Vieux Carré Voodoo (5 page)

It was a feeling I hadn’t had since—well, since before the
flood.

I felt a little dizzy, like I was about to…

Have a vision.

I reached down and grabbed on to both sides of the front of
the carriage. I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths.

Something—something is wrong, something is terribly
wrong. Just look, and you will see. Look, you have to see!

And then, as quickly as it had started, the feeling was
gone.

My body was covered with goose bumps.

I turned and looked at the front door of Oz. I scanned the
smiling faces of all the guys with drinks in their hands, looking for I didn’t
know what.

And then, out of the corner of my eye I saw someone in the
crowd who looked terribly familiar. My heart started pounding loudly in my ears.

No, it couldn’t be him…

I turned my head quickly. All I saw was the crowd, the same
faces that had been there before. I scanned their faces again, searching. But he
wasn’t there.

It had just been my imagination, obviously, but the feeling
had been so strong…

I’ve always been a bit psychic. I read tarot cards to help
me focus, and sometimes they gave me answers. In the year before the flood, it
seemed to be getting stronger and more intense. I’d communicated directly with
the Goddess, going into trances and seeing Her in visions. There had even been a
time when I’d been psychically linked to a man who’d been dead for almost twenty
years. But after the levees failed, it hadn’t seemed to work anymore. The cards
had just been cards, there had been no more visions, and I figured it was gone
for good. Maybe it had become so much stronger that it had burned itself out.
Maybe it was the negativity that followed in the wake of that last pre-flood
Mardi Gras. I didn’t know, and probably never would know for sure.

It wasn’t like it was a science, or anything.

The only thing I’d known for sure was it was gone, and to be
honest, I didn’t really mind all that much.

Was it coming back? Why? And why now?

Of course, it could have just been the mimosas.

I sat down, grabbed my go cup, and downed what was left in a
few gulps. I passed it back to my dad, who refilled it.

“You okay, Scotty?” he asked as he handed me back my drink.
Dad is tall and skinny, with a full beard and a graying ponytail. He was wearing
faded jeans ripped at the knees and his
I love my gay son
T-shirt. His
eyes were concerned. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” I said, taking another drink and standing back
up.

“You’re sure? Maybe you should sit for a while.”

“Seriously, I’m okay, Dad.” I patted his shoulder and
grabbed another handful of beads, which I tossed up to some guys on the balcony
of Oz. I turned and tossed some more into the crowd in front of the Pub.

I still felt a little woozy. Was it possible that the gift
was coming back?

Did that mean I was in
danger
?

Most of my life it hadn’t been much; a twinge here and
there, knowing who was calling before the phone even started ringing, and
getting answers sometimes from the cards.

It had become more powerful only when I was in danger of
some sort.

Hardly a reassuring thought.

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t anything. You just got a little
dizzy from the mimosas and not having lunch. Get a grip on yourself.

“Idiot,” I said to myself as as I grabbed another handful of
beads and tossed them to the waving hands. “The gift is gone, and it’s not
coming back again.”

The parade started moving again, but I wasn’t into it
anymore. Oh, I smiled and posed for pictures, tossed beads to friends and
strangers with a big grin on my face, but I just wanted the whole thing to be
over so I could go home. I’d promised David I’d meet him at the Pub later for
Sunday Tea Dance, but that didn’t sound like much fun anymore.

All I wanted to do was go home and smoke pot until I passed
out.

PAGE OF CUPS

A young man with brown hair and hazel eyes

The parade came to an end at the corner of Bourbon and
Esplanade. All the floats and carriages were turning left to head back to
Rampart Street. There was an after-party for the riders at a bar called
Starlight by the Park I hadn’t planned on attending even before whatever it was
I’d felt in front of Oz. As our carriage got to the corner, a drop of rain hit
me in the forehead. The wind was picking up as well, and was getting colder.
Lightning forked over the river, and a loud clap of thunder followed almost
immediately on its heels.

I just wanted to head home, and I needed to get going before
the rain started.

“Scotty, are you okay?” Mom asked as I climbed into the back
of the carriage. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She grimaced a little as
she examined my face. She can always tell when something’s wrong with me—it’s a
little spooky. “Here.” She dug into the huge carpetbag she carried with her
everywhere and pulled out a T-shirt with
Devil’s Weed
on the front and a pair of ratty sweatpants. “Put these on before you catch your
death.” She gave me a faint smile. “I figured you wouldn’t bring anything to put
on over your costume.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I pulled the sweatpants on over my shoes.
Another drop of rain hit me in the head as I was putting the T-shirt on. “No,
I’m fine, Mom.” I forced a huge grin, hoping it would fool her. “I’m just
missing Frank, I guess.”

“My poor baby.” She kissed my cheek and mussed the curls on
the top of my head with her free hand. “Well, next year he’s not getting out of
riding, even if he’s hospitalized. We’ll just tie his hospital bed to the back
of the wagon.” She grinned, taking a small one-hit pipe out of her purse, and
took a long drag in full view of a mounted cop. He pointedly turned his head
away. Mom was well-known to the French Quarter cops, and they never bothered
her. She offered it to me.

I just shook my head and smiled back at her.

“He’ll be home before you know it.” She took another hit.
“You want to come by for dinner later? Everyone’s coming.” She waved her hand,
taking in all the riders. “Even Storm and Rain.”

“Really?” That was a surprise. Mom and Dad were strict
vegetarians, and we all avoided meals at their place as much as possible. I’d
vowed when I was a kid that once I was grown up I’d never eat tofu again if I
could possibly help it. “No, thanks. I have some leftovers I need to get rid
of,” I lied. “I don’t want to have to waste it.” It was the right tack. Nothing
infuriated Mom and Dad more than wasting food.

I hugged everyone good-bye and jumped down from the
carriage. I stood there waving as they turned the corner and headed back up
Esplanade.

I made it around the corner on Decatur Street just as the
skies opened. Fortunately, every building on my block has a balcony that covers
the sidewalk. The wind picked up, too, and I shivered as I ran the last few
yards to the iron door on the left side of my building. The narrow passage that
ran alongside the building to the big courtyard behind wasn’t covered, and as I
unlocked the gate I prepared to get soaked. The rain was coming down hard, and
the gutters were starting to fill with water.

I was sopping wet by the time I got to the back, where the
stairs to the upper floors were. I dashed up the stairs, stopping on the
second-floor landing to strip out of the wet clothes. My landladies, Millie and
Velma, lived on the second floor, and their washer and dryer were on the
landing. I stuffed the clothes into the dryer and turned it on.

I lived on the third floor. It was an old town-house style
building just across the street from the Old U.S. Mint building. The first floor
was a coffee shop. Neighborhood rumor had it the woman who ran it was a Mafia
princess—but I didn’t believe it for a minute. I liked Donatella. She was sweet,
and always comped my coffee whenever I stepped in. The fourth-floor apartment
had been vacant for years until recently. A college student in his early
twenties named Levi Gretsch was currently renting the apartment up there. He’d
moved in the week after Frank left for wrestling school. I hadn’t seen him since
the day he’d moved in, although I’d heard him moving around up there a couple of
times. He was good looking in that young straight boy kind of way. He hadn’t set
off my gaydar, but that didn’t mean anything anymore. He seemed nice enough, if
a little on the shy side. All I really knew about him was that he was from Ohio
and had moved down here to go to college. That was all Millie and Velma had told
me about him when I’d asked, and I’d let it drop. Either they didn’t know
anything more about him, or weren’t willing to say.

I’d find out his life story eventually—in New Orleans, you
always do.

I fit my key into my lock and heard the door upstairs shut,
followed by footsteps on the staircase. I’d just opened my door when I heard
Levi say, “Hey, Scotty, do you have a minute?”

I paused, and turned to look at him. Levi was over six feet
tall, with a mop of wavy dark hair and startling green eyes. His face was
square. His forehead was square and high beneath the thick shock of hair, his
jaw was square, and his chin was a small triangle pointing down from the
straight line of his jawbone. His nose looked like it had been broken a couple
of times. His neck was thick and strong. He was built like a football player,
stocky and powerful. My guess was he’d either been a linebacker or a tight end.
His shoulders were broad, his hips and waist narrow, and he was still in the
full flush of youthful beauty that seems to fade so quickly in straight men. He
was wearing a pair of hideous multicolored shorts that didn’t fit right, didn’t
flatter his body at all, and hung down just past his knees. His red T-shirt with
the Nike swoosh across the front fit tightly in the chest and shoulders,
dropping from there loosely almost to his thighs. He was barefoot, and his
weight shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other in that loose-hipped way
straight boys affect as he stood there. His thickly muscled calves and forearms
were covered with curly black hair. He had razor stubble on his face and neck. A
couple of pimples dotted his forehead.

“Sure, come on in. You want a beer?” I offered, wondering
for a brief moment if he was of age.

“Um, sure. Okay.” He bit his lower lip, still shifting his
weight from one foot to the other. David thought he was gay, “just didn’t know
it yet.” I was pretty sure it was just wishful thinking on David’s part. David
was convinced every good-looking man was gay, or leaned that way.

I got the sense Levi wasn’t totally comfortable going into a
gay man’s apartment.

Like once I got him inside I was going to rape him or
something.

Please. He was at least four inches taller and had at least
forty pounds on me. If anyone was going to be overpowered, it wasn’t going to be
him.

Besides, if I wanted that, the bars weren’t that far away. I
might be a little older and have love handles trying to take root at my waist,
but I’m still capable of finding a hot guy.

I walked into my empty, lonely apartment and turned on the
hall light. “The beer’s in the fridge—grab one and have a seat in the living
room while I put some clothes on.” As soon as I said it, I had to suppress a
smile.
Maybe he isn’t homophobic, but what I’m wearing would make most
straight boys nervous. It would make most gay men nervous, for that matter.
My bedroom was the first door on the left, and I shut the door behind me. I
slipped off the bikini and pulled on a pair of boxer briefs, a pair of khaki
shorts, and an AIDS Walk T-shirt. I slid my feet into my house shoes. I grabbed
a beer from the refrigerator for myself and walked into the living room.

Levi was sitting on the couch, clutching a sweating bottle
of Abita Light in both hands. He was bouncing his legs. Outside, the rain was
beating a steady tattoo on my balcony. A flash of lightning lit up the room. The
thunder that followed was so loud and close the house shook a bit.

“You don’t have to be so nervous,” I said, keeping my tone
light. “I won’t bite you or anything.”

He gave me a weak smile. “I’m not worried about that,” he
replied, and took a long pull off the beer. “Storms make me a little nervous.”

“Ah, this is nothing to worry about. Storms here generally
don’t last long.” I opened a drawer in my coffee table and pulled out the box I
keep my pot in. I’d rolled a couple of joints the day before, and retrieved one.
“You don’t mind if I smoke?” I asked as I put it in my mouth and flicked a
lighter on.

He swallowed, his eyes fixated on the joint. “No. I don’t
smoke pot.” His face reddened.

“You want to try?” I asked before taking a long drag. I blew
out a stream of smoke. I offered it to him, but he waved it away, distaste
written plainly on his face.
You need to lighten up a bit, straight boy.
“What’s up, Levi?” I gave him my friendliest smile. “You didn’t come down here
to watch me get stoned. Or did you?”

He shook his head. “Well, I’ve been meaning to ask you
something for a while now.” Levi took another nervous drink. “Millie and Velma
told me you’re a private eye.” He took a deep breath. “I need to hire you.”

Okay, then, this is going to be interesting
. “You
need a private eye?” I gave him a smile. “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t charge a
lot, but depending on what the case might entail, it could be expensive.” I
shrugged. “And any expenses I’d incur wouldn’t be included in the daily rate, of
course. I could give you the neighbor’s discount, but it can still add up in a
hurry. And I require a retainer, some of the money up front.”

I’ve found that most people who think they want to hire a
private eye really just want someone to talk to. They think their significant
other is cheating on them, they think this or that or the other. Usually,
talking about how much it’s going to cost makes them rethink their options. When
I bring up the cost, their faces usually fall. That’s when I ask a few
questions, and then it all comes pouring out of them. Nine times out of ten,
they just need a friendly ear to listen to them. Once they’ve given voice to
their suspicions, they feel better and find they don’t need a private eye
anymore. It annoys Frank no end, but I don’t mind.