Hide and Snake Murder

by Jessie Chandler

  “What’s his problem?” Coop muttered. He bent to pick up Baz’s bag.

  I caught sight of a huge mountain of a man and another guy steaming fill tilt toward us.

  A half-second of frozen disbelief later I howled, “Holy shit, Coop, run!”

  We charged across the road into Jackson Square, Coop juggling Baz’s bag with his own. Baz was a quarter-block ahead of us, short legs churning. He was closing in on the group of magicians and the Statue of Liberty. The despicable duo was less than a block behind us. I could hear them shouting, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  “Come on, Shay!” Coop hollered.

  “I’m trying,” I panted, pumping my arms hard, my backpack slamming against my shoulder blades with each stride. I was fast but no match for Coop’s long legs.

  Tourists looked our way, unalarmed, assuming our little chase was a part of the acts on the square. We zigzagged around clumps of trees and milling people.

  I shouted, “I’m sorry!” to one woman I clipped. Baz was almost to the statue performer, and we were closing the gap. Loud voices echoed behind us. I wasn’t sure if the bad guys were catching up or if vacationers were angry we’d stampeded through them, but I wasn’t about to slow down to find out.

  I blinked, and Baz disappeared.

  Coop bellowed, “Hey! Baz!” and we both slowed about twenty feet from the performers, searching the crowd for the top of the fat little man’s glistening head. Four of the vendors had closed ranks and stood on either side of Liberty. The tempo of the drumming sped up to a pounding staccato rhythm, helping to increase the size of the audience. Our pursuers were caught in the rear of the swelling crowd. Before we could take off again, the black dog working the audience for tips appeared in front of us. He barked and grabbed my pants leg in his teeth and pulled.

  “Damn it, let go!” I tried to shake him off, terror oozing up my spine. The dog used his weight to drag me forward, toward the gap between the audience and Lady Liberty.

  One of the magicians who’d set up next to the mime stood a few feet away. With small black eyes and a pointy black goatee, he looked like a cross between Johnny Depp the pirate and Johnny Depp of Edward Scissorhands. He moved toward us, and said under his breath, “Go with it.”

  Go with what? I shot a look behind us again. The two villains had shoved their way through about half the gathered crowd. They’d be on us in seconds. Coop gave me a skeptically raised eyebrow and shrugged. No time to argue. I allowed the dog to pull me toward Liberty. The drumming rose to an even higher, louder pitch. The dog released me once we got to the center of the open area and trotted off to the side.

  People had started clapping in time to the rapid-fire beat, raising the noise level until the only thing I could hear was an all-consuming, thunderous roar.

  Another magician, dressed in a Dr. Seuss top hat and sporting a billowing black cape, stepped between the crowd and us. He raised his arms, and effectively created a wall from the audience with the ends of the satiny cape attached to his wrists.

  Invisible speakers boomed with the sound of the magician’s deep, hypnotic voice. “Welcome to the Great Jackson Square Disappearing Act, where we make people go … ” He snapped his fingers. “POOF!”

  He paused a long moment, and in that time, the dog moved in and nipped my pants again, pulling more gently this time. I grabbed Coop’s sleeve and allowed the mutt to lead us past the mime. The only thing that so much as twitched on the frozen performer were her eyes, which followed our progress.

  Dr. Seuss continued his pitch, but I ceased hearing his words. White noise took over.

  I hadn’t realized the ice cream vendor had moved her moped and cooler behind the performers, next to the wrought iron fence surrounding the square until the dog let go of my pant leg and trotted over to her.

  “Bags over there, mates.” Her cheerful voice had a melodic accent, and it took a moment to place it. Australian. She jerked her thumb in the direction of a powder-blue plastic storage bin hidden behind one of the artist’s set-ups. Coop and I flung our bags into the container.

  With lightning speed, she lifted up the entire top of the cooler and said, “In you go.” The tank-like freezer was about three feet in height, four feet wide, and about six feet long. Coop and I peered inside, and instead of ice cream, a frozen-looking Baz lay against the far wall, the expression on his face one of shock and amazement.

  With no time to consider anything, we dove into the deep freeze. Baz grunted when Coop landed half on top of him, and Coop groaned when I rolled into the container and crashed into him. I didn’t think we were all going to fit, but somehow we did. Our ice cream dream babe shut the top, latched it, and opened the foot-square ice cream retrieval hatch so we could breathe. Muffled sounds from outside filtered into the cooler. It was obvious when the crowd exploded in a joyful frenzy that the show was over.

  A booming voice filtered clearly into the cool, shadowed interior of the cooler. “Thank you for watching the Great Jackson Square Disappearing Act, where you never know who will vanish next!”

  The freezer began to rock as our savior fired up the moped and motored slowly away. I heard her say a number of times, “Sorry, mates, all out of ice cream. No worries, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Sounds of the rowdy crowd faded as we swayed back and forth in our sardine can. At least the interior was cool.

  Coop wheezed, “Shay, I love you, but can you slide a little to the left?” I shifted, and he moaned in relief. “My nuts will never be the same.”

  “Sorry.” I wiggled closer to the ice-cold wall. “What just happened?”

  Baz said, “I’m not sure if we were an accidental part of that magical act or what, but these guys saved our butts.”

  The cart hit a sizeable pothole. We bounced against the cold, hard bottom, and jostled back and forth. Suddenly Baz let out an inhuman cry. “My wip is stuck to da wall! Ow ow ow ow!”

  For the next few minutes, Coop and I enjoyed an orchestra of Baz’s pain-filled howls. I made very sure to keep my lips and tongue as far from the cold gray metal as I could.

  The cart slowed, and we made two consecutive sharp turns. The bright light that filtered through the open serving-hole darkened, and the cooler came to a stop. Fifteen seconds passed, and then the sound of latches connecting the top to the base of the freezer echoed as they were undone.

  Baz whimpered.

  I whispered, “Don’t move. Your lip will stay there without the rest of you if you try.” I almost felt bad for him.

  Then the top of the cooler was removed, and our rescuer’s head appeared. She looked to be about twenty-five.

  “Crikey, you must be some kind of friends for this treatment.”

  We stared up at her. Coop said, “What are you talking about?”

  “Yeah, wha you talkin’ ’out?” Baz sounded like Arnold from Diff’rent Strokes.

  She looked at Baz. “Is your lip stuck to the metal? Oh my, where are my manners? Let’s get you out of there. You with the lip, hang on.” A warm, tanned hand reached in and closed around my icy fingers. She helped me out of the ice cream freezer, and I jumped to the concrete floor.

  We were in a dimly lit area the size of a basketball court. Various ice cream vending contraptions sat against one wall. In front of those, four mobile hot dog stands waited for use in the center of the floor. Another wall was divided into six postage-stamp-sized changing areas. Two worktables were lined up in front of a six-foot makeup counter that overflowed with beautifying or face-altering accoutrements. Round vanity lights surrounded a mirror mounted above the table.

  Coop climbed out, and then Ms. Australia said to Baz, “One minute, mate, and I’ll have you loose.”

  She strode over to a one of the tables and grabbed a bottle of water. The Australian was a little shorter than I was, but stockier in all the right places. The old me might have said Hey, baby, after this, let’s hook up. Now I just thought it instead of acting on my impulses. I guess my relationship w
ith JT really was good for me.

  “Here you go,” she said. She slowly trickled water between Baz’s lip and the metal wall of the cart. After a minute, Baz said clearly, “Oh, thanks. Thank you.”

  He wobbled and nearly fell on his face getting out of the cart, but thanks to a fast hand from Coop, he maintained what was left of his dignity.

  Ms. Australia said, “I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Gabby Green, and I bet you’re wondering what just happened, eh?”

  Coop rubbed his hands together to restore circulation. “You could say that.”

  Gabby Green leaned against the ice cream cart, her iridescent blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  As she spoke, one side of the tall, rolling doors slid open. One of the magicians, the bucket drummer, and the Statue of Liberty entered the warehouse. Liberty deposited the powder-blue container that presumably held our bags near the door.

  The black mutt bounded along beside them until he got an eyeful of the three of us outsiders. He galloped toward us, yipping in delight.

  Liberty said, “Dave! Come here.”

  The dog leaped joyously and bounded back to Liberty. That voice … then it dawned on me. “Oh my god, is that you, April?”

  Liberty grinned a very non-mime grin. “Shay O’Hanlon, how are you?”

  I’d met April and Mary McNichi a number of years earlier when they were first starting out as an act playing small dives in Minneapolis. They bailed six years back and headed to a warmer climate. They pair spent some time in Key West performing during the Sunset celebration and eventually settled in New Orleans a year after Katrina hit.

  “And that’s what we’ve been up to,” April finished as she rinsed the last of the gunk from her hair and face in a sink attached precariously to the wall. She vigorously rubbed at her now mostly green-free hair with a towel.

  The rest of us had gathered around one of the tables. Mary had her chair balanced on its two back legs as she stroked Dave the Dog’s head. I was waiting for her to tumble end over keister. She said, “Why are you guys running from those two goons? It was lucky Houdini,” she pointed at the magician still in the Dr. Seuss hat who sat slouched on a bar stool, “realized you three were running from something more than the calories in a beignet.”

  Gabby said, “We simply moved up our little disappearing act a wee bit. It’s the finale of the day.”

  Baz asked, “Do all of you work together?”

  Houdini took off his striped hat, stuck his hand inside and pulled out a large gold coin. He flipped it in the air, snapped his fingers, and the coin disappeared. Cool.

  “Not all of the performers out in the Square do.” His voice rumbled from somewhere below his knees. “A while back a few of us decided it might be more profitable to gang up, so we rented this,” he indicated the space with a sweep of his hand, “and came up with a number of acts we could do together throughout the day.” He shrugged. “It’s been working okay.”

  April threw the towel aside and sat next to Mary. “Back to you. What’s going on?”

  I sketched out the bare minimum of what had happened in the last twenty-four hours. “We have two major problems. We need to find the stuffed snake and get it back to the goons, unless they do have Rocky. If they do have him, then we trade Baz here—”

  Baz barked, “That’s NOT part of the deal.”

  I looked at him with narrowed eyes. “If that’s what it takes … ”

  “Enough!” Coop said around another mouthful of gum.

  I shifted my gaze off Baz on onto April. “And we have to find Rocky.”

  Houdini slid off the barstool. “What’s he look like?”

  I said, “He’s about five-three, maybe 180. In his early forties, I think, but acts more like a kid. He always wears an aviator style cap. The kind with the ear-flaps.”

  Houdini nodded.

  “He wears that hat no matter how hot it gets.” An ache formed in my temple, and I absently rubbed it with two fingers. “The current hat is blue plaid. He’s pretty round. He used to always wear this awful down-filled green winter coat all the time, and I mean always. But now he’s replaced it with a Twins jacket.”

  “The guy loves baseball,” Coop added. “And has one hell of a throwing arm.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “He does. The jacket’s varsity style, like kids in high school wear, and it’s navy blue with cream-colored sleeves. The Twin’s logo is huge. Fills up the entire back.”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard to find someone in a blue plaid aviator hat and Minnesota Twins jacket around here who goes by the name Rocky. I’ll hit the network.” Houdini shucked his cape and tossed it on the table.

  “Hang on a second,” Coop said. Houdini stopped. “He’s … ” Coop looked at me with his eyebrows raised. I knew exactly where he was going.

  “Special,” I said.

  Coop said, “He’s not crazy, but he is challenged. Don’t know what his disability is exactly. He lives on his own back home. What else? He’s not too great with strangers. Has some communication quirks.”

  Gabby chuckled, and her laugh was very reminiscent of JT’s, low and appealing. She tapped a knuckle against her lip thoughtfully. “He reminds me of … what’s the name of the lass who always works Royal? ’Dini, you remember, the little clown who does the balloon wallabies?”

  April said, “Gab, how many times do we have to tell you it’s animals, not wallabies?”

  “Hey, they’re all round and chubby.” A good-natured smile tugged up the corners of Gabby’s mouth.

  Houdini strode to the doors, the heels of his tall black boots clicking sharply against the cement floor. “I’m on it.” He let himself out and slid the door shut.

  Baz asked, “What’s the network?”

  “It’s the performer’s network,” Mary answered. “We—even the performers who aren’t part of our cozy little association here—are comrades in arms, so to speak. We watch out for each other’s backs.”

  I looked at my watch. Almost 7:15 p.m. It was later than I realized. Eddy still hadn’t called. I was hungry, wired, tired, and rattled. If we could get some answers, and pretty freaking soon, I’d feel a lot better.

  I opened my mouth to speak when my cell rang. Eddy’s smiling face filled the screen.

  Eddy said without preamble, “We’re at the Jardin Royal. They’re still figuring out a room. And that boy has still not shown up. The front desk at the other joint is keeping an eye out. I gave them this number in case he does.”

  “Okay. We’ll see you soon.”

  I hung up and looked at April. “It’s been great catching up, but we really need to get to the hotel.”

  Gabby asked, “Where are they staying?”

  “The Jardin Royal,” I said.

  “Not far. Would you like another lift? I’ve time if you’d like.”

  Baz looked over at the ice cream cart. “I really don’t—”

  “You will if you don’t want us breathing down your neck.” Coop told Baz.

  “Okay. Fine.” Baz crossed his arms, trying and failing to appear belligerent. “I’d love to ride in your cart again, Gabby.”

  We bid our farewells after swapping cell phone numbers with the McNichis and Gabby. Gabby grabbed a towel and swabbed the bottom of the ice cream cart as dry as she could. I was glad she was good about thawing out her freezer on a regular basis, or we’d have been stuck in way more melted ice and frost than the few drops my pants and shirt soaked up. This time we much more carefully settled ourselves inside the freezer, and Mary handed us our bags.

  The cart bounced and jounced along the street for ten or fifteen minutes, and finally came to a stop. The moped engine stilled, and then the latches clicked open. Gabby’s face appeared as she lifted the top off the cooler and set it to the side.

  “Here you are, mates. Hurry now.”

  As I shook my legs out to restore circulation, I realized Gabby had gone around to the rear of the hotel and parked in the
alley next to a big green dumpster. The aroma coming from it suggested the hotel restaurant recently had fish on its menu.

  “Okay, my new friends, I hope things work out. We’ll let you know if Houdini finds your friend.” She put the lid back on the cart.

  “Thanks much for the help, Gabby.” I said.

  “You’re welcome.” She finished reattaching the cover, and gave me an impromptu hug, held just a little too long to be simply friendly. She whispered, her breath warm against my skin, “If you’re ever in town, I’d love to get together.” Her meaning was crystal clear. A shiver ran down my spine. Thankfully, she stepped away, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, her eyes hot on mine. The temptation was palpable.

  I broke eye contact. No, Shay. You’re not that person anymore. But I wasn’t dead either.

  The moment passed, and Baz and Coop obliviously echoed their thanks. After another lingering gaze, Gabby motored off.

  I forced my attention to our current situation, letting any thoughts of Gabby slip away. We snuck in the back door of the Jardin Royal, and Coop and Baz decided to hang at a table in the bar while I talked to the front desk.

  I waited while an older couple checked in.

  The clerk greeted me with a smile. I said, “Can you tell me Edwina Quartermaine’s room?”

  The front desk attendants all wore black and yellow uniforms, and it reminded me of worker bees buzzing about. After keying in Eddy’s name, he drawled, “I can’t give you that information.”

  I was beginning to feel like swatting him. “Can you call the room and let her know she has a visitor?” I tried to keep my voice even.

  The attendant stared intently at a computer monitor hidden behind the ledge of the glossy teak counter. Finally he said, “I can ring you through.”

  Jeez.

  He handed me the receiver.

  No answer. It was becoming the story of my life.

  I left another message. “Thanks.” I handed the phone back and turned away from the desk. I headed through the turn-of-the-century lobby toward the bar. Suddenly, someone grabbed my arm and swung me around.