by David Aslin
After leaving the shop and as they began trekking further up Bourbon Street, Ian began reflecting on the lasts words the lady had spoken to him. “We’ll be meet’n… but no Scout dog, she said. How could she have possibly known? Nah, it’s nothing, she just noticed Scout’s service vest and what she said was just a coincidental ‘turn of phrase’ nothing more!
Ian still a bit unnerved, tried his best to believe the logic in what he’d just tenuously surmised.
As Ian and Scout began searching for their next target for visitation, Ian once again began to marvel at the many two story intricately designed, wrought-iron balconied, mainly brick buildings. Buildings designed to weather the test of time. Ian knew from what he’d read of New Orleans; that even though he was approaching the very heart of the French Quarter the surviving historical colonial architecture was primarily of Spanish influence, due to the cities Spanish rule during the late 18th century.
On the left side of the street just ahead of them, Ian spotted a large white-washed building surrounded by an ornate wrought-iron spiked fence and gate, and silently mused That must have been something like a governor’s mansion, or perhaps a cotton exchange back in the day. It looked magnificent to Ian. Classic southern mansion design complete with six massive steps that led up to the four giant white columns that stood in support of its overhanging roof offering a fully protected wrap-around porch. It had huge front doors with beautifully ornate door knockers. But as Ian and Scout approached ever closer he noted that at the present time, made aptly apparent by its aesthetically ill fitting, architecturally vulgar red neon signage above the door, this magnificent example of southern pre-civil war construction was now the home of the New Orleans chapter of the, Church of Satan. Ian considered possibility of entering the place for a few protracted moments as he and Scout stood directly at its front gate just to look around. But after a little contemplation Ian decided that even though he was no bible thumper, some fates just do not need to be tempted.
“Scout, it’s getting around lunch time. What-da-ya say, we find ourselves a nice little eatery that doesn’t mind four legged patrons?” Scout barked once, paused and then barked two more times.
CHAPTER 4
MYSTERY MAN
After thoroughly enjoying his lunch of: Oysters on the half shell, crawfish, and … red beans and rice. Ian took with him his second lunch that he’d purchased to go (a double cheeseburger and fries) which he gave to Scout within moments after leaving the, Acme Oyster House.
Ian began thinking that heading back to his hotel room for a nap sounded like an attractive idea as he looked down at Scout and spoke, “Scout, what-da-ya-say we head back to the room and put our feet up for a bit.” Ian figured that it might be a good idea to venture out again tonight when the atmosphere would be much looser and of course the area would be much busier. There was one more place that he still wanted to check out. He’d read about it in a brochure that he’d picked up in the lobby of his hotel. Ian wanted to have a look at the, New Orleans Historic Voodoo Museum not so much thinking that it would produce any leads to what he was looking for; but he thought just maybe he’d see or read something there that might help him connect the dots regarding his zombification theories.
Ian and Scout headed to the nearest street corner. Luckily, Ian spotted almost immediately, a taxi parked against the curb on the other side of the street. The taxi was just dropping two people off. Ian raised his hand into the air and whistled loudly, the cabby noticed him and waved for Ian to cross the street to come aboard.
Ian and Scout crossed the street and without hesitation climbed into the cab. The cabbie, a small statured middle aged black man with silver-streaked short cropped hair turned back towards Ian and smiled wide as he spoke, “How you two do’n this fine day?”
Something very pleasant about the man’s smile was infectious and Ian couldn’t help but smile bright as he replied back, “Well sir, really good. We just had a fabulous lunch at the Oyster House, and have been enjoying the sights. But our feet or, rather, my feet are starting to get tired. We’d like to head to our hotel. The uh…” Ian was momentarily at a loss remembering the name of his hotel. “It’s the… Um… wow! Can you believe that it’s right on the tip of my tongue? It’s the um, the Chateau, Chateau LaRiviere, that’s it!” Ian was suddenly relieved that the name came to him. But he knew that he had the place’s business card in his wallet if his memory simply would not serve him.
The cabby nodded his head up and down in slow motion as he replied, “D’yes … d’yes! Dat’s very fine place. Madame LaRiviere, a most divine, powerful women.”
The cab trip was quick. Ian almost felt guilty not just walking the relatively short distance back to his hotel. But he wasn’t kidding when he told the cabbie that he was getting tired. Mainly from lack of sleep over the last couple of nights more than the activities of the day, but tired nonetheless.
After reaching the hotel, Ian promptly paid the cab driver, who was thankful for the large tip that Ian handed him. Ian appreciated it that the cabbie did not giving him a bad time about the ride being so short. The driver gave Ian none of the kind of guff he’d learned to expect from, New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles taxi driver’s regarding short distance fares.
As the taxi pull off, Ian and Scout hurried up the steps to the front door of their Chateau-hotel. Ian opened the door and he and Scout crossed the threshold and entered the grand room that served as the hotel lobby.
The place was very quiet and nobody was at the front desk. So without hesitation Ian pulled gently on Scout’s leash, and the two of them headed up the staircase. At the top of the stairs Ian paused just for a second to catch his breath and looked around then the two of them continued down the hallway to room 222.
Ian reached into his jeans pocket and retrieved his room key. Then as he inserted the key into the door lock, Scout began to act very uncharacteristically nervous. He even began growling and pawing slightly at the door.
“What’s got into you boy. You haven’t been yourself ever since…” Ian opened the door to his room. “That’s funny, I thought I left the light on. Ian went to switch the rooms overhead light on, but to no avail. “Must be a burnt out bulb or maybe a fuse.” Just then Scout began growling loudly as he positioned himself directly in front of Ian. The room was suddenly dimly illuminated by a lamp that sat affixed to the top of a small desk near the opposite side of the room. Ian immediately saw what had gotten Scout all worked up, as he gasped and stumbled backwards against the closed door. “What the hell, how did you? What the hell are you doing in my room?” Ian nearly shouted as he nervously beheld the large, dark suited man whose eyes were effectively shielded from sight, hidden behind dark spectacles. The man was seated in a chair positioned adjacent to the desk. Ian considered shouting for ‘help’ at the top of this lungs, but Scout was very distracting, as he was nearly pulling his arms out of their sockets, almost reeling him off of his feet.
Scout was growling viciously and barking loudly and baring all of his formidable saliva dripping canines in preparation for a full on assault. Ian considered turning his four-legged body guard loose on the large man in black but, just as he nearly let go of the leash, the man spoke, “Clayton Collins sends his regards. I’ve been sent to you by Mr. Collins.” Ian was instantly intrigued upon hearing the man speak Clayton’s name. His curiosity was additionally spurred on by the man’s accent, which was decidedly Scottish. Something that was not too common as accents go, at least not in New Orleans.
The large dark-suited man stood and noticed something that Ian did not. In the midst of Scout’s continued fury, Scout’s eyes had become fiery-red luminescent orbs.
“Scout, Cut!” Ian sternly exclaimed. Cut, was Scouts voice command that he was trained to obey, which meant cease all hostilities, at once. But, Scout seemed to ignore Ian’s command. Something that he’d never done before.
“Damn-it Scout, CUT! NOW!” Ian shouted. This time reluctantly Scout began to back down from his threat
to full-on attack, the large man dressed in black.
The man spoke once more. “Nice dog you’ve got there. You haven’t had him fixed yet, I see.” The man snickered at his own comment.
Ian, still a little unnerved did a fair job of hiding it, as he spoke. “Look, you say Clayton sent you. Okay, that’s good enough for me to not set my dog on ya, not yet anyway. But, tell me, why’s Clayton sent you to see me?”
The man set himself back down into his chair. Scout had pretty much calmed down but was still not taking his now normal, eyes off of the stranger.
“Clayton sent me, because he knows things. Certain important things about what’s going on around here that without his or without my help you’ll never know. Until it’s too late anyway! Things involving people who are up to no good. No good for us all! Do you understand?”
Ian nodded his head yes, but then shook his head no. “No. No I don’t understand, at all! You’re gonna have to be a whole lot more specific for me to understand anything that you and Clayton are… what you’re here about.” Ian cleared his throat, steadied himself and tried to sound as tough and to the point as he could before continuing. “What exactly is it, what is it that you want with me?”
The large dark suited man stood up once more and half grinned as he replied in a low intimidating voice. “You want an explanation from me, do you now? Let’s you and I find us a quiet out of the way place to discuss this further, shall we? Then, and only then, will I’ll tell you all that you need to know and likely let you live. Or…?”
“Or, what? Ian interjected.
“Or, I can simply kill you now and be on my way.’
Ian was convinced by the large dark suited man’s very matter-of-fact demeanor, that he meant every word, and more likely than not, wouldn’t hesitate to make good on his threat.
“Yeah. Uh right. Sure, let’s go and hear what you’ve got to say to…” Ian nervously answered.
The man fired back, “Leave your dog. He and I, we don’t see eye to eye.”
CHAPTER 5
THE FAMOUS DOOR
Ian, although reluctantly, did as the man in black had asked, and left Scout behind at the hotel and together he and the stranger grabbed a cab and headed towards Bourbon Street. Ian recognized immediately the destination that the man in black gave to the cab driver.
After a short taxi ride and then hoofing it a few additional blocks, Ian and the man in black arrived to their destination. The places front door had a poster on it from a cover band that boasted they played exclusively music by Credence Clearwater Revival. The moment they entered, Ian was slightly taken aback regarding how loud the music was. But he followed the man in black who was briskly walking towards a side room at the very backend of the place. Ian quickened his pace to catch up to the man in black who’d been three strides ahead of him most of the way The man walked directly over to a table and sat down. The table had a sign on it that read, RESERVED. Ian followed the man in black’s lead and he too seated himself directly across the table.
“So, you reserved this table did you?” Ian asked.
“No.” The man in black almost tersely answered, “Clayton knows the owners… he reserved the table.”
Ian nodded his head that he understood but he still was a bit confused, “Will Clayton be joining us?”
“No.” The man in black answered as if slightly bothered by Ian’s question.
There was a brief moment of uneasy silence between the two men. Just when Ian was about to break the silence, save for the music from the band, by asking more questions, a cocktail waitress walked from the main room straight to their table.
“What can I get you gents tonight?” The waitress, a blond haired women that Ian surmised was probably in her late twenties, spoke in a noticeably southern drawl.
The man in black turned his head towards the waitress as he spoke, “Yes, I’ll have a Vodka Martini.”
Ian looked at the man in black and smiling he interjected, “Shaken, not stirred?!” The man in a jerk, turned his head directly towards, Ian. The man in black’s face was noticeably grimacing. Ian couldn’t see his eyes, he was still wearing his extremely dark lens glasses. But Ian immediately stopped smiling. It became immediately apparent to Ian that the man in black found no humor in his attempted levity. Slowly the man in black turned his attention back to the cocktail waitress.
“As a matter of fact sweetheart, I would prefer it, shaken.”
The waitress smiled at the man in black then looked at Ian, “And you?”
Ian replied, “Uh, make mine a Jack -n- Coke, easy on the Coke.” Ian thought to himself, great job I’m doing trying to maintain my sobriety. Once the waitress had left them to turn in their drink orders to the bar. The cover band was now well into, “Born on the Bayou.” The day hadn’t yet quite reached the fifty yard line dividing afternoon and evening; but the place was already two-thirds jumping. After a quick perusal of the very limited menu; Ian quickly ascertained that the place was first and foremost a live music gin-joint. As he glanced over the menu once again, Ian silently mused, I see that the local-yokels and tourists alike, don’t come here to dine on delicacies beyond the realm of, Red beans and rice, Gumbo, Jambalaya, Crawfish Etouffee, Po’boy sandwiches, Jalapeño poppers, Curly fries, or it says here that the house specialty is… drum roll please… extra spicy-hot Cajun-style buffalo wings.
“Well, it’s certainly dimly lit in here. So this is the famous French Doors. I hear it’s a landmark nightclub.” Ian tried to sound as though he knew the area, at least a little. In actuality, he’d passed by the place and had looked into its windows earlier in the day, when he and Scout had been walking up and down, Bourbon Street.
The cocktail waitress returned and handed them their drinks. “Do you gents want me to open you a tab?” She asked with a bright smile on her face.
The man in black shook his head no as he handed the waitress a fifty dollar bill. “Charge us for these drinks, and one more round, then keep the change, miss.”
Besides the man in black speaking with an accent, Ian was also observant of the man’s nearly monotone voice. That and he immediately took a seat with his back against the wall. The table was in the perfect location to be able to see anyone who approached them from any direction, at a good distance away, even in the rapidly increasing crowd of patrons. Ian had already surmised the man seated before him was a private security type. Ian thought to himself; This guy’s likely a bodyguard of Clayton’s. Why Clayton would ever need a body guard now that would really be a good question? One that I’d probably stand to remain a lot healthier by not knowing the answer.
Ian spoke just loud enough that the man in black could hear him, nobody else. “So, you definitely have my attention. Why has Clayton sent you? Do you have a message form from him or…? Zoey’s okay isn’t she?” Ian suddenly became concerned that Clayton’s niece Zoey, a young women he’d recently become involved with during a previous investigation, was okay.
The man in black rapid fired back, “It’s much more serious than anything like that.”
Ian set back in his chair, took a deep breath, “Okay, all right, then what’s this all about?” Ian reached for his glass, then took a large swallow of his drink.
The man in black picked up his martini and drank it down in one well practiced guzzle. He then set the empty glass save one red pimento stuffed green olive, down onto the table. “I forgot to tell her to hold the junk. Anyway, McDermott I’m here to both steer you in the right direction, as well as to help keep your ass out of trouble. That is, if that’s even going to be possible, considering what you might be getting ass deep into.”
Ian looked suspiciously at the man. “Okay, before we discuss this any further, how about you call me by my first name, which I’m guessing you obviously must know. I mean since you know my last name.” Ian cleared his throat, “And, uh-uhm,ah, can I have, you know, yours?” Ian was trying to keep his best poker face on. The fact is the man before him was to say the least, extreme
ly intimidating to him. And being sent by Clayton or not, Ian was still more than slightly on edge.
“E.” The man in black grunted out.
Ian smirked as he spoke, “E. Just E, that is it?”
The man in black slowly nodded.
“Well, I see E, apparently you’re a man of mystery. I guess Mister E seems fitting.” Ian smirked and laughed slightly at his own pun.
E tipped his sunglasses down low onto his nose for a second, exposing his eyes to Ian, before repositioning his dark glasses back into place. Ian unconsciously gulped regarding what he just saw as he silently swore, If live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget his… those… eyes.
E’s eyes, his corneas were an unnatural yellow encircled by garnet red where they should have been white. And branching out in every direction, like spider-webs, were dark blue spindly veins. Veins that nearly covered the man’s extremely bloodshot sclera. The man’s eyes were absolutely luminescent with what appeared to Ian to be heavily dilated flash-light like, glowing beady bright green pupils.
Upon seeing the man’s eyes and knowing the man had at least some sort of association with Clayton Collins, Ian knew in an instant that the man, if that’s what one would choose to call him; he was not to be trifled with. Ian was now even more nervous than he’d been before.
“Okay, Mister E …”
The man in black instantly interrupted Ian, “E just E!”
“Okay, all right E. You have my complete attention. Which is it? Are you here to help me, or kill me?”
