Maybe they will talk to you one day, Mrs. Montobello murmured. I suppose, just like plain folk, ghosts need to have something to say. But you believe theyre out thereI can tell.
Nikki felt a sudden chill. Yes, she believed in ghosts, or if not ghosts, per se, in a memory that lingered in certain places.
It sure as hell wasnt something she was going to share with anyone.
Not even Mrs. Montobello.
At my age, the old woman said, you come to know a difference in this world, perhaps because youre so close to the next.
She was still studying Nikki closely. Nikki found herself staring back for a long moment.
For a moment she found herself thinking, I can see a fog. And I can feel the cold, an essence, a feelingwhen someone is lost, when theyre frustrated. Looking for something. Theyre benign, meaning no harm, and they are no more than mist, something in my heart, or imagination.
Then she shook off the feeling, and they continued to chat as Nikki and Andy picked up the tea they had made for Mrs. Montobello, washed and dried and straightened, and then headed out.
At the door, Mrs. Montobello stared at Nikki strangely again. Go shopping. Listen to the music. But stay away from shysters.
As they walked along the streets, past neon lights, garish come-ons, charming boutiques, and bars and clubs that wailed with blues and pop and everything in between, Andy suddenly stopped. Isnt it funny? I feel like a little kid. Mrs. Montobello just said we shouldnt stop by a voodoo shop, so now Im itching for a palm reading.
Andy, come on, theyre just silly.
Okay, how about a tarot card reading?
Nikki hesitated, staring at her. Just let me buy that corset I want and Ill take you to a good place.
Yeah?
We wont tell Mrs. Montobello.
Nikki liked the boutique where she purchased the corset. Everything was unique and handmade. But since Andy seemed restless, she didnt take the time to look around, just made her purchase, and then they headed for Conte Street.
The name of the place was Contessa Moodoos Hoodoo Voodoo. Not promising, Nikki admitted as Andy stared at her, but she knew the woman who owned the shop fairly well. She was large, of mixed ancestry, African, Native American, whitemaybe even some Asian, and whatever her real name might have been, she didnt use it. She just went by Contessa. She had long ago told Nikki that her potions were just what they said on the bottlesvitamins, with maybe a few herbs thrown in. And in her readingswell, she told people what they wanted to hear.
After purchasing a love potion, a bottle of vitamin E and a few sachets, Nikki introduced Andy.
And, she said, my friend wants a reading.
Contessa had remarkable eyes, like marbles, so many colors it would be hard to describe them in any customary way. Hazel was the best Nikki could summon, but they sometimes looked almost blue, sometimes gray, and sometimes they seemed very dark and mysterious.
She stared at Andy with a shrug. Come on, then. Contessa had a little nook, filled with the pleasant scent of incense, and blocked off from the rest of the room by a bead curtain. They walked by voodoo dolls, more potions and curios to reach it.
Contessa took a seat behind a table with a beautiful crystal ball in the middleshe had long ago told Nikki it was just for looks. She indicated that Andy should take the chair opposite her.
She picked up her deck of cards and asked Andy to hold them. Then she took them and dealt them out.
But as she flipped the first over, she paused. Andy touched a card, and this time, Contessa swept up the deck, shaking her head. The cards arent talking tonight, Im sorry, she said.
Nikki stared at her, puzzled. She brought people here because she knew that Contessa would find something uplifting to say to her clients. A decision looms before you, think long and carefully. Or There has beena division of sorts in your life and you must consider the past and remember that forgiveness is something we all must feel, if we are to be happy with ourselves. Or even, The future is bright, go for it.
Okay, how about a palm reading? Andy suggested.
Contessa stiffened, lowering her head. Nikki saw Andy smile, as if she were applauding the act. But Nikki knew this was no act.
With a sigh, Contessa held Andys palm, looking very serious. At last she looked up at her. You be careful, young woman. Very careful.
Why? Andy demanded.
When youre home, you lock yourself in. Dont go talking to no strangers. And
And? Andy demanded.
Theres something Contessa muttered.
Oh, Andy said lightly. I lived a pretty hard life for a while. Drugs, she admitted. But Im clean as a whistle now. Honestly.
You lock your doors, Contessa said. And you keep away from those no-accounts, you hear?
Yes, maam. And thank you. What else? Am I going to fall in love? Andy demanded.
Contessa kept her strange mottled eyes on Andy; she didnt look at her hand again.
We all fall in love, dont we? she asked. Then she added, Okay, shoo, now. Off you go. And keep those doors locked!
Nikki was surprised when Contessa all but hustled them out the door.
But I didnt pay you! Andy protested.
Honey, you dont owe me a thing. Now git. Theres a world out there to be lived. You go live it quick.
The door closed behind them with a soft ringing of bells.
Andy burst into laughter. Well, you and Mrs. Montobello are right. She sounds more like a mother than a psychologist. Go home, lock your doors. Watch out for strangers. Well, she was fun, anyway. Thanks, Nikki.
Nikki nodded, not knowing why she was feeling disturbed when Andy was amused.
Strange, though, huh? Ill bet she could tell Id been a junkie once upon a time. Andy sighed. Heyyou dont think, if Max knew about my past, that hed fire me, do you?
No. And who knows about Maxs past, anyway? Nikki joked. Then she turned serious. Andy, you had a hard life, but youve risen above it. Contessa gave you good advice. Watch out for anyone who might want to drag you down again. Thats it.
She warned me to watch out for strangers. Let me tell you, there were some damn strange people in my past, thats for sure.
So leave them in the past.
Yeah, wellsometimes I wonder if theyll come back to haunt me, no matter where I leave them. She hesitated. Did you ever smoke, Nikki?
Smokeyou mean cigarettes?
Andy laughed. Yes, I meant cigarettes!
In high school and college. Then I quit.
Yeah, but were you ever really addicted?
You bet. I went to a hypnotist, and I chewed the gum like crazy.
They say cigarettes are the hardest addiction to break, Andy said. But you know how it is. You quit smokingyou may have given it up for yearsbut sometimes youll see someone with a cigarette, and you just want one so badly you can barely stand it. But you know you cant have that one cigarette because youll wind up with the addiction all over again, no matter what you tell yourself. Do you know what Im saying?
Yes, I know I cant have one cigarette.
Its like that with other stuff Every once in a while, you think, man, Id love to have that high, just one more time. But you know you cant do it.
Its like that with other stuff Every once in a while, you think, man, Id love to have that high, just one more time. But you know you cant do it.
Youre not afraid youll be tempted, are you? Nikki asked her, worried.
Andy shook her head. No. Because I know what could happen. And Ive seen far too many lives destroyed. Im straight as an arrow now.
Good for you, Nikki said.
And I love my job.
Thats great. Hey! Nikki said suddenly. She lowered her voice. Speaking of drugs and addictionslook.
What?
Theres that guy again.
What guy?
The one we saw today, at Madame DOrsos.
Andy turned, looking across Conte. There was a crowd around the popular bar on the corner, which was supposedly haunted by a cool jazz guitarist. Where? she demanded.
Right there. Great. I gave him a twenty, and he used it to go drinking, Nikki said in disgust.
I dont see him, Andy said, craning her neck and frowning.
Thereright there. Nikki pointed. The man was there, staring straight at her. He still looked as if he longed to reach out, touch hertalk to her.
Then the crowd moved. People laughing, talking. A sad trumpet lament began to play. And he was gone.
Well, go figure. No more twenties to junkies, huh? Andy said. She walked on.
And Nikki followed, trying to shake off the sudden chill that seemed to wash over her like ice from a not-so-distant past.
Another day.
Another corpse.
A junkie, lying beneath one of the highway overpasses, nearly covered by newspapers and other debris, needle by his side.
Detective Owen Massey and his partner had been called in after the patrol cops had cordoned off the scene. The ME had arrived, too, and agreed that this was just another life wasted, tragic but simple.
Not dead too long. At least the poor sucker hadnt rotted and decayed like a misbegotten rat. By the MEs estimation, this particular John Doe had only been a goner for a matter of hours. Cause of death seemed obvious. Heroin overdose.
Nearly quitting time, and he was tired. He loved the French Quarter like he might his child, if hed ever had one. But there were days
A few more lines to fill in, and he could go home, he thought, sitting at his desk.
Massey had nearly finished with the paperworknot a homicide, death by misadventurewhen his partner came striding across the room.
Hold the presses, Marc Joulette said.
You got an ID? Massey asked. A match on the prints?
Yeah. Tom Garfield. FBI. Under cover for the last three months.
What?
FBI, Joulette repeated.
Massey groaned, nearly letting his head fall on the table.
It would be one hell of a long time before hed be going home that night.
The feds will be sending someone.
Oh, great.
He let his head crash to the desk.
No one noticed. A bunch of uniforms were heading out, talking as they went.
Massey looked up, frowning. Politics, Joulette told him. Going to provide security for some rally.
Massey arched both brows. Joulette shrugged. Its a hot race for that senate seat, he explained. I havent seen this much activity in a coons age.
Politics. In Louisiana. Theres a cesspool for you.
Hey! Joulette protested. There are a lot of good guys out there, trying to make a difference. Not to mention right here in the department.
Actually, Massey agreed. There were plenty of good men in the department. And he hated the fact that Louisiana politics had too often been on the shady side. It was a good state. He loved New Orleans with a passion. He shrugged. Problem is, no two guys seem to have the same opinion when it comes to what constitutes the greater good.
Well, were not politicians. Were cops. And weve got a dead fed on our hands.
Right, Massey said.
Hey, Massey, Joulette. It was Robinson, a street cop who had spent some time in forensics.
Whats up? Joulette asked.
Purse snatcher, Robinson said. Young and wiry, he was a good cop, capable of running down perps who were convinced they could outrun any of the parishs beignet-eaters.
Massey cleared his throat. Umwrong fellow to get after a purse snatcher, he said.
Robinson grinned. Hey, I know.
You mean you didnt run the guy down? Joulette asked him.
Naw, I got the call too late.
So? Massey prompted.
This is just curious. Maybe nothing. But I thought that Id show you.
Robinson produced the small sketchbook hed been carrying. He was a good artist, and the sketch hed produced appeared to be a likeness of Tom Garfield, their dead FBI agent.
Frowning, Massey stared hard at the picture. Whats this?
The woman whose purse was snatched told me that she never saw the man who swiped her bag, but she said shed seen a suspicious-looking down-and-outer right before it happened. On Bourbon Street. I asked her to describe the guy. And this is what I got. A picture of your corpse.
Robinson, youve seen the pictures of Garfield. You just drew him cause those images were in your mind, Joulette said.
No. The woman told me this was the guy she sawto a T.
Couldnt have been. If this purse snatching just happened, Garfield was already dead, Massey said more gently. He liked Robinson.
The woman swears up and down that this is who she saw.
So our fed is dead but snatching purses? Joulette scoffed.
Maybe hes got a look-alike running around the city, thats what Im suggesting, Robinson said. Who knows how or why, but it could mean something. I just thought you two should know.
Did you show the boss? Massey asked.
Robinson nodded. Weird, huh?
Thanks, Massey told him. Hey, can I keep the sketch?
Ill make you a copy, Robinson assured him. The boss already has one. He gave Joulette an aggravated stare and moved on.
Everybodys just got to get in on the act, huh? Joulette said.
Massey shook his head. Robinson was a bright officer, and the sketch was disturbing.
He sighed.
It was going to be a hell of a long night.
Brent Blackhawk fought the dream, because he knew what the dream meant. But it was too strong for him.
First there was the mist.
Then there was his grandfather.
Finally he was back on the day when they had gone to the battlefield where Custer had made his last stand. Where the combined forces of many tribes had conquered.
As a child, he had seen them.
There had been awful moments when he had felt sheer terror. He had seen the soldiers and the warriors. Heard the savage war cries. The shouts of the cavalry.
The cries for mercy.
He had seen the agony and fear, tasted the acrid scent of gunpowder.
He had kept silent, had not corrected the tour guide. It would be wrong for a little boy to correct his elders, even though he knew what they did not. He had listened to the tours; he had gone to the encampments. He had sat with his grandfather in a sweat lodge, and the old men and the younger ones had discussed how Custers last stand had in reality been the last stand of the American Indian.