The Take (10 page)

Linda’s
eyes stayed on Felina. She didn’t like what she saw. Cheap cotton clothes
clinging to firm curves, lips parted in a permanent pout, with an invisible
sign hanging from her neck, asking
Wouldn’t
you love to fuck me?
Searching her black eyes, Linda found nothing, only
inky veils covering everything that lay behind them. She extended a cool hand.

“Welcome
to New Orleans, Felina.”

Felina
returned the hand, as well as the scrutiny. Linda’s hair bothered her right
away. Not because of its thick, wavy style, which Felina knew would draw
maximum attention from men, but because of its natural strawberry blonde color.

Felina
always resented this accident of nature. So did a lot of
other dark-complected females, who
sometimes questioned their own sexuality whenever men rushed right past them to
endlessly fawn over women with blonde hair.

She
also noted Linda’s body, neither particularly voluptuous nor sexpot-tight. Her
slim, well-tended contours integrated well with her personality, allowing her
to move stylishly, with a fluid grace. Her face didn’t hide her age, but like
finely-weathered wood, it looked pretty good.

“Thank
you, Linda,” replied Felina. “And thank you for letting us stay with you. It
was very kind.”

“Uh,
Linda,” Eddie broke in. “Like I said, this’s Lowell Garner. We gave him a lift
from Lake Charles —”

“Why,
they did more’n that.” Garner shook Linda’s hand. “They helped out a stranger
in trouble along the roadside, and now they invite me over here to meet you. So
I guess that makes me twice grateful and ten times happier.”

Linda
smiled a thank you at Garner, their eyes locking for the moment. Then she
slowly turned to Eddie.

“Now,
why’d you come to New Orleans, little brother?”

Eddie
fidgeted. He shot his eyes once toward Garner, who still focused on Linda. “Well,
um, uh — we’re just here for a, um, a couple of days. We, uh —”

She
picked it up. “Okay, okay,” she said, waving it off. But those two okays also
said,
We’ll get to it later, and you
better let it all out,
and Eddie knew it.

Another
round arrived at the table, and his hand shook a little. He brought the shot
glass to his lips, trying to steady the tremble, but with no success. A little
of the blended whiskey ran down his chin.

Linda
looked at Garner with interest. “So why’d you come to New Orleans, Lowell?”

“Business.”
He almost let it go at that, but then he added, “Actually, to get away from
business. I was kind of forced into a — a temporary retirement. And I’m
just — well, I’m just taking a rest from the stress, if you know what I
mean. But lemme tell you, lovely lady, I know that AJ Frechette owns this
hotel, and whatever he’s paying you, it ain’t enough. Not near enough. You’re
damn good! And you can draw the people. Look at this!” He made a wide Texas
gesture, taking in the whole crowded place.

“Well,
thank you, Lowell. That’s very nice of you to say that, but I think there’s
another attraction here too.”

“What?
Oh, you mean the girls? Well, yeah, but there’s a lotta people who aren’t here
for that. They’re here for you and your music. Listen,” he added, cupping his
ear with his hand. “Listen real careful to the sweetest music of all. The
ringing cash register.”

Although
she sensed more than just a compliment, she accepted it modestly. “AJ’s right
over there,” she said with a coy smile, indicating the rail-thin owner standing
at the end of the bar, “so don’t let him hear that he’s not paying me enough.”

Garner’s
big grin was accompanied by a gesture. It wasn’t much of a move, just a little
flip of his hand. But it made Linda blink twice. There was something about that
gesture. Then it hit her. It was Eddie’s. He flipped his hand the very same way
sometimes when he smiled.

Garner
started telling a joke. As he delivered the punch line with perfect timing, he
jabbed an elbow into Eddie’s side
while Eddie forced a nod and a chuckle.

Garner
added through his laughter, “Besides, Eddie, your sister’s a whole lot better
lookin’ than you are.”

Felina
jumped in from the other side, grabbing Eddie’s arm. “Oh, I don’t know about
that,” she said.

“No,”
said Linda, as her body stiffened. She took Garner’s arm. “I don’t think you
do.”

“Well,”
she replied, “it’s pretty obvious which one in the family has the looks.” She
nuzzled Eddie, rubbing a round breast against his arm.

“Right.
Same one that’s got the brains,” Linda shot back.

“Linda,”
Garner said, “can I buy you a drink? What’re you having?” Without waiting for
an answer, he signaled the waitress for another round, adding, “Bring Linda
one, too, sweetheart.”

“Uh,
Lowell,” Eddie said, “I think we really ought to go. We’ve got a lot of —”

“Naw, y’all
can have another round with me. C’mon. I’m buying.”

“Sure,
little brother,” said Linda. “Stick around.” She slid a little closer to
Garner, moving her eyes in on him. Up close, she saw traces of a resemblance to
Eddie.

She had
always thought her brother was really sexy looking, and it bothered her that
other women only saw him as a sucker to be manipulated for their own selfish
ends. His wiry build and angular face showed a lot of sensuality, the kind that
stirred her soup, but of course he was blood, so that was that. But here was a
man who had the same kind of look, the same appeal, only with a more forceful
personality.

She touched
his arm, trying to picture him
without the mustache. When she finally copped the image, a giddy spasm rolled
over her insides.

“Yeah,
stick around,” she said. “Lowell’s buying. Besides, where you gonna go?”

Garner
returned Linda’s move with a smile. Then: “That’s right! Where y’all gonna go?
This’s the best place on the street, anyway. The place to be!”

So they
stayed. As the night wore on, Linda cranked out her remaining sets. Her bright
blue spangly dress somehow blended with the blazing red of the piano to form
the perfect visual for her driving blues and boogie-woogie. The crowd cheered
raucously and sang along.

Over at
the tables, the businessmen cracked lame jokes, while the whores laughed.

Through
it all, Eddie Ryan pitched and rolled on a sea of Jim Beam. The stuff kept
coming, everybody kept singing and laughing. As the whiskey tide rose, he
floated farther and farther away, away from the hot music, away from Felina and
the noisy crowd, until eventually the whole place swirled like a rowdy neon
dream.

B
y the time two
o’clock rolled around, Eddie felt like he’d been in that bar for a week. He’d
already puked once in the men’s room, but when he and Felina walked out onto
Bourbon Street just ahead of Linda and Garner, he felt another one coming on.

The
street was mercifully quiet. He tried to straighten up, but no luck. He felt
the first spasm as soon as he hit the sidewalk. Luckily he made it to curbside
before spitting up the soupy mess.

Felina
grabbed some napkins from back inside, then wiped him clean, as he hunched down
on one knee for another minute or so. Finally, with most of the poison drink in
the gutter, he got to his feet, rasping, “Let’s go get the car.”

“Eddie,
we don’t need the car,” Linda said. By now she was very cozy with Garner. “I
live just a few blocks from here. Corner of St. Louis and Burgundy.” She
pointed down Bienville Street toward Burgundy. At the end of the dark block, a
gay whore in hotpants and white boots stood under a streetlamp waving at a
passing car.

“No,
no, we gotta get the car. We gotta —”

“All
our stuff is in the car,” Felina said. “We really should get it.”

“Well,
where is it?” asked Linda.

“It’s here
in the hotel parking garage,” Garner said, putting his arm around Linda and
moving her in that direction. She responded by nuzzling him.

“Yeah,
in the garage,” Eddie said, the rasp still all over his voice.

They
walked toward the garage. “Here, Eddie,” Garner said, “gimme the parking stub.
I’ll get the car and drive us to Linda’s.”

“Yeah …
yeah, the car,” he repeated through the remaining foggy fumes of the Jim Beam.

“Eddie,”
said Linda, “give Lowell the stub.”

Hhe
fumbled through his pockets until he dragged up the ticket. Garner took it.

“Y’all
wait around the corner by the exit. I’ll go get the car.”

The
street had grown silent, so the sound of the Ford’s howling tires coming down
the garage ramp seemed like the loudest sound on earth. Eddie ground his teeth,
wishing it would stop.

Before
he got into the car, he pulled the keys from the ignition. He stumbled around
to the rear of the car, opening the trunk. The big leather suitcase lay
undisturbed.

Garner
took back the keys. He got into the driver’s seat, while Linda sat next to him.
Felina poured Eddie into the back seat.

They
pulled out of the garage turning right onto Bienville past the iron-gray Jaguar
sitting just to their left. When they slowly ambled up the street toward
Burgundy, no one noticed the Jag humming to life, moving in the same direction.

≈≈≈

There were no available parking spots on Burgundy, so they turned up
St. Louis, locating one near the corner. Garner maneuvered the car into the
spot. They all piled out, not seeing the dark-tinted Jaguar pulling up
alongside. When the door opened, the woman in the driver’s seat whispered a
word to the man who stepped out. He was somewhere in his forties, with a stocky
build that filled out his western-cut shirt. He approached Garner, still
standing in the shadowed street, shutting the driver’s side door of the Ford.

“Lowell?”
he asked in a low-pitched voice.

Garner
became nervous. “Wh-what can I —”

”Mr.
Kilgore sends his greetings.”

In an
eyeblink, his right
hand
thrust forward, underhand style, into Garner’s midsection. It was so quick no
one had time to see the glint of the blade. Garner uttered a soft groan,
followed by a throaty rattle as he doubled over, collapsing to the pavement.

The
killer jumped back into the gray sedan, where he disappeared behind black
windows. The car sped off, vanishing around the next corner by the time the
others realized what had happened.

The
women let out a few hysterical shrieks, rattling the quiet side street. Eddie
sobered up immediately, and they all rushed around the car to Garner’s side.

Gasping
frantically, trying to catch a breath, he clutched his gaping gut. His eyes
bulged wide from their sockets, seeing only his own approaching death. Eddie
and Felina and Linda all knelt helplessly beside him, their anxious hands
trying to give comfort.

Before
any of them could speak, his final breath had left him.

“Lowell,”
cried Linda. “My God. Lowell.”

“God
damn,” Eddie said. “They — they killed him. He’s dead!”

“Lowell.
Lowell. My God.” Linda shook the corpse, trying to restore its life. “Lowell.”

Felina,
meanwhile, bent over him, fishing through his pockets until she found his
wallet. She checked it for a moment, then quickly said to Eddie, “Gimme your
wallet.”

Eddie,
still in shock over the brazen murder, said, “Did anybody get the license
number of that car?”

“Never
mind that,” snapped Felina. She was all hard edge and toughness. “Gimme your
wallet!”

His
eyes flicked back to the scene. He finally acknowledged her.

“Wh-what’re
you talking about? My wallet?”

She
reached around into his back pocket till she located the billfold. She grappled
with it for a second, then pulled it out. After checking it, she removed the
money. Wiping it clean, she then placed it on the street in the bloody puddle
by Garner’s body. Her eyes scanned the street. No one yet.

“What
the fu —
 
Hey! Felina …”

“Just
shut up and let’s get out of here.” She stuffed Garner’s wallet into Eddie’s
pocket.

Linda’s
hysterical shock had melted down into fury. “Hey, hold it right there, honey.”
She grabbed Felina’s forearm. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Felina
shook loose of Linda’s hard grip.

“I’m
saving our asses!” she cried, her nostrils flaring. “And unless you want more
trouble than you ever thought about, you’re gonna let
go my arm and we’re all gonna go into your
apartment. Eddie! Get our suitcase. Get Garner’s, too.”

Eddie
went around to open the trunk. As he was retrieving the suitcases, Linda had
reached the point of explosion. “Don’t you give me any of your shit, you little
bitch. Now you tell me what —”