“I used what little the sheriff in the town where the Whites live told me. He said the only bit of information—I guess you could call it—that survived the fire that destroyed our car and my parents, was a part of the license plate that hadn’t melted. They could make out the first two letters, which said the owner came from Denver County.”
“No VIN number?”
“He said it had been scraped away—and not because of the accident.”
“So the car was probably stolen.”
“Yeah.” Derek sighed. “It doesn’t say much about my father, if he’s the one who stole it.”
“He could have bought it secondhand.”
“Yeah, that’s what the sheriff said. I hope that was it. Either way, I don’t have clue one who I am, so now I’m Derek White.”
Larson tented his fingers, looking thoughtful. Then he got up. “Let’s get you back to the diner and make sure you have somewhere to stay.”
“That’s it?”
Larson chuckled. “You wanted a medal maybe for meritorious service?”
“No, but a ‘thank you’ would be nice.”
“Then thank you. You did a damned good job, even if you didn’t know you were doing it. Now, shall we get out of here?”
“Yes.” Derek stood, grabbing his backpack. “I’m going to have one hell of a story to tell Mel.”
“But not the details,” Larson cautioned, as he opened the door.
“I’m not stupid,” Derek muttered.
“I know you’re not. Which is a good thing.”
“If you say so.”
“I do,” Larson agreed, looking pensive again. “Yeah, I do.”
Chapter 6
New Orleans, 2002
Derek kicked one foot against the alley wall and leaned back, a cigarette hanging from his lips. Turning his head, he watched the entrance of a building he could see across the street at the far end of the alley. A few yards away, a brown-haired man, who looked as if he’d seen better days, eyed Derek and shook his head. Derek grinned, took another pull on the cigarette, and dropped it, crushing it out under his boot.
“That shit’ll kill you, D-Boy,” the man said.
“If it doesn’t, something else will, Brad.”
“Yeah, so you keep saying.” Brad swiveled his head to look down the alley as well. “Heads up.” He quickly ducked behind an overflowing dumpster. His job was to ‘ghost’ Derek, to be his backup if something bad went down but otherwise, stay out of sight.
“I see him.” Derek watched, as a well-dressed man strode across the street, heading toward where he was waiting. As soon as the man was within hearing distance, Derek said, “You got it?”
“Yep.” The man came closer, his wary gaze scanning the alley. “Thought I saw someone else here.”
Derek snorted. “Not someone, some ‘thing’. A fucking bum. I told him to beat it or else.”
“Good.” Swinging around the messenger bag he had over one shoulder, the man took out three parcels, setting them on the loading dock next to Derek. “Feel free to test it. It’s prime goods.”
“Always is, when it comes from you.” Derek picked one up, testing the weight. “When do I get to meet your supplier?”
“Kid, that ain’t never happening. He doesn’t meet with anyone but me and my partner. Safer that way for all concerned, including you.”
“So you keep saying.” After a quick look around, Derek dug into his backpack and took out a thick envelope. “All there,” he said, handing it to the man.
The dealer opened the envelope, thumbed expertly through one of the packs of money it contained and nodded. “Till next time, kid. Keep your nose clean.” He chuckled at his joke, turned, and walked back up the alley.
Derek scooped up the packages, depositing them in the backpack and slung it over his shoulder. Only then did he say, “All clear.”
Brad joined him, holding a small tracking device in one hand. “Let’s move then,” he said, shedding the long, ragged overcoat he was wearing and taking off the ratty wig that helped make him look much older than he was. His hair was blond, and under the coat he’d been wearing jeans, a tank, and leathers.
They moved to the end of the alley. Derek peered carefully around the corner. “Black sedan, Mardi Gras beads hanging from the rearview mirror.”
“Doesn’t everyone do that?” Brad said sardonically, as they waited for the man to drive off.
They moved quickly to a motorcycle. Brad straddled it, revving it up while Derek climbed on behind him. After putting on helmets, Brad handed Derek the tracker.
“He’s two blocks ahead, heading west,” Derek said, through the helmet mike
Brad pulled the bike into traffic. Twenty minutes later, and two miles behind their subject, Derek told Brad, “He’s crossing the river.”
“Got it.” Brad kept an even pace as they approached Huey Long Bridge. Once they were across, Derek told him to turn right to River Road. They passed through Waggaman, still heading east.
“Twenty-to-one he’s heading to Saint Charles Airport.”
“No bet,” Brad said. “Call it in.”
Derek did then watched when, five minutes later, the blip on his screen made a right turn onto Airport Lane. At the same time, two high-powered speedboats raced past them and pulled to shore right across River Road from the turnoff to the airport. Within moments, well-armed men were heading toward the solitary plane parked on the runway.
“There’s a song that says it all—” he grinned “—‘Another One Bites the Dust’.”
Brad snorted, pulling off to the side of the road. “You’re too young to know that song.”
“Oh, yeah. I know all their songs.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Nope. There’s one that’s my theme song, ‘Who Wants to Live Forever’.”
“D-Boy, you’re…”
“Too young. Yeah, yeah. How about we get back to town? We’re done here.”
Brad shook his head, told him to hang on, and pulled a one-eighty so fast the wheels of the bike shot up dust and gravel as they took off, speeding back to New Orleans.
* * * *
“Job well done, gentlemen.” Samson said. They were in his very utilitarian office in a nondescript building in New Orleans.
“Not like it was all that hard,” Derek replied, kicking back in his chair so it was on two legs, leaning against the wall.
Samson frowned at him. “Any time you go undercover, you’re taking a risk. Don’t you get that by now?”
“Yeah, I do,” Derek muttered, shooting a disgusted look at Samson.
Brad reached over to pat his shoulder. “What you need is a night out on the town to unwind.”
“Drinking a soda or iced tea? I don’t think that would do much to relax me.”
“Good music, some dancing. Come on, give it a shot.”
Derek smiled wryly. “I’ve never danced in my life. At least not that I remember.”
“So there’s a first time for everything. We find you a pretty girl or a good-looking guy, whichever floats your boat, and you might surprise yourself and have fun.”
Derek cocked an eyebrow. “Good-looking guy?”
“As I said, I have no clue which way you swing.”
Finally smiling, Derek admitted, “Neither do I.”
“You’re kidding.” The looks both Brad and Samson gave him were almost comical in their disbelief.
“When have I had a chance?” Derek protested. “Since the accident I’ve been bouncing around from place to place, trying to keep it together until Larson convinced me, and you—” he looked pointedly at Samson “—that I could be useful because of what I went through.”
“Which you have been for the past two years. I don’t know what I’d have done without you at times. Your youth works for what we need, like this drug bust.”
Derek just shrugged. He knew that, and he actually liked the assignments he’d been given, even though there were times when he’d been sc
ared shitless. That was why after the first couple of them, Samson had paired him with Brad. For whatever reason, Brad had what it took to keep Derek on track and, Derek had to admit, keep him calm as far as it was possible when things looked as if they might get hairy.
Brad brought Derek’s mind back to the present by saying, “So, go back to your place, shower, and get dressed in something other than worn jeans and a T-shirt, because you and I, D-Boy, are going out on the town.”
* * * *
Derek did what Brad told him to. He showered and put on clean clothes, a pair of jeans and a shirt Mel had given him as a going-away present when he’d left Denver. As he put it on, he realized this was only the second time he’d worn it. The first time had been when he’d flown out to New Orleans to meet Samson.
I guess dressing up isn’t my thing. But then, how often have I had the chance, everything considered?
He stepped in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door to check how he looked. Not too bad, I guess. He turned to snag his comb from the edge of the sink to try to tame his hair. He gave up in disgust, knowing it was too long to stay where he wanted it to and too short to pull back out of the way. I have to stop posing as a street punk for the jobs. Like they’d let me be anything else. Preppy, I’m not.
After tossing the comb back where he got it, he returned to the bedroom to put what he needed to take with him in his pockets. He almost reached for the knife he regularly carried, reminding himself he wasn’t going out looking for trouble, for once.
His phone rang. It was Brad, letting him know he was outside in the car. With a sigh, wondering why he’d agreed to this, Derek went down to join him.
“I’m figuring we’ll hit up Bourbon Street—lots of clubs, lots of people, a little bit of everything.” When Derek only nodded in reply, Brad glanced at him. “You’re really not comfortable with this, are you?”
“No, I’m okay. It’s just…the only club I’ve been in was when I was making buys for one of the jobs. I’d sneak in, meet the guy, and beat it out of there.”
“Yeah I remember that. He thought it was funny. That’s why he set them up that way, to see what trick you’d use each time to get in and out without being carded.”
Derek frowned. “That’ll happen tonight.”
“Naw, not unless you try to buy a drink. This is Bourbon Street, remember? Tons of tourists with their families, at least at the clubs I’m taking you to.” Brad chuckled. “Now, if it was a strip club, you’d be shit out of luck, even though you do look almost old enough. You sure you’re really only nineteen?”
Derek grimaced. “I wouldn’t swear I was that old. You know my age is just a guess.”
“Yeah, sorry,” Brad replied, sounding as if he meant it.
“Nothing to be sorry about. It is what it is.”
As Brad pulled into one of the public lots a few blocks from Bourbon, he asked, “You’ve never remembered anything?”
“Tiny bits and pieces, but nothing that puts a name or face to who I am or who my folks were.”
“Like the guy in Dark City.”
“I guess?”
“You guess? You haven’t seen that one? D-Boy, I am so taking you to it when it hits one of the retro film festivals.”
Derek remained quiet when he got out of the car, uncertain how to respond to that.
“If you don’t smile, people are going to think I’m dragging you here against your will.”
“Well, you are,” Derek said under his breath. He should have known Brad would hear him anyway, in the silence that surrounded them when they walked out of the lot.
Brad stopped short, turned, and put his hands on Derek’s shoulders. “If you want to go home, say so. I just thought it was time you got a bit of R and R. You’ve done nothing but bounce from one assignment to another since they sent you here.”
Derek shook his head, quickly brushing back a strand of hair that fell over his forehead.
“Leave it. It makes you look sexy,” Brad told him, grinning.
“I don’t want to look sexy. I just want…”
“To go home? For me to leave you alone? To dance and have fun? Stop me when I hit the right one.”
“To dance, maybe. To watch people so I’ll learn how they act in case I have to pretend I’m like one of them sometime.”
“This is not a lesson for an assignment,” Brad said sternly, slinging his arm around Derek’s shoulders. “You are going to have fun if I have to, hell, get you drunk so you finally unwind a bit.”
“Then I’d have to report you for contributing to the delinquency of a minor,” Derek told him with a small grin.
Brad laughed as they started walking again. “It might be worth it.”
When they reached Bourbon with its hordes of people, Derek found he was studying them, but for a different reason than usual. He’d been on the street before, he knew the Quarter, had gone undercover to catch people preying on unwary tourists. But this time it wasn’t quite the same. He saw the people differently and realized they were there to have fun and live life to its fullest, if only for a few hours or days before they had to return to their mundane existences.
“Let’s start here,” Brad said. “Ease you into things.”
‘Here’ was a small club with a bar along one wall, tables scattered around with a bandstand at one end and a dance floor in front of it. Brad led the way to the bar, ordering a beer for himself and a soda for Derek. Once they found somewhere to sit, Derek sipped his soda, tapping his toes to the beat of the music while looking around at the other customers.
“See anyone who interests you?” Brad asked.
Derek shrugged. There were several girls he presumed were single, either on their own or with friends, laughing, drinking—having the time of their lives, if their demeanor was to be believed. All he could think was they were like kids who’d snuck out when their parents weren’t watching.
He glanced at Brad and saw him checking out people as well, but his interest seemed to be focused primarily on one young man out on the dance floor. He was alone, moving to the beat of the music, and stood out against the rest of dancers who were paired off in male/female or occasionally male/male couples.
“Trouble?” Derek asked quietly.
Brad started then shook his head. “Not that I can see,” he replied, quickly looking around the room. “Why?”
“You were watching that guy like a hawk.”
“He’s…a good dancer.”
Not being totally naïve, although he was certain Brad thought otherwise, Derek said, “So go join him.”
“He’s not my type.”
“Uh-huh.” Derek took another drink of soda. “Go on. I don’t mind. I’m having fun just listening to the music.”
Brad hesitated for a second before getting up. Derek watched as Brad approached the young man and said something to him. The young man responded then glanced pointedly at Derek. Brad gave a nod then a shake of his head. For a moment, it looked as if the young man was going to walk away. He didn’t. Instead he put his arms around Brad’s waist and they began to move to the music.
Derek couldn’t take his gaze off of them. That is damned sexy. It almost makes me wish I knew how to dance.
He spun around when someone tapped his shoulder. A guy stood there, a beer in one hand, a smile on his face.
“How come it’s not you out there with your boyfriend, instead of that kid?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. We work together is all. Besides which, I don’t dance.”
The guy cocked an eyebrow. “I bet with the right person you would.”
Derek chuckled. “Meaning you?”
“Maybe. Want to give it a shot?”
“Thanks, but no thanks. You’re…not my type.”
“Why don’t I believe that?”
“Because you’re obviously…” Derek bit back what he wanted to say and smiled instead, returning his focus to the dance floor.
“Come on.” The guy set
his beer down and grabbed Derek’s hand.
Derek stood, but only long enough to spin the guy around and give him a none too gentle shove away from the table. He sat down again and picked up his soda, ignoring the guy’s muttered ‘Asshole’, as he stalked away.
Derek almost called out ‘You forgot your beer’, but decided that could be asking for trouble.
Brad dropped down in his seat, laughing. “You did all right there, D-Boy.”
“Yeah, well, if I want to be picked up by someone, for sure it wouldn’t be him.”
“What about her?” Brad thumbed towards a girl who seemed to looking at Derek with more than a trace of interest.
Derek glanced at her and realized she did nothing for him, even though she was cute, maybe even sexy, with the low-cut top she was wearing. “Nope. Not her.”
Brad continued to point out young women in a teasing way, and Derek kept rejecting them, asking at one point, “What happened to the guy you were dancing with?”
“Good dancer, lousy conversationalist. He kept hinting we should take a break—out back.”
“Ouch.”
“This doesn’t bother you, does it?”
“That you seem to prefer men to women? Why should it?”
Brad shrugged. “No reason.” Then he pointed out another young woman who was standing alone at the bar. “She looks ripe for the picking.”
Derek snorted. “Will you stop? I’m not interested in getting out on the dance floor with some girl and making a fool of myself.”
“You wouldn’t, with the right teacher.”
“I doubt anyone here is willing to do that. They want to have fun, not be stuck with some…some gimpy dork.” Derek gulped down the last of his soda and stood, looking down at Brad. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Okay.” Brad was frowning as he got up. “What brought that on?” he asked softly as they left the bar.
“You kept pushing and pushing.”
“I didn’t mean to. I was just teasing you.”
Derek sighed. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“If I promise not to do it again, would you be okay with hitting up another bar?”
“I suppose,” Derek replied warily.
“I think you’ll like it. No tourists—or at least not many.”
D-Boy Page 7
