NO Quarter

by Robert Asprin

  And then, I spent another half hour before my altar, contemplating … or trying to. Too many distractions, too many variables. The four-armed dealer had been busy. Which way would Kali’s cards fall tonight? I prayed they would land in our favor.

  By then, it was getting on toward six o’clock. I went out to the walkway that leads from my rear apartment to the gate, and listened for the garbage truck. Hearing it, I took my trash out to the curb when they were only three doors away. Daily trash collection in the Quarter is very handy for disposing of incriminating items. I stood in the doorway and watched while my trash bag got tossed into the scoop with a couple of dozen others. The tarot deck with one card missing was now history.

  I set out my clothes for the night, and then I made myself a cup of herb tea.

  Satisfied I was ready, I took my tea, put on some music, and centered myself, pushing all the possible complications out of my mind until nothing remained but my breathing and the music. Calm and centered, I settled into a comfy chair and drank my tea. I was where I needed to be, though not in combat mode—not yet.

  Eventually, evening came and I started getting dressed. Black Levi’s jeans and a belt with a modest, non-shiny buckle. A pair of black soccer shoes with thin, light soles. I love these things. I wear them out quickly, but they’re the closest I’ve found to black fencing shoes for street use.

  I chose a shirt ideal for night work. Forget what you’ve seen about Ninja outfits. Pure black only works in very dark situations, not in urban areas with assorted lights and backdrops. If you walk past a concrete wall in a black outfit, you stand out like a silhouette on a firing range. Charcoal grey is better, since it looks dark in the dark and light in the semi-light. The shirt I picked was a short-sleeved charcoal, red and purple paisley number. In the shadows it serves like military camouflage to break up your outline, but if you wear it into a bar or a party, it’s so colorful no one would suspect you were using it for clandestine operations. The reds in the pattern also help to cover any random splatters of blood you might acquire while you’re working.

  Happy with my outfit, I loaded my pockets as any gentleman does when he heads out for the evening. Wallet, money clip, handkerchief, and keys. No loose change. The envelope with the tarot card went into my left hip pocket next to my wallet. I put the razor and the Quicksilver where they were most comfortable.

  Then I went to a movie. Sort of.

  I hiked up to Canal Place, a medium-sized shopping center at a corner of the Quarter, and rode the escalators up to the four-screen movie complex on the third floor. At nine-fifteen I bought a ticket for the nine forty-five showing of a film I’d caught two weeks earlier. I went into the lobby, killed a bit of time in the john, then emerged and exited, joining the crowd that was exiting from another feature.

  This is called establishing one’s own alibi. I planned to attend movies every evening until we either got our killer or called off the hunt. Fortunately, since I am known as a serious movie buff, no one would find that unusual.

  I now had a ticket stub for the nine forty-five show, with the proper sequence numbers on it if anyone wanted to check that closely. Leaving with the crowd meant that none of the ushers or the kids at the concession stand would remember me exiting partway through a movie. Even if someone wanted to quiz me on the movie’s content, I was covered.

  Then I lit out, following the train tracks behind the levee wall to Toulouse, and cut straight down until I got to Keuffer’s, a bar kitty-cornered from the Stage Door. Keuffer’s was a clean, easygoing sort of bar where I was unlikely to be recognized. I ordered an Irish and grabbed a seat that allowed me a good view of the Stage Door. Jugger wasn’t there. My seat gave me good lines of sight down both Toulouse and Chartres. If he came on foot, he would use one or the other street.

  Someone had left a newspaper, and I casually pretended to read the front page. I didn’t taste my drink as I sipped it.

  Ten o’clock came and went, with no sign of the Juggernaut. At ten-twenty I left Keuffer’s and hurried back to the levee wall. Staying to the shadows I made my way north, toward the far end of the Moonwalk, scanning the area as I went. It was still early, a number of people strolled along the walkway by the river, enjoying the slight breeze off the water.

  Almost to the French Market, I climbed up the stairs near the end of the Moonwalk. I found a shadowed spot and scanned the area. After a moment, I spotted Mystic’s flowing caftan. She was alone, a cage with a live chicken in one hand and a bundle in the other. If I were wrong, I could be missing Jugger at the Stage Door.

  But I wasn’t. A moment later a familiar hulking form stepped out of the brush, coming up from near the river. There couldn’t be two people that big and that ugly in the Quarter. It had to be Juggernaut. That confirmed half the puzzle. He knew where Sunshine had died, that proved he had been involved. If Alex could confirm Jugger’s relationship with Dunk, that would cinch it for me.

  I watched the Juggernaut gesture to Mother Mystic to follow him. She looked at him, looked towards the water, dropped the cage and bundle, and crossed her arms in defiance. He gestured again, more forcefully. She didn’t budge. I wished once again that she had listened and simply stayed away. As it was, now I had to figure out how to get her away from Jugger without blowing the whole plan. I watched Jugger move forward and grab the cage with the chicken, forcing Mystic a step back. I could hear him yelling, though I couldn’t make out his words. No one else was close enough to see or hear anything.

  Just pretend to do what he wants!

  I knew she wouldn’t.

  Juggernaut reached out his free hand and grabbed Mystic, his huge hand engulfing most of her upper arm. He started dragging her toward the river as if she were little more than a toy.

  I sighed, put on my happy face, and stepped forward to intervene before they could disappear down into the bushes.

  “Hey, Jugger!” I called brightly, bouncing down the slope towards him as if I had just come off the Moonwalk. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. We were supposed to meet for a game. Did you forget? Jimmy thought he saw you come this way—and here you are!” Jimmy didn’t exist, but Jugger wouldn’t know that.

  Jugger released Mystic—who immediately scrambled out of reach—and turned to face me. I prayed he would take my ploy at face value. I really didn’t want to have to deal with him here and now, out in the open.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry, Maestro. I had to deal with this bitch first. Ya know how it is. I’ll be along in a while.”

  No way I was leaving without either Jugger or Mystic. “So what seems to be the problem? This bitch bothering you?” I didn’t look to see Mystic’s reaction to my language.

  “Bitch broke her deal.” He sounded like a petulant child. “I’m payin’ for a service, and I fuckin’ well ‘spect her to do the job. I got someone has it comin’ real nasty, an’ that’s what her mojo shit is for. Now the bitch is too good for it!”

  Mystic started to say something but I raised my hand and silenced her with a look. In the dark, Jugger didn’t catch it. “Let me handle it. I know this bitch, and she knows better than to mess with me.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He crossed his arms and waited as I pulled Mystic aside.

  Waving my arms angrily for Jugger’s benefit, I whispered to her, “I need you to agree to come back and do this ritual thing tomorrow night. Tell him you understand how important it is, and you’re sorry. Tell him tomorrow is more auspicious or something, but tell him you’ll do it up right.”

  “But ...”

  “Don’t argue with me, Mystic. I’m not saving your butt twice. Just lie like a dog, then get out of here and get out of the Quarter for a few days, any way you can.” At the hesitation in her face, I added sharply, “This isn’t up for debate.”

  I turned back to Jugger. “Okay. She gets it now. She’ll do your voodoo thing or whateve
r. But it will have to wait for tomorrow.”

  Thankfully Mystic jumped in. “Yes. The loa are displeased tonight, and will not grant what you seek. I will calm them, and tomorrow the spirits will be ready to answer your call.”

  She added some more voodoo lingo, apologized and groveled a little. Fortunately Jugger seemed to buy her performance.

  “Well, now that that’s solved,” I said, then thumped him on the back, good-old-boy style, “you owe me a game and I owe you a drink! I know this place ...”

  Jugger laughed and reverted to the big, obnoxious puppy I knew so well. We left the Moonwalk and headed into the Quarter. I led the way, my sights set on a pool bar where neither of us were likely to be recognized. But when we reached St. Philip, the Juggernaut suddenly ducked out from behind me, making a beeline down toward Chartres. I rushed to catch up just as he ducked into a squalid little joint I didn’t know. Glancing around, I couldn’t see any pool tables. Why pick this bar?

  “Dunk!” Jugger roared, closing in on a scruffy, dark-haired kid and a slim girl with long blond hair and very tight jeans. “You fuckin’ two-timin’ bitch! Who the hell is your skank this time?”

  Dunk? Sunshine’s boyfriend? And the girl? She looked up, and I realized with horror that the slim blond was Alex, her eyes wide at the sight of the angry behemoth charging towards her.

  “They didn’t give you a hard time? Not going to get in trouble?”

  Alex touched my hand gently. “Bone ... who cares?”

  She was right. It did matter about her job, about her calling in sick, about there not being a backlash. But what we were doing tonight was of a whole different magnitude of importance.

  I’d been smoking steadily all day and lit another now. I was smoking tips I wasn’t making. I followed Alex’s lead and thought, Who cares?

  We had waited on the night, and now it was here. We hadn’t been outdoors much the whole day. We had gone out for coffee early in the afternoon but hadn’t gone for a stroll like we normally would when we were both off from work. Didn’t want anybody from Pat O.’s seeing her walking about the Quarter in apparent good health, not with the “food poisoning” she had gotten from some bad clams.

  She wore a somewhat ratty, dark red T-shirt, her snug black jeans, and very becoming black suede mid-calf boots. She looked ordinarily and believably enticing; it was nothing like a hooker’s fake allure. She also wore that long blond wig that gave her bangs, long sides and back, and was such a startling contrast to her short, dark haircut I’d been stunned into a silent study of her when she’d emerged from her bathroom after half an hour of fiddling with it.

  “Do I pass?” Alex asked.

  “Definitely!” Way too good for the likes of Dunk, I thought. “He won’t be able to resist you. What about me?”

  I wore dark clothes, a threadbare hoodie from the thrift store and dark sneakers, not my customary boots. My hair was pulled back and tucked into an old ball cap. My right front pocket sagged with the weight of something the Bear had given me. Alex had used some of her makeup to smear shadows on my face, to black out some of my teeth. I looked older, like a homeless person. The oversized hoodie added at least fifty pounds.

  She looked at me in critical appraisal and nodded. “You need to remember to slouch, so you don’t look so tall. And shuffle your feet and look at the ground a lot.”

  I practiced, exaggerating each movement until Alex laughed.

  I was actually glad when Maestro called. Despite the risk of being recognized, I preferred to be the one watching her back. Besides, Dunk was mine. I’d found him. I’d hunted him. And I intended to take care of him.

  I glanced at her—as I’d been doing all day—to see if Alex was nervous, if there were misgivings or indecision on her face. I had seen and felt nothing but preparedness from her since we’d gotten out of bed, since the night before last when we’d all convened at the Calf, the five of us, to map everything out and to nail down the details. The plan for tonight’s job had come from her.

  I left first, cup in hand. Once I reached the bar on Chartres, I settled into place in the spot I had scoped out earlier—a doorway, mostly in shadow at this hour, on the opposite side of the street from the bar. I maneuvered until I had a good view into the place. Small as it was, I could see almost all the way to the back. Pulling the hoodie partway over my face, I drew out a cigarette, lit up and puffed on it, concentrating on looking and acting like one more derelict street person looking for handouts. I knew I had succeeded when people passing by either made an effort to avoid me or ignored me completely.

  A few minutes later, Alex arrived at the bar, found a spot inside that was well within my view, and ordered a drink. I settled in to wait, watching as she deftly deflected guys trying to hit on her. The minutes ticked by. I shifted several times to allow feeling back into my legs, and waited. I don’t wear a watch, but I have one. Someone left it on one of my tables at the restaurant. I took it from my pocket now and then, hit the tiny button that lit the digital display. After almost an hour I spotted Dunk coming up the sidewalk. He had finally traded the cargo pants for denim cutoffs and was weaving slightly, his center of gravity not quite where it should be, not quite fixed. Already stoned, drunk, or both. He walked right past me—homeless bums are even one level lower than waiters—and across the street into the bar.

  It took him only a moment to spot Alex, and saunter up to her. She smiled in recognition, a coy, flirty, seductive smile. She held up an unlit cigarette. He rooted around in his jeans, finally came up with a book of matches. She put the cigarette in her painted lips and leaned in to him ...

  And my view disappeared as something large blocked the doorway.

  “Dunk!”

  It was the Juggernaut. I immediately pushed away from the wall, my gut twisting as he bore down on Dunk and Alex. I saw her look up and drop her cigarette as the man-mountain loomed over them. Juggernaut grabbed Dunk by the shirt, lifting him off his feet and shaking him violently. I ran into the street, barely feeling my feet touch the ground, knowing I would blow my cover if I went in. That didn’t matter. I wouldn’t let Alex face that monster alone. I had no idea what I could do, but that didn’t matter to me, either.

  I was no more than two steps into the street when I saw Maestro, who had apparently been right behind Juggernaut, scoot into the bar. He quickly changed his hurried steps to a casual saunter as he moved up beside the big man. I stopped, held my breath, and waited—but I would only wait for a fast, adrenalized heartbeat or two. I would not leave Alex in danger.

  After only a slight hesitation, Maestro stepped in front of Juggernaut and grabbed Alex by the upper arm, and jerked her to one side. I heard him shouting at her, but could only make out a few words.

  “ ... catch you with some other guy again ... my woman ... you forget it!! ... teach you a lesson…”

  He escorted her roughly out of the bar and around the corner until they were well out of sight of anyone inside, then released her. I started after them, but he raised his hand slightly to stop me, never once looking in my direction. He said something quiet to Alex, who nodded and pulled back into the shadows of the next doorway.

  Maestro looked toward me, moved his hand a little to let me know Alex was okay, and walked back into the bar. I waited until Alex made a small, furtive gesture of her own—a tilt of her head, a quirk of her lips that slowed the runaway, urgent pounding of my heart.

  Dunk was climbing up off the floor, which was apparently where Jugger had dropped him. The monster looked mad enough to pound nails with his fist. Maestro imitated a similar angry stalk and came up beside Jugger. They talked, gesturing at Dunk, who cowered behind a chair, and then they walked out the door, apparently commiserating about their “bitches.” After a few moments Jugger pounded Maestro on the back, nearly knocking him off his feet, and laughed—a coarse, surprisingly high-pitched sound that made the h
air prickle on the back of my neck. Maestro gestured out the door and together they left the bar, walking in the opposite direction from where Alex waited.

  I let them get around the corner, then flashed an all-clear signal to Alex. She stepped out on the sidewalk and headed back to the bar, her walk casual, an unlit cigarette in her hand.

  Dunk stuck his head out of the bar, glanced in the direction Jugger and Maestro had gone, and headed the other way—towards Alex.

  I huddled against my wall, eyes tracking, my breathing silent and very deep. I was coiled tight. I felt I could make the street in one leap.

  I heard her voice—that familiar musical inflection—but not the words as she stepped into Dunk’s path, stopping him. She lifted her hand. Dunk swayed a little in place for a second or two, then came up with a book of matches, struck one, and lit her cigarette. Alex struck an effective pose, showing off without being glaringly obvious. She took a drag, blew out smoke, and her head tilted slightly and coyly. Her body language shifted a bit more, and I heard more of her voice, then a soft sweet giggle, which wasn’t her normal laugh.

  I heard Dunk’s slurring, stunted enunciation. He laughed, a rattling chuckle.

  Alex’s hand lifted again, touching his arm, then trailed a fingernail across his chest. She slid a step closer to him.

  Half a minute later, he had his arm around her shoulders. He made an evident effort to walk steadily as they moved away from the bar, down Chartres. Not back to his nearer apartment, but toward Alex’s. Alex had said she had any number of good ideas how to bring him there instead of going to his place. She would use the one that seemed appropriate when the time came. I hadn’t argued. Hadn’t asked.

  Her hip pressed against him as they walked. Her arm settled around his waist. I gave them a half-block lead before I followed, and still I could hear her giggle-girl laughter float over the empty night street.