NO Quarter (34 page)

To my horror, I found the Juggernaut was going to come along, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

I had already ditched him twice in our budding “relationship”—once when I’d snuck out when he was in the sandbox, and again on the night Bone had called in his SOS. He wasn’t going to let it happen a third time, and had that “stubborn child” manner about him again. I told him I had a date waiting for me, but even that didn’t deflect him. Stuffing the remains of his Lucky Dog into one of his pockets, he chugged the remains of his beer and invited himself along. I didn’t have time to argue. My mysterious stalker was waiting for me at Cosimo’s. People had gone to trouble on my behalf, especially the Bear, and it wouldn’t be right to leave them hanging.

To Jugger’s earlier question about my knowing anybody named “Bone” I finally said, with a casual shrug, “Never heard the name. But there’s lots of weird handles around.”

If I hadn’t forgotten my goddamn cell phone, I thought darkly, I could step into the rest room for a minute of privacy and buzz Bone. That Jugger was looking for him by name had me very worried. I couldn’t duck back to my place and grab it, though, since I couldn’t have Jugger following me to my address.

So we set out on foot for Cosimo’s, me and my “buddy.”

As we left Stage Door, the stray dog immediately tagged along, probably smelling the food in Jugger’s pocket. Jugger slowed, trying to shoo the dog away, but I kept a steady pace, not looking back, hoping he might actually stop to feed the dog so I could lose him.

Behind me I heard the dog bark once, followed by a series of very loud “yi-yi-yi” yelps that ended abruptly. I spun around in time to see Jugger holding the dog by the throat, its body hanging like a limp rag from his massive fist. Stunned, I watched him shake it once, then toss the lifeless body to the side of the street. Brushing his hands on his overalls he hurried to catch up. I had to turn away quickly to keep him from seeing the horror on my face, while trying not to be sick. Any doubts that this man might be capable of murder had just been erased. It took all my concentration to keep walking, pretending that nothing unusual had happened, that we were still pals. Silently, I said a small prayer for
the dog while Jugger kept up a steady spiel. I had to listen still one more time to
the story about the guy he’d beaten that had “messed with his bitch,” and how he was going to take care of the guy who sold him out, once and for all. At this point I could hum the tune by heart. The walk seemed to take forever.

Cosimo’s is nice and out of the way. It’s on Burgundy and Governor Nicholls, one of the quietest intersections in the Quarter. By the time we got there I decided it might actually be good that the Juggernaut was with me. Here at least he wouldn’t be asking around about Bone. Whatever that was about, it couldn’t be anything good. I would find out tonight the things I needed to know about Jugger. I
would
.

As we turned down Governor Nicholls Street I saw the Bear’s old rusty Impala parked out in front of the corner bar. We crossed the street and went inside.

There was no music playing. What looked to be a couple of regulars sat on stools at the bar, folks who would mind their own business. Yankee stood behind the bar. He was an oak pillar of a man, tall and muscular with long hair.

“Maestro,” he waved, “glad you made it.” His eyes flicked slightly to the Juggernaut coming in behind me.

“He’s with me,” I said, then rolled my eyes to show what I really meant.

Yankee—what he was doing with that nickname in the South I didn’t know—nodded, understanding I had someone in tow I couldn’t shake for some reason.

“Where’s our friend?” I asked quietly, but none of the regulars were even glancing my way. Even Jugger’s presence didn’t faze them.

“’Round back,” Yankee indicated with a tilt of his head. “You want a Tully Dew?”

“Pass,” I said. “He’ll take a draft.”

Jugger with his beer in hand followed me around to the bar’s rear. It’s a clean, comfortable space with armchairs, a couch, and a pool table too poor for any league team to use.

The Bear stepped forward, doing the same eye-flick at Jugger. Behind him two beefy types were standing on either side of a clean-cut guy in his early thirties. He wore a neat but cheap collared shirt, and where the collar was open a silver crucifix hung on a chain. His eyes were wide and he looked plenty scared and confused.

I studied him for almost a full silent minute. I didn’t recognize him.

“He came in here askin’ for you,” the Bear said.

“This is your ‘date’?” Jugger’s voice rumbled behind me. I’d almost forgotten about him.

I glanced back. “Just some business I’ve got to take care of.” I definitely didn’t want him around for whatever this was going to turn out to be, but I couldn’t see any way out of it.

“Maestro
...
?” the clean-cut guy asked hesitantly.

A while back I’d sent this anonymous person a message through the grapevine, to the effect that
I
was looking for
him
. I had hoped that would scare him off. It hadn’t.

“Okay,” I looked him over. “Who are you?”

He blinked, looking startled. “It’s me, Maestro. Me! Barracuda!”

My turn to blink and look confused. The name registered, and I dug in mental files for info. Then I had it and I took a harder, closer look at him.

“It’s been a while, kiddo. What’ve you been up to?”

At a silent wave from the Bear, the two beefy guys were no longer sandwiching him. “Been a while” was understating it, I thought. I hadn’t seen Barracuda in six or seven years, and hadn’t known him particularly well. Back then, he’d been just another twenty-something hanging around the Quarter bars. I couldn’t even remember what he’d done for a living.

He smiled now, modestly. In the old days Barracuda had had blue, shoulder-length hair and a huge assortment of earrings in his ears. He’d worn a black leather jacket and drank like a fish.

“Well, I was in Ohio for quite a while,” he said in that same shy tone of voice. “I
...
did time. I did a whole lot of stupid things, and I got caught. I deserved to get caught.”

“What does this have to do with me?” I asked.
Barracuda?
What the hell was going on? Whatever it was, I wanted it done with. I didn’t need any distractions right now.

He smiled again. “I wanted to thank you.”

“For?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Evidently not,” I said.

“There was this one night. It was a typical night for me, drinking and debauchery. I started a bar fight over a woman.
You
stepped in. You grabbed me, marched me into the bathroom, and stuck my head in a sink of cold water. Then you talked to me. You told me to straighten up, clean up my act. If I didn’t, you said, I was going to end up in jail or dead.”

I fished for the memory but it simply wasn’t there. I could imagine it happening, though, easily. I confess to a weakness for trying to steer the younger generation away from trouble
. I
t hardly ever works.

Barracuda went on, “You were right, of course. I left New Orleans and went up to Ohio, but my corrupt behavior didn’t change. I got myself sent to jail.”

I frowned. “And you came all the way back down here to thank me? For what? I gave you a talking to and it didn’t take.”

“But you
tried
. I wanted to say ‘thank you.’ And I didn’t come all the way back here just for you. I’m on my way to Orlando, Florida. I’m taking the bus. I’ve got a job waiting for me. I’ve been in town for this past week, staying with a family Uptown. I’m leaving soon, so it’s wonderful that I got to see you. I didn’t know if you still went to the bars, and I couldn’t remember which ones were yours, but I tried different ones when I could make it down to the French Quarter.”

The Bear glanced at me, and there was laughter in his eyes. I understood his amusement. After all the bother of his red alert perimeter, to find out it had all started over something this harmless.

I sagged slightly.

“So,” I said, conversationally now, “you’ve got your life back together. That’s nice.” And it was.

He smiled with a little more confidence. “Yes, through the kindness of my fellow man—men like you, Maestro, and the Bible network family I’ve been staying with—and through the guidance of my Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, I am now fit to live among good people.”

He put his hand out. I shook it.

“Thank you, Maestro.”

“You’re welcome, Barracuda.”

“It’s Michael Francis Norton now.”

“You’re welcome, Michael Francis Norton.”

With that, he walked away.

The Bear finally chuckled out loud. The Juggernaut stepped forward. He had drained his beer. “That was weird, huh? Hey, look, they got a table here. Maestro, I’ll rack.”

At that moment I spotted Bone coming around from the front of the bar. I didn’t bother wondering what he was doing here. As Jugger moved to slot quarters into the table, I waved Bone curtly to a halt. He hitched up, frowning, opening his mouth to say something. Urgently I mouthed the word “Calf” at him, and waved him away desperately, before Jugger saw him.

Bone hesitated, only a second.

“Hey, Bone!” one of the guys at the bar called out. “How’s it going?” It figured that one of the regulars knew him.

“Bone?” Jugger repeated in a low threatening growl that rumbled through his entire body. He straightened, turned, and spotted Bone. Bone’s eyes got very big as the man-mountain started for him. He immediately did his own about-face, racing for the door.

Juggernaut moved surprisingly fast for his size. I had to stop him, but he was across the room—too far away for me to reach in time.

The Bear had seen my pantomime and realized something was going on. I never saw him move, but a cue stick appeared in his hands and somehow managed to end up between Jugger’s feet. Tangled in the three-and-a-half foot stick, the giant’s feet stopped moving forward, but his upper body continued until he toppled onto the floor like a felled redwood.

Bear and I immediately rushed to his side, “helping” him up while making certain he stayed down. I glanced at the door to be sure Bone had managed his escape. Jugger finally managed to untangle himself from the now-shattered cue stick and regain his footing, despite our assistance. He rushed for the front door and hesitated. I joined him there, relieved that I could see no sign of Bone.

“Which way did he go?” Jugger growled.

“The skinny guy? I think he went that way.” I helpfully pointed the opposite direction from the way Bone had run.

“I gotta go, Maestro. Rain check for that game?”

“Sure. Tell you what, I’ll meet you at the Stage Door tomorrow night. How’s ten sound? I’ll buy the first round.” I smiled.

He smiled back in that gruesome way of his.

“That sounds great, Maestro. Gotta go.” Jugger turned and lumbered off down the street in the wrong direction.

I had to find out if Bone had any idea why Jugger was hunting him. I didn’t. At least Bone was safe—for the moment. I exited Cosimo’s, shaking hands with Yankee on the way out. The Bear stood out front, smoking a cigarette.

“Nice work with the cue-stick.”

“Not really. I only sank the eight-ball.” Bear dropped his cigarette to the sidewalk, grinding it under his heel. “Can I drop you somewhere, Maestro?”

“I’m heading for the Calf.”

He nodded at the rusty Impala. “Hop in.”

Before I did, I looked square at the Bear. “I suppose you’re wondering about it—what I’m doing hanging out with the Juggernaut.”

He spread his hands. “Ain’t none of my never-mind.”

I took a breath, deciding. “There’s something going on, Bear. I’d like your help. How about you come on to the Calf with me?”

He met my eyes. “You bet, Maestro. Let’s get goin’.”

I made it to the Calf, out of breath, but without any unwanted company. Padre spotted me a rummincoke, even though I’d said it wasn’t necessary. I had learned that it was best to accept Padre’s kindnesses without argument. He had seen me arrive and, without question, delivered up the drink along with his no-nonsense attitude. I needed that drink.

Still breathing hard, I tossed my fought-for smokes onto the booth’s Formica tabletop and was digging one out when Maestro entered. He had the sandy-haired fellow wearing the black beret in tow. I remembered seeing him before, bartending at that Decatur joint where I’d met Brock. I was much more concerned about the titan in the denim overalls. The image of that creature—large shaven head, thick neck, massive body of menacing muscle—coming after me was burned into my brain. Him, I was
very
curious about—especially how he knew my name and why he had come after me.

The bartender accompanying Maestro knew Padre, and they did that wrist-on-wrist handshake over the bartop. Then Maestro procured cocktails, and they came my way.

I’d taken the side of the booth facing the Calf’s front door, and I admit to a mild enjoyment at seeing Maestro hesitate, then slide a bit uneasily onto the opposite bench. The guy in the beret remained standing, waiting with an air I can’t quite name—cool vigilance maybe. Whatever, I had the odd impression he was aware of where
every
one was in the bar.

I blew out smoke.

“Bone, this is the Bear. Bear, Bone.”

We shook, and it was a simple howdy handshake—but Maestro obviously had a reason for introducing him, for inviting him to the table. The Bear sat, apparently not sharing Maestro’s discomfort about an exposed back.

“The Bear’s coming in on the hunt, Bone.” Maestro took a pull on his drink.

“Really now?”

“Trust me on it.”

The Bear’s drink was Jack Daniel’s and water.

“I do trust you, Maestro.” I clicked my gaze over to him. “Do you trust
me
?”

He tried for that blank, bland stare, but he seemed slightly flustered at the moment, and his annoyance came across. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Red alert perimeter. I understand you set that up, Bear. You’ve had somebody out looking for you, Maestro—maybe
hunting
you—for a
week
? You don’t tell me. You’re just going to take care of it, you and some friends—“

“Look, I’m sorry if you feel left out
...
”

“—and not worry that what affects you might affect me. Think about what we’re doing, Maestro, what we’re involved in. You could call these combat conditions, even. If there’s something way out of the ordinary happening in your life, doesn’t it occur that it might just have something to do with the out-of-the-ordinary activities we’re engaged in?”

The Bear took a studied sip of his cocktail. Maestro let out what sounded like a beleaguered sigh.

“Okay, all right—you’ve got a point.” He got one of his thin black cigarettes going. “As it turns out, though, it’s nothing. Pure red herring. Some kid who’s suddenly found Jesus and thought I’d done him a good turn once. It had nothing at all to do with the hunt.”

“That’s good news, anyway,” I said. I knew, truly, that the better part of my anger was coming from worrying about Maestro’s safety, and that anger was drying up, fast. “It wasn’t that behemoth with the shaved scalp, was it?”

“No,” Maestro said pointedly. “That, my friend, was the Juggernaut.”

“He must have weighed a lot as a baby for his mother to know to name him that.”

The Bear showed his teeth in a chuckle at that. It was a low, rich sound.

“I’d say Jugger moves into our number one slot for suspects,” Maestro said, blowing smoke, “now that Jo-Jo’s been scratched.”

We were all speaking at low volume. It wasn’t yet midnight, early, and the customers in the Calf were mostly tourists, but far enough from our booth.

“Jo-Jo? Why?”

He explained. I nodded, admiring his fancy footwork in shaking out the information at the Court of Two Sisters.

“I probably should’ve rung you with it earlier, but I, ah, left my phone at home.” He looked embarrassed and pissed off at once; and tried to hide both reactions.

It explained why I hadn’t been able to reach him earlier. “No worries there,” I said, and told him about losing my own phone.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Yes. Hell of a night, isn’t it?”

“Not over yet,” the Bear put in.

“And we still don’t know who the fuck we’re after,” I said, the anger flaring again, for a different, better reason.

Padre, seeing to his customers, had come down to the end of the bar. He threw a bartender’s questioning look our way. Since I was facing, I shook my head. We were all okay on our drinks. I took a good swallow of mine now. Padre had made it strong.

“Well,” Maestro said, “it’s also the matter of who’s after
us
. Okay, tonight we found out my guy’s nothing. But why is the Juggernaut interested in you?”

“Hell if I know. I was hoping you could tell me.”

He related how the Juggernaut asked him about me by name, hunting me right up until I almost conveniently delivered myself to him.

Something cold and oily closed around my heart.

“Well
...
”

And I told Maestro about Dunk showing up at my restaurant, also asking questions. His cigarette froze halfway to his lips.

“This isn’t good,” he said stonily. “This isn’t good.”

“Are they
...
”

“Working together? I don’t know. How do we write it off as coincidence? How do we connect those two up if we don’t?” Maestro ground out the cigarette, hard, stabbing, rattling the ashtray. “Dunk and the Juggernaut together? How does that make sense?”

“Bone,” the Bear said as he leaned slightly toward me, “any ideas how Dunk might’ve made you? How he might know that you’ve been on him?”

I laid out what I’d done in the way of tailing and investigating Dunk over the past few days. Maybe this Bear would have some insight. He certainly came across as sharp enough. I realized I wasn’t truly put out about Maestro bringing him on board without telling me ahead of time. Hell, the more the merrier. And the more—hopefully—the sooner we’d be at the end of the hunt. The end. Where we would find Sunshine’s killer
...
or when the hunt was done, and we had failed.

When I got to the part about Dunk offering to let me suck his cock in Check Point’s toilet, Maestro actually looked aghast.

I shrugged. “I’ve had stranger things happen to me in French Quarter rest rooms.”

From his leery expression I figured he didn’t want to hear what that might be.

I finished up. “So, see, Dunk’s actually laid eyes on me twice. And the second time, he remembered the first.”

“He’s askin’ for you by name, though,” the Bear said thoughtfully over the brim of his Jack Daniel’s. “He knows where you work. Wants to know more—where you live. He’s tryin’ to zero in. Any ideas how he got your name?”

“Could’ve asked around at Check Point’s after I left.”

“Do you hang there a lot?” asked Maestro. “Lot of people there that know you?”

I shrugged again. “It’s not a regular stop for me, no. But I only work a of couple blocks away, serve a lot of Decatur regulars. If Dunk went to the trouble of asking
...
eventually, probably, he could find out my name from somebody. I mean, c’mon—it’s the
Quarter
.”

Which was supposed to be our turf, and it was, but that wasn’t supposed to work against us. I didn’t voice the gloomy thought. I wished suddenly that Alex were here at the table, next to me. We could use her viewpoint, her quick thinking. I could use her hand in mine, soft and strong and steadfast. I took another big belt off my rummincoke.

The three of us sat there quiet a moment. You couldn’t hear the thoughts, but the outflow of mental energy was palpable—minds ticking over the events, the facts, the details, the guesses. What was going through my head was starting to feel overheated, the thoughts like machine parts that might get dangerously warm soon.

I’m being hunted.
I thought about rebuking myself for tipping my hand, for letting that slimy shit Dunk get wind of me, but I didn’t see the point. I hadn’t fucked up in any serious way. In fact, for an amateur, for a waiter playing at being a hunter and a vigilante, I’d done good enough to be proud. It was, of course, just a gosh-darned shame that nothing had come of it.

As to how the Juggernaut—who I’d now seen for myself, and who looked more like a Ray Harryhausen special effects monstrosity than a human—had learned my name, I had no clue.

Connect up Dunk and Juggernaut, as Maestro had said: How?

Good fucking question.

“Jesus wept.”

I focused in on Maestro. Across from me his features—normally rigidly managed—had gone slack.

“What’ve you got?” I asked. The Bear had turned to look.

“I think
...
I’ve got him.” Maestro drew himself together, and for once it was a visible process. His emotions were churning nearer the surface tonight than I had ever seen them do. “Dig this: Jugger—I’ve been hanging with him a couple of days now, right? We’re
pals
. He thinks so anyway. He’s told me a few times now about the assault that put him behind bars. He says he beat the piss out of some guy around New Year’s because the guy was ‘messing with his bitch’!” He caught himself as his voice rose, did a quick furtive look-around. No one but Padre seemed aware we were in the bar.

The Bear nodded. “Right. His boy toy was hooked up with somebody else when he got back out. That’s what makes him so unpleasant to be ’round.
One
of the things, anyway.” He eyed Maestro closely. “You came reconnin’ me for intelligence ‘bout recent ex-cons. I told you all this the other night. You coulda just asked, y’know.”

“I know. Didn’t want to go bringing in anybody unnecessarily.” Maestro was eager to get on with it. “
Listen.
What if
Dunk
is Jugger’s ‘bitch’?”

That brought a heavy beat of silence to the table.

“Bone, it was what Alex said.” He said to Bear, “A close friend of Bone and Sunshine—she suggested a few days ago that maybe the Juggernaut was bisexual. We were trying to link him up to Sunshine in some sort of love affair gone bad. Knowing Sunshine, it was the most workable theory.”

I felt a far distant pang. The hurt was still there, waiting for me.

“What if, though—like you said, Bear—the Jugger’s strictly into guys, and it’s Dunk who’s bisexual?” Maestro looked back at us expectantly.

“Boy toy.” My face felt numb, but I felt my lips moving. “Boy toy ... hooked up with someone else
...
maybe
moved in
with someone else. While Juggernaut was locked up. Moved in
...
with Sunshine. Dunk was living with her.”

“And Jugger’d gone in for an assault rap for poundin’ some guy who was messin’ with his boyfriend—and you think the boyfriend was this Dunk character?” The Bear tilted his bereted head.

Dunk, bisexual? He would hardly be the only individual in the Quarter that swung both ways. And there was that little scene in Check Point’s rest room. And
...

“Chanel,” I said suddenly. “Sunshine’s coworker. She knew Dunk. She kept referring to him as a ‘little faggot.’ I thought
...
but—”

Maestro’s palm slapped the table, jumping the ashtray. This time a head or two turned, saw nothing interesting in our booth, turned away.

Maestro’s breathing got loud and even for a moment.

“I’ve got him.
We’ve
got him. I really think we’ve got him.”

I realized my palms were damp.

“At the Stage Door,” Maestro said, “after that deal with Jo-Jo and the two girls, Jugger said, let me see
...
” His eyes wandered up toward the ceiling. “Something like, ‘I wouldn’t take shit like that from any woman.’ Then it was, ‘The last bitch that got in my face didn’t walk away from it.’ Something very much like that. Jugger likes to talk about his old fights, and I’d pretty much tuned him out. I thought
...
I thought ‘bitch’ meant one of his boyfriends. I wasn’t listening close. There’s only so much of his crap you can listen to.”