Danse Macabre

by Kory M. Shrum

  “Yes,” he said and hoped his sincerity rang true. “You must be careful. The men you meet in the bars could be—”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

  “You owe me nothing,” he was quick to add, wondering if she thought he would be possessive after one kiss.

  “I’m aware,” she said.

  His brow pinched. “I’m only saying you should be careful. He could plant anyone anywhere. The men you seduce for questioning—”

  She laughed. It erupted from her in a way that made Konstantine’s heart leap into his throat by the sudden richness. “The fuck, Konstantine.”

  “What?”

  “You think I seduce men so I can question them?”

  He would have said yes. But the way she was looking at him gave him pause. He knew she tailed men, criminals, openly each night. He knew that sometimes this took her to dark bars or places where such men congregated, and that on more than one occasion, his own surveillance proved that she left these places with a man in tow.

  She never took them to her apartment overlooking the St. Louis river. But she went home with them, yes. And he knew what she did with those men once the doors were closed and the lights were off.

  “You’re not questioning them,” he said.

  “No, Konstantine,” she said, sarcasm thick. “I don’t need to fuck a man to get information. If I fuck them, it’s for the orgasm.”

  To hear the words from her own lips made his heart drop. Of course she didn’t. She tortured and killed as well as he did.

  “I don’t sleep with the men I hunt,” she added. “But sometimes, someone else might catch my eye.”

  His stomach was eating itself.

  “I would never interfere in your…wishes,” he said, realizing his error now. “But you must be careful. He will find a way to get to you when you’re…vulnerable.”

  “Through the random men I hook up with?” she asked. She looked ready to burst into laughter.

  She’s exhausted, he realized. Borderline delirious.

  “I would track the stationary people in your life. Perhaps King or that woman with the shop, or even the blonde girl who works the counter. Anyone I could find.”

  The humor left her face. At least she isn’t completely gone.

  “He doesn’t know about them. He can’t put us together.”

  Konstantine stood, moving his body within reach of hers. He searched her eyes. “You need to sleep.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “Take something.”

  She snorted.

  “If you need—”

  She bit back a laugh. “You can’t help me, Konstantine.”

  But he wanted to.

  “If you don’t go to sleep, it will find you sooner or later.”

  He raised one hand, tentatively, slowly, as if expecting her to run away. When she didn’t move back, he grasped her upper arm. A thrill ran through him to feel her body in his hand. He wished he could take that delicate ear between his lips. But he saw now was not the time nor the place. But there was no reason she shouldn’t know how he felt.

  “Unlike the boys you find,” he said. “I can accommodate the full violence of your affection.”

  For a moment she leaned toward him. His heart hammered. He thought he might have a chance to help her sleep after all.

  But then she stepped away, back into the shadows and the enveloping darkness.

  “Thanks for the warning,” she said, and was gone.

  6

  King slipped his key into the lock of 777 Royal Street and it turned. The door stuck, but with a bump of his hip, it popped open. Light from the storefront window cast shadows across the polished wood floor.

  It still smelled of lemon cleaner. Piper’s friend—a twenty-year-old woman whom she’d recommended for the once-a-week cleaning—did a great job. Even the fan overhead shone, the wooden blades gleaming with polish.

  King turned toward the window.

  The gold-letter decal covered the glass storefront, partially obstructing the view of each passersby. The words Crescent City Detective Agency lay projected on the floor.

  He adjusted the three cherry-red chairs against the wall closest to the window, which would serve as a waiting area. A table sat against the opposite wall, clean and ready for the items he bounced in the sack by his side.

  He put the grocery bag on the floor and pulled out the plastic coffee maker. Nothing fancy. But it would brew eight cups on command. He affixed the plastic lid and inserted the plastic basket. In the little drawer beneath, he put the new box of paper filters, a bag of coffee and two boxes of assorted tea.

  In the mini-fridge, which had been plugged in by the maid per his request, he put a carton of cream and a box of baking soda, which he opened and tucked into the door.

  He used the lower shelf of the cabinet for the pack of Styrofoam cups and a bag of sugar. There was a ceramic jar for the sugar, hunter green, but he would let Piper fill that later.

  Lastly was the box of plastic spoons.

  Not the best for the environment, King knew. He practically heard Lucy’s chiding voice in the back of his head, insisting that he think of the planet.

  “If we get quite a bit of foot traffic in here, I’ll get them next time. I’ll even throw in some biodegradable cups,” he told the empty room.

  After sitting at one desk, and then the other, King decided he wanted the one on the same side as the window and waiting area. Piper—or whoever else he brought in to help him do the legwork on a case—could have the desk on the same side as the door and coffee station.

  Should his little agency take off—and here he let himself dream a little dream—he supposed there was room for more desks. There was enough open space between here and the back wall without blocking any of the three doors. One door led to the bathroom. Its opposite led to a storage closet, and the third led up to an unused apartment.

  It was an apartment he’d half expected to move into. He was as aware of the dangers of this work, as Mel was, so it surprised him to hear that she wanted him to stay. He wouldn’t have left her without a tenant of course, but she wouldn’t hear it. She did, however, want to install a new alarm system and asked King to start looking for trained police dogs, maybe a retired one in need of a good home. He agreed on all counts. He only hoped they’d get the measures in place before the worst should happen.

  King wasn’t sure what to do with the extra apartment above yet. He could use it for extra storage he supposed. Or he could sublet it to help cover the costs of rent. But that was a problem for another day. Presently, he had more than enough to be getting on with.

  He sat behind his desk and put his backpack on the floor. He reclined in his chair and admired the room. The clean-for-now desks and gleaming floors. The clock hanging on the wall above the coffee maker. It was ten to nine and Piper would be here soon.

  But for now, this was his space.

  There was something pleasant about finishing the preparations. The calm before the starting shot was fired.

  King smiled, feeling the way his mouth resisted, rife with bittersweet melancholy.

  He wished Lucy was here.

  Lucy should be here.

  If Lucy hadn’t come to see him in June, would he even be here now? Or would he still be drinking his afternoons away in the French Quarter dives, listening to jazz late into the night, and spending his days catching up on this or that game while smoking weed?

  That was the retirement he’d imagined. That was the one he’d told himself he wanted when he left the DEA, putting his St. Louis home on the market and driving to New Orleans with his belongings packed into his car.

  The storage closet opened, and King was jolted out of his musings. His chair rocked back, and for a moment he thought he would topple and crack his head on the brick wall behind him.

  At the last second, he righted himself, his chair clattering loudly onto all fours.

  Lou stood opposite his desk. Her hands in
the pockets of her leather jacket. Her snug jeans tucked into black boots. Her eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses that made her look more like a patrolling state trooper than a young woman. Her dark hair had been left free, hanging past her shoulders

  “Christ. You scared me,” he exclaimed.

  Lou looked around the office, taking in the desk, the open window. “This is a nice place.”

  Pride bubbled inside him. “Thanks.”

  King was able to slow his heart enough to regain control of it. “Did you just come through the storage closet?”

  She nodded. “Is the rent high?”

  King laughed. “Yeah, the quarter isn’t cheap. But I can write the expenses off on my taxes, and I’ve got enough to fund it for at least the next twelve months. Hopefully, we can build a reputation by then.”

  “We,” she said and settled into the desk opposite him. “There are no computers.”

  “No, we’ll use our laptops, haul them in and out. We don’t want to worry about a break in and having them stolen.”

  She didn’t say anything. He wished she would take off her glasses so he could look into her eyes rather than seeing his old, wrinkled face reflected back at him.

  “Actually, I’m glad you came. I wanted to talk to you about your role here,” he said.

  She didn’t look surprised to hear this.

  “At first, mostly what we’ll do is build up cases for law enforcement agencies. Or attorneys who are trying to build cases for their clients. I’ve also got some referrals out, and an old buddy of mine is calling the NOLA PD this morning to recommend us.”

  “I’m not a detective,” she said.

  “You won’t have to handle any of the paperwork. And most of that is a cover for what I really want to do. You remember Senator Ryanson?”

  “The man who hired your ex-partner to murder and frame my father?” she asked, flatly.

  King noted that rhetorical questions meant to prepare a conversation were another way to make himself look stupid. He’d try to remember that in the future.

  “We did great on that case.” He said it as if he needed to convince her. It was true that she said she would help, but he didn’t feel her commitment to the vision yet. Partly because he was aware that she owed him nothing. She was only here because of a promise she’d made her dying aunt.

  “Political corruption is rampant,” he said. “They have too much leverage in the present system to get justice for their crimes. So, I’ll do the legwork, confirm they are guilty, and then you can give them a one-way trip to La Loon.”

  “You’re judge and jury. I’m executioner. Lucy wouldn’t approve.”

  He leaned back in his seat and scratched his jaw. In the excitement of getting the office open that morning, he’d forgotten to shave. “No. She wouldn’t. But she’ll have to forgive us.”

  “She sent me a letter.”

  “Me too. And some VHS tapes that I’m supposed to give to you. I want to check that they’re authentic before I hand them over.”

  Lou shifted uncomfortably. “What did the letter say?”

  He didn’t want to recount the affirmations of eternal love. He cleared his throat. “Mostly information of how she wanted her estate handled and instructions to give you the tapes once I make sure they weren’t tampered with. What did yours say?”

  “She wants me to meet someone.”

  “That’s vague.”

  “A woman,” Lou said. “Who knows about me.”

  “Oh,” King said because he had no idea what the proper response was. “Are you okay?” He realized for the first time she seemed subdued today. “Everything been okay with you?”

  Nothing.

  “I haven’t seen you in three months,” he said by way of explanation, again feeling like he had no right to ask about her life. “You disappeared like that after Ryanson, too. Is that what you do? Make a big kill then lay low for three months? Is it, uh, part of your process or something?”

  She hadn’t been lying low. He didn’t need her to say so. He saw the split skin on the back of her knuckles. And realized the slump in her shoulders might very well be exhaustion. But who was she hunting now? More crime lords like Paolo Konstantine?

  “If you’re worried I won’t show up when you need me to—” she began.

  “I’m not worried,” he said, holding his palms up in surrender. “You’ve always been there when I needed you.”

  How could he say otherwise? She was the one who’d gotten him to the hospital when he’d been shot in the back. She was the one who swooped in and saved Lucy when she’d collapsed. Lou had an uncanny ability of being exactly where she was needed.

  She pushed herself off the desk. “Who are you targeting first?”

  “There’s a mayor from California, Richard Sikes. I think he’s in deep with a sex trafficking ring. Modern-day slavery. I’m going to do some checking up on him, find out if he really is helping to smuggle people in and out of LA and then I’ll let you know.”

  “And you’re also going to run cases for the DEA?” she asked.

  King grinned. “I get bored easily.”

  She crossed to the window and looked out, watching people wander up and down Royal Street.

  “There’s a Russian mob boss looking for me. Dmitri Petrov. Keep your eyes open.”

  King frowned. “You think he’s going to come here?”

  “If they figure out my name, then they can find Lucy.”

  “Lucy is dead.” Saying it was like a punch to his gut.

  “But you’re connected to her. And I’d follow that connection.”

  King understood what she meant. “I’ll keep my eyes open for anyone new.”

  7

  The darkness thinned around her, offering Lou safe passage. She slipped from one side of the world to another, pausing in the dark so the world could reform around her. And then there was light seeping through a crack between door and jamb. This room was much bigger than her converted linen closet, but that’s all she noted at a cursory glance.

  She eased open the door as a train of waiters with silver platters rushed by. The smell of meat, rich cream, and spices wafted in.

  She must be in a restaurant, and a high-end one by the look of the waiters’ attire. There would be no seizing and killing King’s suspect politician here. But she could get close. Size him up. Take his measure. And then perhaps when he went to the restroom, an opportunity would present itself. She loved it when they went to the restroom.

  A female waiter approached from the dining room, an empty tray tucked under her arm. Lou watched her get closer and closer through the slight crack in the door. Then as she was passing, Lou threw open the door and grabbed her. She made sure to clamp her hand hard over the woman’s mouth so no cry would ring out when she pulled her into the dark.

  Lou considered her options for rendering the server unconscious. Striking her seemed unfair. She’d done nothing wrong. Lou decided on a sleeper hold. It caused the woman to struggle more, writhing against the side of Lou’s body. Her elbow connected with Lou’s ribs. A nail scratched her cheek as she reached behind, trying to find Lou’s eyes.

  Play nice, Lou thought. Or I will kill you after all.

  As if you could, came the cruel voice again.

  Don’t leave her unconscious and naked in a broom closet, her father warned. What if someone found her?

  Her father, though dead, was usually right about these things. Not to mention he was much easier to listen to than her newest voice—that unforgiving critic. Lou did have a place she could hide an unconscious waitress for twenty minutes or so.

  Taking a step back into deeper shadows, Lou slipped through the dark again. The smell of food and the clink of dishes was replaced by cold silence. The kind of silence that prevailed in winter. Desolate and never-ending.

  Lou’s boots scuffed the bare floor of the metal shipping container. She was pleased to see it was still there, unmolested and forgotten. Of course, she only knew it was in Siberia s
omewhere. It could be an abandoned warehouse full of them for all she knew. She’d never seen the outside. Only this eternally dark inner chamber.

  Of course, this was not the same one where she’d dumped Chaz Brasso, King’s traitorous ex-partner. She owed the girl that much courtesy at least.

  The girl had stopped writhing in the crook of Lou’s elbow.

  Gently, Lou lay her on the floor and checked her pulse. It beat strong.

  Lou wasted no time in undressing her. Stripping her of all but her underwear and shoes. She worried the girl might get cold in here, but hoped she wouldn’t be gone long enough for that to be an issue. Still, Lou left her own t-shirt and pants, both draped over her sleeping body, before redressing herself.

  The pants were too tight in the thighs and the shirt too loose in the chest. But they would do.

  Then Lou slipped, finding herself in the restaurant once more. Here, it wasn’t pitch black like the shipping container. Here at least, Lou could find the small plastic buttons on her shirt and the black vest. Here she could see enough to know she’d missed a corner of shirt and tucked it neatly into her pants.

  She bent and picked up the tray and stepped out into the hallway.

  She saw a smudge of rust on the pristine white arm of the shirt and hoped that was the only place the fabric had come into contact with the old shipping container. She brushed at the cotton gently, and some of the red dust fell away. Most began to smear.

  Pushing open the swinging silver door, Lou stepped into the hallway. She followed it to the end of the hallway and entered the restaurant, only to find it wasn’t a restaurant exactly.

  If she had to guess, she was in a country club. This room of the club had been set up for dinner, obvious with its round tables and white linens, lit centerpieces and low music.

  Her eyes swept the room, looking for Sikes. She found him at a table with two other men, and a woman on his arm. Her dress sparkled like the centerpieces. Her eyes were thickly lined with eyeliner and her lips were the color of blood.

  Lou circled. She weaved through the tables, pretending to inspect plates and water glasses as if she cared, all the while getting closer and closer to Sikes. Until she was right behind him, practically breathing down the back of his hairy neck. His hair held gray throughout. And the top of his hair was thinning to the point that Lou could see the gleaming flesh beneath, bright with scalp oil in the overhead light.