Wrong Question, Right Answer

by Elle Casey

  “I’m just going to head on up,” I say casually. “I have some papers to organize.” My messenger bag is over my shoulder, but there’s really nothing inside it other than a legal pad, a pen, and a switchblade.

  “We’ll be up in a couple minutes,” Dev says. “I just need to whip her butt with a few more sets.”

  Jenny snorts. “You can try.” I look back to see her lifting her upper arm to flex her biceps. A tiny lump pops up, standing out against her lean arm.

  Dev leans over and squeezes it between his first finger and thumb. His hands are huge in comparison to her petite frame. “Nice,” he says. “All my hard work is finally paying off.”

  “Your hard work?” She shakes her head and walks toward the gym equipment. “Come on. I need to school you some more.”

  He chuckles, falling in behind her. He smacks her on the ass and she fake-screams, running away.

  I open the door to the upstairs and walk in, glad to be alone again. Their games make my heart ache. Maybe it’s the super-potent happiness that hurts.

  In the past six months, I’ve seen two of my brothers-in-arms fall in love with girls who I never would have suspected they’d even like. But what do I know about love? I’ve only ever let myself totally fall for one person, and I ended up killing that guy. I’m checking out of the love game forever. I don’t want to kill anybody else, and men who break my heart sure do tempt me.

  I walk through the room filled with Dev’s toys—mostly swords—to get to our kitchen and meeting area. Taking my seat at the table, I drop my bag next to me.

  There are no new texts on the screen of my cell phone. A little piece of me was hoping there’d be something there from Lucky. My fingers hover over the keyboard. Should I? Just one little message?

  I throw my broken phone down on the table, hissing out a sigh of annoyance. It’s like I’m in junior high all over again. We didn’t have cell phones back then, but if we had, I probably would’ve done stupid shit with mine. I probably would’ve texted a guy who didn’t deserve to hear from me.

  My mind wanders. I think about junior high on that day Lucky kissed me. It was at a school dance that he and my brother had teased me into attending. I told them dances weren’t my thing, but they didn’t care. I think they were hoping they’d catch me on the dance floor, but there’s no way in hell that would’ve happened.

  Lucky caught me trying to sneak out. He begged me to come back and dance with him, but I refused. That’s when he grabbed me and kissed me. I didn’t resist for a second or two. Maybe I should have, but I’d been staring into that beautiful face for too many years to put up a fight.

  He went from being my brother’s best friend and a quasi-member of the family to being my lifelong crush in that moment. I knew it was a mistake, but the heart wants what it wants. Our neighborhood family was really close, all of us hanging out near Bourbon Street, getting into trouble. We were a group of kids who did everything together, good or bad. None of us had much of a moral compass back then. Ozzie’s influence came later. Even though I was only fifteen years old, I knew something between Lucky and me would’ve messed everything up for the whole group of us. I pushed him away that night and ran. I don’t even remember how I got home after the dance; I may have hitched a ride, knowing me. But that kiss burned my lips for years after.

  I resist the urge to reach up and touch my mouth. I swear I can still feel his touch from Friday night.

  It was the decision I made the night of that dance ten years ago—to stay away from Lucky and preserve our family unit—that drove me into Charlie’s arms. I told myself I needed to find a boyfriend so I could get my mind off Lucky and let him know that I wasn’t available, and Charlie was just there: the quintessential bad boy, with his motorcycle and his leather jacket, smoking a pack of filterless Camels a day. He’d noticed me before, offered me a smoke, a ride on his bike. I’d ignored him up until then, but I stopped after Lucky’s kiss.

  I dove right in, committing myself fully to letting him wreck my life. At the time, I thought he was perfect for me, of course. I didn’t see what was right there in front of my face: alcoholic, abusive father who was in and out of jail; a temper he couldn’t control; a chip on his shoulder so big there wasn’t room for much else in his life.

  We were together for a lot of years, but it was never a happy pairing. Bouts of tormented passion alternated with periods punctuated by drunken arguments and drag-out fights; the relationship was physical on many levels. For a long time, I was able to hide the bruises from the guys. I played sports, so I could easily blame the other team. But one day Thibault caught Charlie shaking me hard, making my head snap back and forth, and he got suspicious.

  After that, they all kept a closer eye on me, and it was only a matter of time before they busted him hurting me. That was my senior year; Charlie had been out of school for a while. I should’ve ended the relationship then. Hell, I should’ve ended it long before then, but I was addicted. I was addicted to Charlie, I was addicted to the adrenaline, and I was addicted to the pain. Suffice it to say, I was in a very low place.

  I don’t blame Lucky for any of it. He never would’ve wanted that stuff for me, and he’d offered up affection that would never have brought me pain. I just couldn’t take it. My adopted street family was too important to me, even before we started working as the Bourbon Street Boys team.

  I should’ve left after the first time Charlie got rough with me, I know that now. But back then, I was too rebellious to do the right thing. I made excuses for him. My brother tried to warn me off him, but I wasn’t going to let anyone tell me what to do or how to do it.

  I guess I’m still a lot like that, but I want to believe that I can look in my rearview mirror from time to time and see the mistakes I’ve made so I can avoid making them a second time. That’s why I don’t date and why I don’t let guys pick me up in bars. It’s better that I just stay away from guys I don’t know, since I can’t trust myself to pick one who’s good for me.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t learn my lesson the easy way. I haven’t done anything the easy way. I stayed with Charlie until it got really bad, and I ended up in the hospital. Then when I finally tried to get away, it was too late; Charlie was just as addicted to our sick relationship as I was.

  He came after me one night after I’d moved out, five years ago, and I did the only thing I thought I could do to end it. When he broke down my door and came at me, I shot him.

  Five times. Right in the heart.

  Normally when someone busts into your house bent on doing harm, you can shoot him to stop him, all legal and proper. But I didn’t just shoot Charlie to stop him; I shot him to punish him for all the things he’d done, and for all the things I had done to myself.

  There was no jury in my case. My lawyer thought it would be better for just a judge to hear the evidence. Something about me not being a very sympathetic witness or whatever, plus Charlie’s family was pretty well-known in the area, a bunch of street hoods with connections to bigger criminal syndicates, and not many people wanted to get on their bad side. An untainted jury would have been hard to put together, in other words.

  Judge Culpepper was a graying man in his late sixties, old-school Louisiana bred, born, and raised. He probably had a couple good ole boys as sons. He didn’t really care that Charlie was twice my size or that I had a history of bruises and broken bones documented by the local hospital. He saw those four extra shots for what they were: revenge.

  And so I went down for manslaughter. I guess he used up a little bit of that self-defense my lawyer argued about to lower the charge from murder. Lucky for me, I wasn’t in prison for long before I was out on probation.

  It all went down five years ago today. The anniversary of Charlie’s death has arrived once more, and I’m damn glad it’s falling on a Monday. I need to drown out the noise in my head with an avalanche of work.

  The door opens from the other part of the room and Ozzie walks through, exiting his private quarters.
His dog Sahara is on his heels, and just behind Sahara is tiny Felix. He’s some kind of Chihuahua mutt that May owns. The mutt doesn’t pay me any attention, always focused on his big, hairy girlfriend who’s ten times his size but just as in love with him as he is with her. Even dogs are better at relationships than I am.

  “Morning,” Ozzie says.

  I nod. “Morning. How was your weekend?”

  “Good.” He walks over to take his seat at the head of the table. “You have breakfast yet?”

  “Cereal.”

  “Breakfast of champions.”

  “Yup.”

  The door Ozzie just entered through bursts open and May comes rushing into the room. As soon as she sees me, her face lights up.

  “Toni! I’m so glad you’re here. You get to be the second one after Jenny to hear my good news.” She stops near the end of the table and claps her hands a few times before holding them out at me. “Look. Look, look, look!”

  I stare at her hands, but all I see are manicured fingernails that are longer than they should be. She’s scratched me more than once during our hand-to-hand combat practice sessions.

  “What am I looking at?”

  She shakes her hands and thrusts them out farther. “Look! Look at my finger!”

  My eyes bulge out a little when I finally catch on to what’s got her so excited. I suppose I knew this was coming, but to actually see it is another thing than just imagining it. “You have a new ring.”

  She claps her hands and jumps up and down, squealing. “Can you believe it?” She goes to Ozzie and hugs him from behind, putting him in a loving headlock. “He asked me to marry him last night, the big lug.”

  Oh well. His funeral. “Congratulations.”

  May levels her gaze at me. “I want you to know that this will not change anything between you and Ozzie or between you and me.”

  I scowl at her, not quite getting what she’s saying, but pretty sure I’m not going to like it. “What?”

  Ozzie turns his head and looks up at May. “Would you mind getting me another cup of coffee, babe?”

  She pats him on the head like he’s a Chihuahua. “Okay, babe. Coming right up.” She switches her attention over to me. “Do you want one too?”

  I still feel lost. Maybe caffeine will help. “Sure.”

  When she’s in the kitchen making noise, I lower my voice so we can speak semi-privately. “What was she talking about?”

  Ozzie shakes his head and whispers back, “She’s worried you’ll be jealous. Just play along with it.”

  I hiss out my annoyance. I’ve never had a thing for Ozzie and never will. She’s welcome to him; he’s way too bossy for my liking, plus he’s too big. He’d never hurt a woman in anger, but I tend to bring out the worst in people. I wouldn’t want to see the worst of Ozzie.

  “Whatever,” I say. “I hope you’ll be happy.”

  “I already am.” He means it. Ozzie doesn’t do anything half measure. When he puts his mind to something, it’s as good as done. Six months ago he put his mind to loving May, as silly as she can be sometimes, so now it’s over. Ozzie is off the market forever.

  Before May gets back with the coffee, the outer door opens and everyone but Lucky walks through. The meeting will now commence minus the one member I actually wanted to see today. I hate having to admit that to myself. Great sex will be the death of me yet.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Okay, so we’ve got a new case we need to get started on right away.” Ozzie dives in, our morning coffee still steaming in mugs in front of us. “The city’s got trouble in the Sixth Ward again. Some of you already heard about this Friday night at the pub, but I got more detail over the weekend from Captain Tremaine. You all remember David Doucet and the crew he ran with?” He pauses as we nod, placing his hand on May’s shoulder as her face goes a little white.

  How could we forget David Doucet? The hardcore criminal ended up in May’s house looking to blow a hole in her after she witnessed him taking shots at Ozzie. Luckily, Dev’s training set her up to at least react when things get hot. From what I heard, her self-defense wasn’t elegant, but she got the job done.

  Dev couldn’t have been prouder, but I was just plain relieved. She’s a pretty damn good photographer, and I already knew then how much Ozzie cared about her. If something worse had happened to her, it would have torn our whole team apart. Ozzie’s as tough as they come, but May can turn him to mush with a single look. It’s embarrassing, and I’d tell him so, but he’d probably double my workouts and send me dumpster diving for evidence over it.

  I’m glad she’s continued her training and gotten better than she first was, because she could be a real soft spot for all of us. She and her sister both. Neither of them was born to the life the rest of us were. Hardening them up, both their muscles and their minds, has been Dev’s job since they walked in the door, but we all help out with sparring sessions and pair-work when we can. I don’t envy Dev the task he has. It can’t be easy. They look like a couple of marshmallows, the way they dress and carry themselves. Before, they were Jet-Puft . . . Now they’re the stale store-brand: a little tougher, but still too sweet and soft in the middle.

  Ozzie cuts into my thoughts. “Looks like a rival gang is coming into town, and the streets are getting hot. There’ve been a couple of drive-bys, which wouldn’t normally be something we’d get involved in, but the attacks look a lot more coordinated than normal. There are more victims coming from more accurate strikes.”

  “Isn’t that kind of a good thing?” Jenny asks. She looks at everyone sitting around the table. “I mean, they’re all drug dealers and gang bangers and stuff, right? Don’t we save taxpayer money by letting them kill themselves? Street justice or whatever?”

  Thibault shakes his head. “No. These are drive-bys at quinceañeras, baptisms, birthdays, barbecues, and other family events. We’ve got moms and grandmas taking the heat with these. It’s getting real ugly.”

  Jenny’s face falls. “Oh. Now I feel bad. Grandmas?”

  May reaches over and pats her sister’s hand. “Don’t worry, big sis. I got you.”

  I hold in a laugh. Whenever May tries to sound street, it makes me think of a Muppet dressed as a gangster. Jenny rolls her eyes and then bugs them out at me. She gets it. She’s under no illusions about who she is and what she’s capable of. I respect her for that.

  Dev drapes his arm over the back of Jenny’s chair, silently and probably unknowingly giving her his full support. I rub my hand over my chest, trying to ease the ache that appears there. Jealousy has never been a part of my repertoire before, but damn, it’s hitting me hard right now. Why does everybody else get to be happy? I know the answer to that question, which only pisses me off more. Charlie. I need a do-over for my life. Karma is such a bitch.

  Then I think about Lucky. He’s not happy either. That’s probably why he’s not here. Could it be that I made him more miserable than he already was? Great. Awesome. Just what I needed. I shove thoughts of him aside and focus all my attention on Ozzie so I don’t start crying like a damn baby.

  “For this job, we need to get into some Twitter accounts and possibly some Facebook accounts, too.” Ozzie looks over at Jenny. “Is that something you can do?”

  She nods. “Of course. Not a problem.” Whenever Ozzie or anyone talks to Jenny about her work, her personality totally changes. She turns from a marshmallow into a tiger. I like seeing that in her. It gives me hope that she won’t completely fall apart if we’re ever in a tight spot together.

  “Are you going to need Lucky’s help?” Thibault asks.

  Jenny looks around. “Where is Lucky? He didn’t answer the text I sent earlier this morning.”

  I don’t say anything, hoping Thibault will explain it off in a way that doesn’t get her too interested. She’s already way too curious about what happened between us Friday night.

  As usual, my bad luck holds. Before Thibault can speak, May pipes up. “Something happened with him this weekend
. And Toni.” She looks at me, her eyes sparkling.

  I scowl at her, seriously itching to throw my mug and all its contents across the table. “Nothing happened.”

  Thibault speaks up, cutting into what May was going to say next. “All we need to know right now is if Lucky has to be involved in the mission. That’s it.”

  Jenny looks from me to Thibault and then to May, her expression telling me she’s confused, but she finally settles on our second-in-command, answering his question. “I don’t need Lucky to do what Ozzie mentioned. If all you want is to get into accounts and monitor them, I can handle that on my own.”

  Thibault nods. “Great. That’s what I wanted to hear.” He looks to Ozzie. “What else do we need?”

  “Surveillance on three different targets, but we don’t know yet where any of it should be set up. First, we’ll take a look at the accounts, then we’ll try to figure out the exact locations from that.”

  “What do you need me to do?” I ask. I have to be kept busy. All this free time is giving me too much room to think, too much space for my mind to wander in.

  “Toni, you’re with May. Hop in the van and drive around the general Mid-City and Treme areas, see what you can see, scope it out. Take some shots.”

  “You think we’ll need the Parrot?” I really hope he says yes to that. I like flying the drone, even though I suck at it. May has been giving me lessons, being some kind of weird-ass savant with the thing herself. I couldn’t believe it the day she flew the thing right up to the top of a pole, as if she’d been doing it all her life and not for the first time ever. It would have pissed me off if it hadn’t been so impressive. She’s only gotten better since.

  “I don’t think so,” Ozzie says. “Not right away. You can bring it, but I don’t think you’ll need it until later. It’s going to take Jenny some time to get what she needs, I would guess.”