Detective Villere appeared surprised. “You’re leaving?”
Grady turned to the black tuxedo costume. “I’ll be moving on to Atlanta next week for a three-month gig.”
“You move around a lot?”
Grady reached for a hanger dangling from a hook in the wall. “Part of the job.”
“Just stay in touch. If you ID this kid, we’ll need you to come back for a hearing. Because he’s a juvenile, if he’s found guilty, he’ll be sent to a juvenile detention facility until he’s twenty-one.”
Grady snorted with disbelief as he hung up his jacket. “Doug dies and all he gets is six years. Seems like pretty worthless justice, if you ask me.”
Detective Villere moved toward the door. “Justice was never meant to satisfy the innocent, just punish the guilty.” He opened the door and glanced back at Grady. “Can you come by the Eighth District Police Station, around two tomorrow afternoon, to look at a few mug shots?”
“Yeah.” Grady nodded. “I’ll be there.”
Just as Detective Villere was about to walk out the door, Matt appeared in the hallway outside.
“Hey, Chris. You here for the booze or the broads?” Matt joked, taking the detective’s outstretched hand.
“Neither, Matt.” He jutted his thumb at Grady. “Just having a word with my witness. How’s Beverly doing?”
“You know Bev, crying her eyes out and shopping to feel better.” Matt chuckled. “Adele and the kids all right?”
“Great,” the detective replied. “Thanks for asking.” Detective Villere paused. “We’ll talk soon,” he added, shook Matt’s hand and headed down the hall.
Matt came into the dressing room and closed the door.
“I’m confused.” Grady obstinately put his hands on his hips. “What was all that between you and the detective? I thought you said he was out to get you.”
Matt nodded. “He is, but we’re civil with each other outside of that. His wife and I dated in high school, so I can’t be a total asshole to him. Adele and I are still good friends.”
Grady was bowled over. “I can’t believe this. You actually dated his wife?”
“Years ago, before I got into working the clubs. That’s the way of things in New Orleans. Everybody knows everybody.”
Grady shook his head, trying to absorb the absurdity of the situation. “No wonder Suzie thought this was a weird town. Are any criminals actually convicted of anything here?”
“All the time. But it’s usually because they were sloppy, stupid, or didn’t contribute enough to the DA’s re-election campaign.”
Grady cocked one eyebrow at Matt. “Which I’m sure you do.”
“Every time any politician in this town asks for money for their election, I contribute. I would be a fool not to. Over the years, I’ve learned to pay the right people, so I can operate my businesses without any problems. It may not be the way things are done in other cities, but it is the way things have been done since New Orleans began.”
Grady began to press the Velcro seams on the sides of his tuxedo pants together. “Maybe it’s good I’m getting out of here. Imagine my morals if I stayed.”
“I need to talk to you about your leaving,” Matt declared, coming up to Grady. “Remember when I told you I know some dancers that might be interested in being represented by you?”
“Yes, but that was when I was going to stay.”
“I know, but I spread the word around. I’ve got quite a few dancers looking for a new agent. I thought I might see if you’re still interested.”
“You know why I’m leaving, Matt.”
“I predict that things are getting ready to change for you. You might want to stick around for a while.”
Grady dropped his tuxedo pant leg, letting the material fall to the chair. “What did you do?”
“I made a phone call.”
“To whom?”
“My landlord, Beth Brown. I told her what was going on between Handler and Al, and she wasn’t too happy about it.”
“What’s her interest in their relationship?”
“Beth is Handler’s wife. Her family bought up a bunch of properties in the French Quarter, years ago, when they owned the big dairy. One of the buildings they own ….” He pointed to the floor.
“Son of a bitch,” Grady whispered. “Handler gave me the impression his wife knew about his affairs.”
“Knew about Allison, yes, but she didn’t know about the car, the loan he cosigned for her, or the truth about why he was beaten up. The good doctor just said he was jumped by the jealous boyfriend of a patient in the parking lot of his medical building. Considering Handler’s wife is the money behind the marriage, she wasn’t too pleased that her family money was being spent to keep Geoff’s mistress in a manner way beyond what they had agreed on.”
“Agreed on?”
“It seems Mrs. Handler gave Geoff some ground rules for keeping his mistresses, discretion being one of the biggest. Geoff was supposed to keep his relationship with Allison out of public view. When I saw them together at the funeral and told Beth about how attentive Geoff was, she became very angry. It did not take much to get her to start telling me all about her real relationship with her husband.”
Grady briefly pondered the information, but then he picked up his tuxedo pants and began to reattach the breakaway seems. “All of that might change Geoff’s relationship with Allison, but it won’t change anything for me.”
“What are you talking about? It means he’ll probably stop seeing her to appease his wife; otherwise, it will cost him.”
“I’m glad Allison will be out from under his thumb,” Grady commented, never taking his eyes off his costume. “I’ll still be heading out of town next week.”
“What about the guys I know looking for an agent? Aren’t you interested in seeing if you can make a career change?”
Grady dropped the fabric. He stood up and leveled his eyes on Matt. “I’m a male stripper, Matt. I don’t know the first thing about being an agent. I would probably just screw it up, like everything else in my life.”
Matt took a step closer to him. “You’re a lot like Allison, did you know that? I used to watch her and Cassie, whenever Clarence brought them to one of his gigs. I used to sit them down at the bar and make them Shirley Temples, only Cassie would pretend her drink was something exotic, like a rum punch. She would wave to every customer in the joint and chat up anyone who would listen.” He shook his head, smiling. “Not Allison, though. She would sit on her barstool and watch her sister, never saying a word. I asked her once why she never talked to anyone in the bar, and you know what she told me? ‘Because who would want to talk to me? Cassie’s the interesting one.’ Ever since then I’ve always called her Allie Cat, because she would sit and watch everyone with her big gray eyes.”
Grady scowled, seeming unconvinced. “Nice story, Matt, but Allison and I are nothing alike.”
“Yes, you are,” Matt countered. “You both think you’re not deserving of happiness. Allison attached herself to a married man and was willing to give you up, because she thought she didn’t deserve to you.” Matt waved a bony hand down Grady’s physique. “Now you’re going to run away from the one woman who made you feel like you were worth something. When you were with her, you saw yourself as a hell of a lot more than a male stripper. And you know what? You are worth something, Grady. You just had to have someone else wake you up from this coma you’ve been walking around in. Now that your eyes are open, you can’t go back. You have to try to be that man, the one you always dreamed of being.”
Grady shook his head. “She doesn’t want me. She made that very clear.”
“She doesn’t want to want you. I discovered something else about Allie Cat all those years ago. She’s stubborn as hell. Sometimes stubborn people need to be made to realize what they have before it packs up and leaves town.”
“Nice try, Matt. But I’m going. We’re over.”
“Personally, I think you’re maki
ng a big mistake, Grady.” Matt turned for the door. “But what do I know? I’m just a skin man, not a matchmaker.” Matt opened the door and walked into the hallway.
Grady ran his hand over his chin, thinking of Al. He had moments of weakness where he longed to see her again, but wasn’t sure if he should. Their last encounter had left him bruised and broken. Another might destroy him for good.
Get out while you still can, reason counseled. You’ve got nothing left for you in New Orleans.
In the pit of his gut, he feared that his irksome inner voice was right. The only question that remained was why was his heart still not convinced?
Chapter 23
Located on Royal Street, in the heart of the French Quarter, the New Orleans Police Department Eighth District Station was more like an antebellum home than a place for law officers. The Greek Revival building had white Corinthian columns surrounding a yellow plaster exterior, and a white post-railing on the roof, detailed with ornamental urns.
Grady browsed the building and then the assortment of police cars and motorcycles parked out front. He thought it almost a shame that something as grand and elegant as that old building would be home to those who spent their careers wrestling with the ugliness of the city. It was as if the buildings of New Orleans, with their unique beauty, hid the real secrets of those who inhabited them. Stashing away a multitude of sins behind romantic balconies, charming doorways, and enchanting decorative facades, only added to the mystique of the Big Easy.
“Right on time,” a man’s craggy voice called to Grady.
Glancing to his right, Grady spied Detective Villere sporting a casual brown blazer and khaki pants. A brown belt held in his wide girth and also showed off his shiny gold badge.
“I saw you from my office window,” the detective revealed, pointing to a window to his right. “Come inside.”
Once they entered the thick glass doors, a whir of activity greeted Grady. Police officers—some dressed in their uniformed blues and some in street clothes—scurried around a large main floor. There were glass partitions along the edges of the room, allowing visual access to all of the offices. On the main floor were an assortment of metal desks laid out in rows, where uniformed officers fielded phone calls.
“I’m over here,” Detective Villere said, motioning to his right.
Grady followed him to the small office.
“Kind of makes it hard to have any privacy.” Grady waved at the glass office walls.
“They designed it that way. I guess the city wanted to make sure we were doing our jobs.” The detective went to a standard issue metal desk—no different from the ones on the central floor. He picked up a brown manila folder, opened it, and placed it before a black and gray metal chair in front of the desk. “Look these over and see if you recognize anyone,” he directed.
Grady moved closer to the desk and had a seat. He began carefully examining six mug shots, stapled to the inside of the folder. At first, none of the faces looked familiar, and Grady was about to turn to the detective when something about one of the pictures caught his eye.
The face was of a very young man with coffee-colored skin and a round, almost cherubic-looking face, but it was the eyes that resonated with Grady. It was the same terrified look he had seen in the eyes of the assailant that night. He stared at the picture and slowly other details about his very young assailant came back to him.
After a few more seconds, he pointed to the mug shot. “That’s him.”
Detective Villere checked the mug shot. “You’re sure?”
“I remembered the look in his eyes. It’s the same as the kid in that mug shot. It’s the same guy.”
The detective picked up the folder. “That’s the kid we have in custody.” He shut the folder. “Now that we have a positive ID, we can get him to talk.”
“Talk about what?”
“If he knows he was identified, he’ll probably be willing to tell us who gave him the gun, hoping that will lessen his jail time.”
Grady sat back in his chair. “Does all of this ever get to you?” He waved his hand over the desk. “I can’t imagine doing this for a living.”
“Funny, I can’t imagine doing what you do for a living. With me, I’m getting satisfaction by getting bad guys off the streets and keeping people safe. What do you get from your job?”
Grady ignored the question. “How would putting Matt Harrison away give you satisfaction?”
The detective shrugged. “Personally, I like the hell out of Matt. Professionally, he makes my skin crawl. However, it’s who he hangs out with that really interests me.”
“Can you really separate your personal feelings from your professional ones?”
The detective rested his hip against his desk and folded his arms over his ample belly. “When you dance with those women on the stage, do you keep your professional feelings for them separate from your personal feelings?”
Grady was about to answer when he thought of his dance with Al. It was the one time when his personal feelings and professional feelings had melded into one.
“I used to think I could, but lately ….”
“Then, my friend, it’s time for you to get out of that game. When your professional life clashes with your personal life, you’re going to have to give up one or the other. If you don’t, you’ll be miserable with both.”
Grady stood from his chair. “That’s worth thinking about.”
The detective moved away from his desk toward the open office door. “You’re a bright man, Grady Paulson. I did some checking up on you. BA in finance from Yale, upper management at Lehman Brothers; you were going somewhere. I think you could get back on track, if you found your melch.”
“My what?”
“Melch: the thing that makes it all worthwhile.” Detective Villere smiled and placed his hand over his chest. “For me, it’s my wife and kids. They are what I go home to every night that makes all I go through here bearable.” He paused. “So, who do you go home to?”
“Haven’t had a home to go to in a while,” Grady divulged.
Detective Villere held out his hand. “I hope you find one soon, Grady.”
Grady shook his hand. “We’re done?”
“All done,” Detective Villere confirmed. “Let me know where you end up, in case we need to speak with you again.”
“I will.” Grady moved toward the door.
“And Grady?” the detective called to him.
Grady turned to see the detective looking out a window to Royal Street.
“Good luck with the girl,” he added.
“What girl?”
Detective Villere just smiled and shook his head.
Grady walked out the door of the Eighth District Police Station and observed the bustling French Quarter around him. The warm air held a myriad of enticing aromas wafting up from Brennan’s Restaurant on the next block. He was about to step from the curb when he spotted a red BMW 325i parked next to the police station entrance. Curious, he took a step closer, but quickly discovered the car was empty. Shaking his head and disappointed by the flurry of hope in his gut, he was about to turn away from the car when he heard a woman’s musical voice behind him.
“I was told I could find you here.”
Grady slowly spun around.
Al was standing by the curb, her blonde hair flowing about her shoulders, wearing a pair of green scrubs and holding a brown paper bag in her hand.
His heart momentarily thrilled at seeing her. Then Grady remembered how she had pushed him away, and his resolve hardened against her. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought we should talk. I think there are some things we should settle between us.”
Grady surveyed the smattering of people strolling along the sidewalks on either side of the street. “Who told you where I was?”
“Uncle Matt. I called the club looking for you and he picked up the phone. We chatted for a while … mostly about you.”
“I’ll bet that was
an interesting conversation,” he mumbled.
“The reason I’m here is because I need to give you something.”
Grady took a step closer to the curb. “What do you need to give me, Allison?”
She held up the paper bag in her hand. “I got you these from the French Market.”
Grady pointed to the bag. “What is it?”
“Strawberries.”
He eased in front of her. “Why are you bringing me strawberries?”
“To tell you how I’m sorry I am about all the things I said … and that you were right about Geoff. He was a proud peacock.” She rolled her eyes. “He fired me today.”
Grady fought to keep his smug grin in check. “Did he?”
“He said his wife wanted him to work with only male anesthetists.”
Grady took the bag of strawberries from her. “What brought that on?”
“I’m not sure. I went into work this morning and he called me into his office. He just gave me his keys to my place and said it was over.”
Grady put the bag behind his back, eyeing her reaction. “How do you feel about that?”
“Relieved,” Al sighed. “He also told me he would make sure the note on my house was signed over to me. No strings attached.”
“I’m glad for you,” Grady admitted, keeping the emotion from his voice. “I know how much you love your home.”
“Now you and the others don’t have to move out. With Geoff no longer holding my purse strings, I can stay in the rental business.”
Grady cast his eyes to the street. “Well then, you can find a new tenant for my place. I’ve decided to head back out on the road. I’ll be leaving next week.”
“You weren’t going to tell me?”
His eyes veered back to her. “I was going to slip a note under your door.” He held up his right pinkie. “But I figured it would be safer to just leave my keys and my excuses with Suzie.”
They stood for a few uncomfortable minutes as the sound of the French Quarter surrounded them. There were a million things Grady wanted to say, but he said nothing as his grip on his bag of strawberries tightened.
The Art of Sin Page 24
