That Old Devil Sin

by W E DeVore

  Urian shrugged. “Fine have it your way. I’m feeling generous. Five grand Lundi Gras and Pete’s square.”

  “I’ll need Pete’s bass rig back.”

  His nostrils flared before he jerked his head towards the door at the end of the bar. “It’s in the closet, you can take it with you when you leave. I’m keeping that shit car of his until Lundi gras.”

  She conceded the point and stood up to go, holding out her hand to him. “Deal. Thank you for seeing to reason on this, Urian.”

  Q scanned the room for Niko, finding him surrounded by jubilant sailors. She moved to extract him when Urian suddenly seized her arm above the elbow and pulled her down to eye level. “Don’t fuck with me, my beautiful girl. Those blue eyes and that heart-shaped ass will only get you so far. You understand? You leave all of your NOPD uncles out of my business, or you and I won’t have such a pleasant flirtation any longer.”

  She nodded quickly and tried to wrench her arm away. Urian’s fingers dug deeper into her bicep.

  That’s going to leave a mark.

  “You tell your boy, Pete, that you’ve run out of favors with me. Next time, there will be no deals.”

  He stared her down for a few eternal seconds to verify that the message had sunken in, before finally letting her go. Q walked towards the dance floor, trying to keep her knees from buckling, shoving her hands into her pockets to hide their uncontrollable shaking. Urian had evidently evolved into the monster he’d always pretended to be and she came to the sudden realization that this most likely had been a seriously bad idea.

  ~~~

  Five minutes later, Q and Niko were doing their best impersonation of Laurel and Hardy as they wrestled Pete’s 4x10 bass rig down The Athenian’s brutally steep staircase.

  “Jesus, Pete’s an asshole,” Niko grunted, trying to keep his grip on the handle and pulling back as hard as he could so Q wouldn’t be crushed.

  She leaned back further, bracing the rig with her back and bracing herself with her hands on the walls, an overly high heeled shoe dangling from each wrist.

  “Explain to me again why I’m on the bottom here, Niko?”

  “Girl, you know I’m a top, not a bottom and besides Pete’s your fucking pet project, not mine,” Niko grumbled. “Just be happy I’m a gentleman, otherwise you’d be moving this on your own.”

  “Some gentleman,” she retorted. The handle on the cabinet was digging uncomfortably into her back and she visualized the bruises cropping up on her bare spine.

  After slipping down the last three stairs, they managed to reach the front door with life, limb, and Pete’s rig miraculously intact. Niko sprinted up the stairs, retrieved the bass in its hard case, and rejoined Q at the bottom. She opened the door only to be greeted with a cold torrential downpour.

  She looked at the sky and groaned, “You have got to be kidding me. What. The. Fuck.”

  Niko set the case on top of the monolithic cabinet then edged himself around it to stand next to her in the doorway and assess their predicament.

  “Looks like you've got it from here, babe. I’m going to go see some dicks, on chicks. Thanks for the super fun time.” He kissed her on the cheek and ran across the street, disappearing into the bar on the corner.

  “Pete’s not the only asshole,” she called after him.

  Q looked up and down Conti for a cab. Not a soul or a taxi to be found. Still shaken by Urian’s probably not so idle threats, she swallowed her pride, pulled out her phone, and called Ben.

  Please don’t go to voicemail. Please don’t go to voicemail.

  “Don’t tell me you need ransom money. I forgot to go to the ATM.” Ben’s gravelly voice washed a wave of relief over her.

  She laughed and replied, “No ransom, but I could really use a ride. There’s a freakin’ deluge in the Quarter. I managed to get back Pete’s bass rig, but now I’m cornered at the front door of the Athenian.”

  “Thought you had that manly Greek back-up of yours with you tonight?” Ben teased.

  “The incredibly manly Mr. Perakis has abandoned me to run off to the tranny strip show across the way. And the cherry on top of this shit sundae is that Urian is upstairs and P-I-S-T pissed at me.”

  “You said you could handle Urian,” Ben said.

  “Don’t rub it in. You were right. I was wrong. Happy? I need your help. You want to prove you’re a gentleman, now would be a good time.” Q hadn’t realized how scared she was until she had rattled off the recent series of unfortunate events.

  Mercifully, Ben held his ‘I told you so’ and said, “I can’t imagine why you’d need any help with Urian. Those jeans are definitely working for me and the rain is making that little top of yours go all invisible like.”

  Before Q could come back with a very confused and not very clever retort, she saw headlights come on from a parked car up the street. It pulled out onto Conti and over in front of The Athenian. The passenger side window rolled down.

  “Hey little girl, want a ride?” Ben leaned over and raised both eyebrows at her from inside, then promptly popped the trunk, jumped out, and ran around the front of the car to open the door for her.

  Q walked to him, ignoring the rain. She pulled him to her and kissed him. “Thank you.”

  He beamed as he took her hand to help her into the car. She sat down in the passenger seat and turned around to watch him throw Pete’s amp and bass into the trunk. He quickly wrestled the cabinet into the back seat and sprinted back around to jump back into the driver’s seat.

  “Woo-ey!” He shook his long wet hair and slicked it back out of his eyes. He leaned over and kissed Q quickly on the cheek, then pulled out onto Conti.

  “You followed me,” she said, stating the obvious.

  “I followed you,” Ben admitted.

  “You were worried?”

  “No, I watch the weather,” he corrected, winking at her. “You should try it sometime.”

  Embarrassment started sinking in. Q hated anyone to witness an incompetent moment.

  “So, I take it didn’t go too well with Urian,” Ben said.

  “It went well enough, I guess. Pete’s safe, for now. But I just cashed in my last favor with the Greek mob. Urian's finally living up to his psychotic potential.”

  “Well, you can’t blame a guy for achieving his goals.”

  “Must have been a pretty lofty goal. He’s fuckin’ creepy as hell now. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that I’ve burned my bridge to the Greek underworld.”

  “Best kind of bridge to burn, I’d say. You don’t want to go back there.” Ben gave her knee a squeeze.

  “At least he agreed to the five grand we’re getting for that party.” Q reached for Ben’s hand and he happily enveloped hers in it.

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her wrist. “Man, am I lucky that Senator Multer’s wife asked for y’all by name and got me back in your good graces.”

  “Senator Multer?!” Q gasped. She snatched her hand away and gesticulated wildly. “Woh woh woh. You didn’t say anything about that fuckwad.”

  Senator Gustave “Gus” Multer had been a Louisiana embarrassment pretty much from the moment he was elected. He and his wife had been on a crusade to rescue Southeast Louisiana from gays, science education, Islam, pornography, and anyone who wasn’t white, wealthy, and Saved. Q tried to avoid politics, as a rule, and much to her terminally liberal father’s eternal disappointment, but she was willing to break that rule whenever Multer’s name was mentioned.

  “Calm down, Q. It’s a Carnival party, not a fundraiser, and it’s a lot of money. For you and me both,” Ben said emphatically.

  “He said the mayor was ‘pretty smart for a lady.’”

  “And he apologized.”

  “He said the reason public schools were failing was because ‘ethnic children are slow,’” she added, incensed.

  “Yes, he’s a racist prick, but you got a better way to get the money to pay off Urian?”

  “He invited
Touro Synagogue to join him in celebrating the birth of our ‘mutual lord and savior, Jesus Christ’ last Hanukkah.”

  “Wait. Jews don’t believe in Jesus?” Ben joked, trying to distract her.

  She ignored him. “He thinks gays in the military would be ‘too busy dating and redecorating’ to fight a war.”

  “And an arrogant homophonic douchebag. I’m the one with a gay sister, remember? I don’t like this any more than you do, but business is business, unless you’ve got a better way to get the money to pay off Urian and get Pete off the hook. Besides his wife loves your band more than my club. You should have heard her gush about how talented she thinks you are.”

  “Really? She doesn’t think I should pop out six kids and stay in the kitchen?” Q asked incredulously.

  “Clementine, I seriously doubt Marianne Multer, champion of homemakers and all American morals, would condone a single lady such as yourself, having six kids and lazing about at home, living off the government dime, especially since you haven’t seen the light and been saved by Jesus Christ.”

  Q burst out laughing. Ben was right. They didn’t have much of a choice and business was business. Explaining this to Tom wasn’t going to be fun. Something she’d have to figure out before Tuesday’s band practice.

  “Just play nice when you meet her and Senator Fuckwad. Please,” Ben pleaded. He reached over and opened the glove box to pull out a manila envelope. “Say what you will about her politics, but the lady’s got good taste in music. Here’s that contract you still need to sign. The set list she asked for is in there too.”

  She sat back and reviewed it. “Man, five thousand dollars. Never thought I’d see the day. You got a pen?”

  He reached into the console and pulled one out for her. She quickly signed her name on the contract. She looked over the music the Multers had requested. “Lady Multer loves her some Nina Simone and Diana Krall. The Beasts are going to hate this, fakebook city.”

  Ben looked over to see if this was a problem. Q shrugged and started scrolling through the music library on her phone to see what songs she was missing.

  “Your place or mine, darlin’?” Ben asked.

  “Mine’s closer and I think I owe you dinner.” She smiled over at him.

  “I already ate dinner. But I could go for a nightcap…” Ben got a devilish look on his face and she suddenly remembered how that post-gig drink turned into an hour-long make-out session in his car a year ago.

  ~~~

  Q woke to a continuous rhythmic honking. She rolled over and looked at her clock: 11:45 am.

  Ben pulled her close and groaned, “What is that racket?”

  She turned to kiss him when reality suddenly slapped her awake.

  “It’s Tuesday.” She sat up, all remnants of her sleepy, contented stupor evaporating.

  “Yeah, it’s Tuesday. Apparently, the noisiest day of the week,” Ben replied, yawning.

  Q jumped out of bed and started to dress as fast as she could. “We have band practice Tuesdays at noon. That’s Tom honking downstairs.”

  She slipped into her usual daily uniform of jeans and a faded ‘Insert Random Metal Band Logo Here’ t-shirt and ran over to the front window. She opened it and called out to Tom, “Scare! Don’t come up, I’m on my way!”

  Too late.

  She could already hear Tom’s flip flops flip-flopping up the stairs two at a time. She picked up Ben’s pants and threw them at him, missing the bed. “Tom’s on his way up. Get dressed.”

  Q raced into the bathroom and started brushing her teeth, just as someone began to pound on her door to the same rhythm as the car horn that woke her up. Ben got out of bed, picking up his jeans from the floor and pulling them up on his way to the door.

  “I’ll get it.”

  “No! Get dressed,” Q pleaded. “Do you know how long I’ll have to live this down?”

  “What? Tom’s never caught you with a man in your bed?” Ben said in disbelief while he slipped on his shirt.

  “No!” she cried. “Are you fucking kidding me? Absolutely not.”

  Tom’s voice called through the door, “Hey Q! You want to give that poor boy a break and open up the door, or what? You gonna wear his peter out.”

  Ben opened the door, yawning. “Hey Tom, how’s it hanging?”

  “A little crooked and to the left.” Tom shook Ben’s hand. “Hey, brother, sorry to interrupt. Saw that Audi of yours parked in front and figured Q had company.”

  Tom winked at Q and sing-songed, “Mornin’ sunshine, how are we feeling today?” with a giant grin on his face. He bent over and gathered up her still damp jeans from where they lay discarded on the floor and passed them to Ben.

  She looked sheepishly at Tom. “Good morning. Sorry I overslept, let me just put some shoes on.”

  “Take your time darlin’, them two boys is always late anyway,” Tom said, as he walked over to the kitchen. “Mind if I make some coffee?”

  Without waiting for a response, Tom started rummaging around in the cupboards. Calling over his shoulder while he filled the coffee pot, he asked, “Hey, was that Pete’s rig I saw at the bottom of the stairs?”

  “You haven’t told him?” Ben asked Q. She tried to shush him, but it was too late.

  Tom opened a box of cereal, pulled out a handful, and began munching.

  “Told me what?” he asked with his mouth full.

  She sat down on the piano bench with her Converse in her hands and sighed, “Pete’s in trouble again.”

  “That little fuck,” Tom muttered, shaking his head. “Which is it: Ponies or pills? Wait, is that why he bailed on us last weekend?”

  She nodded. “Both, well, football, not horse-racing, and yes. Urian was waiting for him at the shed and beat the crap out of him. Took Bessie and his rig.”

  “Urian Galanos? Again? How much this time?”

  “Yes and yes and ten Gs.” Q pulled on her shoes.

  Tom let out a long, low whistle. “Guess we better make funeral arrangements.”

  He turned around and started the coffee maker. Q looked down at her feet and said hesitantly, “Don’t get mad.”

  “You didn’t.” Tom turned back and folded his arms, scolding, “Clementine Ayelot Toledano. Where are we going to get that much cash?”

  “Ayelot?” Ben asked.

  “It’s Hebrew. It means ‘musical instrument,’” she explained.

  “Man, your parents didn’t like you much.” Ben smiled.

  “Yeah, yeah. Q’s got a weird fucking name, news flash. Will you please answer my goddamn question?” Tom wasn’t smiling any longer.

  “Well, that’s the good news.” She tried to sound cheerful. “Ben booked us for a big private party at The Cove on Lundi Gras. Pays five grand.”

  Tom replied, “Q, I didn’t go to a fancy school like you, so maybe my math’s not so good, but I’m pretty sure that five thousand is half of what Urian is looking for.”

  “Well, that’s the other good news.” she replied. “Urian will take the five grand and waive the rest.”

  Tom set his jaw. “And just how did you get him to do that?”

  “I sort of recorded him saying he was going to kill Pete if he didn’t pay up and told him that I’d give it to the NOPD if Pete turned up dead.” Q smiled innocently.

  “You did WHAT??” Tom and Ben yelled back at her.

  “Fucking hell, Q,” Ben said. “No wonder he’s pissed at you.”

  It was Tom’s turn to lecture, “So let me get this straight, Q. Pete is back on the juice, he gets in over his head, and gets the crap beat out of him. Ben gets us our first good paying gig since last summer, and you threaten a member of the Greek mob to accept our entire take just to save Pete’s sorry ass without so much as a courtesy call to your boy, Scarecrow. Does that about sum it up?”

  “Now, now. Let’s be fair. We don’t actually know Urian’s in the mob. And since when do you talk about yourself in the third person?” Tom glared down at her. “Look, I know I should
have asked you and Charlie, but it’s been a crazy couple of days.”

  “Crazy couple of days? What were you doing that you were too busy to clue us in?” Tom hollered.

  Ben sheepishly raised his hand. “Um, I think you might mean ‘who,’ brother.”

  Q felt the air get sucked out the room and waited for Tom to explode. ‘Easy going’ was too aggressive a term to describe Tom’s day-to-day outlook on life, but he could get righteously angry in a hurry if he felt someone was being taken advantage of; especially if that someone was him.

  Tom burst out laughing, doubling over and slapping his thigh. Ben and Q stared, stunned, until Tom finally wiped away the tears streaming down his face. “Woo! Get those shoes on girl, we late.”

  He turned and helped himself to some coffee before holding out the pot towards Ben and Q. “Coffee?”

  “Please,” they said simultaneously. They all sipped their coffee silently for a few minutes.

  Q broke the silence. “We cool, Scarecrow?”

  “We cool.” Tom smiled and nodded his head toward Ben. “Nice to see you making some roots. You’re breaking the news to Charlie, though. I’m staying out of that mess.”

  “Umm, there’s also some kinda bad news,” Q said hesitantly.

  “Bad news? What could be worse than you and Pete pissing all over Urian Galanos?” Tom asked seriously.

  “The party. It’s being hosted by Gus and Marianne Multer,” Q replied.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake!” Tom threw his coffee cup in the sink, shattering it. “You are an asshole, Clementine, you know that? I’ll be in the car.”

  Tom stormed out of the room slamming the door behind him. Ben stared after him in amazement. The room was still vibrating from the force of his abrupt departure.

  Putting his hands on his hips, Ben said, “Huh. I never pegged Tom as political.”

  Q took a final sip of her coffee before grabbing her shoulder bag from beside the piano. She shoved the fakebook resting on the piano’s music stand into it. “He isn’t.”

  Ben shook his head and followed her out. “Then what in the hell was that?”

  “Gus Multer is Tom’s uncle,” Q said as she locked the door and headed downstairs.