Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel (11 page)

Chapter 17

The bathroom mirror had fogged, but Cozy
cleared a drippy path with her hand. Watching the girl in the mirror, she
combed her hair, feeling its cold, damp tips on her shoulder blades. She had
just earned six days stay in the old man’s spare bedroom; all for letting a
voyeur get his shriveled rocks off. Her eyes had been kept closed for most of
the shower, only catching a curious glimpse of what a seventy-year-old dick
looks like. Instead of her feeling repulsed, Sal had actually gained her pity.

The alligator pendant went on first. An
inverted tattoo on her left breast of a tiny crawfish with its claws extended reflected
back. It was close enough to her areola to be hidden under bras and bikinis. It
was the one secret she’d ever kept from Haley. The swelling in her cheek had
gone down enough for her to appear normal. Ash was probably wondering why she
didn’t just ask him to come along on this adventure. Why?
Because
Ash didn’t need to get ass-raped in prison.
First, she would kill Porter
- if he weren’t already on the run – second, she would check out Molly’s
Girls unless the cops found her beforehand.

She pulled light pink shorts up her sore
legs. Her red tank top fit snug over a black push-up bra that excelled at its
job. More of her father’s drunken worldly advice was to
show the cleavage, you never know when it will get you out of a jam
.
Haley had never shown her assets. Just the opposite, she always wore baggy
clothes, especially when hanging around the house. Maybe not so strange, after
all, how the asshole only went after Haley.

She hoped Sal had fallen asleep after his
eventful morning, but she wasn’t that fortunate.

“Where are you off to?” he asked from the
den as she stepped into the hallway. “Just curious.” The CIA must have made the
man’s hearing aid.

“To look for someone.” She clutched the
purse that held Titus’ gun.

“What’s the name? Most lifers here in the
Quarter are familiar with each other.”

Cozy stepped into his line of sight. His
eyes scanned her like airport security. “I’m looking for someone that owes me
something.”

“If you gotta go out looking for them…”
The old man picked up the remote and shot it at the television. “…Maybe they
shouldn’t be found.”

She shrugged. “Can I use your washing
machine?”

“Leave your stuff right there. I’ll throw
them in with mine.”

“Thanks. Can I make a sandwich or
something?”

“Sorry, sweetheart. My groceries are
regulated to feed me a week at a time. I’m bare bones and if you noticed, I
ain’t got a lot to begin with.” He gummed a smile. “You got money, right?”

“Right. Yeah, I’m good. Okay.” She started
for the door.

“Wait a minute, dahlin’. I know you see
me as a dirty old man and that’s fine, but you… Look. You made me feel young
again… Alive. One day if you get to be my age and end up alone, you might
understand.” He picked up a note pad and wrote something down, and then held it
up for her to take. “This is the number to a burner phone a cop friend got for
me.”

“Burner phone?”

Sal held it up. “Can’t be traced. Call if
you find yourself in trouble and I’ll know it’s you, ’cause no one ever calls
me on it. I still have connections, and can maybe help you out of a jam.”

She took the paper and folded it up.
“Cool.”

She walked out the front door, down three
steps and turned onto Dauphine Street. She meandered into different sections of
shade, lightheaded from hunger. After spending all her money on alcohol that
first night with Sal, buying his drinks because he looked so sad sipping at his
watered-down cocktails, her options for food were shoplifting, the dine and
dash, or garbage picking. She wasn’t going to do an O.J. and stupidly get
busted for burglary after getting away with murder. She’d be too easy to
describe if she ran out of a restaurant without paying. Garbage picking and
dumpster diving was the only option. If gutter punks can do it, so could she.

Two blocks into the journey, she spotted
a McGriddle wrapper, like a diamond sitting on a pile of coal. She casually
snagged it as she passed, happily feeling the roundish form of a partially
eaten breakfast sandwich inside. What did she care about what went inside her
body? She stopped in front of LaPlace on Bourbon’s and gazed through the window
at all the beautiful place settings waiting for the lunch crowd. It would be
nice to eat there one day, dressed to the nines.

Out on the Bayou she had consumed
unusual, wild game to fuel her active lifestyle. Besides seafood and gators,
she had eaten deep-fried snakes, live bugs, and even the beaver-like rats known
as
nutria
. A discarded breakfast
sandwich held no challenge. She devoured the stale breakfast in four bites, but
it would only satisfy her for a couple hours and she didn’t even know how long
it would take to spot Porter coming or going from the apartment complex.

Chapter 18

While staring at the file of a woman who had
disappeared two years ago, my thoughts turned to the firing range and the
cluster I had created earlier with Tara. The session ended with one of my shots
hitting the target, but the other five ended up to the left, next to the ear.
It was progress, at least according to Tara.

My cell rang and Chance’s name lit the
screen. He spoke immediately. “I pulled some strings and got us a table at
LaPlace tonight.”

I pushed away from my desk and rubbed my
face. “You suck.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Heather and Alicia are going to the
movies tonight. I told them I was working late.”

“That’s fine. I was thinking just you and
me. I’ve had yes-men yapping in my ear all day and I need someone to tell me
how much I suck.”

“I’m your man. What time?”

“Leave now, I’ll be there in a few.”

“I’m in jeans, but I do have my dress
Nikes on.”

“It’s fine. I know the owner. We’ll be
tucked away in a corner – and don’t say that stupid movie line or the
dinner’s off.”

“Nobody gives Baby an ultimatum.” I
tapped my pen on the desk as my buddy chuckled. Tara had already left along
with most of the day shift. “What the hell? See you there.”

#

The stained glass double doors opened to
a simple, gold-plated oak podium where a sophisticated high-school girl in a
black bow tie and white shirt stood by a computer screen. She took inventory of
my wardrobe through bloated, black-framed glasses and smiled.

“You must be Detective Peyroux, the
Mayor’s guest?”

“Yes, I am.”

“This way, please.”

She led me to a smaller side room, meant
for privacy. I felt like a peasant worker that had been invited into the royal
palace. Brilliant white tablecloths hung low to the tiled, marble floor, but
the dim lighting made it hard to tell if it was real or laminate. Chance was
already seated at the back table, the lone patron.

The hostess backed away and was replaced
by our waiter, a sturdy young man with a thick jaw.

“Bring us a couple of Abita Ambers, will
you, Darren?”

“Of course, Mr. Mayor.”

I sat in front of a small, white plate
and a glass of ice water. Purple flowers in a tiny vase were centered
perfectly. Chance waited for me to make one of my smart-ass remarks about the
swank accommodations.

“Nice,” I said, letting him down.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?”

“You’ll get a half-dollar sized medallion
of steak for fifty bucks. No. Good sized portions.
Fantastic
blackened redfish.
Or maybe the seared scallops… Unbelievable.”

“I think the experience here is a little
lost on me tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“Part of the excitement of coming out to
place like this is the anticipation, and the getting ready with a shower and
nice clothes and not having to wind down from a stressful day at work. This
just feels awkward.”

“That’s why we’ll partake in their finest
mead and ambrosia first and take our time.”

Darren and our beers came right on cue
and after a perfect pour by our waiter, we toasted. It would just be a matter
of time before Chance laid the cards on the table.

#

Chance let me unwind by talking Saint’s
football through the savory crab cake appetizers. I stayed away from grilling
him about Harry Winslow and why he chose this restaurant, and he stayed away
from asking about my brother Brent. And after catching up on each other’s lives
and the mandatory small talk, our dinner came. That’s when I brought up an
issue that had been bugging me: the way that my daughter always went
goggle-eyed when he was around.

“What can I do about it?” Chance said. “I
don’t want to break the girl’s heart.”

I took a scallop in my mouth. “And I
don’t want you to break her heart. We’ve all been there. You’ve handled her
crush perfectly. I just didn’t know it would last this many months.”

“She’s becoming a very beautiful lady.
She looks just like Heather.”

“It’s just so weird.”

“Ha… it creeps you out that she’s into me.
That’s hysterical.”

“Don’t say
into me
. Let’s stick with crush.” I shifted took a piece of bread.

“Wow. Talk about Daddy’s little girl.”

“When did you stop being ‘Uncle Chance’?”

“I don’t know. When did she get her
training bra?”

“Watch it, Heffner.” I pointed my fork at
him. “So, have you ever tried Almas Caviar?”

He fixed his eyes on mine. “They don’t
serve it here.”

“You’re pretty quick to know that.”

“I know the whole menu.”

“But, Harry Winslow, Esquire has some
over at Winning One.”

He frowned. “Harry called me about your
visit.”

“Boom. There it is.”

He put his elbows on the table in order
to crack his knuckles, one by one. “I want to know what’s going on with your
investigation.”

“Did you know from the onset that my
River Doe was connected to Winslow? Is that why you came by my house?”

“Like I’m some crazy, French Quarter
psychic? Get real.” He scowled.

“Fine.” I didn’t push it. “I didn’t even
get the chance to question Harry Winslow, Esquire, yet. He cried to you
already? How you know each other?”

“He said you harassed his receptionist.”

“It’s only harassment when they got
something to hide.”

He casually sipped his water. “I’m
eventually going to run for governor of Louisiana.”

“I figured that, Chance. Everyone knows
you weren’t stopping at mayor.”

“Harry is going to run my campaign. We’ve
been working very close together, so of course when you and Tara go into his
company and grill his staff about some imaginary party, he’s going to tell me
about it.”

“You better not be telling me to cool
it.”

He pointed toward me with his fork. “I’m
just not sure you’re looking up the right alley.”

“Consider it a proper vetting. You don’t
want to be involved with a criminal, do you?”

Chance wiped his mouth and then threw his
napkin on the table. “I’m concerned. You associate a murder with him and his
company, you’ll ruin his credibility.”

“It was bound to happen, eh?”

“What?”

“You’re the mayor. I’m a detective. There
was bound to be a favor to be had somewhere. We couldn’t just be friends and
leave the politics out of it. You are actually sitting there inferring that I
leave your pal out of my investigation.”

“I’m not suggesting you stop or alter
your investigation. Go on and question the shit out of him for all I care. Our
being friends is exactly why I’m warning you.”

“Warning me?”

“Harry’s political arm reaches far beyond
me. Let’s just say if you irritate the wrong people, they won’t be inviting you
out to dinner.”

“Is that what you do, Chance? Crush your
enemies? Victory at any cost?”

He made a sour face, offended. “That
doesn’t deserve a response.”

I finished the last of my beer. “You’re a
good guy, Chance. You can only swim with sharks for so long before they realize
you’re not a shark. Then what?”

Chance’s body slumped. “You know how New
Orleans politics go. You run,
you’re elected
,
you’re indicted
. I’m going to break that cycle. And for the
record, if I wanted you to stop your investigation, I’d tell you that plainly
in a direct sentence.”

I nodded. “I know you would.”
And he would
.

“My concern extends to people I can’t
control who might want you to stop the investigation.”

I stared at him. For the first time, I
saw Chance as a politician.