The Shoal of Time

by J. M. Redmann

  We were led to our table, pausing our conversation while we were seated and ordered drinks; she got a dirty martini, I went traditional with a Sazerac.

  Once the waiter left, Ashley said, “That’s good that you’ve been careful.”

  “The problem is it’s contributed to her not believing me.”

  “Have you mentioned me? My team?”

  “No, I haven’t. Like I said, very careful.” I took a sip of water. “It would help if I could. She promised that no one in her inner circle would be on the take.”

  Ashley sighed. “It’s always the people who promise you can trust them that you shouldn’t trust. What is her name?”

  “Emily Harris.”

  She looked at the menu for a moment, then at me. “There are things I can’t tell you. And some things I shouldn’t tell you, but I don’t want you to get hurt. Be very careful around the FBI.”

  “Are you saying she’s the traitor?”

  “We don’t know for sure, but you really can’t trust her.”

  “I’m not planning to have anything more to do with her.” Not that I’d planned our last two encounters, but intentions should count for something.

  “Good, keep it that way.” Ashley put her hand on mine and gave it a lingering squeeze. She let go as the waiter brought our drinks. She took a sip of her martini and said, “I need to apologize to you. You were right about what the message meant. I should have pushed it more with the higher-ups.”

  “No apology needed. You did the best you could. It’s not your fault that others get stuck in what they want to believe.”

  “Still, it would have been better if we had been there—and you hadn’t. Now I’m worried you’re too involved in this.”

  “I made my choices, you’re not responsible. Besides, it’s only a matter of time before they catch them and this is over.”

  Ashley shook her head. “That’s not good.”

  “Not good that they’re caught?”

  “No, sorry. Of course it’s good they’ll be caught. It just means…I’ll be leaving here.”

  “Then let’s enjoy the time you’re here. Besides, planes leave and arrive every day.”

  She smiled at me again. “You are one very smart, resilient woman. I have to say I’ve been pretty impressed with how you’ve handled things.”

  “Thanks,” I said, hiding my pleasure in her compliment by sipping my drink.

  The waiter hovered to see if we were ready to order. We both took the hint and looked over our menus. We agreed to share the crabmeat cheesecake and a spinach salad. I got the catfish pecan and she opted for the duck.

  Once the waiter left she said, “You were persistent in following through on that lead. And knew enough about the area to make sense of the clues—why we hired you in the first place. I always say it’s dumb to not pay attention to the local people.”

  “Like I said, it’s not your fault. You can only do so much.”

  “I still should have done a better job. It’s not often I stumble over very smart, good-looking women along the way. I should do a better job of taking care of those I do find.”

  “You’ve done a fine job. This is a very nice thanks for everything.”

  “Just a meal.”

  “I’m including your company.”

  She smiled.

  I returned it.

  “Can you tell me how you managed to get the info to the authorities?” She looked away and said, “Sorry, can’t seem to quit working.”

  “That might be something we’re both guilty of.” I took a sip of my drink. “Keep in mind I’m a private detective, not the police. A while back I worked on an embezzlement case in which some of the money went to high-end call girls. The company I worked for was more interested in getting the money back than prosecution. I brokered a deal with the madam to return most of the money and the company wouldn’t make a stink.”

  “Okay, makes sense. Well, it does if you’re not in law enforcement.”

  “The madam appreciated my efforts. So when the dead women were found she hired me to basically do a safety one-oh-one with her staff. Which I did.” I watched Ashley’s face to see how she would react to this. So far she didn’t seem particularly upset.

  I continued, “The woman in charge has been around for a while and has a lot of contacts. So I asked her if she would pass it on.”

  “That’s clever,” she said, sipping her drink, so I couldn’t fully read her face. “Use one house of prostitution to take down a rival. You could be pretty sure she’d pass the information along.”

  “It’s more complex than that,” I said, feeling I needed to defend Madame Celeste. “I think she had it in more for this particular rival than others.”

  “You’re okay with prostitution?”

  “I have a lot of issues with women—and men—selling themselves to the highest bidder.”

  “But you worked with her?”

  “I’m realistic enough to know nothing is going to change anytime soon. If it’s going to go on, I’d prefer it be done by women who were former sex workers, who do things like hire private detectives to provide safety tips, than men who dispose of unwanted women by ramming a stake in their vagina.”

  “So, you’re okay enough with it to take money from a woman who runs a whorehouse?”

  “Ouch,” I said.

  Our salad arrived.

  Ashley put half of it on a plate for me. “Sorry, I’m just trying to find where you draw the line.”

  I took a bite of the salad. “I’m not sure where I draw the line. It may depend on the day and the person. I’m not perfect and I’ve slipped and fallen a few times. I’ve just never fallen far enough to consider selling my body to survive. I try not to judge those who do.”

  “True, I’m not perfect either. I’ve done work that’s taken me close to, if not over, some lines. I’ll follow your lead.” She speared a pecan, chewed, then said, “Look, I can’t make any promises. When and if this thing blows, it may blow big, but I can try to steer them away from your friend. Keep the arrests and jail time for the kind of men who murder women.”

  “I know you can’t make promises, but anything you can do would help.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Who?” I was in the middle of a mouthful of spinach.

  “Your friend? Or should I say client?”

  I swallowed. “Client. She goes by Madame Celeste. I believe her real name is Desiree Montaigne.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll do what I can.”

  The crab cake came. Ashley also split that between us.

  “You don’t get food like this anywhere else,” I said after taking a bite. “So you’ll have to come back to New Orleans often.”

  “I’d like that, I’d like that a lot. This is divine.”

  “One more work piece, then we ban it for the rest of the evening,” I said. “I remembered the picture you showed me, the missing girl.”

  “Oh, yes?”

  “I called the precinct where it happened and talked to the detective on the case. He said she returned about a few months later.”

  “She what?” Ashley coughed. “Shell,” she said, grabbing her water.

  She coughed again and I waited until she recovered. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice raspy. She nodded at me to continue.

  “She returned. He said it was the usual thing, an older guy cooing love songs to her, she believed him, then figured out he was a creep and came home. They arrested the guy and he’s still in jail.”

  Ashley cleared her throat, then said, “Really? Wow, that’s good to know.”

  “I thought you’d like to find out she hadn’t been lost forever. Even better, it turns out the guy I talked to knows you. Said he worked with your dad.”

  “Wow, you have been busy. What else did he say?”

  “To say hi from Frank, the football nut friend. Said you were a real impressive girl.”

  “Well, that was nice of him. And nice of you to track it down. I should ha
ve done it myself. Yeah, Frank, the football nut. I remember him now. Nice guy.” She coughed again.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked.

  “Fine. Just went the wrong way.” She finished her martini and said, “Now, no more work talk. Are you a cook? And if so, what kind of food do you cook?”

  It turned out we both liked to cook. I talked about seafood and she went on about Italian. That got us through the main course and to dessert, where we talked about other restaurants and made a bucket list of places and things to eat before we died. Yes, she did have the white chocolate bread pudding. I was kind and only took a few bites, leaving most of it for her. We lingered over after-dinner drinks as if the night was infinite and wouldn’t end until we wanted it to.

  Full and happy, we left the restaurant.

  Once we’d crossed Canal Street and left the bustle of the French Quarter behind for the quieter streets of the weekend CBD, she slipped her arm through mine.

  A gust of wind, cold with the night, blew through the street, causing her to huddle against me for heat.

  I liked the feel and warmth of her against me. I still tried to place no expectations on the night, to enjoy the moment.

  In the next block, after a car passed and there were no more behind it, leaving the street to us, I turned to her and softly kissed her on the lips.

  “Thank you,” she said, when we pulled away. “I was hoping you would do that.”

  “You’re welcome. I was hoping you’d want me to do that.”

  She slid her hand down my arm until we were holding hands.

  Gentle and effortless, we moved to openly being a couple. It was so easy, it made me wonder why I’d torn my heart open on the unsure ones, wasting time in messy ambivalence. Falling in love could take the route of a good dinner, an aimless walk, and holding hands. Cordelia and I hadn’t managed it; it had taken almost a year of fits and stumbles, wondering and worry before we finally got together. This was so much easier.

  We walked, silent for much of it, enjoying the warmth of our entwined hands, comments on the weather, the food. The night seemed made for us. We were meandering our way back to her hotel, a block out of the way here and there. When no one else was around, we stole quick kisses, building for more to come.

  We found ourselves at Lafayette Square, quiet in the evening hours. This is the legal area, with the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals on the south edge of the square. We took a detour by it, then headed up the square, again moving in the direction of her hotel.

  Halfway down the block, she stumbled against a tree root, tripping, and would have fallen if I hadn’t caught her.

  “Damn,” she said as she took a step. Her uneven gait signaled the problem. She’d broken a heel.

  After four lopsided steps she stopped. “Double damn. This isn’t going to work.” She was right. It was about three or four blocks to her hotel, but that was a long haul with a broken shoe.

  “Let me run back to Poydras and get a cab,” I said.

  “Great plan,” she said, blowing me a kiss.

  “If you can hobble to St. Charles”—half a block away—“that’ll help. Otherwise he has to go around the square.”

  “I’ll do my best hobble; you do your best hail.”

  I trotted away, to St. Charles, then turned for the half block to Poydras, a major thoroughfare in the area.

  I don’t know what made me turn back and look; maybe I wanted to check how fast Ashley was moving. Maybe I heard the echoing footsteps.

  A stray shaft of light caught his arm, covered in tattoos, his pace an assured stride as he closed the distance between them.

  “Ashley! Look out!” I yelled as I raced back to her.

  My warning was enough for her to swing away from his first blow.

  His second sent her crashing down to the pavement, a low groan as she hit.

  His third blow would have done even more damage but I threw myself at him, tackling him with a shoulder to his stomach.

  He was a big, muscled man, but I was strong enough to shove him into the iron stanchions on this side of the park. One caught him on the thigh. He howled, less in pain and more in outrage. He hadn’t planned on having a real fight on his hands.

  I was enraged, furious and scared that Ashley had been hurt. I needed to end this fight so I could see to her.

  He swung at me, but I ducked below his punch. He had the muscle and weight advantage, but his bulk made him less mobile.

  I slammed my palm against his groin, then grabbed and twisted. His jeans were thick and tight, so my grip wasn’t as effective as it might have been, but it was enough to force him to defend the jewels instead of attacking.

  With his hands covering his crotch, I was able to land a solid blow to his nose, a satisfyingly loud thunk in the night.

  He howled again, this time as much from pain as rage.

  He lifted his hands away from his crotch to throw a punch and I took advantage to land a kick there.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” someone shouted from across the park. There are bars and restaurants here, though the evening wasn’t as busy as the day.

  “A mugger,” I heard Ashley say.

  Two young guys started running in our direction.

  The tattooed man realized he was outnumbered. He threw back at Ashley, “Next time it’ll be a stake in your cunt.”

  Then he ran as fast as he could away from us and the cavalry coming to our rescue. He jumped into a truck that roared away, another person in the driver’s seat. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.

  I was kneeling by Ashley’s side. “Are you okay?”

  Her nose was bleeding and there was a cut on her cheek. She grabbed a big wad of tissues from her purse and dabbed the blood away. “Yeah, I’ll be okay,” she said, “More scared than hurt.”

  She put her hand out, for me to take and help her up. I did, although she had to lean on me when she was upright. I was still worried about her.

  The two young men reached us, their dates trailing a safe distance behind.

  The taller one asked what happened. Ashley stuck with the story that it was a random mugger.

  One of the trailing dates did the sensible thing and went to Poydras to hail cabs for all of us, while the men assured us that we were safe with them and didn’t need to worry about any muggers.

  Ashley kept the tissues to her nose and said little. I followed her cues and didn’t enlighten the stalwart young men that if a federal agent and a licensed-to-carry PI could be mugged, their masculinity wouldn’t protect them.

  Lucky for all of us, the sensible woman was good at hailing cabs. They let us have the first one.

  The driver was a young man and he spent the entire five-block ride wondering why anyone would come into a city as crime-ridden as New Orleans. He lived out in the suburbs and never had to worry about crime.

  As I was paying him, I said, “Wait, isn’t that the area where the serial killer is still active? You might want to be careful as well.”

  Ashley made a snorting sound. I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or coughing through the mass of paper at her nose.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?” I said as we walked across the lobby. She was leaning heavily against me to make up for the ruined shoe.

  “No, no doctor. I’m okay.”

  I shook my head but obeyed her wishes.

  When we got to her room, she kicked off her shoes, then stripped off the pantsuit, tossing it on the bed. “It’s silk, I don’t want to ruin it,” she said with a wan smile and headed for the bathroom. I followed her.

  Yes, I did notice she was wearing a low-cut black lace bra and high-cut matching panties. However, this was not the moment to do more than notice.

  She was looking at her face in the mirror.

  I turned on the water, running it until it was hot. Her nose didn’t look broken, but it was still trickling a small stream of blood; her cheek wound seemed to have stopped bleeding. She’d have a major
bruise on her face in the morning.

  “Are you going to call the police?” I asked as I got a washrag and gently cleaned her face.

  “No, I don’t want to do that. At least not yet.”

  “That wasn’t a random mugging,” I pointed out.

  “No, it wasn’t,” she said. “That’s why I don’t want to go to the police.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Yes, it does.” She grabbed my wrist. “Look, someone set this up. It’s likely linked to whoever is working on the inside. They’re getting desperate to throw us off their tracks. Let me and my team handle it. It’ll be safer that way. For both of us.”

  “Okay,” I said. “You’re the law enforcement pro. But you are pretty banged up. At least let me go downstairs and get an ice pack and some aspirin.”

  “I’ll survive. I’ve had worse happen to me.”

  “This isn’t a competition. Let’s take care of how you’re hurt now, okay?”

  She turned to look at me. Then put a hand on my cheek. “Okay. Thank you for being here.”

  She started to cry.

  I put my arms around her and held her. She lifted her head for a moment, got a towel, and put it over my shoulder so she wouldn’t bleed on my suit. Then she relaxed into my arms. I just held her, trying not to notice how little clothing she had on, the places my hands covered warm skin.

  Finally she pulled away. “You’re right about the ice and aspirin. Can I ask you to be discreet?”

  “There’s a grocery store close by. I’ll run there and get the stuff.”

  She bent forward and softly kissed me. “Thank you.”

  I hustled out, half jogging most of the way there and back. I got two kinds of anti-inflammatory drugs, aspirin and an alternative in case it upset her stomach, and an ice pack for later, as it needed to be cooled. I picked up the old standby, frozen peas. Some Band-Aids and healing ointment. Also some dish towels—we could wrap ice from the ice machine in those.

  Oh, and chocolate. Two really good chocolate bars.

  When I got back to her room, she was sitting on the sofa and just getting off the phone. Most of her end was listening. Finally, she said, “We can deal with it tomorrow. I need to put some ice on my nose.”