A-List

by D P Lyle

  “I swear, I didn’t. I wouldn’t. Know what I’m saying? I know her. She come around, I’m gonna walk the other way. Truth is, she never come around. Not once. Ever.”

  Tony held his gaze, searching for some sign he was lying. He saw only fear. Good. Always a good motivator.

  “But you do sell bump?”

  Ragman hesitated, obviously weighing his options. Then he said, “A little. Not often. Ain’t much of a market for it.”

  “But if someone wanted it, you could hook them up?”

  “Customer service is important on the street, Mr Guidry. You know? But I swear, I didn’t and I never would pass anything, anything at all, to your niece.”

  “What about Kirk Ford? He ever come around?”

  “Know him, too. I mean I know of him. I’d’ve recognized him right off. Anyone would. Never saw him neither.”

  “What about your crew? Maybe one of your crew sold this shit to one of them?”

  “I been all over them,” Ragman said. “Got a big negative everywhere.”

  “I put the word out,” Ju Ju said. “Not just to Ragman but to all my guys. Here, Metairie, Algiers, everywhere. If someone sold to her, I’ll know.”

  “When you do, that’s for my ears only. Right?”

  “If you mean am I going to pass that along to Doucet, you hurt my feelings by asking.” Ju Ju smiled.

  “And I appreciate that,” Tony said. He started to stand, but Ragman spoke.

  “Mr. Guidry, did you send your nephews by to talk with me?”

  Tony felt his blood pressure spike. He settled back onto the bench seat. “Why do you ask?”

  “They came by my spot this morning. Asking about all this.” He waved a hand. “Said you asked them to.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Nothing. Don’t know nothing to tell.”

  Tony spread his hands on the tabletop. “You did good. Don’t tell them shit.” He looked at Ragman. “Clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “They don’t work for me. Not in this world anyway. If they come by again, you let me know.”

  “Absolutely.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I WAS LYING in bed, on my back, tossing a baseball up and catching it. Seeing how close I could get to the ceiling without hitting it. Nicole was in the shower. The news murmured from the TV, but I wasn’t paying attention. The shower fell silent, and in a couple of minutes, Nicole came out, towel draped over her shoulder. She stood there in all her glory and looked at me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Playing ball.”

  She stepped into her thong. This one white. Oh, yeah.

  “You brought a baseball with you?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Don’t tell me it’s one of the ones Detective Morgan grabbed from Barkov’s boat.”

  “It is.” I examined it. “The Willie Mays one.”

  She tugged on her jeans, doing a series of little jumps to get them settled. “Is that the one that took down Joe Zuma?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Good. He was very creepy.”

  She slipped on a gray silk blouse and began buttoning it. “Wish I had been there to see it. But if memory serves, I was bobbing in the water trying not to swallow half the Gulf.”

  “True. And then there were all those gunshots.”

  “I’m glad Ray’s guys could shoot better than Barkov’s could.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed, tying her sneakers. Pink and black. Girly. Nicole might be feminine, very much so, but girly is not the word that comes to mind.

  “I like your sneakers,” I said.

  “No, you don’t. You probably think they’re too girly.”

  How the hell does she do that? Know what I’m thinking?

  “Maybe. But they’re cool anyway.”

  She stood. “I’m out of here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Do you ever listen to me?”

  Uh oh. I must have missed something.

  “I told you. I have a nail appointment.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s called Nail Artiste. Over off Chartres near Dumaine.” She cocked her head. “Want to go?”

  “I think not.”

  “Okay. You stay here and play ball. Just don’t break anything with that bat Pancake gave you.”

  “I’d rather play with you.”

  She laughed. “Later.”

  “I’ll read my self-defense book then.”

  “Sounds like a good idea. Unless you want to carry that baseball everywhere.”

  Now I laughed. “Those were a couple of pretty good fastballs.”

  “Yes, they were. And they saved our asses.” She leaned over, gave me a kiss, and then she was gone.

  * * *

  Nicole stepped off the elevator into the Monteleone’s lobby. As she passed the entry to the Carousel Bar, she saw the twins huddled at one of the tables just inside. She veered that way. They looked up.

  “How’re you guys doing?” Nicole asked.

  “Okay, I guess,” one of them said. They weren’t dressed alike today—both in jeans, but one in a white shirt and the other a red checked one.

  “Tegan, right?”

  The white-shirted one nodded.

  “You guys need to wear name tags.”

  Tara nodded toward an empty chair. “Join us.”

  Nicole glanced at her watch. “I have a nail appointment but I have a few minutes.” She sat.

  “What are we going to do?” Tara asked. “About Kirk?”

  “I’m not sure. I do know the guys are working on some things.”

  “Pancake isn’t,” Tegan said.

  “He’s working on Sophie,” Tara added.

  “Sophie?” Nicole asked.

  Tara laughed. “She’s our makeup guru. Makes us look good. She and Pancake really hit it off.”

  “Yeah,” Tegan said. “I think they’re at some bar down the street.”

  Tara nodded. “Sophie will take good care of him.” She laughed.

  That’s when Nicole saw it. The difference. The twins were identical, scarily so, but Nicole had always felt that there was something about them that was different. That they looked alike, yet didn’t. She could never put a finger on what it was. But at that moment, the light slanting through the door from the lobby caught Tara’s face just right and there it was. The deep blue of her eyes matched her sister’s, but a single brown fleck seemed to jump out. Left eye, about eleven o’clock. She looked at Tegan. Nope, not a blemish in the blue.

  She smiled to herself. This was going to drive Jake crazy. She could now tell them apart and he couldn’t. Sharing this bit of info with him never crossed her mind. Not even close. This would be fun.

  “Pancake can take care of himself,” Nicole said.

  “We’ll see,” Tegan said. “Sophie has an aggressive streak.”

  They both laughed.

  “What are Jake and Ray looking into?” Tegan asked.

  “The drugs. Ketamine is pretty rare. Ray thinks that if we can find out where Kristi got a dusted joint, that might lead to someone other than Kirk.”

  The twins exchanged a glance and then Tara said, “I hope so. This is tearing Kirk up. I think part of him isn’t sure he didn’t do it.”

  “Really? He said that?”

  Tegan shook her head. “Not in those words. But we know him. Know what he’s like. We can tell when he’s stressed.”

  “When I look at him I can see it,” Tara said. “He’s scared.”

  “And guilty,” Tegan said. “That he can’t remember anything. I know he’s racking his brain for a memory. For anything. But he’s come up with nothing. And it’s killing him.”

  Nicole nodded. “For sure there isn’t any evidence someone broke in and she did end up dead in his bed, so I guess the not knowing what went down in that room could make him wonder what really happened.”

  Tara wiped a tear away. “Do you really
think they’ll be able to find out who sold that stuff to Kristi? I mean, with her not able to tell where she got it?”

  Nicole shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know Ray. Pancake, too. They have ways of getting information. They’re pretty relentless when they get focused.”

  “I hope so,” Tegan said. She clutched her sister’s hand, squeezing it. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “I’m sure if there is, Ray will ask.” She stood. “I’ve got to run but I’ll see you guys later.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “WHAT THE FUCK do you two think you’re doing? Talking to Ragman? On the street?”

  Robert looked at his uncle. He and Kevin sat across from him in his office at the Belly Up. Tony had called and told them to get their asses back there. Like now. Tony’s face was red and his neck veins looked like two ropes. His knuckles white as he gripped the edge of his desk.

  “We—”

  Tony waved a hand. “You what? Thought you’d stick your nose into my business?”

  “We were trying to help,” Kevin said.

  “Don’t you think if I needed your help, which for the life of me I can’t imagine how that thought would ever enter my head, that I’d ask?”

  “But we thought—” Robert began.

  “That’s your problem. You try to think.” He shook his head. “I don’t ever want you two to think. I don’t want you to eat, breathe, or take a shit unless I say so. Am I clear?”

  “She was our sister,” Robert said.

  “And I don’t know that? Am I not working on it?” He twisted his neck. “You never see the big picture. You see a slice of your little world and think that’s all that matters.”

  “What did we do wrong?” Kevin asked. “Didn’t you say you wanted to know where those drugs came from?”

  “I have guys on that. Guys who know how to find out without blasting a fucking hey-look-at-me horn.”

  “I don’t understand,” Robert said. “We talked with Ragman on the DL.”

  “The DL? Is this a fucking movie?” He stood and walked to the window, the one that looked out over the rear parking lot.

  Kevin started to say something, but Robert grabbed his arm, looked at him, and shook his head. Better to stay DL about now.

  Tony turned. “You want to be the heroes? Sniff out the drug trail? Make a name for yourselves? Something you can brag about? Run your fucking mouths about?” He returned to the desk, leaning on it, staring at them. Giving them that Tony look. “You don’t see a problem with what you did?”

  Robert looked at Kevin, and then back to Tony. “We simply asked Ragman if he knew where the bump came from.”

  “On the street. Broad daylight.”

  “So?”

  “You don’t think the cops have eyes and ears over there? They know deals go down over on Decatur. They know who the hell Ragman is. They see you two, my nephews, chatting up a known dealer. On his turf. You don’t see a problem there?”

  “Not really.”

  “Jesus.” Tony dropped into his chair. “I have layers, multiple layers, in place to keep people like Ragman out of my sphere. At least on the surface.”

  “We buy shit from—” Robert froze.

  “You buy drugs from him?”

  Robert looked at him but said nothing.

  “Answer me. You buy shit from Ragman? On the street?”

  “Not often.”

  Tony massaged his temples. “My nephews buy drugs from a known dealer on a public street. In the middle of the day. What part of that don’t you get?”

  “Lots of people do.”

  “Lots of people aren’t my relatives. Lots of people, if they get popped, couldn’t be twisted in the wind and create blowback on me.”

  “You mean like rat on you?” Kevin asked. “We would never do that.”

  “Unless you were looking at jail time. Time that could run a decade or more.”

  “But we would never—”

  “Know how many guys’ve said that? Guys much tougher than you two?” Tony took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The fact that you better not be doing drugs at all, the fact that you told me you weren’t, aside, even a hint that someone close to me is buying on the street can be a problem. That could be the loose thread that unravels things and dumps shit in my lap.”

  “We only wanted to help,” Robert said.

  “You can do that by doing your job here. By keeping a low profile on the street. By not using your feeble brains to try to help me. Can I make that any clearer?”

  “No, sir,” Kevin said. “We’re sorry.”

  Tony pulled up his shirtsleeve and examined his watch. “I got an appointment.” He looked at Robert, then Kevin. “You two do your fucking jobs. And that doesn’t include talking with Ragman. Or anyone else.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  NICOLE KNEW SHE was beautiful. How could she not? She’d been told that all her life. As far back as she could remember, anyway. Her parents, friends, even complete strangers. But she had learned it could also be a curse. She knew that sounded like a cliché. An almost arrogant thought. But those who weren’t burdened—God, she hated that word—with beauty didn’t know that it was—speaking of clichés—a double-edged sword. It had caused her more than a few problems. Everything from being labeled stereotypically “unbright”—some dude actually said that to her once—through jealous, bitchy classmates and colleagues, right on to stalkers. Those were the worst. She had had three in her life. More than enough.

  But she also knew her looks could be a tool. Help open doors. Defuse some dicey situations and even put her in charge.

  Like now.

  After finishing her nail painting, Nicole headed back toward the Monteleone. She called Jake, asking him if he wanted to meet in the bar for a drink. He did.

  “On my way,” she said. “I’ll meet you in the Carousel Bar.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I need to jump in the shower and give Ray a call. I’ll drag him down, too.”

  “Did you fall asleep or something?”

  “Been reading my self-defense book.”

  “Learn anything new?”

  “Lots of stuff. Never knew there were so many ways to do harm.”

  “You’re getting dangerous.” “That I am.”

  She laughed. “Lord, help me.”

  “Oh, Pancake called. Said he and some girl named Sophie were at Pat O’Brien’s.”

  “That’s Sophie the makeup artist,” Nicole said. “The twins told me they were an item now.”

  “Item?”

  “Well, spending quality time together.”

  “Speaking of dangerous. Pancake on the prowl.”

  “From what I heard, Sophie can handle herself,” Nicole said.

  “I hope so. I’ll give him a call and tell him where we’ll be.”

  “It’ll be a party. Now get your ass in the shower and I’ll see you in a few.”

  As she turned the corner onto Royal, she ran into, almost literally, Robert and Kevin Guidry.

  “Well, well, our paths seem to keep crossing,” Robert said.

  Nicole gave a start but recovered. “So it seems.”

  “And here you are without your bodyguards,” Kevin said.

  Her brain went into overdrive weighing the situation. And her options. Would she need Jake, or Pancake, or Ray? Here on a busy street in broad daylight? Were these guys as dangerous as they acted? Part of her said run, but there was something about these guys that didn’t seem all that dangerous. As if they were trying too hard to convince everyone that they were. Maybe even themselves. She wasn’t sure where this impression came from. Maybe it was their almost sad faces. Expressions that even their scowling couldn’t hide. Maybe it was how their uncle Tony had cowed them over at the courthouse. They had looked like a pair of abused puppies. Fearful of their master.

  Were they? Had Tony railed on them all their lives? Since he took over as their surrogate father? No doubt, Tony Guidry seemed the type
.

  If so, could she use that to garner information on Kristi? Or the drugs that ended up in Kirk’s and Kristi’s bloodstream? On Tony and his intentions?

  She didn’t run, or scream. Instead she smiled and said, “Don’t think I’ll need them.”

  “How’s that?” Robert asked.

  “Because I have a better idea.” That seemed to confuse them. “Why don’t I buy you guys a drink?”

  “A drink?” A look of shock came over Robert’s face. Definitely not what he expected.

  “Of course.” She laid a hand on Robert’s arm. “Can’t a girl buy two handsome guys a drink?”

  That really confused them.

  “Come on,” she said. “It’ll be fun.”

  Robert looked at Kevin and then back to her. “Okay. Where?”

  “The Monteleone,” she said. “I’m headed that way.”

  She stepped between them and took their arms and off they went.

  Beauty had its advantages.

  The slowly spinning Carousel Bar was packed and drinkers stood three-deep around it. Happy hour in the Big Easy. They pushed through the crowd and found a sofa and chair arrangement around a coffee table. Nicole sat in a chair, offering the sofa to the brothers. A waitress must have followed them as she appeared immediately. Nicole ordered wine, the brothers a pair of Coronas. Robert reached for his wallet, but Nicole waved him away.

  “I invited you. These are on me,” she said. Robert hesitated. “Besides, the studio is covering all my expenses.”

  “That because they hired you to get that actor dude off?”

  She shrugged. “That’s not how we do things.”

  Kevin smirked. “Yeah, right.”

  “Let’s just say we don’t have any agenda here. Or any real loyalty.”

  “Don’t seem that way to me,” Kevin said. “Ain’t you and he friends?”

  “Not really. I did date him once.”

  Robert shook his head. “Just great.”

  “Only a couple of times. He’s not my type.”

  “I thought he was everyone’s type,” Robert said. “Being a big star.”

  She laughed. “He’d probably agree with you.” She shrugged. “But he’s not my type. I like guys who are a bit more rugged. More muscular.” She smiled at him. She could almost feel his face getting warm. Bingo.