go.”
He escorted Suzie to the front of the funeral home, fighting to keep his anger in check.
“You okay?” Suzie worriedly pressed.
“Yep,” Grady grumbled, opening the door for her. “I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?” she pestered, walking through the entrance.
“Fine,” he muttered.
She put her hand on his chest, stopping him. “You’re not fine, Grady. Every time you say you’re fine, you look like you’re about to rip somebody’s head off.” Suzie straightened his black tie. “You know, I may not be the smartest girl around, but I can tell when a man is head over heels for someone. If you want her, Grady, you’re gonna need to let her know how much.”
Grady stretched his neck against the confining tie. “She made her choice, Suzie.”
Suzie inspected her handiwork. “But did you?”
“I’m moving on.”
She snickered and patted his chest. “Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Taking his hand, Suzie led him into a small reception area just beyond the entrance. The pale yellow walls had several niches filled with holy statues of Jesus and The Virgin Mary. A stunning fresh floral bouquet of red roses and white carnations was on a small table. Next to the table, standing signs announced the names of the services being held down each of the two wide corridors leading to the right and left.
Grady saw the Larson name on the sign to his left and waved Suzie ahead. The corridor was decorated with tasteful, tall stained glass windows set into the walls and lighted from behind by a flickering array of candles. At the end of the corridor, double wooden doors were left open, and a row of wooden pews could be seen inside a viewing room. Next to the doors, a wooden table with an open sign-in book and a small arrangement of yellow and green carnations stood waiting.
They reached the table and Suzie picked up the pen. “If somethin’ happens to me, make sure they cremate my ass. Don’t have one of these things for me.” She nodded to the nearly blank page in the book. “This is sad. There are only three names here.”
Grady stood beside her and read over the page. Al was the last to sign in, with two other names before hers that Grady did not recognize. Grady stood by as Suzie signed her name, adding an abnormally large amount of swirls and dotted hearts.
“Your last name is Rabinelli?”
“My first husband’s name was Rabinelli,” Suzie clarified.
He took the pen from her hand. “First husband?”
“Yeah.” She peeked inside the room beyond the open doors. “Husband number two was named Smith, so I figured my first husband’s name sounded more … mysterious for my stage name.”
“Stage name? What about your maiden name?”
“Steinberg ain’t exactly the best name for a stripper, unless you’re dancin’ at a bar mitzvah.”
Grady began jotting his name down on the book. “I can see your point.”
“Where I came from, everybody grew up and either married a good Jewish boy or a good Italian boy. I married a not so good Italian boy who started me strippin’. My second husband was a not so good Jewish boy. He owned a string of nightclubs in Jersey and got knocked off by the mob for embezzlin’ funds. I figured maybe with number three, I’ll find that good boy my momma wanted for me.”
Grady dropped the pen on the sign in book. “I hope you do, Suzie.”
Suzie’s face fell as she stared into the room and sighted the open casket. Grady followed her eyes to Doug’s body in the coffin. He put his arm around her shoulders and felt her trembling.
“We can stay out here, if you want.”
She removed another tissue from her black handbag and shook her head. “No, I’ll be all right. It’s just a shock to see him in that thing. I was hopin’ Beverly might have cremated him. I didn’t think we were gonna have to actually see him, you know?”
Grady squeezed her right shoulder. “Just remember, it’s not Doug in there. He’s gone to a better place.”
She turned to him, her brown eyes round and tear-filled. “You believe that? I mean, that we go to a better place and all. I always wondered if maybe bein’ a stripper meant God thought us less important than all the good people.”
“God doesn’t judge us, Suzie, only other people do.”
Suzie dabbed her eyes once more and directed her attention to the coffin. “I hope you’re right, Grady. I hope God understands that what we do ain’t who we are.”
Beyond the doors, Grady beheld a small churchlike room with dark red carpet, an arched wood ceiling, and light blue, stained glass windows along the left wall.
Suzie gripped his hand like a terrified child.
He gave her a supportive smile. “Come on. Let’s send Doug on his way.”
“But on his way where?” Suzie questioned, staring nervously at the coffin ahead.
Grady’s eyes settled on Al’s long blonde hair in a front pew. “On his way west,” he proposed, remembering what Al had told him of her sister. “He’s heading west.”
* * *
The Lake Lawn Mausoleum burial plot Beverly had reserved for Doug was located in one of the expansive corridors inside the towering white building Grady had passed at the entrance to the Lake Lawn Metairie Complex. The thick atmosphere in the corridor smelled of mold and decay, blended with the heady aroma of lighted candles that shimmered inside glass sconces outside dozens of other burial sites.
While the preacher droned on about ashes, eternity, and dust, Grady’s eyes drifted to the surrounding plaques on the other crypts, announcing the birth and death dates of the occupants. He thought it rather innocuous that a lifetime of accomplishments, mishaps, misdeeds, and probably a bit of sin, could come down to two dates that neither defined who you were, or how you had lived.
As Suzie stood in front of him and made yet another heartfelt sob into her tissue, Grady patted her shoulder for encouragement. He found his eyes once again veering over to Al and Geoff, standing off to his far right. Grady gritted his teeth when he saw the way Geoff’s hand stayed glued to Al’s waist. Occasionally, he would pat her behind, making Grady’s blood boil. Geoff’s dark sunglasses partially hid the bruises on his face, but Grady was happy to see some discoloration edging out from underneath the dark lenses.
“You want to tell me what she is doing here with him?” Matt Harrison whispered behind Grady.
Matt had opted to keep to the rear of the small group gathered outside of the burial niche, while Beverly took her place front and center next to Doug’s casket.
Grady took a slight step backwards to stand next to Matt. “She was involved with him before we began, and she has chosen to stay with him.”
“But he’s married to one of the big money Browns.”
Grady dipped his left shoulder toward Matt. “Married, but hasn’t been faithful for a long time. He has kept Al on a tight leash for years.”
Matt’s dark eyebrows went up. “Meaning?”
“He cosigned a loan for her to keep her house and is holding it over her head.”
Matt placed his hand over Grady’s shoulder and urged him away from the funeral party. Just as the two men were quietly walking away, Beverly gave out a monumental cry.
Matt rolled his eyes. “She’s emotional about all of this, but I’m not complaining. Doug’s death made her start confiding in me again. I guess she had no one else. We’re talking now, something we haven’t done in a long time.” About twenty feet away from the handful of mourners, Matt came to an abrupt halt. “Now, what’s this bullshit about Handler and my Allie Cat?”
Grady felt a twinge of guilt for walking away from Doug’s service, but he figured his friend wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
“Geoff has had his hooks in her for a long time,” Grady disclosed. “He’s been holding money over her head to keep her with him. Son of a bitch even had me arrested for assault and battery. Then he promised to drop the charges against me, if Al gave him what he wanted.”
Matt frowned, making his dark eyes appear slightly menacing. “Which was?”
“To make her stop keeping tenants in her home. He’s agreed to make up for her losses, but she has to give up boarding strippers, and me.”
“To think I let that man work on my wife’s tits.” Matt paused and grinned at Grady. “Did you assault him?”
“I broke his nose,” Grady confessed with a smug smirk.
“Hence the dark sunglasses. I noticed he hasn’t taken them off since he arrived.” Matt took a moment while keeping his attention on the funeral party. “Is her hooking up with the doctor why you turned down my offer to headline at my club?”
“I can’t stay in New Orleans. I can’t watch her throw her life away like this. She doesn’t love him, but—”
“She will stay with him to protect you,” Matt inserted.
“I offered to get the money to pay off Geoff. I told her I would risk going to prison, but she would hear none of it.” Grady shook his head. “You know how stubborn she is. Don’t get me wrong, I would stay and fight, if I thought I had a chance with her, but I know I don’t. She won’t talk to me or return any of my phone calls.”
Matt peered over at Al. “Maybe I can help.”
“How?” Grady demanded, intrigued.
“I know somebody that might not be too happy about Handler’s financial arrangement with Allison.” Matt shrugged his slender shoulders, placing his hands in his black trouser pockets. “They may even want to put a stop to it.”
Grady’s blue eyes explored Matt’s face. “Who do you know?”
Beverly’s intermittent bursts of sobbing made Matt look toward the mourners gathered at the burial site.
“Let me make a phone call or two. I’ll let you know what I find out later at the club.” Matt gave Grady a pensive side-glance. “You’re dancing tonight, right?’
Grady nodded his head. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.” Matt returned his gaze to the funeral party. “Let me get back to Beverly before I get a lecture in the car on the way home about how I abandoned her at her lover’s funeral.”
Grady took a step toward the ongoing funeral. “That sounds a bit … disturbing, Matt.”
Matt lightly slapped his hand on Grady’s shoulder. “Hey, welcome to my marriage.”
Chapter 22
The Flesh Factory was packed. The women filling the pit were unusually rowdy for a Thursday night. Lingering clouds of smoke hovered in the air as catcalls and whistles perforated the eardrums of many of the bartenders and dancers catering to the demanding crowd. The waitstaff of men, dressed in bow ties and briefs, had to fight to keep their clothes on amid the zealous, and very inebriated, customers.
After doing a celebratory bump and grind with a bashful, blonde bride-to-be, Grady quickly fled the stage, ignoring heated demands for encores. Toweling off while he toted his tuxedo costume across his right arm, he passed Lewis in the hallway leading to the stage.
“They’re ruthless tonight,” he warned the winged man.
Lewis rolled his eyes. “I heard.” He motioned to their dressing room door. “There’s a Detective Villere waiting for you. Nick showed him back to our dressing room.”
Grady’s robust grin fell from his face. “When did he get here?”
“About five minutes after you went on.”
Grady quickened his step down the hallway, anxious to see what the detective wanted. He had heard nothing from the man in days, and hoped he had news on Doug’s assailant.
When Grady stepped in the room, he found the round detective eyeing his silver-sequined G-string laid out on the dresser next to his bright silver costu
me for his second show.
“That don’t scratch your balls?” the detective posed, pointing to the G-string.
“Yes, but we must suffer for our art,” Grady extolled as he secured a white towel around his waist.
The detective’s hazel eyes scrutinized Grady’s washboard abs and defined, muscular arms. “You guys stay in really good shape.”
“Sort of have to be in this business.”
Detective Villere snorted. “Some business. My niece told me about these places, but I’ve never been in one. Strip clubs with women, I’ve been in plenty of times, but never with men.”
Grady shut his dressing room door. “What can I do for you, Detective?”
Detective Villere’s eyes followed Grady across the room as he went to put his black tuxedo costume down on a chair by the dresser. “Are you still willing to ID the kid who shot your friend in a line-up?”
Grady froze, still holding his tuxedo jacket. “You found him?”
“We think we’ve found him, but I need your positive identification to make sure. We tracked the gun through some snitches we have in a few of the local drug gangs. They said the gun was passed off to a kid looking to join up.” Detective Villere came closer to Grady. “Part of the initiation was to shoot some gay guys in the Quarter. I guess he thought the two of you were a couple.”
“Why gay men?”
“Who knows?” The detective shrugged. “I’ve heard of drug gang initiations where they had to rape a woman, shoot a cop, or kill some random target. I’ve been doing this for twenty years, and there are times when things I see on the street still shock me.”
Grady tossed his black jacket on the chair. “If I identify the shooter, then what?”
Detective Villere sighed and turned his eyes to the floor. “Then there is a trial, or in this case a court hearing, because our suspect is a juvenile. He’s fifteen.”
“Fifteen?” Grady bellowed.
“I’ve had twelve-year-olds up on murder one. Their age don’t matter much when you’re dealing with drug-related crimes.”
“Will I have to come back to the city to testify for that hearing?”
The Art of Sin Page 23