Penumbra (The Midnight Society #2)

by Logan Patricks

  “Sorry, and you are…?” Beau asked.

  Lincoln smiled. “Jesse,” he replied. “Jesse Sparrow. I believe you have something that belongs to my boss. He’d like it back.”

  “Well Jesse Sparrow,” Beau said, turning the gun towards him. “I can’t say I know who your boss is, nor what possessions of mine your boss thinks are rightfully his.” He raised his trumpet. “I’m just a simple man who enjoys tooting his horn.”

  Beau had lost all interest in me. It was the perfect opportunity to try and gain the upper hand.

  I drew my gun from behind my back and pointed it straight at Beau. I made sure that the safety was off. I had watched far too many movies where people forgot about the safety. I wasn’t going to fall into that cliché.

  “Now just what do you think you’re doing, my little suicidal princess?” Beau asked, refocusing his emerald eyes on me.

  “Pointing a gun at you,” I replied. His eyes scanned my gun for a brief second. “The safety is off, by the way, if that’s what you’re looking for. I’m just waiting for you to give me a reason to shoot you. I enjoy shooting at dicks.”

  Beau’s gun was still pointed at Lincoln.

  “Lady, have you even killed a man before?” Beau asked.

  “Yes,” I replied, without any hesitation.

  He looked at me for a moment, reading the contours of my face.

  I remained expressionless.

  “I believe you,” Beau said as he lowered his weapon. “I’d like to keep my dick.”

  I lowered my gun as well.

  “Great, now that we’ve broken the ice, let’s say we get a drink and have ourselves a discussion,” Lincoln said.

  Beau grinned. “I know a bar just up around the corner of this here alleyway. The owner makes a mighty fine crawfish étouffée, that is, if you’re hungry.”

  “I am,” Lincoln replied.

  “Is this a trap?” I asked, bluntly.

  Beau smiled at me. “Even if it was, I wouldn’t be so inclined to tell you.”

  I pointed my gun at his nether regions. “For the sake of your manhood, it better not be.”

  “Why darling,” Beau began, “There’s nothing in the world that I value more.”

  The Alley Cat bar was completely empty with the exception of an old, wrinkled bartender who, for some odd reason, was wearing sunglasses, despite the inside of the establishment being as dark as a cloudy evening.

  “Beau,” he said, raising his head in our direction, greeting us with his ears rather than his eyes.

  The man was blind.

  “You have to tell me Darryl, how can a man with no eyes recognize me every time I step in this place?”

  The barkeep grinned. “I can smell your scent from a mile away.”

  “And what scent is that?” Beau asked. “My gentlemanly charm?”

  “Naw boy. You smell snake-bitten and thirsty.”

  “I won’t deny that,” Beau said as he took a seat right up at the bar, and helped himself to a bottle of bourbon. He grabbed three glasses, and slowly filled each one to the brim. “By the way, I brought some company Darryl.”

  “I can hear,” the barkeep said. “I’m not deaf you know—only blind.” He chuckled at his own joke.

  “Any chance you can fix us up three plates of your famous crawfish étouffée?” Beau asked as he handed each one of us a glass.

  “You going to pay for it this time?”

  “Add it to my tab. You know I’m always good for it,” Beau replied. “I just need another week or so to let the catfish sink their teeth into my lines, and then the dough will come rolling in for a good few months.”

  Darryl sighed. “For God’s sake, I’m going to start charging interest.”

  “What did I say about taking the lord’s name in vain?” Beau warned, though he was still smiles. “Now go and fix us up some plates. I have some business to discuss with these outstanding folks.”

  Beau raised his glass to us, turning to me specifically. “Cheers,” he announced, “For allowing me to keep my nine-inch cock.”

  I didn’t bother returning the toast. I seriously needed a drink, sooner than later. So instead I swallowed the shot of bourbon in one single take.

  “Another,” I demanded, slamming the shot glass on the table.

  Beau turned to Lincoln and laughed. “Where did you find this girl? She’s quite the firecracker.”

  Lincoln shrugged. “She’s something alright,” he agreed.

  I poured myself another shot, raised it to Beau this time, and smiled politely. “Cheers for keeping your nine-inch cock away from every girl who has any sense of moral decency.”

  “You one of them girls?” Beau laughed.

  “I’m about as decent as they come,” I replied, as we all clinked our shot glasses together and I downed another shot.

  Taking the bottle of bourbon with him, Beau walked over to one of the circular wooden tables in the room and sat down.

  “Well, have a seat then,” Beau said. “I believe you mentioned we had some business to discuss?”

  We joined him at the table.

  “Do you know who my boss is?” Lincoln asked.

  “Not the foggiest of clues,” Beau replied.

  There was a moment of pause before Lincoln carried on. “Tell me about your dad,” he said.

  The smile on Beau’s face melted away into a frown. Lincoln’s question had hit a nerve.

  Beau swallowed his drink before forcing a smile. His eyes spoke a different truth. He wasn’t happy.

  “There ain’t nothing special about my daddy. He was a simple man of God, that’s all. Led a righteous life thumping on that bible of his, up until the day he died.”

  “Your daddy was a United States Senator,” Lincoln corrected him. “And you were his bastard.”

  Beau shook his head. “Sounds like quite the fairy tale you’re spinning over here, Mr. Jesse Sparrow.”

  “My boss was your dad,” Lincoln said. “Up until he was shot and killed.”

  I watched as Beau’s hands suddenly formed a tight fist, and for a moment, I thought he was going to deck Lincoln. Out of instinct, my right hand began reaching for the gun behind my jeans.

  Beau seemed to have caught wind of what I was planning. He cast a dark glance in my direction. “Hold yourself steady pistol princess,” he said. “I ain’t going to do anything to your boyfriend over here.” He relaxed his fist.

  “I was a runner for your dad,” Lincoln said. “I suppose you’d want some proof of that.”

  Beau shrugged.

  Lincoln stood up from his seat and lifted his white V-neck shirt up and over his head, showcasing his beautiful tattoos filled with the flavors of New Orleans.

  He pointed to the top of his left pectoral, where an inked tattoo of the crescent moon with the frowning face was displayed. Underneath it were foreign words written in stylish calligraphy.

  “Know what that is?” Lincoln asked.

  Beau nodded. “Got the same thing drawn onto the back of my neck,” he said. “It looks like we’re ink brothers then, aren’t we?”

  Lincoln nodded as he put his shirt back on. “That we are Beau, that we are,” he paused to pour himself another shot of the bourbon. “So I gotta ask, with all the recent events, where do your loyalties lie?”

  Beau took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to make of anything,” he said. “It looks like the people who my dad trusted ended up pointing the gun at him at the end of his days. And then the next thing I know, I hear whispers of some group called the Revenants taking the Midnight Society’s place. I haven’t heard anything from them yet. It looks like they forgot all about us down in the Orleans. They forgot about me.”

  “It wasn’t the Midnight Society who killed your father,” I was quick to blurt out, but before I could continue, Lincoln raised his hand, motioning for me to hold my tongue.

  I did.

  “What have you heard about Donald’s death?” Lincoln asked.

  “Only wha
t I heard in the news,” Beau replied. “I’ve always been an afterthought to the Society. No one fills me in on anything, except during those yearly visits from my dad. He always said he came down on account of missing yours truly, but just between us, I think he enjoyed the local taste of this pretty little thing that he met during Mardi Gras four years ago.” He sighed. “Can’t help but wonder if I have a baby brother, wandering around the Treme somewhere.”

  Lincoln pursed his lips. “What did the newspapers tell you about Donald’s death?”

  “That this rich son-of-a-bitch, a mother fucker by the name of Lincoln Richards—who my daddy often talked about with adoration—pulled a trigger and shot him right through the heart point blank.”

  “Do you believe that story?” Lincoln asked.

  “It’s the only story I got.”

  Lincoln nodded.

  “I loved your father,” Lincoln said. “He had always been good to me.”

  “He was a good man,” Beau agreed. “If it weren’t for him, I would probably be lying in the swamp somewhere, serving as food for the gators. He may have had a weakness of plowing different fields, but he took care of this bastard sitting before you, that I can’t deny.”

  “Have you ever thought about revenge?” Lincoln asked.

  I raised my brow and held my tongue.

  “Of course,” Beau said. “What good son wouldn’t want a shot at the man who killed their dad?”

  I couldn’t help but think of Shadow.

  Were all men like this? Hell bent on the entire notion of vengeance? I guess I shouldn’t judge. I wanted Calisto dead myself.

  “Has Shadow been in touch with you?” Lincoln asked.

  “Not directly,” Beau said. “But I did receive a message on a piece of paper with the mark of the Midnight Society, outlining what was expected of me for today’s jazz funeral.”

  “Shadow needs your help,” Lincoln said. “The Midnight Society is still alive and they need your help reclaiming their spot at the top of the food chain. We are going to war against the Revenants. The question I have for you Beau is, are you ready to take on a bigger role within the organization? Are you ready to live up to your dad’s name?”

  Beau smiled with all the southern charm that Louisiana had. “It sounds lovely and all, filling in my daddy’s shoes, but I’m going to need something in return.”

  “Money?” Lincoln asked.

  “I’m sitting on top of a pile of the Society’s money already,” he said. “Now that they’re a ghost of the past, I could very well just keep it for myself.”

  “Now, we know that’s not true,” Lincoln grinned, as if Beau were spinning tales. “You wouldn’t make it ten yards before you’re gunned down like a dog.”

  “It is a gamble,” Beau agreed. “I could be underestimating my former employers.”

  “I’d say you were,” Lincoln said. “What if I told you that in addition into guaranteed money, I could deliver you your dad’s killer? What if I could bring you Lincoln Richards and give you a single shot at him?”

  Beau smiled and leaned in closer, his voice a whispered hush. “Well I’d say you have me very intrigued,” he said. “Very intrigued indeed.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Aria

  What the hell was Lincoln thinking? Why wasn’t he being upfront with Beau?

  A cook from the kitchen came by and dropped off three steaming plates of stew. Without saying a word, the cook made his way back into the kitchen.

  Meanwhile our blind bartender had disappeared from the establishment altogether, leaving only the three of us sitting in the lounge.

  “This here is the best damned crawfish étouffée you’ll ever taste,” Beau said, digging in immediately.

  I shot Lincoln a ‘what are you doing?’ look, but he ignored it and said to me calmly, “Not a fan of seafood, Lucy?”

  “I enjoy it just fine, Mr. Sparrow,” I replied, coldly.

  “Eat up then. It’s been a while since our last meal.”

  He was right. The sight and smell of the rich, creamy stew immediately caused my stomach to go into fits. The last thing I ate was a piece of beef jerky that had the texture of a leather shoe.

  I was also feeling a little light headed from the two shots of bourbon I took on an empty stomach and the thought of getting food into my stomach sounded euphoric.

  The first bite of the rich, salty dish delivered me into a state of bliss. I savored the intermingled flavors of crawfish and vegetables, simmered into each satisfying morsel of food and allowed them to float on my tongue.

  I almost let out an ecstatic moan, but managed to pull myself together.

  “So do we have a deal then? I’ll give you a generous salary from the Midnight Society in addition to Lincoln Richards, on his knees, begging for mercy, in return for your help?”

  Beau refilled his shot glass full of bourbon and refreshed Lincoln’s glass as well.

  “I agree to those terms, Jesse Sparrow,” he said as he raised his drink.

  I watched as the two made a binding agreement with the shots of the smoky-flavored bourbon.

  I bit my lower lip. I hoped Lincoln knew what he was doing.

  With our bellies full—and my head slightly buzzing from the shots—Beau insisted we return to his place to discuss the final details of our business arrangement.

  “After all, you never know who might be listening in on our discussions,” he said.

  I had to agree with him. Since becoming a part of the Midnight Society, I was convinced that the wall had ears, along with the ceiling, floorboards, electric sockets, and toilet bowl.

  I was hesitant to trust Beau, especially since he desired Lincoln’s head served on a silver platter. However, Lincoln didn’t seem bothered by the prospect of walking into a wolves’ den.

  I had no other choice but to trust Beau—for now.

  Once we left the bar, we followed Beau down several city streets, passing by a few buildings inspired by the unique French colonial architecture that gave New Orleans its distinct character. Off the in the distance, I heard music, brilliant fiery music, that lifted my spirits.

  Eventually we stopped in front of an old antique shop.

  “Welcome to my home,” Beau said. “I assume the two of you haven’t found a place to stay yet?”

  “Not yet,” Lincoln replied.

  “Then I must insist you stay with me. It’s been an awful long time since I had guests over and nothing would warm my heart more than having a drink and talking about my dearly departed dad.”

  I eyed Lincoln to see how he would respond.

  “Absolutely,” he replied. “I think your dad would appreciate his own flesh and blood learning a bit more about the man he was. Even though I was nothing more than a lowly runner for the Midnight Society, Donald always treated me as man of high stature.”

  Beau nodded. “He was a good man. It’s still hard to believe that I’ll never see him again.”

  He opened the door to the antique shop and we stepped inside.

  I was surprised at how neat and tidy everything was. Most antique shops I’d wandered into were chaotic messes of trinkets, furniture, and dust spilling from every available inch of space. Beau’s store, however, the Angel’s Trumpet, was well organized. Every item was displayed neatly on shelves by category, all dusted and polished with tremendous care.

  Beau, it seemed, was an extremely careful and methodical man.

  I walked over to the instruments section of the store and marveled at the rows of trumpets and horns housed within glass cases, shining brilliantly under a set of glowing lights.

  “They’re beauties, aren’t they?” Beau asked as he strolled over to me.

  “They are,” I agreed.

  “There’s a story behind each one of these horns,” he said. “I’m very selective of what instruments I allow in my shop. You see this one here?” He pointed to a trumpet, slightly rusted but still beautiful nonetheless. It was displayed dead center inside the case.
>
  I nodded.

  “This here trumpet was owned by a fellow named Louis Armstrong.”

  I looked at him with wide eyes. “Get the fuck out of here,” I said in disbelief.

  “Ah, so you know who he was?”

  “Who doesn’t know the grandfather of jazz and one of the greatest musicians of all time? As far as I’m concerned, anything that touched his lips belongs in a museum.”

  Beau smiled. “I suppose we ought to find those ladies he enjoyed kissing back in the day and put them up on display.”

  “I suppose so.” I couldn’t help but smile. The sight of the instruments within the antique shop made me drop my guard.

  Damn it.

  “You know, Lucy is quite the musician herself,” Lincoln said as he walked over to us.

  “Oh are you now?” Beau asked with a sparkle in his eye. “What instrument do you play?”

  I shook my head. “That was another lifetime,” I said. “Recently I’ve had a falling out with music.”

  “Piano,” Lincoln replied. “She’s quite amazing, really.”

  Beau looked at me. “Ah, the keys,” he said affectionately. “I absolutely love the keys. You know, I have this pretty little upright piano upstairs. It’s a bit out of tune but it still serves its purpose. It used to reside in Storyville Jazz Saloon, one of the more notorious brothels of New Orleans back when sex was still a prominent business in the city.”

  “As I said, I had a falling out with music.”

  “That’s nonsense girl,” Beau replied. “You can’t fall out of love with music, it simply doesn’t happen. No matter how much you try to suppress it, the musician’s flame will always find a way to rise up from your belly and take control of your heart and mind. Don’t suppress the fire Lucy, just enjoy the burn.”

  “Maybe another time I’ll play. I’m just not ready for it yet.”

  I was thankful Beau decided not to argue with me any further. Instead he pointed at an old, beaten violin sitting on top of the counter, next to the cash register.

  “Well, maybe you’d like to hear me play at some point,” he said as he picked up the violin, holding it gently in his hands as if it were a breathing entity.