by Chris Wiltz
That damned smile. I really felt hot now. “What is this? You called me up here so I could go back and deliver your threats to Richard Cotton? That’s what you’re doing—you’re threatening him.”
“Don’t get high-handed with me, Rafferty. You’re here because I’m doing you a favor. You came in to see me last week, or don’t you remember?”
“Yeah, I also remember you weren’t interested then. I wonder—was it something I said? Dropping Marty Solarno’s name didn’t help. So it must have been the bit about the movies. You want to know if I’ve seen the film, or if I have a print of the film, or if I know if anyone else has a print. Or maybe it isn’t a film at all. You aren’t sure, are you?”
“Au contraire, Mr. Rafferty.” There was a nastiness as well as a prissineśs I hadn’t heard before, but it suited him well, and at least the smile was gone. “I’m quite sure about a great many more things than you are. I’m quite sure that Richard Cotton hired Marty Solarno. And that he thought Solarno had something on me. Then he hired you. And what neither one of you can be sure about is that Solarno didn’t have something on Cotton. You’re both amateurs trying to play in the major leagues, so just get out of it now. You, Rafferty. Even what you think you know, you don’t. I’ve done you a favor to tell you anything. Now get out of here.”
I got up. “I’m sure of one thing, Callahan. You wouldn’t have told me to come over here just to do me a favor.”
17
* * *
Mardi Gras Madness
What Callahan had said was true enough: I wasn’t sure Solarno hadn’t had something on Richard. It would have been like him to supply Richard with a film and Callahan with a tape of Richard sounding a lot like a blackmailer. But then, I wasn’t one hundred percent positive there was a film.
What perplexed me as much as anything was Callahan saying that I didn’t even know what I thought I knew. The truth was that the more I thought about it all, the less sure I was about anything. The way things were stacking up, with what Richard had said about himself, his hiring Solarno, and the kind of questions Uncle Roddy was asking, I was beginning to suspect he had closer ties to the world of vice than his background and life-style would indicate. And what was Callahan trying to say about Raven—that Richard knew him? Or was he just trying to make me believe that just like he was going to try to make everyone in the city believe that? I didn’t know, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I liked Richard Cotton.
Nevertheless, I tried to call him. We needed to talk, but by that time on Mardi Gras eve his office was closed and there was no answer at his house. He and Paula had probably ducked out of town.
For the moment, there were other things to think about. Lee and I were going strong again. We were back to where we had been before the rift of the previous week. But I still wanted to tell her about Myra and my past. Until I trusted her with this confidence, I felt we could go no further. But for the time being I decided to let it ride. She was asking no questions, and, anyway, I’m big on timing.
The city was choked with people; it was difficult to get anywhere. People walked in the streets oblivious to traffic. Everywhere we went we either ran into a parade or a tandem of empty floats on the way to the start of one.
The night before Mardi Gras we stayed at my apartment to get ready for the open house I’d had yearly since moving into the Euclid. Besides the fact that it didn’t flood, the other good thing about my apartment was that the parades passed right outside my windows. So if you didn’t want to be in the crowd, you could watch from upstairs. And when my sister’s kids decided they’d caught enough beads they could entertain themselves riding up and down the elevators.
We were up by six o’clock Mardi Gras morning. By seven people were lined up on St. Charles Avenue with ice chests for their beer, ladders for their kids, and lawn chairs for their old folks.
When my mother and sister arrived, Lee and I took the kids and walked down St. Charles, checking out the costumes and watching people get drunk at eight o’clock in the morning. We were close to Lee Circle when the kids spotted the old man and their father. Michael is a cop, and he was working a double shift, as he always does on Mardi Gras, walking up and down the assigned beat on St. Charles Avenue. The old man was having his big fun for the day, walking with Michael and his partner until Zulu, the first parade, rounded the corner at Jackson and St. Charles to head downtown. It’s just the past few years that Zulu, the only black carnival crew, has been on an established route. Their floats used to wander all over town, and if you were lucky enough to find them, you might catch one of the prized gilded coconuts they throw—if one didn’t hit you on the head first. The old man, talking to me, told us to run along, then, to Lee, said he’d meet us back at the Euclid as soon as Zulu passed.
By the time Rex, the King of Carnival, was in front of the Euclid, the crowds were thick as Irish stew, and Lee had made another friend—Reenie’s nine-year-old son, Johnny. He was scrounging for beads, and every pair he caught, he gave to her until she told him that if she wore any more, she’d be bent double. He still showed her everything he caught before he bagged it, though.
I had Kate, the younger one, up on my shoulders. She was protesting that she wasn’t catching as much as her brother, but by covering my eyes to hold on to me I was having trouble getting anything for her. My mother was standing next to us bagging Kate’s throws and yelling at her to stop putting her hands over Uncle Neal’s eyes. One float passed, another one approached, and the crowd surged, pushing us closer. I heard Johnny shoút, “Hey, Lee, where ya goin’?” I pulled off one of Kate’s little hands in time to see Lee dash out into the street in between two floats that were rolling along at a pretty fast clip. My heart did a double flip, but she made it across and was squeezing into the crowd on the other side, then the second float blocked my view of her.
I swung Kate, screaming and flailing, off my shoulders and told my mother to hang on to her. People shoved me and cursed me, but I made it to the front and got across the avenue, dodging some dukes on prancing horses. I pushed through another barrier of unwilling people until I was on the far side of the neutral ground where I could move unhindered. I walked along the edge of the crowd looking for Lee. I walked for two blocks, but she had disappeared.
My mother and I had to fight to get the kids upstairs. The truck parades follow Rex and go on well into the afternoon. Every truck was a pair of beads or trinket in the day-long competition to see who could catch the most. We let them watch about twenty of them before we herded them back to the apartment. Lee still hadn’t returned.
I saw my sister head into the bedroom and followed her. She was stretching out on the bed, her big stomach making lying down difficult.
“Feeling bad?” I asked.
“Tired,” Reenie said. “They’ve got me afraid to do anything for fear I’ll lose this baby.”
“It’s not long now, is it?”
“Less than two weeks. Neal, will you do me a favor? Will you relieve Ma with the kids for a while, and take me home later?”
“Sure.” Her eyes were already closing.
I went out into the living room, closing the door behind me. Lee was back. The old man had her cornered, and was well into one of his acts, talking about the good ol’ days. She was a good audience, laughing and asking him questions, and he was enjoying the hell out of himself. And, I have to admit, I was pleased.
I went downstairs, watched another twenty trucks, then told the kids to take an elevator ride. Meanwhile, several hungry and thirsty people had arrived, mostly the old man’s friends, among them Uncle Roddy and Fonte. A few more people were heading out, among them some of my friends from Grady’s bar. They were on their way back to the bar to hang over the pool tables. Not even Mardi Gras breaks their routine. I walked to the door with them, promising Murphy Zeringue, a longtime friend and one of Grady’s regular pool sharks, that I’d come by for a game soon. I headed into the kitchen for a drink. Running my mouth playing host had made me th
irsty. The old man came in behind me.
“Fix Rod’rick a Scotch, Neal,” he bellowed as if I were standing in the kitchen of the next apartment. He draped an arm over my shoulder, and came in close to my ear. “Looks like you gotta live one there. If I were you, I’d hang on to her for a while.”
If he were me. I suppressed a smile. “Yeah? I thought you were against women cops.”
He clapped me on the back. “Just for fun, Neal, just for fun. ‘Til somethin’ better comes along.” He left with Rod’rick’s drink.
I stood there, my blood at a fast boil. Reenie came to the kitchen doorway.
“Can we go now, Neal?”
“Yeah.”
I went out into the small hallway between the living room and the front door. I was going to get Lee to come with us, but Fonte was grinning all over her, his arm straight out, palm on the wall, blocking her in the corner. The old man was barging in on them.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said to Reenie.
We had to drive through the back streets until we were far enough uptown to get across St. Charles Avenue, then back down to the Channel. I was still hot from the old man’s bullying.
“Okay,” Reenie said, “what did he do now?”
“Same old shit,” I told her. “He’s got to put Lee down—and me—even though I can tell he likes the hell out of her.” I imitated him. “Don’t fool around wit’ women cops, Neal.”
“You know that’s the way he is. Why can’t you just do what you want and let him growl?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
She didn’t say anything else until I pulled up in front of the house. She put her hand on my forearm. “As much as anything, Neal, it’s the two of you together. You act like he’s your rival, but you’re a chip off the old block.” Her hand lightly patted my forearm before it withdrew. “Don’t be mad at me for saying that.”
Red Reenie, I thought, recalling the name I’d tortured her with through childhood because of her reddish-brown hair. I guess she’d taken her share of bullying, too.
“I’m not mad,” I said. I kissed her on the cheek and watched her waddle into her side of the double.
Reenie was right. There was a lot of the old man in me. I’d tried to be exactly like him for so many years—not so unusual for a lot of kids—that if Myra Ledet hadn’t come along, I may never have realized we were two different people.
I’d been gone from the Euclid a good half hour, but Lee, Fonte, and the old man were still laughing in the corner. Uncle Roddy had joined them.
I got into the middle of them and took Lee by the hand. “Please excuse us, gentlemen.” I led Lee off to the bedroom and shut the door behind us.
“Where did you go?” she asked.
“I took Reenie home.” I pushed her hair away from her face. “And where did you go this morning?”
“I thought I spotted my shadow, from last week, remember?”
“I thought you were on someone.”
“No. I told you I had a tail. I spent until four o’clock in the morning trying to draw him out.”
I didn’t like that, but I figured I’d better not say so. “Strange,” I said instead. “I’ve had the feeling someone’s been following me, too. I wonder what’s going on.” My hand slid down her smooth face to her throat. Her eyes fluttered. I bent and kissed her.
At that moment, the bedroom door flew open. “Hey, Lee!” Johnny yelled. He took one look at the two of us standing there, and said, “Well ex-cuse me,” and slammed the door shut. Lee laughed.
“Look,” I said, “I’ve had enough of this insanity. We’re leaving.”
“You’re leaving your own party?”
“Ha. It’s the old man’s party.” I got her canvas bag out of the closet. “You go first. I’ll throw a few things together and meet you downstairs.” She went to the door. “And, look,” I added. “Don’t let Fonte or Johnny or the old man catch you, okay?”
18
* * *
Everyone Needs a Vice
“Paula Cotton thinks someone’s trying to kill her, Neal.” The Mardi Gras revelers were far behind us. Outside Lee’s windows was Audubon Park and in it the insect sounds of the country as night falls. We were stretched out on the futon in the bedroom, drinking some kind of aromatic Chinese tea that Lee liked. I would have preferred a drink, but here it was strictly bring your own, which I hadn’t, and which I wasn’t encouraged to do. We were talking about the terrorization of Paula Cotton—scraping sounds at the outside doors of the Garden District house, doorknobs turning, late night phone calls from a whisperer. The incidents only occurred at night when she was alone, but that didn’t make them attempts on her life.
“It sounds to me like someone’s trying to scare her.”
“And she’s afraid,” Lee said, “but she thinks it’s more than that. She’s been afraid since Christopher Raven got into the house.”
I wanted to ask her if Paula Cotton thought Richard knew Raven, or if she had any theories about why Raven was in her house, but I also didn’t want to tell Lee about my conversation with Callahan until I talked to Richard. If I was going to betray something, I at least wanted to know what it was. I said, “I can understand that, but I still don’t see why she thinks someone is trying to kill her.”
“She thinks someone wants her out of the way. He tells her over the phone to get out or he’ll kill her. She believes him.”
“So why doesn’t she get out—take a trip?”
“I suggested that, but she says it’s running away, she wouldn’t know how long to stay, and it would, make her angry.”
“Why doesn’t Quiro come stay with her, instead of staying across the lake?”
“She doesn’t want him around—she can’t hear him when he walks into the room with her. It gives her the creeps.”
“Okay. How about a burglar alarm system?”
“She says she’d have a heart attack if it went off in the middle of the night, so she’d be dead anyway.”
“For God’s sake! Get her a couple of big dogs.”
“She’s allergic to them.”
We both laughed. I put the cup of tea on the floor next to the futon. “Has she called the police?”
“She did the first time, but they weren’t very helpful. She won’t call them again.”
“Has she told Richard about all this?”
“No. She won’t.”
I took the next logical step. “She thinks he’s behind it, doesn’t she?”
“She hasn’t said so, but yes, that’s what she thinks.”
“Then why does she stay in the house alone with him?”
“She says he’s too much of a coward to do anything like that himself, or even have it done while he’s around.”
“Well, it doesn’t make sense. He went after her when she went to Mexico, and he wants the marriage intact, if for no other reason than he’s running for D.A.”
“I know.”
“So what has she done?”
“She’s hired me.”
“And you’re supposed to find out who’s after her.”
“Yes. And I will.”
“But who is after you, Lee?”
“I don’t know.”
“I thought you spotted him today.”
“Not really.” She looked toward the windows, her brows drawn together. “I had a peculiar feeling that whoever it was, was standing right across the street from us. When I got into the crowd, the feeling went away. So I walked for a while, just to see what would happen.”
“I came after you, but I didn’t see you. Where did you walk?”
She turned to me, ignoring the question. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Look, I don’t want to make you queasy, but I don’t like any of it. Someone’s following you, I think someone’s following me, and neither one of us seems to have any answers about anything.”
Her eyes went to the windows again. The curtains were full but thin. Someone might be able to see
through them with the light on in the room. I put my hand on her thigh. “Why do you keep looking at the windows?”
Her eyes moved back to me swiftly. “No reason,” she said. Then, “Neal, are you frightened?”
As a matter of fact, I was. I could see the silver seal, his slick head tilted back so he could peer down at me even while he was sitting, the smugness on his face, the power behind the look. “I haven’t been,” I told her, “but I’ve got a bad feeling that it’s stupid not to be.”
We stared at each other a few moments, then I reached for the tea. The flowerlike smell of it made my nose twitch. I put it down again. “I could use a drink,” I said.
“I figured you could.” She got up and went across the room to her canvas bag. Out of it she pulled a fifth of Scotch. She held it up; it was about half full. She went to get a glass.
“Tell me what I did to deserve this,” I said as she handed me the bottle and glass, “so I can do it again.”
She curled her body beside me, and propped herself up on an elbow. “We all need our vices,” she said.
“Yes,” I conceded, “but what’s yours?”
She smiled. “You.”
As Lee and I fell into an exhausted sleep, the police, in cooperation with Chance Callahan’s office, conducted the largest vice and narcotics raid to take place in New Orleans in years. It was like Washington crossing the Delaware on Christmas Day to surprise the Hessians: While the police were assumed to be occupied on the streets where the biggest party in the country was going on, they moved into the underworld and cleaned up.
19
* * *
Twice Violated
Lee told me the next morning that, when she was needed, her nights would belong to Paula Cotton. With Mardi Gras over, the Cottons’ busy social life would be in a lull during Lent. My guess was that Paula would be spending a lot of time alone. Richard’s campaign for district attorney along with his ongoing law practice would provide him with plenty of excuses to be away from home at night. Lee’s plan was to be in the house with Paula or hidden outside until Paula’s torturer was caught.
