Danse Macabre

by Kory M. Shrum

  With a clean warm rag, he wiped her face and neck of blood. Her wounds cleaned, he marveled at her countless crisscrossed scars. How much hot gunmetal had grazed this flesh before?

  His phone rang. She didn’t even stir.

  He stopped and pulled the cell phone from his pocket.

  It wasn’t his personal line. The one where his closest, most reliable men could reach him if there was a problem.

  It was the business line.

  “Konstantine,” he said, staring down at the sleeping woman, the rag cooling in his left hand.

  “I thought she was simply good at what she does.”

  Konstantine knew the Russian accent, of course. But as much as he disliked the voice and the man to whom it belonged, he was glad he’d called.

  “But she is a savage. She is…she is like the Baba Yaga from our fairytales.”

  Konstantine didn’t think Louie was anything like a cannibalistic witch who ate children. But he said nothing.

  “Or Kali perhaps,” Petrov said. “The goddess of destruction. A fiend dancing on the bones of her enemies. Truly. There is something about her…her presence that invokes old archetypes. She is more than a woman, isn’t she?”

  “You’ve seen her?” Konstantine asked, hoping to sound curious.

  “She killed a dozen of my men and then dumped my most prized man, Roman, at my feet. He was carved up. It doesn’t matter. She is worth one hundred of him, isn’t she?”

  Konstantine considered how to answer now. He could keep pretending, keep playing Petrov’s game. Or he could push the truth to the surface, though it may escalate the situation exponentially.

  He followed each scenario in his mind as far as he could take them, while silence stretched out on the phone.

  “Are you still there?”

  Konstantine looked to the woman sleeping in his bed, her body a map of scars and gauze.

  Luck favors the bold. Or at least, it seemed to certainly favor Lou. And wasn’t it her safety that he feared for?

  Konstantine took a chance. “We both know you aren’t looking to hire her, Mr. Petrov.”

  “When I met you—” the other man began, ready to defend the lie.

  “I know what you said when we met,” Konstantine replied, shifting nervously. He was glad the other man could not see it. “But since that introduction in the gallery, I’ve done a bit of research. I know about Alexei.”

  The silence thickened.

  “She killed your son two months ago,” Konstantine said, pressing harder. “I find it hard to believe that you’d want to hire a woman who murdered your son.”

  Dawn began to purple behind his curtain. Konstantine crossed to the window and pulled back the thick drapes to reveal the Arno River. Its smooth flow sparkled in first light. Docile today, so unlike the tremor in his chest.

  He wasn’t afraid for himself. He was afraid for Louie.

  When Petrov finally spoke, his voice was distant, almost dreamy. “I sent him to the warehouse that night. I shouldn’t have sent him. He didn’t want to go.”

  “I am sorry for your loss,” Konstantine said, and he did mean this. He couldn’t imagine what it was to lose a son. The loss of Padre Leo had hurt him almost as much as the loss of his mother. Konstantine knew that men, even men like Petrov, could be wounded by such blows.

  “You understand I have unfinished business with her,” Petrov said.

  “I do. But if you want to enjoy a long life, amico mio, I would leave her be.”

  “I don’t believe I can,” Petrov said, finally. “I really don’t think I can.”

  12

  Piper counted out the drawer, wrote the totals on the end-of-day slip and bagged all the cash in the plastic pouch. The new girl swept the floors and stopped to turn a few crooked candles so that their labels faced outward.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Piper said, knowing the girl got off hours ago and Mel wouldn’t pay her for the time she put in off the clock.

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “It means we’ll get out of here faster, right?”

  Piper couldn’t argue with that.

  After locking the register and putting the money in the safe located at the back of the storage closet, Piper locked the shop and stepped out onto the street.

  Dani bounced on the balls of her feet, her face both hopeful and nervous. “So, where to?”

  “Henry has a performance at the Wild Cat. I told him we’d meet him there.”

  “Cool. Can we walk? I have a car but I don’t like to drive it if I don’t have to. Parking.”

  “Yeah.” Piper pointed in the direction of Bourbon Street. “It’s this way.”

  She took the lead, and Dani fell into step beside her. She didn’t miss the way the girl scooted in close as they walked, probably under the pretense of seeking warmth. The wind was brutal tonight.

  Piper cupped her mouth with her hands and blew hot air onto her icy skin. “It’s not much farther.”

  “Good,” the girl said, teeth chattering. “I don’t want to be a popsicle when I get there.”

  She let out a nervous laugh.

  “So, where are you from?” Piper asked, weaving around a group of drunks clotting the sidewalk.

  “Baton Rouge.”

  “Oh, I’ve been there. It’s nice. You have family there?”

  “Yep.”

  Piper let this line of inquiry drop. She knew information dodging when she heard it. Wasn’t she an expert herself? How often did she deflect questions about her home life, her parents? Hell, even relationships.

  “So, Henry has two boyfriends?” Dani asked with a shy smile.

  Piper laughed. “Yeah, but it isn’t a secret. They’re all consenting. I should’ve mentioned we’re going to a gay bar though, in case you’re—”

  “No, no,” Dani said, with a frantic little wave. “It’s cool.”

  Piper waited for the usual response. I have a cousin who is a gay. Or I’ve always wondered what it was like to kiss a girl. Or sometimes I had a girlfriend in college.

  This was where sexually flexible women often made their interest known. Dani had the look about her. The way she kept watching Piper in the corner of her eye.

  But hooking up with the new girl was problematic for a lot of reasons, not the least of which to consider was Mel. If this soured and the girl used it as an excuse to bail, Mel would blame her for being short-handed.

  You don’t shit where you eat, she’d say, undoubtedly in a self-righteous tone. And Piper wouldn’t know how to respond because she’d never understood that metaphor to begin with.

  The Wild Cat with its bright flashing sign appeared ahead. A drag queen in six-inch heels and enough sequins to light up the night offered Piper a purple flyer.

  “Hey P,” came the gruff voice.

  “Hey,” she said. “Where’s Henry?”

  “I just sent him back to the dressing room. Yasmine is doing his makeup.”

  “He can do his own makeup,” Piper said, reading the flyer at a glance. Half off Hurricanes and $1 shots until midnight.

  Dominique roared. “You know he’s angling for the D, honey.”

  “Aren’t we all,” Dani said, wedging herself into the conversation. Both Piper and Dominique spared her a glance before roaring with laughter.

  “Good luck finding some in here, shorty.” Dominique waved them through the dark door. “This isn’t the sausage party you’re looking for.”

  Dani latched onto Piper’s arm as they stepped into the darkness, holding on as they moved into the technicolor light show consuming all.

  The music wasn’t too loud yet, which was good, but when the drag show started in twenty minutes, it would be impossible to hear anything.

  Bodies pressed in from all directions. Glitter sparked in the twirling lights. And snippets of conversation reached them as they pushed through. It helped that Piper was tall enough to hold her ground, cutting a path to the bar. But Dani was at least three inches shorter.

  Pip
er pulled her forward, putting Dani between her and the bar. “Here. You won’t catch an elbow to the face.”

  “Thanks. I feel like every time I go to the bar, I leave with beer spilled in my hair and trampled feet.”

  “Baton Rouge has good bars?”

  Dani nodded as she motioned for the bartender. “They do. I don’t like to admit it, but I drank away most of my problems.”

  “Oh.” Piper looked around the room. “If you want to go somewhere else—”

  “I’m not an alcoholic. I mean, that’s what an alcoholic would say, isn’t it? I guess I should say that I’m not in AA or anything. I found other ways to deal with…my problems.”

  Again Piper felt that press of the unspoken between them. A conversation on the verge of happening. But Dani didn’t divulge and Piper had been the listening ears for countless women. She knew when to keep her mouth shut.

  “What was the special on the flyer?” Dani asked. “I need to be cheap until I get my first paycheck.”

  “I’ll get your drink,” Piper said. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Even though she knew damned well that she should be counting her pennies, too. But she wanted to buy Dani’s drink for the same reason she’d given that homeless guy—the man King had sent her to deliver socks and a blanket to—the two fives from her pocket.

  Something inside her compelled her to do these things even when she knew she shouldn’t. Even when she knew that the last thing she should do was shoot herself in the foot for the sake of another person—she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  The bartender, Tyler, spotted Piper first. His eyebrows wagged conspiratorially as he saw her arms on either side of Dani. “Pipes! Where you been?”

  “Working,” Piper said.

  “Right!” he said, reaching for the Johnny Walker on the shelf and pouring three shots. “You’re a big shot detective now.”

  “A detective!” Dani said, half turning. “Seriously?”

  Piper flashed Tyler a look. “Henry’s been running his mouth, I see.”

  “Only when he doesn’t have something in it, honey,” Tyler said with a wink. “So is it true? Are you working for that detective or not?”

  She didn’t want to talk about this in front of Dani. She didn’t want to talk about it in an open bar at all. It wasn’t only the way it smacked of unprofessionalism, or the way the hair on the back of her neck seemed to stand up, a cold panic rising at the thought someone might hear. Not just someone but the wrong someone.

  Hadn’t King only sent her to warn Mel that some shady Russian might be hanging around, sending in spies, looking for ways to get the drop on them like King’s traitorous ex-partner had?

  She had to be smart. Careful. More importantly, she had to prove to King she wasn’t a fuckup.

  But it was also the acute awareness that this was serious fucking business. Unlike fortune telling and counseling depressed girls behind a purple curtain about their jagoff boyfriends—this was life or death.

  She’d seen the scars on Lou’s arms and the blood dried on her cheeks. Lou would never be the kind of woman to kill and tell.

  And that made Piper want to be the sort of woman who wouldn’t either.

  “Honestly, I’m nothing more than a glorified errand girl,” Piper said, turning the shot glass. “It’s not like he tells me anything about the cases.”

  She shrugged, hoping to sell the indifference.

  You need something more, she thought. Really sell it.

  She added, “But it pays damn well to pick up his coffee filters and shit.” With a laugh, she clinked her shot glass against the bartender’s. In unison, they threw back the shots, grimacing.

  Dani took her shot as an afterthought.

  “One more,” Piper said, throwing a $10 on the bartop.

  He poured three more shots and pushed one toward Dani. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

  “I just moved here. Like yesterday actually. I’m Dani,” she said.

  “And you found Pipes. She’s the best French Quarter tour guide. Where are you staying?”

  “I’m subletting a place,” she said, picking up her second shot and sniffing it. She wrinkled her nose in a way that made Piper’s stomach drop. “Some Tulane kid didn’t come back this semester and needed someone to pay the rent. I hope to find something better by July when the lease is up.”

  Tyler winked at Piper again. “Maybe you’ll find yourself a nice lesbian to move in with. I hear they have U-Hauls on speed dial.”

  Piper shot him a death glare.

  Dani laughed and threw back her second shot. “Where’s the bathroom in this place?”

  Both Piper and the bartender pointed toward the back of the bar, past the stage.

  As soon as Dani was out of earshot, Piper leaned over the bar. “Dude, what the hell?”

  “Come on, she’s hot and clearly in the mood. And Valerie isn’t here tonight. Or Claudia. Or any of the other girls I’ve seen you with.”

  “I just met this girl. And we work together.”

  “At the detective agency?”

  “No, Mel’s place.”

  “Right, right.”

  “So she’s off limits.”

  Tyler poured another shot and pushed it across the bar. Piper fished out another $10.

  He waved her off. “On the house.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll need the fortitude for not sleeping with the hottest girl I’ve ever seen. And an ‘off-limits’ one at that.” He laughed and clinked the glasses together. “Good luck, my friend.”

  Piper hovered with the shot by her lips. “Wait, how is more alcohol supposed to fortify me?”

  “Right.” He pretended to reach for the shot as if to take it back.

  Piper threw it back with a mischievous grin. “In case you’re right.”

  * * *

  Dani pulled her phone from her pocket as she waited in line for the bathroom. She opened the unread text message that had buzzed when she’d stood at the bar.

  Anything? Even her boss’s texts seemed demanding.

  No visual confirmation yet. But she’ll show. Just a matter of time.

  Get a pic for confirmation.

  Will do.

  Don’t fuck this up.

  Her face warmed. Asshole.

  I won’t.

  She waited for several moments to make sure that Clyde was through harassing her. When nothing else pinged, she deleted the thread and slipped the locked phone back into her pocket.

  No visual confirmation yet. That had been true enough. But she wondered why she’d held onto her new theory. Why not tell Clyde?

  I think the woman you’re looking for is Louie Thorne. The Louie Thorne.

  What would Clyde have said if she’d told him? She hadn’t seen Lou with her own eyes, but she was willing to bet all her considerable inheritance that the age progression photo was going to match.

  What had Clyde told her when he’d given her this job?

  There’s a girl, a little older than you, who is the witness in a big court case. But she bailed before they could get her testimony. The cops are going to pay us big if we can find out this girl’s name, address, anything. But we have to be quick about it. We aren’t the only ones they’ve made an offer to.

  Why don’t they have her name?

  They’ve only got her face on some security footage. And that’s when Clyde had given Dani the photographs now resting in a manila folder on her bed. She was there and they want her eyewitness testimony.

  Why me? Dani had asked. She was flattered that her boss would trust her with this, but also suspicious. If it was such a big case, he’d certainly want the credit himself.

  She’s your age, maybe a bit older. She’ll talk to you. If she sees me, she’ll take off running.

  It made sense at the time. But Dani couldn’t help but feel like Clyde might backstab her. Maybe he would swoop in at the last moment and steal her glory. No, not her glory, her story. Even no
w, Dani was busy constructing theories about the mysterious woman.

  Had Lou been lying low all her life? Then by pure chance, she witnessed another crime, and fearing exposure, had taken off to protect herself?

  None of her theories felt quite right.

  She thought of the other names she’d written down after spending the day reading every article about Jack Thorne’s murder and exoneration that she could find.

  Senator Greg Ryanson

  Chaz Brasso

  Robert King

  Jack Thorne

  The Martinelli Family

  These men seemed connected in a web somehow, with Lou Thorne at its center. Dani just needed to make the connection, and the story—the truth—would emerge.

  An email pinged on her phone. She opened it as she inched closer to the bathroom, two women passing her on their way out.

  Ms. Allendale,

  * * *

  Please find the articles you’ve requested attached. Thank you.

  * * *

  Jennifer Milton

  St. Louis Public Library

  Dani’s heart knocked wildly in her chest as she opened the first attachment and scanned the article. Then her eyes froze on what she was looking for. Sergeant Robert King pictured above with partner, Chaz Brasso.

  She stared at the grainy black and white images and tried to steady her breath.

  King was Brasso’s partner. That was one connection made. If Brasso betrayed Jack, does that mean King also betrayed him? Did Lou know that? The way she walked beside the detective in her photographs, Dani didn’t think so. They didn’t look like enemies. Dani was no expert on body language, but she was pretty good.

  But who knew what was hidden under all that leather and those mirrored shades as they passed the infamous Café du Monde.

  Or maybe Brasso had betrayed them both—King and Thorne. Was that the connection? Were they brought together by their hatred of the same man?

  Dani stepped forward and bumped into the back of the woman in front of her, mistaking movement in the line.