by JM Gulvin
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Is Gigi there?’
‘No, she’s not.’
‘But you talked to her on the phone? I mean since I last spoke to you.’
‘Yes, I did, a little while ago. She told me she was on her way.’
‘But she’s not there yet?’
‘I’m expecting her sometime soon.’
‘All right, mam. Thank you. Do you think you could do me a favor? When Gigi gets there would you ask her to call me at the Hotel Magnolia?’
He waited twenty minutes but there was no call. Picking up the phone he dialled the number again but this time there was no reply. Replacing the receiver he worked fingers through the stalks of his hair. He was aware of a yawning sensation in his gut and that could’ve been trepidation but it could’ve been the fact he hadn’t had anything to eat and it was well past noon.
He walked up Canal Street towards the A&G looking for a gap in the traffic. Up ahead he could see an NOPD cruiser double parked and a cop in uniform writing a ticket for a car that had overstayed the meter. As he passed Quarrie noticed the car was a battered-looking ’55 Chevy Nomad painted a pale kind of blue. There was something familiar about it and he paused for a moment on the sidewalk.
‘This outfit yours?’ Spotting his interest, the cop called across the roof.
‘No, sir.’ Quarrie pointed to the A&G. ‘I’m headed for the diner yonder and I’m wondering how you’re going to be if I skip the light and cross right here.’
‘Why don’t you try me and see?’
Touching a finger to the brim of his hat Quarrie walked on towards the pedestrian light. He didn’t get that far, however; the car was bugging him and he stepped into the doorway of Zales Jewelers. He waited until the cop was done with the ticket and had climbed back into his cruiser. Then he started down the sidewalk again, his gaze all over that vehicle as he came up on the passenger door. A roll of Life Savers on the dashboard, a stick of lip gloss; bending closer he cupped his hand to the glass. He could see nothing inside that identified the owner though, and headed back to the hotel.
‘Yvonne,’ he said when he walked into the lobby, ‘did anybody check in here this morning?’
She nodded. ‘Just the one man, I think. Why?’
‘What man? What did he look like?’
‘He was colored, pretty well built I guess. Nice clothes. He had no hair, that’s right, his head was shaved.’
‘Did he have any luggage with him?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Did he have any luggage with him?’
‘Actually, now that you mention it, I don’t think he did.’
‘What room did you give him?’
‘33,’ she said. ‘He told me that was his lucky number.’
Quarrie stood with a palm pressed to the counter studying the illegible squiggle in the register. ‘Is he up there now?’
‘I don’t know, sir. I can’t tell you.’
He looked squarely at her then. ‘You ain’t going to like this,’ he said. ‘But I need you to give me your pass key.’
Climbing the stairs he drew a Blackhawk from his shoulder holster and made his way along the walkway past his room. No sound from inside 33, lightly he knocked and nobody spoke so he knocked a little louder. ‘Room service,’ he called. ‘I got the coffee you ordered.’
Still there was no answer so he fit the key in the lock and tried to turn it but the door was already open.
The room was empty; no sign of it ever having been occupied save the way the bedclothes were ruffled slightly. He checked the bathroom but it hadn’t been used. As he turned he glanced at the bed once more and the nightstand where a pad of paper sat alongside a ballpoint pen. There was nothing written on the pad, but when he looked more closely he picked up the slightest of indentations.
Returning to his room he sat on the chair by the door and stared at the floor. That was Gigi’s Nomad with a ticket on the windshield, he was sure. Picking up the phone he dialled the number for Orleans Street but again there was no reply. He hung up and thought about calling Colback’s office but it occurred to him that no sooner had the lieutenant shown up than Gigi had disappeared.
He was trying to work out where they could have taken her. Then he remembered something she had said and tried to get his head around what that would mean. Opening the door he stepped out onto the landing then changed his mind and went back into the room. Sitting down on the bed he reached for the phone. Yvonne gave him a line and he dialled the ranch back in Texas and it was James who answered the phone.
‘Hey, bud,’ Quarrie said, ‘what’re you doing?’
‘Not much. It’s too hot to be outside right now. Mama Sox made lemonade and Miss Eunice put a pitcher in the ice box here at home.’
‘Well, save a drop for me, uh, don’t be drinking it all.’
‘Where are you?’ James said. ‘When’re you coming back?’
‘I’m still in New Orleans right now, but I’ll be home pretty soon. Listen, can you go get Pious for me, ask him to come to the phone?’
‘He’s right here,’ James said, ‘him and Miss Eunice both. We’ve been doing some of those word games I told you about.’
‘Anagrams, what you said you were doing in school?’
‘That’s right. Dad, I’m better than Pious and I’m only ten years old.’
Quarrie laughed. ‘Don’t let him hear you say that. Can you put him on the phone?’
He waited a moment then Pious spoke in his ear. ‘What’s up, John Q? What’s going on?’
‘Bud, I’m still in New Orleans. Does Mrs Feeley have any plans for the plane?’
‘Right now, you mean? Not that’s she’s told me. Why, what’s on your mind?’
‘I need you to fly down here. There ain’t a cop in town I can trust. I got something I have to do and I’m going to need someone in back of me.’
‘All right, I’ll gas her up and be at the Lakefront soon as I can.’
‘Pious?’ Quarrie said.
‘What?’
‘Before you leave out, fetch the twelve-gauge pump from my room.’
*
Rosslyn Tobie walked the path in his garden with one hand behind his back and in the other the cane. Like a reluctant dog Franklin followed a few paces behind. At the summerhouse Tobie considered where Spanish moss clung to the branches of live oaks despite the weight of the breeze. ‘So she’s at the club on Bourbon and Governor Nicholls?’
Franklin nodded. ‘I spotted her car when I was talking to you and figured out where she was.’
‘And that was the Ranger’s room, which means she spoke to him and that wasn’t what we agreed.’ The old man shaded his eyes. ‘I told you to deal with her properly.’
‘I know you did and I tried.’
‘Like you tried in Texas with Wiley?’ With a shake of his head Tobie walked more purposefully towards the house. ‘Why isn’t she dead? Why is she with Soulja Blue? Why, when I order you to do something, do you only half do it? You elicit no confidence at all.’
A little crimson at the jowls, Franklin came alongside. ‘You told me to pay Soulja Blue what her cousin owed.’ He flapped a hand. ‘I figured she could cover that debt before she dies. It’ll make me feel better about parting with the dough.’
Tobie stepped through the French windows into his study and laid down the walking cane. ‘Just get rid of her,’ he said. ‘I don’t care about the money. I don’t want anything else going wrong. Just kill her as I told you to.’
‘All right,’ Franklin said. ‘If that’s what you want. I’ll do it tonight, take her over to Algiers and dump her somewhere downriver.’
‘Make sure you do.’ Crossing to his desk Tobie picked up his diary. ‘Where are we with the 28th? What’s happening? Is everything in place?’
‘Everything bar Wiley,’ Franklin said. ‘You still haven’t told me what we’re doing about him.’
Tobie looked beyond him. ‘What exactly did t
hat bitch tell the Ranger? Does he know about Moore?’
‘He knows he exists, that’s all. I told you, all she knows is his first name. She doesn’t know where he lives or who he works for.’ Franklin looked at him then with his head to one side. ‘Despite the way you’ve treated me I’m not as incompetent as you seem to believe.’
‘You don’t think so?’ Tobie scoffed. ‘You’re forgetting the railroad, the box car, the dead man in Wichita Falls.’
Sixteen
Quarrie phoned the tower at the Lakefront Airport and they gave him Pious’s ETA. It was getting dark outside now and he needed a vehicle. Selecting a wire coat hanger from the closet he untwisted the hook and worked the metal until it was straight. Then he fashioned a smaller hook in the end and slipped the hanger inside his jacket.
Keeping one eye out for prowl cars he walked back to Gigi’s Chevy. He stood on the sidewalk at the passenger door, making sure he was unobserved then slid the coat hanger between the door frame and the window so he could lift the lock. With the door open he dropped behind the wheel and felt under the dashboard for the wiring loom. He sought the two power wires that linked to the battery and separated them. Ignoring the electric shock the wires gave off he twisted the strands of copper together, then unhooked the back of the ignition barrel. Working the starter wire loose he had to clear away some of the plastic coating with his pocket knife, then he touched the starter to the battery wires and the engine fired into life.
Shifting gear he pulled out into traffic and followed the signs for the lake. Halfway there he turned into an Enco station, bought a street map and located the Lakefront Airport. He was watching his mirrors for any sign of a tail, but as far as he could tell nobody was back there and he got to the airport just as Pious walked out of the freight entrance. He wore jeans and a Carhartt and carried a long flat, canvas hold-all. Quarrie flashed his headlights.
‘Good to see you, bud,’ he said as Pious got in. ‘No issues with Mrs Feeley and the plane?’
Pious made a face. ‘Actually she made a point of telling me that the plane ain’t mine and it ain’t the property of the Rangers either, said for me to remind you.’
Quarrie reached to the dashboard and unfolded the street map. With his index finger he traced a route from the Lakefront to Bourbon and Governor Nicholls.
‘Where’d you get this outfit?’ Pious said, glancing at the interior of the car.
‘It belongs to a gal called Gigi who’s in a spot of trouble right now.’
*
Franklin called the club from his apartment on Washington Avenue. ‘Soulja,’ he said. ‘Gigi Matisse, you got her till midnight only. After that I’m going to need you to load her up and bring her out to the Point.’
‘I thought we were working her,’ Soulja’s voice came back at him. ‘I thought she was here to stay.’
‘Well, she’s not. She’s done down there. I’ll be waiting for you at the warehouse, no later than twelve, OK?’
*
At eleven o’clock Quarrie parked the station wagon on the corner of Bourbon Street and Governor Nicholls. Switching off the engine he stared through the windshield towards the entrance of what looked like a regular drugstore. Pious shifted the weight of the shotgun where it lay across his thighs. ‘That’s the spot, huh?’ he said. ‘So, how do you want to play it?’
For a moment Quarrie was still. ‘Gigi told me the club’s for white men only so I’ll go in while you wait with the car. If I’m not out in fifteen minutes I want you to storm the place like you’re raiding foxholes back in Korea.’ Unzipping his jacket he worked it over his shoulders and unbuckled the holsters. ‘You better take these,’ he said, passing Pious the Blackhawks. ‘They’re bound to frisk me but I got a snub-nose in my boot and you’ll know if they find it, I promise you.’ He got out of the car and tossed his hat onto the back seat. Then he crossed the road to the drugstore and paused for a moment in the glow of the streetlamps. The building was pretty ropey compared to some in the block, the wooden shutters at the upstairs windows chafed and weather-beaten and a number of shingles on the roof were missing.
Inside, a young woman wearing a little too much make-up was sitting behind the counter reading a paperback novel. Ahead of her was the cash register and a rack of candy bars, a cooler full of Dr Pepper. A selection of paperback novels, the kind of pulp she was reading, was stacked in another rack that swivelled on a spindle. Beyond that was yet another rack holding cheap sunglasses and greeting cards. It looked like a regular store but considering how the block extended it was a whole lot smaller than it should be.
Conscious of the way the girl was looking him up and down Quarrie took in one door at the far end of the room and another to the side that was covered by a metal fly curtain.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ the girl said.
Quarrie was studying the fly curtain. ‘I thought maybe you could but I guess I must be mistaken.’
The girl was on her feet. ‘What were you looking for? A little something extra, was it?’ She passed a hand under the counter and he heard a buzzer sound through the wall.
A couple of minutes later the curtain peeled back as the door beyond it opened and a slim, black man appeared. He wore a dark colored suit over a roll-neck sweater and for a long moment he looked at Quarrie. Beyond the door was a short corridor that came out in a small lobby. The black man led the way and Quarrie could hear what he thought was organ music and he had not heard it before the door opened. The man indicated for him to spread his arms out wide and Quarrie did that, determined to bring his knee up hard if those hands delved too close to his boots.
‘It’s fifty dollars for the show,’ the man said. ‘Anything you want after that is extra, but it’s fifty bucks for the show.’
Quarrie did not have fifty dollars. Taking his money clip from his pocket he fingered a ten-dollar bill.
The black man twisted his lip. ‘A ten spot,’ he said. ‘Are you kidding me?’
‘Take it easy, brother. Town like this, I keep my stash where no one can pick my pocket.’ Putting the clip away Quarrie bent to his boots.
The man glanced towards the corridor and when he looked back Quarrie had the snub-nose under his chin. ‘You got a new girl they just brought in. You’re going to take me to her and you’re going to do it nice and easy.’
He walked the man ahead of him and as they passed the room where the music was playing, he glimpsed a gaggle of white men sitting in what looked like church pews while a string of naked black girls knelt at a mock altar before them. At the foot of the stairs the black man hesitated and Quarrie prodded him with the pistol. They climbed two sets of stairs and the man led him to a threadbare room with broken boards on the floor and a metal framed bed where Gigi was stretched with her feet secured at one end and her hands tied above her head at the other. She was bruised around the face, one eyelid all puffed up, her lip bloodied and broken. Naked save a soiled white sheet, her eyes were closed but Quarrie could see she was conscious and she was trembling.
‘Gigi,’ he whispered softly.
She opened her eyes, but her pupils were vague and glassy.
Savagely Quarrie brought the heel of the gun down on the black man’s head. He let out a moan, buckled at the knees and started to topple over. Grabbing him around the chest Quarrie lowered him to the floor as soundlessly as he could. Quickly he worked at Gigi’s fastenings. She started to speak. She started to weep, spittle breaking from her lips; she closed her eyes very tightly. Stripping away the bonds that held her ankles Quarrie lifted her with the sheet still wrapped and carried her to the window.
‘Can you walk?’ he said. ‘Gigi, we have to get out of here and I need you to walk. Can you do that for me?’
‘I can walk.’ She was sobbing; half-stifling the sound with a hand to her mouth she tried to speak again but he hushed her.
‘It’s all right,’ he whispered. ‘It’s OK. My buddy’s outside with your Chevy.’
At the window he lowered her down so her
feet were on the floor but still he supported her weight. Wrapping the sheet more tightly about her he stripped off his jacket and threw it around her shoulders. Hauling on the sash he pushed at the shutters till they flapped open. Pious was across the road standing by the driver’s door of the station wagon. Making a whirling motion with his hand Quarrie signalled for him to bring it over.
‘All right.’ He turned back to Gigi. ‘Now we go down. If I tell you to run you run and you don’t look back. That guy outside’s called Pious. If anything happens to me just do whatever he tells you.’
She was clinging to him, almost sobbing again as they went down the narrow stairway. He could hear other women in other rooms and by the sound of things in the chapel the mass had taken a new turn. Gigi was barefoot and stumbling. He guided her beyond the chapel door and then they were in the lobby. A shout went up and, as he kicked open the door to the drugstore, Quarrie saw a huge man with a shaven head appear behind them.
Outside, the station wagon was bumped up to the curb with the driver’s door wide and the engine running. Pious was on the sidewalk with the shotgun in his hands and Quarrie was half-walking, half-running, trying to shield Gigi.
‘Get down, John Q,’ Pious yelled at him.
Quarrie shoved Gigi to the floor. He was on top of her, trying to spin around while Pious levelled the shotgun. Before he could get a shot off the door beyond the curtain was slammed. On hands and knees Gigi was scrabbling, Quarrie was scrabbling; together they made it to the door and tumbled onto the sidewalk.
In the driver’s seat Quarrie stamped on the gas, the back end fishtailing as they careered the length of the block. He hauled hard on the wheel to stop it crashing into a lamp post and the car rocked with a sawing motion. They drove Governor Nicholls towards the river with Quarrie watching in the mirror for headlights. Making the turn he cut deeper into the Quarter and a few minutes later they pulled up outside the Orleans Street apartment. Pious got out of the car and pressed the bell on the wall and then they were inside the narrow driveway with the steel gates closed behind them. A door on their right was already open and beyond it they came to a courtyard dressed with palmetto and baby oak trees. Italian tiles on the floor, it was lit by carriage lamps with stairs climbing in a spiral to the gallery above where the old woman from the photograph was waiting. ‘Cherie,’ she called, ‘qu’est ce qu’il se passe ici?’