City of Secrets

by O'Neil De Noux

  “So this is Lakeview?”

  “No. West End.” Beau nods to his left at the burned out Southern Yacht Club, its black hulk visible under the bright moonlight, the glimmering lake beyond.

  “Burned right after Katrina. No fire engines. It was a huge, pretty place.”

  Fel turns right and heads over to Pontchartrain Boulevard. Beau points to his left. “That’s Lakeview over there. Residential mostly.”

  Linda’s not in shorts tonight. The pockets of her tactical pants bulge – ordinance most likely. Her lips are dark red again and pursed in anticipation as she looks at the ravaged homes on their right now. The wide neutral ground on their left is stacked with debris. Someone’s started bulldozing it into piles.

  “All these houses …”

  “Flooded out,” Beau ends the sentence. “Over eighty percent of the city.”

  “Thank goodness the French Quarter didn’t flood. Fel tells me we lose the Quarter, this city’s gone.”

  Beau slows for an orange tabby darting across the road. Good. More cats, less rodents.

  “I don’t know about that. This city’s tougher than anyone thinks. It can’t be destroyed, not by fire, invasion, hurricanes. It’s an eternal city, like Rome.” Beau glances at her and she’s watching him. “People get drunk just on the idea of New Orleans. Drawn like moths to a flame. Hell, I was drawn here from the swamps off Vermilion Bay.” Beau chuckles. “To a Cajun, this is our Paris. It’s a city of dreams. City of ghosts.”

  Linda nods almost imperceptively.

  “It’s the only city in America where you supposed to feel good.”

  So he gives her a tour, as much as he can, as they access I-10 to cruise between the great cemeteries, through town on their way to the Lower Garden District and Coliseum Square.

  •

  Carlos Gonzales lies on the sofa while Terez applies antiseptic to the cut beneath his eye, then re-applies a new bandage. The rest of the Brown Ravens are crowded into the long living room.

  “You got the cars stashed?” Carlos growls at Ace.

  “Yeah. Three garages nobody’s using.”

  “Far?”

  “All two blocks from here.”

  Terez pokes Carlos in the ribs. “Quit movin’!”

  He glares at her. The bitch is gettin’ uppity. They all are. He’s losing control. All because of this mother-fuckin’ cop. Dillard paces beyond the small coffee table, drinks straight from a bottle of Wild Turkey. The others drink beer. The man comes all this way, ready to set up with them, then has to help dump his cousin’s body into the Mississippi. The strong current pulling it away before the cinderblocks tied to the body can drag it down.

  “We need a plan,” Dillard snarls. “Bushwhack this fuckin’ cop.”

  Terez is finished and Carlos stands, leaves his beer on the end table and moves to the front door to command the room.

  “After the deal tonight. We stock up on food and tomorrow night we stake out the airport with all the cars. Bring all the machine guns. We gonna shoot him up on sight.”

  Axel, always the antsy type, nods to Bubba, then Billy, telling them it’s time.

  “Ace, go along with them.” Carlos snarls.

  Axel shakes his head. “These white boys are jumpy. They see a black face and think Ace is a gang-banger.”

  “I don’t give a fuck!”

  Axel steps close to Carlos, lowers his voice. “These are new people for us. Street people. You wanna go out and deal on the streets?”

  Bubba and Billy follow Axel out.

  Ace needs to wait for Carlos to calm down. When Axel gets back with the money, Carlos will feel better, then he can remind his leader ambushing the goddamn cop at the airport is a suicide mission. The airport’s fulla cops and army troops. Maybe they can ambush the cop on Airline Highway or the Interstate, depending on which way he goes. Maybe. But not at the fuckin’ airport.

  Even Axel is surprised how easy the deal goes. He pulls the dark blue pickup they’d just boosted into the parking lot of a defunct warehouse off Orange Street, a block from the river. The parking lot is hidden from view by brick walls left over from a building torn down long ago. Two white men pull up in a gray, four-door Pontiac, the driver about forty wearing a dress shirt, blue tie and black pants. Young man wears a baseball jersey, stays in the car. The older man takes a gym bag out of the trunk and puts the backpack from Axel in the trunk, opens it, checks it out, his back to them. He’s the trusting sort. Confident. Axel likes that. Smooth.

  He’s got Bubba out with him, Billy still in the Humvee with an AK-47 across his lap.

  In the gym bag, he finds ten stacks of used bills, each wrapped in a rubber band, each with one hundred twenties. Twenty K.

  “You some kinda business man?” Bubba asks. The fool isn’t supposed to talk.

  “Yeah.” The older man points to the backpack with the coke and crack. “This is my business. But if the cops pull me over, I’m a mild-mannered accountant on my way home with my nephew.”

  Axel pulls away and the Pontiac follows, turning in the opposite direction. The young man in the Pontiac sinks a little in the seat, he’s so relieved. He slips the nine-millimeter Ruger into the glove compartment. He’s never fired a gun in his life. The older man smiles at his nephew and begins to whistle.

  He doesn’t realize but stopping at the saw horses with the stop signs nailed to them, instead of breezing around them, in the unlikely event a police car is around, he’s delayed arriving at Coliseum Square where John Raven Beau, Linda Pickett, Felicity Jones and John Doherty enter a three story apartment house via the front door facing the square and rear side door facing Euterpe Street. Both doors hang half off their hinges.

  The place is dark and their flashlights send long, bright beams into the rooms as they search all three floors of the place. Once a mansion overlooking the narrow, public park running along the riverside of Coliseum Street, the park only one block wide, down to Camp Street, the place has been turned into apartments. There are sofas in a couple of the rooms, mattresses on the floor of two, but this building hasn’t been used for a while.

  The go back out to the front gallery.

  “Most of these buildings have been gentrified,” Felicity explains. “White folk buying them cheap and fixing them up, but this ain’t one.”

  “Who gave you the tip on this?”

  “Informant says they keep their stash here.”

  “The floor looked awfully dusty,” Linda injects.

  “Godammit!” Beau slaps the rail of the raised gallery.

  “What?”

  “Two men sitting on benches when we went in.” Beau nods across the street. “Long gone. They don’t keep stash here. They deal here and we just got made.”

  Beau picks up a scent of smoke, looks back inside the place. No not there. He steps off the porch, goes through a wrought iron gate and looks up Coliseum, then down and the scent is stronger and he sees smoke rising into the night sky.

  “Fire!” He heads to the Escalade, the others scrambling behind.

  Three blocks down Coliseum, an old neighborhood movie house at the corner is ablaze, fire surging through the top. A couple stands across Thalia Street watching helplessly.

  Beau goes up to them asks if they’d seen anyone. “Anyone inside?”

  Felicity and Doherty go to check out the house next door, get the occupants out in case the fire spreads. A middle-aged man next to Beau talks on his cell phone. He’s got one that actually works, tells Beau the fire department’s coming.

  “From the airport.”

  This is the Coliseum Theatre, façade facing the corner, a tall marquee wraps around the corner of the building with raised lettering, vintage letters announcing – C O L I S E U M. The detached ticket booth stands near the street. A crowd gathers around the couple. Tears rolled down the man’s cheeks.

  “Oh, God,” the man says.

  “I’m scared.” The woman wraps her arm around the man’s waist.

  The fire
grows, a tall column of dark gray smoke rising high. An older man rushes up. He’s in a robe. He stops, looks at the fire, bends over as if to vomit. He can’t seem to and stands and backs up against the fence of a house and leans against it. He’s got to be in his late sixties.

  “You OK?”

  “I’m one of the owners.” He shakes his head, wipes tears from his eyes. His shoulders sink as he looks at the burning theatre.

  “We had it nearly back. Remolding before the storm. Only got water in it for a couple weeks.” His red eyes bat as he watches the place burn.

  “Anybody inside?” Beau asks.

  The man shakes his head. “Boarded up. Tight. No hooligans could get in.”

  There’s no wind so the smoke rises straight and the buildings around it are spared, so far. Linda, Fel and Doherty join Beau, Linda right next to him.

  The owner stares glassy-eyed at the old theatre. “Built in 1915. As a kid I saw all four James Dean movies here. First run. Saw Godzilla here. The good one with Raymond Burr, 1954. Saw Journey to the Center of the Earth with James Mason.” The man starts crying.

  The couple comes around Beau, the woman taking the old man’s hand. He doesn’t seem to notice. The crowd’s getting larger, mostly older people, but some young couples. Stubborn people living without electricity.

  “Didn’t they make a movie here?” a woman asks aloud.

  “Interview With a Vampire,” another answers.

  Linda nods. “Brad Pitt comes out of here and finds Tom Cruise in a house nearby.”

  Beau steps into the street and walks up and down in front of the crowd, looking for the men from the square. No luck. At the end of the line a man in a white shirt and tie sees the badge and gun and seems to blanch.

  “Anyone hurt officer?”

  There’s a young man in a Yankees baseball shirt with him.

  Beau shakes his head, moves away, feels a tingle on his neck and looks at the burning building as a flaming board tumbles from the roof and falls to Coliseum Street. Felicity starts hustling people away, Doherty helps move them up the street. Beau looks for the man in the shirt and tie but he and the Yankees fan are gone. Must have gone up Coliseum. He moves to the corner but doesn’t see them. That tingle wasn’t for the fire. There was something about the way the man blanched when he realized Beau was a cop.

  He goes and stands with Linda. By the time the first fire engine arrives, a Jefferson Parish engine, the building is completely ablaze and everyone has to move farther away. The fire fighters turn their hoses with the water carried in the engines on the house next to the theatre and everyone watches the old Coliseum movie house burn down.

  •

  The scent of smoke lingers in Beau’s nostrils as he gets out at the marina and stretches. The strong morning sun hurts his eyes and he’s damn tired again. Probably from riding with Linda all night. On edge with her there. Doing his job, stopped eleven vehicles, mostly pickups. But it’s more than that. The natural excitement of a man and a woman attracted to one another, neither wanting to make that first move. He laughs at himself. He’d say something like ‘this isn’t high school’ if he’d had girlfriends in high school. John Raven Beau, star quarterback, swamp rat. No money, car, no dates.

  It seems silly now, but those long, lonely nights up in his bedroom tore him up inside. But that was long ago and that daubed house his grandfather built, cypress walls filled with swamp mud, is gone now. Hurricane Rita washed it away as well as his home town. The village of Cannes Bruleé is gone, Holy Ghost High a desolated brick and mortar shell.

  There is something clicking with him and Linda. They both know it. There was a moment there, back at the airport when she came and stood next to him while he was refilling the Escalade at the airport, the sun creeping over the horizon. She leaned her back against the SUV, closed her eyes her chin raised, those lips pursed. He started to lean over to kiss her when Aligood and Garcia came rushing up to tell them Avery took them out last night since the general and colonel went to Baton Rouge.

  “We sneaked out looking to link up with you last night. Couldn’t find you. You should carry our radio.”

  Yeah. Beau forgot it in Sad Lisa.

  “Tonight, we’ll be at the marina at 1800 hours,” Avery says.

  Garcia’s face lights up. “Action!”

  “That’s eight p.m.?”

  “Six!” Aligood’s eyes go all owly.

  Beau laughs. “I know.”

  The guardsmen hurry off.

  Linda is still there, eyes open now and the moment is gone. He won’t let it slip away again.

  “You comin’ tonight?”

  “I’ll try. I don’t run the show.”

  Her eyes pull at him and he puts a hand on her waist, draws her to him and kisses her. Her hands move around his neck and her tongue finds his. It is a brief kiss, but not brief enough. Six firemen, a half dozen cops, and some EMTs applaud when the kiss ends. Linda takes a bow and moves away. Beau climbs into the Escalade, gingerly, thankfully his tactical pants aren’t too tight.

  As he approaches Sad Lisa, he sees a figure sitting on his houseboat. Ann, wearing a tee-shirt and shorts, sits on a deck chair as the early morning breeze off the lake is almost cool and ruffles her hair. She nods at him, points to a covered dish on the table.

  “You ate supper?”

  “At the airport.”

  “Put this in your fridge. Stu’s asleep. I’m bored.” Her eyes light up and she giggles. “Not for you, you big lug. I came to see Stella.”

  Ann has no make-up, doesn’t really need it. That smile is enough.

  She tells him Stu has to be up early now as he works breakfast and lunch. Nice having him home for supper. Beau moves to the side of the houseboat, tosses the rest of the ice and cold water from the ice chest into the water, props the chest open to dry.

  Stella sits up in the center of the room, big eyes looking at him for a moment before she darts under the sofa.

  “She’ll come in a minute.”

  Ann slips the covered dish into the fridge, tells him there’s two breaded pork chops and dirty rice

  “Where you getting all the meat?”

  “Airport. They’re giving it away. Helps when I wear a miniskirt and bend over. They gave me a couple cases of Budweiser. Companies are pouring stuff into the city.” She lifts her foot, shows her new pair of white sneakers. “Sketchers sent a truckload from California. Got Stu a pair. What size are you?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Jesus. You know it’s a myth. Big feet meaning a big dick.”

  Beau laughs. “I don’t notice dicks.”

  “You notice yours.”

  “It’s not the length that counts, is it? It’s the width.”

  “So long as it isn’t two inches long.”

  Beau puts his tactical bag at the foot of the loft stairs, sits on the sofa and reaches his left hand down, calls Stella.

  “You’re still working aren’t you?”

  “Part time but I’m making more money now. Stu makes good money.”

  Stella bats at Beau’s finger. No claws. Then she nuzzles his hand and he slides her out and puts her in his laps to tickle her belly. She makes squeaky sounds and nibbles his fingers, her paws flailing. Ann sits next to him.

  “God, she’s so cute.”

  He passes Stella to Ann and the kitten hisses. Ann bops her on the nose and pets her, rubbing her nose against the kitten’s. “I’m letting her mark me.”

  “What?”

  “When a cat rubs its muzzle against you, it’s marking you. They have scent glands there. I want her to smell herself on me.” Ann runs her fingers along Stella’s snout. “You keeping her litter box fresh?”

  “Yep.”

  “Fresh water?”

  “Yep.”

  “She sleep with you yet?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. You’re little girlfriend is very cute.” Ann puts Stella on the sofa and raises a hand and Stella leaps at it and wr
estles it.

  “I don’t usually like women with badges.” Beau heads to Stella’s food dish, which his empty.

  “I’m not talking about her. I’m talking about that little Spanish number.”

  Beau’s head whips around. “What?”

  “Donna Elena. I forgot her last name. She has the biggest dark brown eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  Beau hurries to fill the kitten’s dish before he forgets, comes back, sits in the easy chair across from the sofa, waits for Ann to look at him.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She was here last night, snooping around the dock so I asked who she was looking for. Scared the shit outta her. She started to run off, but saw it was just me. Said she was looking for the Cochise Lone Ranger. Has to be you.”

  Beau leans back, the hair on his neck tingling. Has to be the girl from the warehouse.

  “That’s all she said?”

  “Oh, she left a note. It’s in the pocket of my other shorts.”

  Beau gets up.

  “Now?” Ann asks.

  “Now.”

  It’s on a sheet of yellow paper with lines, printed in pencil, neat penmanship – “Asked around the Quarter. They all heard of you. Some don’t believe you’re real. National Guard told me where you live. If I found you, the others can too.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “Walked off, but she’s coming back tonight. Did I do something wrong?”

  “You and Stu gotta go. I’m taking you to the airport. You can’t stay here. If they come for me, they’ll shoot up the place.”

  “Now.”

  “Let’s wake up Stu.”

  Stu doesn’t want to go. Beau’s too tired to argue.

  “OK. But you gotta move Kate’s Delight. Put her next to the warehouse, behind that big boat at the end.”

  Shit. No sleep now.

  On his way back to the airport he thinks of where he can move Sad Lisa. He can stash the Escalade in the half empty parking garage of the high rise Lake Marina Tower, across the street from the marina. The gate was blown off and no one’s in the tower. Lot of cars left on the second, third and fourth parking levels. High, away from the water.