Imogene in New Orleans

by Hunter Murphy

  The horse clopped down the enormous lanes of Canal Street. The driver took the first right he could, heading back toward the river. Jackson saw Billy relax his shoulders shortly after strapped himself into the cuff. Billy didn’t say he felt better, but he looked it. He had his eyes closed in the open air.

  Jackson felt cooler too, and he even took the camera at Imogene’s suggestion, so he could see the pictures of her escape. He carefully scrolled through her adventure, partially verifying her tale. “Imogene, that place you’re calling the pirate shop. Is it Lafitte’s?”

  “That’s the very one, son. Lafitte’s is an odd name for a sailor, ain’t it? The barkeep said Lafitte was the roughest sort of fellar that ever put boat in the water. They’re havin’ some sort of celebration for him. Can’t remember the particulars.” Something caught her eye. She jumped up and slapped her purse against the carriage door.

  Billy started yelling at her. “Are you trying to jump, Mama?” He grabbed hold of her arm as she peered down a street.

  “That’s him, the one they call ‘Catfish.’ Right there.” She leaned over just a bit more until her sun hat scraped the ledge.

  “Are you planning to run after him, Mother? My gosh. Sit.” Billy yanked her down and she bounced into the velvet seat.

  She snarled at her son, “I’ve seen wild turkeys handled better than that. Confound it.” She craned her neck over the gold trim.

  Jackson held the camera out to her. “Show me the picture of Catfish, Imogene. I want to see if that’s really him.”

  “You can’t miss ’im.” She leaned over the camera as Jackson scrolled through the shots on the tiny screen. Imogene squinted. “That’s him there, wearing that yellow mesh cap and them overalls. Plain as day.” Imogene turned around and pointed at a man in a mesh hat walking down the street. “And there he is in real life.”

  “We can’t see his face, him walking away from us, Imogene. And how do you know that’s the Catfish from Glenway’s book?” Jackson showed the picture to Billy as he pinned Imogene to the carriage seat with his leg.

  “Get off me.” She squirmed to the edge. “I told y’all. I spoke to the barkeep for a good while and he pointed out Catfish sittin’ in Lafitte’s pirate shop.”

  Jackson and Billy scanned the crowd of people streaming down the boulevard. They saw no one who looked like the picture Imogene had taken, but Jackson found it difficult to identify someone he’d only seen from the back. The photograph did show a young man’s mesh hat and overalls, as Imogene said, but Jackson was looking at a sea of people from the carriage.

  Imogene stood up and leaned over to the driver. “Hey, son, hang a right here, will ya?”

  The driver did as she asked, and just as they passed a streetcar stop, they saw a young man wearing a mesh hat and a pair of overalls.

  “There he is, boys. Hey, Catfish. Are you the one that Glenway Gilbert spoke of?”

  The young man darted his gray eyes at the carriage and then he jammed the bill of his yellow cap down to his nose.

  Imogene said, “Hey, don’t run twiced, son. Maw-Maw just wants to speak with you.”

  He jumped into the busy street and hit the opposite sidewalk running, dodging through tourists.

  “Dear God, how come all them that know the Gilbert boy run like scalded dogs?” She clutched the top of the cushioned seat and pointed for the driver to follow. The man shook his head. “Ma’am, this isn’t a car. I can’t just turn any way you want me to turn.”

  “I ain’t tellin’ you to turn any which way. Just head toward that country boy best you can. He can’t outrun your horse, even with us bein’ pulled.” She hit the seat with her hand as if to activate the horse.

  The driver had a clear shot to cross the street and go down the street where Imogene pointed, and he did it. “This’ll cost you extra.”

  “Shoot, the boys got a bank account to choke a bull. Go on, son, ’fore we lose ’im.”

  Jackson didn’t object to her ridiculous claim about his bank account, knowing full well that she was only trying to convince the driver to go after the runner.

  With every passing moment, Catfish distanced himself from the carriage. The driver finally got across the street and picked up speed, but he wasn’t going as fast as Imogene wanted.

  Billy sank low in his seat from embarrassment and motioned for Jackson to do the same. “Do it, Jackson. They’ll think she’s by herself. You can’t make Mama act right.” Imogene looked like Perseus guiding a chariot, perched high on the cushion. The more she yelled and smacked the seat, the more Billy hid his face from sight. The carriage could only clop along at about ten miles per hour, which only accentuated Imogene’s excitement. She urged it onward: “Fly, horse, fly!”

  Jackson watched in amazement that she had convinced the driver to handle the vehicle in such a way. Tourists began taking pictures of Imogene, standing tall in the seat while the driver guided the horse with the reins. She kept her eye trained on Catfish, describing his every step as if the driver couldn’t see the runner for himself. They made some ground on him until a car pulled out fifty feet in front of them, slowing them down.

  Imogene said, “Bull. Gallop around him. You’re better than all this, horse.” She smacked the side and nearly climbed out of the seat. “Devil, why’s that fancy car goin’ so slow? Move, bucko. Me and the boys are gettin’ close.”

  The carriage accelerated and they were again on the chase. Jackson saw Catfish glance back, revealing his droopy chin and the fishing lures on his overalls. He wore clod-hopping construction boots and his muscles rippled from underneath his shirt. The young man could have easily beaten Glenway to death. Catfish stopped at the “T” in the road up ahead. He was heaving air, and Imogene said, “We’ve worn him out, son. Keep on him. He’s ours for the catchin’.” Catfish put his hands on his hips as they got within thirty feet.

  Imogene said, “Go, Jackson. Get after him, son.”

  Jackson stood up and put his hand on the gilded carriage handle. “I can’t until it stops. I’ll break my leg jumping.”

  “Naw, you won’t. Hey, cabby, hold up and let Jack go. All right, Jack, on my count…” Jackson clutched the side of the carriage, propping one knee on the seat under Billy, who lay on his side. “What am I going to do if I catch him? He’s a big boy. He’s probably the one who killed Glenway.”

  “You gotta get him, Jackson. It ain’t right if he knocked off the Gilbert boy.” Imogene wiped her mouth with her hand.

  When they got within three horse lengths of Catfish, he took a sharp right and ran straight into Royal Street, where the road was barricaded to vehicles. The driver looked at it and said, “Whoa, girl. Not that way.”

  “Go after him, son. He’s gettin’ away. We’re almost on him.” She pointed and yelled and did her best to convince the driver otherwise, but he was stuck. The horse and carriage couldn’t get past the barricades even if he wanted to go.

  “We’ll just have to go the other way and find him somewhere else in the Quarter. Won’t we, boys?” Imogene convinced the driver and the boys to ride through the French Quarter, even though Billy protested. He had to tell her to sit more than a dozen times, but she wouldn’t do it, thinking that Catfish could be lurking around every corner and shadow. They passed a LAFITTE’S sign, pointing the way to the bar.

  “Hey, boys, we’re close to the pirate shop.”

  “But Imogene, you said that redheaded bartender couldn’t talk until later this evening.”

  “Yeah, I reckon so.” She gave a pining look in the direction of the famous establishment, her mouth slightly ajar, as the carriage rattled down the cobble stone road.

  On their third pass through Toulouse Street, three blocks from Chez Hill, Jackson happened to inquire about the tab on the meter. After being told it was three hundred and fifty dollars for the two and a half hours in the carriage, Imogene whistled through her teeth. “That’s robbery, boys. Highwaymen would charge ye less.”

  “Yeah, and you’re gonna
pay it, Mama. You’re the one who wanted this ride. Jackson, put your wallet back in your pocket. Mama’s paying for this charade.” Imogene protested, so Billy took her purse and removed one hundred and fifty dollars from it. “Now, give me the other two hundred from inside your shirt. I know you’ve got it. I saw you stashing that money this morning.”

  She removed a folded-up stack of twenties from her bra.

  Jackson said, “The trumpeter this morning called them Andy Jacksons. You need ten to give to Billy.”

  Imogene only had eleven, so she snarled as she handed him all but one, which she returned to her undergarment. As the horse ambled toward the hotel, Imogene said, “At least we’re going back to the pirate shop after this to speak with that jolly barkeep, ain’t we?”

  “Oh, no, we’re not, Mother. No more adventures. You’ve gotten your ride. I don’t care if I never get on another carriage. You’ve seen the French Quarter three times over just today. We’re not going to see about the pirate shop. I don’t care what the man knows.” Billy’s face was covered in sweat and worry. He looked like he could use a nerve pill.

  Imogene folded her arms and started mumbling.

  Jackson said, “Hey, Imogene, look at me.” She turned her head in the opposite direction and planted her arms against her chest. “Maw, what’s wrong with you?” She wouldn’t make eye contact with him. Instead, she looked above the boys, up toward the buildings. She pouted, crossing her legs twice.

  The driver turned around to tell the group, “All right, folks. We’re here at Chez Hill. That’ll be three hundred and fifty dollars.”

  Imogene scowled at him. “You oughta be ashamed of yourself, mister, stealin’ from an old widow woman. You should’ve give it to us free, knowin’ we was chasin’ a fellar who could’ve killed a fine citizen of New Orleans.”

  “Mother, hush. Jackson, get out and help her off this wagon.” Billy stayed behind to help her descend. She looked immovable, though, as she stared up at the balcony in front of their hotel room. Jackson followed her eyes, but he couldn’t see what she saw. He was thinking about why Catfish had run from them and how he could have killed Glenway.

  Imogene called out, “Gooey, what are you doing up there by yourself, shug? Hey, boys, is Goose s’posed to be out by himself?”

  “Mother, what are you talkin’ about? You’ll think of anything just to stay on this carriage.”

  She pointed to the corner of the balcony. Jackson backed up and saw Goose pressing his big head up against the ornate ironwork. His compact snout fit between the bars, and the tip of his tongue stuck a half foot from his protruding teeth. He had sad, droopy eyes. “That is him. Goose, what are you doing?”

  The bulldog panted through the railing. Imogene said, “That ain’t all, boys. Looks like them bags of ours, the luggage, is up there hemmin’ him in too.”

  Jackson began running as he saw it. “Someone’s thrown Goose and all our stuff out of the room.”

  Twelve

  As soon as the boys and Imogene got to the room and found Goose suffering on the balcony, surrounded by their luggage and the overturned patio table, with no water and no food and panting like he could just as soon die, Jackson stormed over to the phone and called the front desk. He immediately asked for the manager, Thomas Hill. The clerk told him that she would have to locate Mr. Hill first and then have him call the room.

  At Jackson’s urging, Imogene and Billy looked through their luggage to make sure nothing was missing. Jackson got Goose some water. They heard a knock at the door. Jackson beat Imogene there to answer it. He swung it open to see Hill dressed in a white linen suit with a yellow ascot wrapped around his neck. He wore a deep purple shirt and a snappy pair of brown loafers. He slicked his hair back with one hand at the sight of Jackson and kept one hand planted on his hip.

  Before Jackson could begin, Hill stepped toward him and said, “And what did I tell you about your dog, Mr. Miller? Did I not specify that you would stay with that beast at all times, which means never leaving him in the room by himself?” Hill nearly spit as he spoke. The fine, dark hairs on his unibrow quivered.

  “You did not, Mr. Hill. I can remember our conversation verbatim, and I certainly would have remembered that command.” Jackson stormed forward, leaning over the little man as he spoke. Imogene grabbed his plaid shirt to pull him back to the doorframe. Jackson was shaking. “If you had killed my dog, you and I would have had serious trouble, you little…. And who are you to throw our luggage on the balcony?”

  Hill didn’t back down, even though Jackson was in his face. “I told you to watch your dog. I know I did, Jackson Miller. And when my housecleaning staff arrived in your room, your beast began attacking the vacuum cleaner. According to them, he jumped from the corner and began biting the wheels of the machine.” Hill stood on his tiptoes and pointed his finger in Jackson’s face.

  Imogene said, “Jack, you know Gooey hates vacuums, sure as the day. He nearly chomped mine up last time you brought him to see me.” She pointed behind her at Goose sprawled out and panting in front of the bed. “Gooey, you done it, didn’t you?”

  Jackson held his hand up to her and glowered at the man. “Mr. Hill, I apologize for my dog’s reaction to the cleaning staff, but you have our cell phone numbers. I would’ve appreciated a courtesy call before sticking him in the hot New Orleans sun to suffocate.”

  Hill said, “But like I—”

  “No, you listen to me.” Jackson pointed at Hill’s unibrow. Goose was sucking in air as furiously as he could. “My dog has done nothing wrong except be born canine. I know he didn’t hurt the cleaning staff, because he wouldn’t do that.”

  “I’m too old for this shit,” Hill mumbled. He took a step back from Jackson and wrung his hands together. “Mr. Miller, you are on a short leash, if you’ll pardon the expression. You keep that fool dog of yours under control or you’ll be finding your belongings on the street next time and your dog at the pound.” Hill raised his head up so high that Jackson got an eyeful of the manager’s dark nose hairs. Jackson’s eyes were drawn to the scarf around his neck because of its bright, loud yellow color, which resembled that of a dandelion.

  When Hill stretched his neck to make his point, a silver chain slipped out from beneath the scarf. A piece of carved jade dangled from the edge of the chain. The ornament had the likeness of a court jester. Jackson’s eyes got big as he stared at the piece of jewelry.

  “What? What is it, Mr. Miller?” Hill looked down at his neck and stuffed the piece under his scarf. “That’s none of your concern. What is your concern is that slobbering, disgusting dog. You have been warned. Twice now, by my count. Do not leave him alone in the hotel room again…unless you would rather stay elsewhere.” He wiped his forehead with the fluffy end of his yellow ascot. “I will personally escort you out next time you so blatantly break the rules. I’m tired of this nonsense.”

  Jackson couldn’t speak. He felt paralyzed from the sight of the precious stone carved just like the ones in Glenway’s studio.

  Imogene stepped forward, possibly hoping to ease the angst of the curious little man. She said, “Mr. Hill, that sure is a pretty yella handkerchief you’re wearin’.”

  Hill’s nostrils flared at the comment. He looked her up and down and saw her matching, casual clothes, as if he didn’t take compliments from people like her. “It’s not a scarf. It’s an ascot.”

  Imogene flinched. “An ass cot? That’s ugly talk, mister.”

  “Yes, an ascot. It’s a men’s tie.” His fussy little head twitched and he glanced down the hall. “Oh, why?” He held the palm of his hand against his unibrow.

  “All’s I was sayin’ is you got a pretty necktie. You didn’t have to go cussin’ over it.” She stepped back behind Jackson.

  Hill let out a tired sigh and said, “Why me?” He turned on the pad of his loafers, spun ninety degrees, and flounced away from them.

  Imogene waited a moment. “Jack, that man’s nasty, ain’t he? Shoot, you was givin’
him the devil for a while, but you turned quiet. What happened to your fire, son?” Jackson watched as the little man waved his arms down the hall, grumbling. He flipped the tip of his ascot over one shoulder. Jackson coerced her inside, lest Hill catch her studying him and return for another round.

  Jackson headed straight to her camera and began checking the pictures, starting at the very beginning. He feverishly scrolled through the photos, hurrying to the ones taken at Glenway’s studio. Goose came over to him and licked his leg.

  Imogene asked, “Whatchya doin’, son?

  “That’s it. I thought so.” He ran his hand through his hair, which the humidity had turned wild.

  “You thought what, son? Tell Maw-Maw what you seen.” She turned to Billy. “What’s your partner doin’, Billy?”

  He shrugged as he changed the batteries in his monitor. Jackson grabbed his wallet and told them he would be back shortly. Imogene clutched her purse and said she was going with him.

  “No, you stay here and make sure Billy and Goose are all right. I need to get these printed” He waved the camera in the air, slammed the door in her face, and ran down the hall toward the exit.

  * * * * *

  Jackson held an envelope with pictures, hardly paying attention to his footsteps on the sidewalk. Imogene called to him. He waved and put the pictures back in the bag.

  She leaned over the balcony and said, “You found some good ’uns that Maw-Maw McGregor took. I told y’all you oughtn’t try to send Mama back to Alabama.” She popped up and disappeared through the French doors. When Jackson entered the room, she stood with pride, waiting to hear how well she had done with her new contraption. She nearly bounced with anticipation, shifting her weight from one bad leg to the next.

  Jackson walked straight to Billy and showed him a handful of pictures. “Do you see what I see, bud? Yesterday, I was so shocked by Glenway’s death that I didn’t even notice that busted glass case there.” He pointed to a curio Imogene had photographed. The latch on the curio was bent up, as if someone had pried it open with pliers. The carved stones sparkled in blue and every shade of green. “Remember what Neil said about the theft of Glenway’s figurines? Well, when I saw the manager Hill wearing that piece of jade, I began thinking the person who killed Glenway probably took the art pieces too.”