But then other thoughts took hold. That could’ve been the van I saw on Friday. Hell. The van I think I saw on Friday, on Esplanade, when I saw them—those two men—take that girl. Or when I think I saw that…Damn. Damn. Damn. Breathe.
“Pic,” Agent Hernandez’s low, thoughtful voice grounded her as he stared at Pic. “Did you see a van that looked like that last night?”
Okay, so maybe I’m not crazy, if his thoughts went down that path, too.
Chapter Eighteen
Gabe
Of course, Pic ignored the question. No surprise there.
Not giving me an inch. Protecting her as much as I am. But he’s wrong on this one.
Gabe could barely tear his eyes from the kid, who had turned pale when the van passed. Clean shaved, clear skin, and blond hair. Tall. At least six feet. Not enough meat on him. Probably still growing. Broad-shouldered. Even with straggly, shoulder-length hair, first glance revealed all-American good looks. If he had weight on him, he’d look like a star on his high-school football team.
But Pic’s eyes revealed a suck ass life that had nothing to do with the American version of happiness. Even when the kid was drawing upon anger and spitting out curse words, or smiling with slight bravado when he glanced at Andi, his eyes had an underlying look of weariness and cynicism that didn’t fit with a person so young.
Gabe had seen the ages-old, beaten-down, hopeless look before. Mostly, he’d seen it when Black Raven jobs took him to war zones. Poverty-stricken areas of third-world countries. Terrorist strongholds. Places where intelligent people were afraid to travel or conduct business without Black Raven, or one of Black Raven’s competitors, watching their backs. In the United States, Gabe had seen the same look in the eyes of victims of horrific crimes. He’d even seen it in Andi’s eyes—when she whispered. When she struggled with her memories.
Seeing that dark, hopeless look in Pic’s eyes pissed Gabe off. No matter what had started the rolling avalanche of bad shit that had pushed the kid to the streets, Gabe’s firm belief was that the greatest country in the world should’ve had resources that would have provided better options.
“Before you share the details,” Gabe said, glancing at Andi, “what do you say we take this inside, Honcho? You’ve had enough street corner exposure. Plus, it’s chilly out here. We can sit at a table for a few minutes, and if anyone’s hungry…”
Andi nodded, taking his not-too-subtle hint. Let’s feed this kid.
“Yes.” Andi’s eyes telegraphed her gratitude, and Gabe felt a rush of warmth at what—suddenly—felt like an intimate connection. “Inside’s better.”
“Okay if I tell Agent Tyre to pack your art supplies?” Gabe asked. “He needs to move in closer.”
She nodded. As they walked inside the restaurant, Agent Hernandez gave Tyre instructions, slipping into the barely audible tone that he typically used when on the job. So low that someone standing right next to him would have to strain to hear his words, but the mic picked up what he said, amplified it, and made it audible for all the agents on the job.
There were a few empty tables, so they had their choice. He pointed to a four-top, square table, at the corner of the restaurant furthest from the door.
“So...” Andi glanced at him as she walked in step with him, “Your earlier, much louder, running dialogue as I tried to paint. Was it designed to irritate me?”
“Not at all, Chief.” Yes. You’re right. I was trying to get your goat. And I did. And I’m screwed. Totally screwed. Because I can’t stop wanting your eyes on me.
He was unable to resist smiling, which prompted a scowl from her. Which made him smile more. He pulled out a chair for her. Pic settled his backpack and guitar against the wall, then took the chair next to Andi. After they ordered food from the waitress, Gabe sat in a chair that provided a view of the entire restaurant. He turned his chair away from the table so his legs had stretching room. He nodded to Pic, who was drinking a soft drink. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Andi pushed the breadbasket to Pic. “Bread?”
Pic took out a slice, held it, but didn’t do anything with it. “Bus got to town around 11:30. I was walking from the station to the levee. It was too late to get in a shelter. The ones I like here close at nine and they’re usually full by six, when dinner’s served. So, I was going to the old wharf at the edge of the Bywater. Streets were quiet.”
Alone. Vulnerable. An easy target as he schlepped everything he owned on his back.
“I saw a black van pass. Same kind as the one that just went past us, I think.”
“You notice the plate?” Gabe asked.
“No.” Pic slathered butter on a slice of bread, took a bite and chewed. His skin looked clammy. He cleared his throat after he swallowed, as though the bread got a little stuck going down. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t think about the van again until that one went by just now, ‘cause this blonde in a red convertible came by right after the van. She asked for directions. She was pretty, but drunk. I hate drunks.”
“Makes two of us,” Gabe said. “What street were you on?”
“When I saw the van and the red convertible, I was on Dauphine. I turned the corner.” Pic put the bread down on his bread plate. “I was distracted. And I was almost where I was going.” He shrugged, coughed, then chased the cough with a long sip of soft drink before continuing. “I don’t know. I felt like shit, so I wasn’t focused. I just didn’t hear them. Freaky, ‘cause normally I know what’s going on around me.”
“Could’ve been your cold.” Gabe scanned the restaurant. The late-lunch dining crowd was dwindling. As four people stepped out, he glanced out the door. Tyre, now on the sidewalk, gave a no-problem nod. Gabe returned his attention to Pic and leaned forward. “Your ears stopped up?”
“Everything’s stopped up,” Pic said. “But that’s no excuse. I’m better than that. They were almost on me when I heard them.”
The waitress deposited a double-order of praline bacon onto the middle of the table. In front of Pic, she placed a bowl of steaming gumbo and a side order of potato salad. Andi had a salad with blackened shrimp. Gabe typically didn’t eat when on duty, and particularly not when he had the Raven’s view, meaning his eyes were on the client. But his willpower with food was a finite resource, and it rarely included resisting bacon. Gabe reached for a slice of bacon and took a bite, savoring the salty sweetness. He’d underestimated how good it would taste. “You used your knuckles on them?”
Pic’s eyes widened with surprise. “How did you know?”
“Fade marks on your jeans pocket. Smart of you. It’s a warning. I figured you’d had to use them, since they got close enough to blacken your eye, yet you managed to get away. Meant you put up a good, effective fight.” Gabe reached for another piece of bacon and took a bite. “Come on guys, don’t make me eat it all.”
Andi reached for a slice. Pic did as well, but he took one bite and put it down, next to his forgotten bread. Looking like he was tasting pond scum, the kid turned even paler than he’d been when he started eating the bread. Beads of perspiration were now visible on his forehead.
That does it. He needs a doctor. Antibiotics. Sooner, rather than later. Because this bacon’s more addictive than any drug and he should’ve gobbled down five slices by now. He’s probably running a fever. On his way to passing out.
“I already had the knuckles on. Always wear them when I’m on the move that late.”
Gabe nodded. “Even smarter.”
“My eye’s black, but I promise,” he said, giving Gabe a slight nod, “his face looks worse.”
But now you’ve got a problem, kid, ‘cause the thug you clocked with those knuckles considers you public enemy number one. The next time he finds you, you’re not walking away with something as benign as a black eye. And this town’s way too small for someone who’s got a vendetta not to find somebody with your pretty-boy looks as you tote your guitar through the streets. You got away last night. My money says you won’t be so
lucky next time.
Gabe most definitely wasn’t going to say what he was thinking in front of Andi, and his heart sank as he studied Pic. Holy hell. This kid’s got no business on the streets. He’s too…tender.
Pic’s eyes took on an earnest, worried expression, as though there was a lot more that he wanted to tell, while Gabe seriously hoped he didn’t spill it all in front of Andi.
Just give her enough details, kid, then shut the hell up. Work with me here.
“One of them had a stun gun. Not a big deal,” Pic hastened to add, with a glance at Andi, and another shrug. “I’d rather face down a stun gun than a real gun, any day. But still—it’s not what I’d expect the typical shitbag to carry. When I saw it, I hesitated, and that’s why he was able to land a punch. They were big and slow, so I managed to punch the crap outta one of them. The other one got distracted ‘cause I kicked something out of his hand. He went down on his hands and knees to get it.”
“What was it?” Gabe asked, his gaze glued on Pic. The shrug’s his tell. He’s either lying when he shrugs, or omitting direct information. Fine by me, because she’s heard enough.
“A gun?” Andi asked, fear palpable in her voice.
Pic glanced from Andi to Gabe, held Gabe’s gaze for a long second, then shrugged. “No idea. I didn’t see it. The guy went down after it. I bumped into a car, which made the alarm go off. They froze. I ran.” Pic shrugged, took a bite out of his gumbo, then laid the spoon back down and pushed the plate away, as though he’d had enough, when he’d barely eaten any of it. He gave Andi a one-shouldered shrug, and attempted a smile. “And that was it. See? Nothing, really.”
“You saw where they went?” Gabe asked.
“Hell, no. I grabbed my shit and got the hell out of there.”
“Did you hear a car?” Andi asked. “Or see a van again?”
Pic shrugged, then shook his head. “No, but I wasn’t listening for one, either.”
“Would you recognize them?” Agent Hernandez asked. “If you saw them again?”
“No,” Pic shrugged. “They were wearing ski masks.”
“Andi,” Gabe said. “Any other questions for Pic?”
Lips pursed in a pensive line that was neither a smile nor a frown, her eyes conveyed a boatload of sudden determination.
She shifted her attention back to Pic. “My guesthouse is ready for you. You’ll be safe. No more living on the streets. Out of the shelters.” Her voice was calm as she fished a key out of the back pocket of her jeans and placed it on the table. She’d put it on an oversized brass safety pin. “Here. You said you’d be back at Mardi Gras. I’ve been carrying this, hoping I’d see you, for the last two weeks.”
Hell. I should’ve seen this one coming.
Pic eyed the key, and gave Andi a hard headshake. “We’ve talked about this.”
Andi reached across the table and, with her hand shaking a bit, she pressed the key into Pic’s hand. “Six months ago. Keep the key. Come on, Pic. What happened last night should help persuade you it’s the right move. You don’t have to live on the streets. No one can force you to go home, right? You’ve got to be eighteen by now.”
Gabe watched the kid’s eyes darken with a flash of…worry? Fear? He gave her another firm no headshake. “Not going to move into your guesthouse, Andi.”
But the fact that the key remained in Pic’s hand, with his fingers curled around it, told Gabe that Pic was considering the idea. The prospect of Pic moving onto Andi’s property raised a host of issues from the security prospective, but those concerns took a backseat to worrying about the kid. Because his refusal of Andi’s offer didn’t add up.
“Look, if it’s too much for you to think of it as moving in, just stay there until you get over your cold. Please?”
As she pleaded, Andi’s voice took on that whisper-soft quality that torqued Gabe’s heart. As though her heart was so full of emotion, some of it spilled over into the very air that carried her words. If ever, for a second, she makes a request of me with that voice, I’d move heaven and earth to give her anything she wants. I’d give anything. Do anything.
“There’s a comfortable, warm bed,” she continued. “It’s yours. You can leave in a few days, if you’d like. Or move in permanently. You understand that, don’t you? You can come and go as you please. No questions asked.”
Pic drew a deep breath. He looked at the key in his hand, as though studying the dull brass finish. He closed his fist around it for a second, then pushed it across the table, back to her. “I can’t.”
“Tell me why not,” Andi said. “I can help—”
“Maybe one day. Not today.”
Something’s really wrong here, and it’s a hell of a lot more than just the obvious.
Pic’s quick glance at Gabe told him that the kid wasn’t going to say another word about it with him at the table. Gabe stood, stepped a few feet away, hoping to give them the feeling that their conversation was private. Listening to their every word wouldn’t be a problem, as long as Andi’s voice didn’t sink into a softer whisper. It was three o’clock. The late-lunch crowd had cleared out. He turned his back to the bar, placing Pic and Andi solidly in his peripheral vision, though pretending not to look. In reality, he was staring. The key was now on the table, in front of Andi.
“I was just passing this way to say hi,” Pic was saying, “and ask you a question for some friends of mine. This morning I went over to the St. Claude Mission for breakfast and a shower. Hooked up with Tank and Honey. They’ve been working a corner at Chartres and Conti Streets. They say there’s a great crowd and asked me to play the guitar for them for the next few days. Monica’s been playing for them for the last few months, but she’s a little unpredictable. As usual. She’s supposed to be there today.”
“Ah,” Andi said, leaning forward. “Monica. Interesting.”
As the waitress left their table with the plates of food that Andi and Pic had barely eaten, Pic frowned. “Monica’s pregnant.”
“Oh,” Andi’s expression was a perfect blend of horror and shock, then she quickly recovered back to neutral. “How far along?”
“Hell, Andi. I don’t know.”
“Is the baby yours?”
“No!”
“You sure?”
“Course, I’m sure.”
Poor kid. His face was flushed bright red. Discomfort rolled off him in waves.
“How do you know?”
Come on, Andi. Give the kid some credit. And by the way, he doesn’t want to have this conversation with you. And I don’t blame him.
“We didn’t even have sex. I—” He paused. “—wasn’t ready, I guess. I don’t know. Anyway, she told Honey and Tank last week. It was some guy she hung with after I left town. But he’s gone now. Didn’t give a shit that he got her pregnant, and picked up and left town, and she’s alone now—”
Red flag. Not ready? At his age, whatever it is. Interesting. Why?
“If you move into my guesthouse, Monica could stay there too. She can’t stay on the streets if she’s pregnant, Pic—”
“You’d do that? You’d let her stay there?”
“Yes, but only if you’re staying there. And I mean it. You have to be living there. Night after night, and working on school. Monica would be welcome, as long as you’re there, too.”
Gabe bit back a smile. It was a brilliant move on Andi’s part. It also raised a host of issues from the Black Raven perspective, but he’d sort through them when and if the time came.
Some of the red flush faded from the kid’s cheeks. He looked wary, but also…hopeful. “I’ll figure out what’s going on with her today. If she shows. She was supposed to work with them yesterday, but she didn’t get there, and that’s got them worried, though I think it might just be her. She’s kinda unpredictable. On the flip side, from what I gathered at the Mission this morning, people are sort of worried. That’s why I needed to talk to you. Told them I would.”
“About what?”
“
Look Andi, you gotta promise me you won’t get all freaked out. I wouldn’t be bothering you with this, but soon enough, somebody you’ve sketched would. They all know you’re nice. Know you’re always on the streets, watching. As a matter of fact, Tank and Honey wanted to be here with me now, but I told them to go ahead and secure the corner. I figured you should get a rational assessment from me rather than the sort of story someone else would tell you, ‘cause it’s weird shit.”
Andi leaned forward, toying with the key with her left hand, her eyes intent on Pic’s face. “Spill, and don’t sugarcoat it.”
“There’s talk of people coming up missing. But most of what I’m hearing are stories that are being retold from what somebody else said. Except Banjo Richie is now looking for Jake. You know Richie, right?”
Andi nodded.
“Richie would have been here with me, but he had a parade gig this morning over on Poydras. So, I told him I’d find you and ask you if you’ve seen a guy that nobody seems to be able to find. You know Jake? He plays a silver harmonica.”
“Young kid. Hangs out with Richie. Spends a lot of time on the old wharf in Crescent Park, sort of in that back corner.” She was quiet for a second, evidently searching through the catalog of street people in her mind, thinking through things that made Jake distinctive. “His eyes are a lot like yours. Dark blue. Blondish-brown hair. Has a tattoo of a dove in flight on his neck. Right side.”
“Jake says he’s eighteen, but everybody thinks he’s younger.”
“I sketched him a couple of weeks ago, in Crescent Park.” She swiped her hair back, behind her ear. Otherwise, she seemed calm. But by the way her fingers were trembling, and her voice was dropping, Gabe guessed the air of calm she was projecting was fake. “He was playing his harmonica near the old wharf with Richie.”
Pic nodded. “You seen him since?”
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