by W E DeVore
Ben said in a low voice, “I don’t mean to be weird, but I can’t quite tell which side his bread is buttered on.”
“Both,” she replied.
Ben was obviously not expecting that and quickly changed the subject.
“So, ‘Big,’ huh?” He grinned and raised his eyebrows.
“’Big’ as in tall, Ben.” Q tried to cover her embarrassment. “You are like seven feet tall.”
“Six-foot-five,” he corrected. “So, 'beautiful,’ huh?”
“Shut up. You know you’re gorgeous. You don’t need me telling you.”
He smiled; clearly pleased with the moniker she’d given him.
When Niko rejoined them, bottle of beer in hand, Q decided to get it over with and ask him to help her get in to see Urian.
“What are you doing for SIN tomorrow, Niko?”
Service Industry Night was a Monday night tradition that Niko rarely, if ever, chose not to observe.
He took a sip of his beer. “Oh, you know, the usual: get drunk, sleep with a coworker, or a stranger, or myself. Why do you ask?”
“I need a little favor. How would you feel about taking me on a little detour to The Athenian?” Q asked. She felt Ben tense beside her.
“Mmmm, Greek sailors. Yummy. Not quite what I had in mind, but it could do. But why do you want to go there?”
“I have to talk to Urian Galanos and I don’t speak Greek, so I can’t get past that old man at the door without you.”
“Urian Galanos…” Niko said like he couldn’t place the name. “Urian Galanos…you don’t mean that drug dealin’ stalker of yours!”
He feigned shock. Q glared at him. “Are you going to help me out or not?”
Niko turned to Ben and asked, “And what does the stunning Mr. Bordelon think about Ms. Toledano cavorting with nefarious Greek gangsters?”
“I don’t like the idea of my girl getting within a hundred yards of that piece of shit. But you try and stop her.” Ben dropped one arm a little too heavily around Q’s shoulders and she tried unsuccessfully to shrug him off.
“She does like to walk on the wild side.” Niko tilted his head conspiratorially closer to Ben. “But then you already know that, don’t you, angel man?”
Ben opened his mouth and then closed it again, taken aback by the second reference to a tattoo that very few people knew existed. Meanwhile, Q’s hackles went up with every third-party mention of her. Unfortunately, and despite her best effort to control herself, her panties went wet as soon as Ben called her ‘his girl.’
Luckily for her tough bitch reputation, in the battle of hackles versus giddy-girly ‘oh my god, he likes me!’ antics, hackles won in a TKO, although the warm spot between her legs had argued vehemently in favor of what Ben had been doing down there for the past twenty-four hours.
Hackles growling, she finally shrugged Ben’s arm off her.
“My what a lucky little girl am I to have two such manly defenders.” Q looked meaningfully at Niko and put her hands on her hips.
Ben quickly spoke up, “Of course, Q can take care of herself. She knows what she’s doing.”
She sighed in mock surprise. “Really, sweetheart? Do you really think so? Or should I leave, so you two can discuss it further? Niko, what do you think? I would just love to have your masculine….” She leaned ironically into the word ‘masculine.’ “…insight into this situation.”
Q stared at him, fluttering her eyelashes and grinning sweetly until Niko finally caught on. He abruptly caught someone’s eye beyond Q’s shoulder and announced, “Well, I see my date. How’s nine for you tomorrow night, Q?”
“Nine will be fine,” she answered, slightly mollified.
After Niko vanished into the crowd, she turned to Ben and said, “You have something you want to say to me?’
“I can’t believe it. Our first date, and you’re trying to get plus one to go see the Greek mob.”
She laughed.
“Uh-ah. Drug dealing, Greek bookie,” she corrected. “Don’t exaggerate.”
He rolled his eyes at her and she stuck out her tongue.
“So, Niko is your neighbor?” he asked.
“More like a friend. We met at this neighborhood joint a year or so ago. His apartment building burned down last Christmas. After that, he moved in across the hall from me. He’s first generation Greek, so he goes to The Athenian every now and again to drink, hang out with the old men, and cruise Greek sailors. I’ve gone with him before,” Q replied. “Sketchy doesn’t begin to describe that place.”
Ben shook his head impressed. “You get around girl. I half thought that place was an urban legend until Urian told me to tell Pete he’d be there waiting for him last week.”
“That reminds me, you gonna tell me what happened with Pete last Saturday?” Q asked. When Ben stayed silent, she insisted, “You may as well tell me. If I’m going to drop five Gs on the guy, I’d rather know everything.”
Ben reluctantly agreed. “Pete’s been coming by the Cove pretty regular for the past month or so, sitting in with other bands, looking for pick up gigs. Sometimes alone, sometimes with this little blonde girlie. Anyway, so he shows up around eleven Saturday, alone, obviously strung out and high as a goddamned kite, to sit in with this crappy progressive Latin jazz group I made the mistake of booking, after you had the audacity to cancel on me. Only, he was in no shape to play and they were well into their last set. He didn’t even have his fucking bass with him. I didn’t need a junkie making a scene in my club, especially that night. That rich lady that booked the club for Lundi Gras was in there with the down payment and her sudden request for a certain band to play.” Ben winked at her. “She sees a junkie looking to score, she might change her mind about the Cove. She sees that junkie’s Pete Fontain, she might change her mind about QT and the Beasts.”
“Good lookin’ out.” Q toasted him with her Sazarac.
“I couldn’t let the opportunity of bribing my way back into your good graces get away, now could I? I was a desperate man. Anyway, so I told Pete to leave. He started to get loud, saying how I was screwing him out of his cash and whatnot, so I started walking him towards the office. That’s when Urian walked in and Pete got jumpy as shit. He made a beeline for the men’s room. After Urian left, he walked right out without saying another word.”
“What did Urian say, exactly?” she asked.
“Not much. Wanted to know what time Pete was going on. I told him he was a no-show for the gig. He made a crack about hearing their first set and changing his mind about playing with them, which made me laugh, I mean this group was god freakin’ awful. It made no sense, their demo was decent, Pete was sitting in…”
“Focus, Ben. What did Urian say?”
“He put his arm around me - the dude is handsy - and told me to tell Pete he was looking for him and Pete had better get his ass over to the Athenian and pay what he owed.”
“No wonder Pete thought you were best buddies. Laughing with your arms around each other…”
“Not each other.”
“Holdin’ hands, drinkin’ ouzo,” Q teased.
“Shut it.” Ben grinned. “I’m not the one that dated him.”
She was just about to defend her reputation against such a nauseating idea, when the waiter called out Ben’s name to tell them their table was ready.
“Doesn’t matter,” he added in a low whisper in her ear as they headed out of the bar and into the crowded restaurant. “You’re my girl now.”
Giddy-girly antics knocked Q’s hackles out cold before they could even put up a fight.
It’s All Greek to Me
At nine o’clock the following night, Q heard the door across the hall slam, immediately followed by Niko’s footsteps walking to her door. As usual, he didn’t bother to knock and walked straight to the bar next to the door and poured himself a whiskey.
Niko and Q had lived down the hall from each other since Niko’s uptown apartment had burned down the previous winter in what
he described as an unfortunate wassail incident. In reality, it was most likely an electrical fire, but Niko never took anything too seriously. Q hated that he joked about the fire at all. His downstairs neighbor worked in the same office as her father and had died as a result of it. Niko had come to her for help and she put in a good word with John for him, but almost instantly regretted the decision. Every time Niko was late with rent, which was most times, John came knocking on her door. Her recommendation, her responsibility. John didn’t like being the heavy.
As usual, Niko was dressed like a Project Runway contestant. Tonight’s ensemble included some very nearly painted-on, chartreuse velour pants, that very clearly showed he was flying commando, with a yellow- and pink-striped, silk shirt open at the collar and the cuffs. His curly black hair was once again flawlessly tussled to show off a black diamond stud in each ear.
Q finished applying her lipstick and sat down on the edge of the bed to put on the tallest heels she owned. Niko looked her up and down from across the room. “I like the backless shirt and the stripper shoes, but I don’t know if jeans are going to get Urian to do you any favors.”
Without a word, Q stood up and turned her back on Niko. He let out a wolf-whistle. “Damn girl, has your ass always looked like that?”
“In these jeans, yes,” she said, mildly flattered. Niko rarely complimented anyone but himself.
“You gonna walk around backwards all night?”
“Nope, but if Urian says ‘no’, this is what he’ll see when I walk away. I’m hoping he’ll have a change of heart.”
Niko walked over and held out his arm for Q to take. “Sweetie, with a view like that, I don’t think it’s his heart that will be doing the changing.”
She rolled her eyes. From outside, a car honked its horn a couple of times. “Cab’s here. Let’s go.”
“Once more, unto the breach, dear friend,” Niko said, doing a very bad Richard Burton impression.
Fifteen minutes and one smoke-filled cab ride later, Q and Niko stepped out onto a dark alleyway on Conti Street in the French Quarter. The bar across the way was advertising an evening of ‘Chicks with Dicks, starring Boutay La Rose – one night only’ on the marquee.
She recoiled internally. She hated this side of the Quarter. Niko, on the other hand, giggled like a little girl and sing-songed, “I know where we’re going ne-ext,” while clapping his hands together and jumping up and down.
Q redirected him towards the door illuminated by a half-lit, cracked sign above their heads. A faded image of the Acropolis shown dimly against the neon pageantry on Bourbon Street. Niko walked over and opened the solid wood door. It opened onto a narrow staircase with a threadbare red runner. Like most New Orleans stairwells, this one was almost impossibly steep and barely wide enough for two people to pass. The yellow paint above the 70s-era paneling was peeling badly. A single bare light bulb lit their way. When they were halfway up, the old man on the landing came into view. He was sitting in a wood chair, smoking a cigarette, and reading an outdated copy of Time.
When they reached the top of the stairs, he said something to Niko in Greek, Niko replied back and he nodded to the door on his right. As Q was passing, the old man grabbed her arm and said in a thick accent, “You speak Greek, young lady?”
Q shook her head and he said something else to Niko in Greek. Niko sniggered and opened the door to The Athenian for her. Once they were inside, she asked, “What was that about?”
“He said your ass made him wish he wasn’t too old to fuck.”
“Lovely.”
The Athenian décor was somewhere between grandparent rumpus room and a hipster dive bar paradise. The walls were mostly exposed brick where the plaster had eroded away. A few black tables and chairs with cracking black vinyl seats were scattered around the room. Most of the ambient light in the room came from the nine windowpanes at the front that barely let in the diluted neon light from Bourbon Street. A raucous group of sailors grape-vined on faded linoleum dance floor in the center of the room.
Q and Niko headed over to the bar on the right. He ordered her vodka on the rocks and a beer for himself. She fiddled with her phone, hoping her plan would work, while she looked around for Urian. She didn’t look long.
“There’s my beautiful girl!” A heavily accented voice called out from a table in the dark back corner of the room.
She nodded to Niko and they walked over to Urian’s table. This evening’s companion was a nearly comatose blond who looked like she was barely out of high school. Urian pushed the chair across from him out from under the table with his foot.
“Sit down, lovely. It’s been too long.”
By any objective measurement, Urian Galanos was a fine-looking man: curly black hair, thick muscular arms, and dazzling blue eyes. But Q’s grandmother was right about beauty coming from the inside. Despite his physical appearance, Urian’s psychotic chewy center outshone his surface splendor.
She pulled the offered chair away from the table, turned it backwards, and straddled it. Placing her phone on the table in front of her, she wrapped both hands around her glass of vodka.
“I need you to back off my boy,” she said.
Urian grin made Q’s skin crawl. “No hello? No kiss? I’ve missed you, lovely.”
Her stomach lurched up to her throat but she tried to sound tough. “Lay off Pete, Urian.”
“Tough talk for such a beautiful girl. I’m afraid this situation isn’t negotiable. The junkie owes me money. You should be glad I didn’t break his fingers. Hard to play guitar with broken fingers,” Urian purred.
“Bass,” Q corrected.
“Who cares? He’s junkie scum, like this one.” Urian lifted the comatose blonde’s head up enough for her to loll it to one side and smile wistfully at Niko.
“Hey, I know you,” she slurred.
“No you don’t, baby,” Urian corrected like a threat.
“Yeah, I do.” The blonde straightened herself up and squinted her eyes at Q and Niko, trying to clear away some of the fuzzy softness in her altered vision. “I seen you before. Uri called you a… what d’ya call ‘em?” She nudged Urian and looked at him like he should know. “You know, you called him a…. dollarfurnise, that’s it.” She whispered loudly at Q, “I think it means fag.”
Niko smiled his bright, white as a Mediterranean beach, smile. “I see my reputation had proceeded me. Opa!”
He jumped up and grape-vined over to the sailors. Strutting in the middle of the hand-clapping circle, he squatted down, kicked out one leg, jumped up, executed a perfect three-hundred-sixty-degree turn, and began to prance around the center of the circle, blowing a kiss at each of the men. Q’s jaw dropped.
“Like she said, a fag.” Urian spat.
Q glared at Urian. “I don’t have ten grand and neither does Pete.”
“Too bad for Pete.” Urian smirked at her.
“Look, Urian, we’re playing a gig at the Cove on Lundi Gras. It pays five g’s. It’s yours; you can pick it up that night even. In fact, you can come as our guest to the party, just so as you know everything is on the up and up. But that’s all we’ve got,” Q stated.
“I told you. This isn’t open for negotiation. Pete’s late with his payment. The late fee has already been incurred. I’m running a business. There’s nothing I can do about it.” Urian shrugged and leaned in. “I tell you what, beautiful girl. Just because you look so very pretty tonight, I’ll take the five grand and give you two weeks to come up with the rest.” Urian sipped his drink without breaking eye contact. His tongue flicked serpentine over his top lip, wiping away a trace of errant moisture. “Unless you want to let me taste what’s beneath those jeans, then I’ll give you a month.”
Her stomach lurched.
This was a huge mistake.
She tried to keep the anxiety out of her voice. “Look, Urian, you can take the money Pete actually owes you in two weeks, or kill him, and get nothing but a shakedown from the NOPD when he goes missing.”
“So Pete doesn’t pay and you kill him. Is that about the look of things?”
“You have a very good understanding about how these things work, I think. I’m afraid there is only one consequence for non-payment.” Urian grinned. “Now, let’s talk about more pleasant things, beautiful girl.”
That should do it. Q smiled back and turned her cell phone over. She pressed play on the voice recorder app.
“Killing him would be an act of mercy on my part.” Urian’s voice played back all tinny from the smartphone speaker.
“You cunt,” Urian growled.
Q’s blood ran cold, and she hoped it didn’t show. “Ah, Urian, you’re such a sweet talker, we’re not going to have our first tiff, are we?”
She felt herself rallying. Leaning forward across the table, she said, “Something happens to Pete and my daddy’s golfing pals are getting a recording of you saying you’re going to kill him.”
“It’s inadmissible,” he said calmly. “I didn’t know I was being recorded.”
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m not a cop. This isn’t an interrogation. And besides, this is Louisiana. We like our judicial system to be a little more…flexible…with the rules. So, what’s it going to be? NOPD crawling up your ass? Or free food, open bar, pretty girls, and five thousand dollars in your pocket on Lundi Gras. Walk away or I’ll have to call my daddy’s golfing pals and see what they think of this situation.”
Q’s father, Henry Toledano, had been the most successful ADA New Orleans had seen in decades. His sentencing record had been one of the highest in the country. She liked to think he was responsible for finally ending New Orleans' decade-long reign as the Murder Capital of America. Clean cops loved him. Dirty ones and criminals, not so much.