Simple Misconception

by Rachel Sharpe

  “Mmm-hmm,” the older man repeated, placing the glass of tea before me. He rubbed his jaw. “Somethin’ tells me you weren’t no Scout.”

  “Rufus, just follow me, all right?” Zane continued. “I was on Bourbon—”

  “What you doin’ on Bourbon, boy?”

  “I—”

  “What were you doin’?” Rufus insisted, visibly irritated. “I thought my place was your scene.”

  “It is,” Zane insisted, tapping the bar’s worn counter. “I was . . . meeting an old friend. Anyway, this one starts hitting on me. No lie. Girl couldn’t keep her hands off me.”

  “What?” At this, my senses returned. At least, it was enough to argue for the sake of my dwindling dignity. Pushing the barstool back, I stood up. My legs started to buckle. I locked my knees to keep from falling. “You’re disgusting. If I never see you again, it’ll be too soon.” Turning to Rufus, I added, “I’m sorry. What do I owe you?”

  A slow smile crept across his face. “On the house.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure.” He winked. “What’s a little tea between friends?”

  “Thanks.”

  Taking a deep breath, I turned on my heels. I hurried out the door and into the night. I was so embarrassed, all I wanted to do was get back to my parents’ house and sleep it all off. I wanted to forget this night ever happened. I wanted to start fresh in the morning. Hopefully, sans hangover. I was halfway down St. Peter Street when I remembered Natalie. The thought of her stopped me in my tracks.

  I couldn’t go home. I still didn’t know where she was or even worse, what had happened to her. If that guitarist was to be believed, she had been taken against her will. She could be in a lot of trouble. Or worse. I no longer felt disoriented, but I still couldn’t come up with a plan.

  I thought about what I knew so far of Natalie’s disappearance. It wasn’t much. I continued walking down the street, heading toward Decatur and the car. Something told me if Natalie was kidnapped, it wasn’t random. I may not have seen her for years, but something was off. I could tell during our first encounter at the coffee shop. If for no other reason than that, the best place to start looking for answers would be her dad’s house.

  Taking a right onto the sidewalk that lined Decatur, I hurried toward the parking lot. I didn’t know what time it was, but I was sure it was past midnight. Still, the streets were as crowded as they would have been at lunchtime. That was New Orleans. It was like the South’s version of New York. It was a city that never slept.

  12

  Stumbling through rows of cars in that dimly-lit lot, I was beyond grateful Natalie had given me her keys earlier. Without them, I would have been forced to call a cab, Uber, or even worse, my sister. Trying to explain that Natalie was missing was not a conversation for which I felt prepared. I found the Bentley, unscathed, right where she had parked it.

  Clicking the alarm, it chirped in reply. I threw open the driver’s side door and collapsed on the leather bucket seat. It hadn’t become any cooler as the night progressed. That spot, however, overlooking the Mississippi River, allowed for a slight breeze. It gave me a chill. I pushed the button in the center console. The air conditioner and radio blasted. I turned down both, leaning back against the seat, hoping to regain my wits.

  According to the car, it was twelve-forty. I glanced at my phone, which I had thrown into the wood grain middle console. The battery was low, but not dead. I sensed I would soon be hearing from my mother, but hoped the city’s sick children story would buy me extra time.

  Securing my seatbelt, I shifted into reverse, then paused. I considered my current state. It had been well over an hour since I had my last drink. Probably, closer to two hours. The aspirin and sugary tea had put me in a better place, but I found myself wondering if I should drive. I did not feel inebriated but it was better to be safe than sorry. An Uber would cost me money, but a DUI could cost far more. A siren caused me to jump. I watched an ambulance speed down Decatur. The sight reminded me of Cash lying on the gurney, dark blood staining his shirt. That image was followed up by the thought of two men taking Natalie at gunpoint. That was all it took.

  Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I slowly backed the car out of its spot. I crept along the pot-holed parking lot, trying to acclimate myself to the vehicle. Although I had my license since I was sixteen, living up North for six years had made the act of driving feel foreign to me. Almost anywhere I went I took the T or a commuter train. If I went anywhere that didn’t allow for public transportation, Rick would drive.

  Forcing myself to focus, I pulled up to the small, glass booth at the parking lot’s entrance. I offered the night shift attendant, a somber, leathery-looking man in his late fifties, the time-stamped ticket. After grudgingly paying him twenty-five bucks, I pulled up to Decatur Street, searching for an opening in the steady stream of traffic. Finally, I found one. I started to pull out, but a sudden movement in my peripherals made me stop. Slamming on the brakes, my body lunged forward. I saw a dark figure standing inches from my bumper.

  My heart leapt to my throat. I was shaking when I lowered the passenger window to offer an apology. As the window descended, I came back to my senses. Such an innocent act was not the smartest one to make at one in the morning, all alone, in the French Quarter. I began to raise it back up when my eyes locked with my near victim.

  “You. Again.”

  I found myself staring at Zane. My heart rate began to settle, but I was still shaking. Everything that had happened hit me at once. Maybe it was Wife Number Five trying to use me as target practice. Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was seeing Cash with a bullet wound oozing blood. Or maybe it was because one of my best friends had been kidnapped and I knew the likelihood of finding her without a single clue was slim to none. Whatever it was, I felt my face flush. My eyes welled with tears. Zane’s demeanor changed as he watched me fight an emotional breakdown.

  “Seriously? I’m the one who was almost run over here.”

  I shook my head. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. There was no way I was going to let him see me cry. Based on the freaked-out expression on his face, I expected him to bolt. I was surprised when instead, he walked around the front of the car. He stood beside the driver’s side door. I stared up at him.

  “Get out,” he commanded through the tinted window. I watched him, but didn’t move. My first reaction was to speed off. After almost running over a pedestrian, though, I was still so shaken I couldn’t even move. He opened the car door. “Move over.”

  I should have grabbed the door. I should have slammed it shut on his hand. I should have peeled out into traffic. Anyone with half an ounce of common sense knew that getting in cars with strangers was a bad idea. Letting a stranger into your car was similar insanity. But my reaction time was slow.

  My reflexes, however, weren’t. When he reached in, I began punching his muscular arms and chest. I tried pushing him back. I knew numerous martial arts maneuvers and techniques for self-defense, but I had never attempted them while seated in a car or while wearing a seatbelt. He was not aggressive or violent. He accepted each blow without retaliation. Finally, I was getting tired. I stopped fighting. I frowned.

  “Are you done?” He leaned in.

  “Look, sorry about—”

  “Almost making me roadkill?”

  “I said I was sorry.” I stared at his arm, leaning against my door frame. “Do you mind?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  I blinked.

  “You’re in no condition to drive.”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Like hell,” he scoffed. “You almost ran me over. You made it my business.”

  “Fine. I’ll call an Uber.”

  “All right.”

  He didn’
t move.

  “I said I would get an Uber,” I repeated. “You can leave now.”

  “Not until I see someone pick you up.”

  I stared down at my phone. Unlocking it, the screen illuminated. I scrolled to the Uber app. I hesitated. I had the app, but I had never activated it. He was too close. There was no way I could pretend to call an Uber. Crap.

  “That’s what I thought. Move over.”

  I will be the first to admit that I don’t always make the best decisions, but I usually maintain a normal level of self-preservation, relatively speaking. For some reason, that minimal common sense I possessed left me at that moment. As much as he annoyed me, the little voice in my head didn’t protest. It didn’t scream at me to run away. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. I climbed over the middle console and into the passenger seat. He got inside. He slammed the door shut. Pulling up the sleeves of his pullover, he turned the air higher.

  As he reached across the dashboard, I noticed a black, Celtic cross tattoo on the inside of his right forearm. The initials “DL” were at the base. As soon as his eyes found mine, I turned away. I grabbed my phone from the console. Shifting his weight, he draped his left arm across the steering wheel. “Where to?”

  I stared at him, my mouth dry. I found I couldn’t think. I knew there was somewhere I planned on going, but the almost accident had rattled me. I couldn’t remember what I was doing. I watched his patience drain and his light eyes steel.

  “I don’t have all night.”

  I came to my senses. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  “Right.” He smirked. “You’re driving drunk, just about ran me over, and had a nervous breakdown. And your friend’s MIA, right?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Babe, I repeat, it became my business when you tried to send me straight to the pearly gates.”

  “You sure think a lot of yourself if you believe they’d even consider you.”

  “Never said I’d get in.” When I glared at him, he sighed. “If you don’t tell me where you wanna go, I’m going home. It’s been a helluva night.”

  “What?” My heart raced. “I’m not going to your place!”

  “Didn’t say I was taking you there.” He began playing with the radio. He finally settled on a station that played current hits. Cracking his knuckles, he shrugged. “You can sleep it off in this car for all I care. Either that, or tell me where you want to go. Choice is yours, but make it fast.”

  My desire to hit him grew stronger with each word out of his mouth. Still, as big of a jerk as he was, I knew that he was right. I was in no condition to drive. Too much had happened. My mind was not in the right place. I almost ran over a pedestrian! As much as it pained me, I knew that I needed help. Unfortunately, he was my best shot.

  “Well?”

  “Take me to Acadian Heights.” I crossed my arms and stared out the window. I felt his gaze linger for a moment, but he said nothing. He turned up the volume on the radio, then peeled out onto Decatur sending me on the path that would, hopefully, lead to Natalie.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Nice place.”

  I ignored the sarcastic remark as we pulled up in front of the Weisman house. The drive from the French Quarter to the Heights took about twenty-five minutes, but it seemed a lot longer. After mentioning the subdivision, Zane had asked no other questions until we pulled up to the gate at the neighborhood’s entrance.

  The guard, noticing the car’s tag, waved us through without hesitation. Whenever we reached a stop sign, I gave him one-word directions, a system that suited him fine. As I sat beside this stranger, I tried to focus on what I would do once I got to Natalie’s place, but my mind kept wandering back to him.

  Why had he offered to drive me? Our encounters had been far from pleasant. I slammed into him at a bar. I spilled my drink on him. We exchanged more than a few heated words. Then, I almost ran him over with a brand-new Bentley. A luxury car, yes, but still not the best way to die. Why would he want to help me after all that?

  My initial fear was he was going to try to take me to some deserted location and do unspeakable things before dumping my body in the canal. I took Tae Kwon Do in college to protect myself from dangerous situations. Still, there was no reason to put myself in a dangerous situation intentionally considering how often I ended up in them. I knew that he had a motive for his offer to drive that went beyond concern for my well-being. I had no clue, however, what that motive could be. If he were planning to carjack me, he would have left me at Jax. It had to be something else. I suddenly realized that we were driving through the most expensive neighborhood outside New Orleans. His motive could have been as simple as robbery and then carjacking. As we drove, I thought of what I could do if that were the case. I almost had an entire scenario planned out by the time he pulled the car into the driveway, parked it, and climbed out. I still didn’t trust him, but being there reminded me of why I was there.

  I sat alone in silence for a moment. In my two plus years as a private investigator, I had only handled one missing person case and that one, it turned out, offered a lot more clues than this. The first forty-eight hours after a crime like this has occurred are the most crucial to the investigation. After that time, the trail often goes cold. I would like to say I knew this from personal experience, but in reality, that knowledge came from one too many late nights watching crime television.

  With my previous missing person case, over a week had passed, but the trail was still hot. I prayed that this would be no different. A sudden knocking grabbed my attention. I jumped. Staring down at me was Zane. Dressed in a form-fitting black V-neck shirt and dark blue jeans, he held the pullover under his left arm. The car key fob was in his right hand. He wore an agitated scowl I was becoming all too familiar with.

  “What are you waiting for? Sunrise?”

  Releasing my seatbelt, I threw open the car door. There were a few responses I wanted to give him, but decided against it. Instigating another fight would only cost me, and Natalie, precious time. I shut the door softly before hiking up the driveway. After a long night in cute yet uncomfortable shoes, my feet were screaming in protest. As I approached the front doors, I decided to take them off.

  It felt strange coming back here without Natalie. There were many nights in high school when we made this familiar journey, but without her, it felt wrong. I glanced around the silent street. The magical atmosphere offered earlier, including the brilliance of the white holiday lights that adorned each residence and made their opulence shine, was gone. It was now dark, quiet. Eerie. I sensed Zane standing beside me, but he said nothing. I knelt down on the sidewalk near the front garden. I began searching for the hide-a-key rock.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “What?”

  Craning my neck, I stared up at him. The moon shone bright overhead, surrounding his dark frame with light, and causing his features to be shadowed. No matter how hard I squinted, it was impossible to see his face. Crossing his muscular arms over his well-defined chest, he shifted his weight and sighed.

  “You gonna puke?”

  “No. I’m looking for something.” I didn’t know this guy from Adam. Driving me to Natalie’s house may have been the first good deed of his entire life. I was in front of a multi-million-dollar neighborhood home to one of my best friends. I decided it might not be a good idea to reveal the idiotic location of front door access to that home which also housed one of the nation’s most sought-after geneticists.

  “I-I lost an earring,” I stammered, swallowing hard. “Could you, uh, go check the car for me?”

  “What do I look like? Valet?”

  “Just look,” I barked. He took a step back. I had actually surprised him. “Please.”

  He paused for a moment, but headed back to the car. I waited unt
il I saw him lean inside and begin to search before turning my attention back to the flowerbed. Despite the moonlight, it was still dark outside. And trying to locate a small, plastic rock in a well-manicured garden within the thirty seconds or so I had before he realized there wasn’t an earring was not going to be easy.

  I tried straining my brain to remember where Natalie tossed it. In my mind’s eye, I replayed the scene. She was standing near the front door. There was no effort to her throw, so it couldn’t have made it very far. Quietly, I crawled along the sidewalk, my knees aching with each boney movement. Blinking, I studied the garden. When nothing stood out, I began feeling around blindly, praying I would stumble across it.

  “Nothin’.”

  Startled, I looked up and saw Zane staring down at me. Again, his features were guarded by the shadows, but the tone in his voice suggested he was becoming more and more annoyed with me. I couldn’t care less. I wasn’t thrilled he was there in the first place.

  “Still looking,” I muttered, my fingers gripping at loose soil.

  Running my hand over a few rocks, I paused. One of them felt too smooth, too round. Careful not to make him aware of my actions, I dug down further until my hand was beneath its base. I realized two things. It was loose. And it was fake. I glanced up at him. He was staring at the car keys, probably debating whether or not he should just take off. Quickly, I removed the key from its hiding place. I flicked the dirt from my fingers as I held it.

  Climbing to my feet, I shoved the key in my pocket before he realized there was anything in my hand. As I hurried to the front door, I dusted off the dirt, but a thin layer remained caked beneath my nails. Zane followed me to the doors but said nothing. When I reached into my pocket to extract the key, he held up his hand.