Wolf Howling

by Brian van Brunt

  As he walked away from her, he listened as she sang and her voice became lost in the crowd.

  We are traveling in the footsteps, of those who’ve gone before

  But we’ll all be reunited, on a new and sunlit shore…

  Chapter 4

  New Orleans, Spring, Tuesday, 4:45pm

  Ella crossed St. Louis and Royal and walked with determination down the street. She was pissed. It wasn’t the first time Kara had left her high and dry on the rent and she was pretty goddamn certain it wouldn’t be the last. And then someone stole her fucking bike. She was madder at herself for this than the thief. So stupid that she didn’t use the chain. Just a quick cup of coffee, she thought. Such an idiot. Just what she needed. Just to make an already-shitty day all the more shitty. Or was that shittier? Whatever.

  She shared a small apartment off South Dupree on the outer limit of the Quarter with Kara the Vapid. The apartment was relatively cheap and close to where she worked, which were the only positive adjectives one could use to describe the place. The two had been roommates for about six months. Kara was physically striking, tall and athletic, and carried herself with a confidence that was addictive—certainly Ella’s type. What Ella first took for some layer of class and elegance with Kara faded when she experienced the whirlwind of a mess that trailed behind her in the apartment. That and her always forgetting to pay the fucking rent. That was the god-damn kicker.

  Royal was stacked with tourists wandering and gawking. Ella had a love/hate relationship with them. Sure, they paid her bills and kept her off the street, but shit, they were annoying. She worked at the infamously famous Pirate’s Alley Ghost Tours, located in the heart of the Quarter. It was a one stop shop/bar/tour company designed to separate as much money from the tourists’ pockets as possible. Pirate’s Alley reminded her of Mrs. Lovett’s shop in Sweeney Todd. The bodies go into the pies; everything worked in a symbiotic relationship toward a singular purpose—to rob the general populace of their money. Eh, it paid the bills. Barely, but still.

  Ella led ghost tours on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday nights. The other nights, she bartended at Peg-Leg Pete’s, the bar Pirate’s Alley was centered around. She poured absinthe and explained nightly to ignorant, know-it-all hipsters why she didn’t set said absinthe on fire like they did at the Absinthe House on Bourbon. “This is the Parisian preparation,” she told them. “The Czechs light it on fire; we don’t do that here.” That was the party line. The real reason was that another bartender, Hope, had almost set the entire place on fire by knocking over a customer’s glass because she was high as fuck during her shift. That story, however, lacked the historical flavor and pizazz that Peg-Leg Pete’s wanted to convey.

  Ella brightened immediately when she saw Coop rocking out “Tangled up in Blue” on the corner near Rouses. The lyrics jumped all around, from strip joints to basement apartments. The melody was catchy and she listened. While the song never did make much sense to her, the musician playing it certainly did.

  She caught a sideways glance from an older guy sitting on the curb listening to the guitar player. He was cute, and she saw him checking her out. She gave him a faint smile. It’s funny how guys don’t realize that women know when they are looking at them. Not that it is always a bad thing, certainly not from the guy in the Stones t-shirt and boots. Ella thought he was cute.

  Across the street, an old man sat with his back against the wall outside of Rouses. He had a dark blue backpack with lettering and odd symbols scrawled all over it. Crazy person behavior. He had two cardboard signs next to him and a black and red baseball hat with a few coins cradled inside. The city was always asking for something.

  She took out a five and made eye contact with Cooper and leaned over in front of him, knowing exactly where his eyes would go. She could also feel Mr. Rolling Stones looking at her from behind, which wasn’t an entirely unwelcomed or unpleasant feeling.

  She stood, leaned in, and gave the guitar player a sisterly peck on the cheek while he strummed between the verses. Then she whispered in his ear, “When I leave, watch me. Because later tonight, I’m going to fuck you silly.”

  Cooper missed his chord change and gaped at her slack-jawed as she began walking away. Once she was a few yards down the street, she glanced back, glad to see he was watching her, and not overly surprised to see Mr. Rolling Stones doing the same. On any other day, she would have stayed and teased both of them some more. But not today. Today she was going to visit Kara at work and get the fucking rent.

  Ella quickened her pace down Royal and turned toward Bourbon and The Bayou. Her happiness at seeing Coop faded quickly and was replaced by her anger about the rent. And even more, she was pissed at Kara for making her have to chase her down. She had told her last night that she needed the money and it was already three days late. That was the part that irritated her. She might be late to her job in order to fix this problem. Like she didn’t already have enough shit to deal with.

  A young woman walking a dog passed her. She was pretty, small, and thin, and there was something about her that caught Ella’s eye. She wasn’t her type, but she was cute. Something mysterious about her. Eh, you spend enough time sleeping in doorways and you grow an air of mystique about yourself. Ella picked up her pace and let her thoughts drift away from the woman.

  She crossed Royal and passed Lost and Found, an antique shop she liked to visit when she was wandering. She had made friends with the proprietor, who was well traveled and would exchange stories of Europe and history. Everything there was way out of Ella’s price range, but that never stopped Ms. Golightly from having her Danish and coffee at Tiffany’s, so why should it stop Ella from dreaming?

  Ella walked onto Bourbon Street; Amelia was out front of the club. This changed Ella’s mood some. She had always liked Amelia and she particularly liked her when she was wearing that black bikini with some bright pink heels. Fuck, she had nice tits. She nodded at Frank, currently playing the barker side of his barker/bouncer job description. He was built like a tank and busting at the seams of his suit. He had short cut, cropped hair and looked like he was ex-military. He smiled at Ella and said, “Cold Beer! Hot Women! Come on in!” Ella laughed deeply and a bit too loudly and gave Amelia a hug.

  “Hey Mel, they got you working the street tonight?” she said.

  “I know, right? Like a common whore,” Amelia said sarcastically.

  Amelia reached up and tousled Ella’s smoky grey hair. “I love this color and cut, by the way. New?” She ran her hand over the smooth part of Ella’s head. “So smooth, love it, love it.” She bounced up and down some as she repeated how she loved Ella’s hair. Ella watched her breasts struggle against the fabric of the bikini and bounce with her. She tried to think of her stage name. She thought maybe it was some kind of small forest animal? It slipped her mind.

  “Just last week. Figured I was due for something new. I’ve already been getting some better tips on the tours. Guess the paying customers like a tour guide who has a little strange going on,” Ella answered.

  “Well, I’m a fan,” Amelia said and looked out at the crowd again. A trio of likely frat boys from LSU in their purple and gold were passing by. Amelia ignored them and looked instead to some thirty-something conference attendees wandering down Bourbon with the wide-eyed reverence of small children on Christmas morning. She put her hands on her hips and pushed her chest out. She made a pouty face at them as they passed by her station outside the club and beckoned with one ‘come hither’ finger.

  Ella directed her gaze to Frank and away from Mel’s posing and pouting. “Kara’s working, right? I need to talk to her for a few minutes.” Frank said she was and gestured Ella to the door. Ella nodded a ‘thank you’ to Frank and entered. It was cold in the club, the A/C blasting on full. It was also sparse, with some regulars spread out in the dark, but nowhere as busy as the place gets on weekends when the tourists are out in full swing.

  Ella immediately saw Kara. She was hard to miss. She w
ore a low cut, black dress that gave her an air of sophistication. She was talking to a balding man in a worn orange polo shirt and jeans. Ella thought about a tiger circling a gazelle; a predator circling its prey. That poor bastard was about to be separated from a substantial sum of money. In the hopes that this would be the case—maybe some of that money could be used to pay the rent Kara owed—Ella pulled up a bar stool and waited. She figured it would be bad juju to mess with Kara and a client.

  The bartender came up leisurely and smiled. “Hey, love the hair, Ella.”

  Ella smiled at Jake and found herself staring at his smooth chest underneath his black t-shirt. “Well, hey yourself stranger. How’s business?”

  “You know, I can’t complain. Been a little down lately in the drink department, but I think she’s doing okay.” Jake gestured over to Kara and her client. She had begun to run her hand across his shoulder and trailed it down his arm. Jake set a shot of whiskey down in front of Ella and waved her away when she reached for her purse. Jake said, “On the house, professional courtesy. So, what brings you in today? Lap dance with Mel?” He smiled his charming smile.

  “No, not today.” Ella met his gaze. “Actually, need to have a heart to heart with Kara about the rent again. Shit’s getting old.”

  Jake nodded. “I get that. I had this roommate after college that was a nightmare to get money out of. He was fine with getting me the rent on time, but trying to get money for phone, cable and utilities was like pulling teeth.” Jake thought a moment and then took out a fresh shot glass and poured himself a shot along with a second for Ella.

  He raised the glass, “To cheapskate roommates, may karma bite them in the ass.”

  Ella tapped her shot glass on the bar and then raised it and said, “I’ll drink to that. Cheers.”

  Across the club, Orange Polo had spilled a drink on his shirt, no doubt while being distracted by Kara’s cleavage. Kara didn’t miss a beat and took a napkin off the nearest table and began brushing him on his shirt and pants. The stage name Kara used was Ella’s suggestion: Cassandra. Snakes and prophecy. All of the negative connotations of the name flew over Kara’s head. Ella thought it was a good use of her master’s degree in Folklore and Mythology.

  Kara/Cassandra led her mark to the back of the club. The manager took some money from Orange Polo and Kara led him into the back rooms and the VIP lounge. Ella wondered what went on back there. She imagined a lot of frustrated groping and touching. New Orleans was known for its lax policy between dancers and patrons.

  Jake pulled her from her thoughts by asking, “How’s work treating you these days?” He ran his shot glass underneath the bar sink, giving it a detailed wash.

  Ella looked thoughtful. “Not too bad. I like the tour stuff more than the bartending, no offense.”

  Jake nodded. “None taken—I get that. Waiting bar can be a feast or famine. Either bored as hell or struggling to keep up. I get it.”

  “It’s just easier with the tours. You can get a little lost in the script. Makes the night go faster,” Ella said.

  A few young men came into the club hooting it up, dressed in casual clothes and wearing beads around their necks. The ringleader, a tall dark-haired man, wore a “Party in NOLA” shirt and had the largest collection of beads. On stage, a petite brunette with short cropped hair came out dressed in silver bottoms and matching top. She wore high heels and drew the attention of the newcomers quickly. Ella watched as she danced, and Jake began some more detailed bar prep for the evening. He sliced up a few dozen lemons, limes, and cucumbers for various cocktails. The majority of the patrons at The Bayou ordered beers, but some would order the occasional fancier drink, and he liked to be ready for that.

  Kara led Orange Polo out of the VIP rooms; his shirt and jeans looking somewhat disheveled. Ella was impressed that Kara still looked like her same elegant self. She supposed it was that same look that made Ella enter into a lease with her. Likely that look had gotten her pretty far in her life. Ella had trouble imagining many people telling her “no” to anything. Kara excused herself from her client and walked over to the bar. She smiled brightly at Ella, like she didn’t have a care in the world. Ella thought that was likely an accurate view from Kara’s perspective. Ella did not share this view.

  “Ella!” She gave her a squeeze of a hug. “It’s good to see you. Did you come to keep me company on this dreary and slow shift?” Kara asked.

  Ella was gruff, “Something like that; can we talk?”

  “Sure. What’s up?” Kara asked.

  “I don’t want to be a bitch about this, but the rent was due three days ago and I don’t have your share.”

  Kara put on her best smile. “Oh, was it rent day already? I completely missed it.” She asked Jake for a cigarette and he obliged her by sliding one over from the pack he kept by the bar.

  Ella had heard this before. She wasn’t amused. No “sorry” or “here’s the money.” It’s as if she needed Ella to ask directly. Like some kind of fucked-up power play. Ella tapped her fingers on the bar impatiently. “Yes, three days ago. Rent’s due by the 5th of each month. We’ve had this talk.”

  Kara ignored her and asked Jake for a light. Jake took a silver Zippo out of his pocket and flicked the lighter to life. He was very dexterous. He brought the flame close to Kara’s cigarette. She puffed once, twice, three times a lady. Jake made the Zippo disappear into his pants. Kara regarded Ella, “It’s really not a problem. I’m not sure why you get so worked up over it.”

  Ella rolled her eyes. “Listen its $400. Do you have it?”

  Kara regarded her with slight disdain at the mention of the amount of money. Like it was some kind of social faux pas to bring up the actual amount. “Of course.” She withdrew some bills out of the clutch purse that was hanging off her wrist. She counted out two hundred-dollar bills and ten twenties. “Here.” She pushed the money over to Ella across the bar like she didn’t want to have to bother with the mundane aspects of life. Like it was below her station. Ella was pretty sure she had not had all this money until a few minutes earlier.

  “Thanks!” Ella said brightly and tapped the money into a neat pile and put it in her back pocket. Getting into an argument with Kara was like punching a bowl full of Jell-O. It never ended well and was unsatisfying. She learned to avoid protracted engagements with her.

  Well, mostly.

  Ella had to admit to that brief period where she had fucked Kara. There was no getting around that. It started late one night when Ella was very much on one of her back and forth rebounds with Cooper. God damn musicians. But that was another story. They ended up in Kara’s bedroom, which served as a metaphor for their short-lived relationship. Kara’s bedroom and Kara’s rules. It was always about Ella seeking Kara out. Not that it would have led to anything significant, but it was one of the things that had helped end it almost as soon as it started. Ella had always been fiercely independent. Living with her parents in Amsterdam during her formative years had seen to that. The fling with Kara, and that really was a better word for it, fling, was fun, short-lived, and ultimately ill advised. Ella left Kara at the bar in much the same way she left her in the bedroom. Quickly and very much aware that she had escaped a more prolonged encounter that could have ended badly.

  She thanked Jake for the drink. He said back, “Anytime, beautiful.” She checked the time with him. She should be at work. Her shift would be starting soon. Ella stepped out of The Bayou into the dusk of Bourbon Street with $400 in her pocket.

  Mission accomplished, now to get to work.

  Nightfall

  Chapter 5

  New Orleans, Spring, Tuesday, 6:30pm

  She walked through the city after her meeting with Sinclair. He hadn’t followed her, which was not surprising. She had been followed, stalked, attacked, heckled, yelled at, and cursed; but not by Sinclair. His reaction was always the same, a kind of befuddled confusion. Like someone waking up from a deep sleep.

  Oliver padded along behind as they passed
a striking woman with white hair and a tattoo of a rabbit flying a kite. She looked rushed. She had seen her before and she wondered if she was part of Sinclair’s story. She was certainly his type, she thought, as she looked at the knife sticking out of her boot and the bike chain slung around her waist. Ripped right from central casting.

  She stopped at the Café Au Lait for a coffee. The establishment had a large green and white awning that protruded into the street and offered the most wonderful air conditioning. Oliver liked the place because they had a water bowl set up outside the café and they welcomed dogs. She tied him outside and then ordered her coffee. She liked the bitter taste of the chicory they added to the iced coffee. She sat down at the table and pet Oliver in that spot behind his ear that he loved so much to be scratched. He stretched up to feel her touch and then settled back down into the coolness of the evening surrounding him.

  She thought about Sinclair. Maybe this time would be different.

  Maybe this time would be the last.

  Chapter 6

  New Orleans, Spring, Tuesday, 6:30pm

  I’m a writer too; just wanted to let you know. Maybe not like the pale Galilean or Mr. Sinclair, but I’ve been working on something. Something big.

  I’d see it as a how-to guide. Maybe a bit of a roadmap for those who want to follow in my footsteps. I know I’ll be famous; it isn’t a question of that. So few people who become famous realize they will be famous beforehand. That’s the difference for me. I know. I’ve prepared. I’ve studied their mistakes and will use them. Just like the Hopi tribe used all the parts of the buffalo. Chapter 1, verse 7, by the way.