Mardi Gras Mambo (10 page)

Read Mardi Gras Mambo Online

Authors: Gred Herren

BOOK: Mardi Gras Mambo
11.38Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“So the police can show up at Aunt Sylvia's door?” That didn't seem right to me.
Storm glared at me. “Do you want to be the one to tell her he's dead?”
“Well, no.” I hadn't thought about that. When Uncle George had died, it had taken her months to get over it. Maman had spent a lot of time with her, even going on an extended European vacation with her for several months while Papa Diderot drove the rest of the family crazy. But when they'd finally returned home, she'd seemed to have finally made peace with it. They hadn't had any children, so they'd always treated us like we were their kids—like Millie and Velma always had. But how on earth had she wound up married to Misha? How had they met? And how had she
married
my drug dealer? Only in New Orleans could something like that happen.
“I spoke to Angela while you were in the shower.” Colin stood up. “She's authorized an investigation—and to retain you as Scotty's lawyer.”
“She did?” I felt my face flushing. “I was kind of hoping—”
“That she wouldn't have to know?” Colin looked at me. “Scotty, she had to know. If the police charge you with anything, our entire operation here in New Orleans could be jeopardized.” He walked over to me and gave me a quick kiss. “Don't worry—she's completely on your side. She thinks the drug laws are ineffective and useless, and she wants this cleared up as quickly as possible.” He turned back to Storm. “And we should go speak with Ms. Overton before the police do.”
“Um—” I hesitated. Both of them looked at me. “What are we going to tell her? I'd rather not tell her I was buying Ecstasy from her husband. I mean, I can't believe she actually knew he was dealing, can you? What am I supposed to say? ‘Oh, Aunt Sylvia, by the way, your husband was dealing Ecstasy in the Quarter and that's how I met him, and, oh, yeah, he was killed last night?' Somehow, I don't think she'll take that pretty well, do you?”
“She's not made out of glass, Scotty,” Storm disagreed. “Aunt Sylvia's a pretty tough old broad.”
“We're going to have to tell her, Scotty,” Colin replied. “If we don't, the police will, and don't you think it's better to come from you, someone she knows?”
I sighed. “I suppose . . . but Storm, don't you think it would be better coming from you?” It was a last-ditch attempt, but worth a shot. “I mean, you're a lawyer and all—”
Storm started laughing. “Scotty, you're not fooling me. You don't want Papa and Maman to know, do you?”
“I'd prefer that, yes.” My Diderot grandparents are extremely conservative. The Diderot family had been in New Orleans since the days when the fleur-de-lis flew over the state. My Diderot grandparents hadn't been really happy when I dropped out of college at twenty. Papa Diderot had looked at me like I was some kind of changeling and said, “Diderots don't drop out of college.”
“Good thing he's a Bradley then,” Mom had snapped, and we'd walked out of the house. She'd cursed him out all the way back to the Quarter.
Fortunately, somehow I'd kept them from knowing about my days as a go-go boy. How they'd managed to have a radical like Mom as a daughter was beyond my understanding. They were dyed-in-the-wool conservatives, lived in a gorgeous old house in the Garden District that had been in the family forever, and Papa belonged to the old-line krewes, including the ones who stopped parading during Mardi Gras rather than take black members back in the early nineties. No, I couldn't imagine them being thrilled to know I was doing Ecstasy. The fact that I got it from Maman's best friend's husband would make it worse rather than better.
And, okay, if I am going to be completely honest, Papa Diderot scares the bejesus out of me. He's not a big man—he's only a little taller than me, and rather slender—but he has been a heavy drinker all of his life so his face is always a little flushed. He has a thick head of white hair, and bushy eyebrows that come together when he disapproves of something. He has a rather soft, quiet voice, but he can rattle the windows when he is so inclined. He's on several boards, was an incredibly successful lawyer in his own right, and doesn't like to be disagreed with. He's always looked at me like he was ashamed of me and always uses that horrible disapproving tone when he talks to me, like I'm a waiter who's just served him something with a cockroach in it. I don't think he's too thrilled to have a gay grandson, but Mom can be just like him when she wants to be, so he has dealt with it. I wasn't quite sure what he thought about Colin and Frank, but he could hardly approve. Christmas at the Diderots' this past year had been a nightmare. Oh, Papa D had been charming and polite—both Colin and Frank had liked him somehow, which made me wonder a bit about
them.
But every once in a while, I caught him giving me the
look
that I hated when I was a kid.
He's just a mean old man.
“I don't think they'll be too shocked. Mom and Dad pretty much have made sure they're unshockable anymore. Besides”—Storm took a deep breath—“you'd be surprised how cool they are.” He saw the look on my face and grinned. “I know, I know, we've been raised to think both sets of grandparents are rigid and intolerant and unashamed capitalists and made their money on the backs of the workers and on and on and on—but think about it for a minute, Scotty. Have they ever turned their backs on Mom and Dad? Ever?” He grinned. “Who do you think used to always bail them out before I got admitted to the bar?”
“Well, maybe you're right.” I didn't think he was, but I wasn't in the mood to argue. They'd turned their backs on me, after all. These were the people who had cut off my trust fund when I had dropped out of college. Well, the Bradley grandparents had cut me off from my trust from their side of the family, too, but Dad swore it was Papa Diderot's idea. The Bradley side of the family was also conservative, but not quite as hard-line as the Diderots. Yeah, Storm, they'd be
thrilled
to know my drug dealer had been murdered right after I'd been there. It might even get them to give me access to the trusts again—right around the time pigs sprouted wings and started flying.
Sometimes he can be a bit of an idiot.
“So stop worrying.” He snapped his fingers. “I've got to get running. Marguerite's parents are expecting us in a couple of hours for brunch, and you have no idea what a bitch my mother-in-law is when people are late. Well, she's
always
a bitch, but when you give her a reason . . .” He whistled and shuddered. “Can you two handle Aunt Sylvia?”
I swallowed. “I-I guess.” It couldn't be any worse than having Christmas dinner with Papa Diderot.
“Great. Give me a call on my cell after you talk to her.” Storm stood up and stretched. “Any interruption at Marguerite's parents will be more than welcome, believe me.”
I walked him to the door. “Thanks, Stormy.”
He gave me a hug. Blech—he did smell of stale sweat and liquor. “Don't worry about anything, Scotty. You handled yourself right with the cops. And Frank—”
“Yeah?”
“You've gotta understand—for a twenty-year veteran of the FBI, our family and the way we live has got to be a little rough on him.” He winked at me. “I mean, come on, Mom and Dad break the law on a daily basis.”
“Yeah.”
He gave me a big bear hug. He's an awful tease, but I couldn't have asked for a better brother. I watched him walk down the stairs, then shut the door.
“I'm going to get cleaned up, and you should put on some clothes if we're going over there,” Colin said as he walked into my bathroom. I nodded and started digging through my closet, finally settling on a black pair of jeans and a red sweater while the shower ran. I sat down on the edge of the bed as another tiny wave of the Ecstasy washed over me. Damn, it was good stuff, and it was going to waste. I'd wanted to come home and have sex with the boys while we were still feeling it a bit. And now? Now I had to tell a family friend her husband was dead.
I walked out into the living room and got my cards out. I sat down on the floor in front of the coffee table. I lit a white candle, said a quiet prayer to the Goddess as I held the deck in both hands, shuffled the cards, and then laid them out in the Tree of Life reading. As I turned each card over, there was no mistaking their meaning.
Danger.
Death, with possibly more death to come.
Long-hidden secrets coming to light
.
A long journey already undertaken, the result still unknown.
Proceed with caution.
I stared at them for a moment, hoping the meaning would change, that I'd possibly read them wrong. I sighed and got up for a glass of water. I was still dehydrated, and as I was finishing my second glass, I heard the computer ding from the living room.
I walked over to the desk. Colin hadn't signed off-line, and someone had sent me a message. I suppressed a bit of a grin when I recognized David's screen name, then remembered Frank had gone storming over there.
Please, let David have been home alone,
I prayed as I sat down in my chair.
BUTCHTOP40: Scotty, are you there?
SCOTTYNOLA: Yes.
BUTCHTOP40: What the hell is going on? Frank's sleeping on my couch, and boy was he pissed!
SCOTTYNOLA: Long story—too long to go into on-line. Sorry. I'll call you later.
BUTCHTOP40: Isn't it always? I'm not alone here . . . and I don't mean Frank.
SCOTTYNOLA: Sorry about that. Cute boy?
BUTCHTOP40: Oh, yeah, complete spinner. And a pig. Just the way I like 'em.
SCOTTYNOLA: You go, boy!
BUTCHTOP40: Everything OK?
I stared at the blinking cursor for a minute before typing:
Not right now, but hopefully soon . . .
“Spinner?” Colin said from over my shoulder. “What the hell's a spinner?”
“A spinner is a little guy. It means someone you're strong enough to sit on your dick and then spin him around—you know, like a top?” I used my hands to demonstrate giving someone a spin. “Hence,
spinner.
” I logged off and shut the computer down. “David really likes little guys.”
Colin laughed and kissed the top of my head. “You really are something, you know? Spinners!” He rubbed the top of my head. “Is that what I am?”
“Hardly.” I grinned back up at him. “I can't lift you. You might be short, but you're not a spinner.”
“Hmmm—but I can lift you. Maybe we can try that later on?” He winked at me. “See if I can spin you?”
“Works for me.”
He laughed again. “Okay, come on, Scotty, we'd better get moving.”
Colin's black Jaguar convertible was parked in a secure pay lot about a block away from the apartment. Since he'd moved to town, I'd tried to convince him to get a less expensive car—a Jag convertible is just begging to be broken into or stolen—but he loved his car and wasn't willing to get rid of it. I couldn't blame him; it was an absolutely spectacular car. I'd never really understood why or how people could get so attached to their cars until I'd first laid eyes on this one. It had an amazing security system Colin had designed himself, and he claimed the windows were unbreakable. The stereo system was state of the art, and there were all kinds of toggles and switches and things on the dashboard; I had no idea what they were for. If Colin had told me the thing could get airborne I would have believed him. I had no idea how fast it could really go, but one afternoon Colin and I had driven out to Bay St. Louis and on the highway he'd gotten it up to over 120 miles per hour. The engine hadn't even strained. I had a feeling Colin had revamped the car a lot—he's incredible with engines—and that it was a one-of-a-kind car you couldn't just buy at your local Jaguar dealership. David salivated every time he saw it. I have to admit I loved the car myself. It didn't run—it purred. And Colin shifted gears so smoothly you barely even noticed it. And for glamour, you can't beat riding around town in a black Jag convertible. The soft leather seats caressed your skin and were so soft they seemed to contour to your body. He kept it spotless, and the interior still smelled brand new. He'd offered, on more than one occasion, to let me drive it, but I hate driving.
Besides, with my luck, I'd wreck the damn thing.
Somehow, as cool as Colin is, I didn't think he'd be too cool about
that.
The debris of the Saturday parades was littered everywhere as we headed Uptown. The sun had come out from behind the clouds, and it was going to be a stunningly beautiful day for parade watching. Apparently, the rain was long gone, thank the Goddess. Beads hung from the streetcar wires, the huge old trees along St. Charles, and telephone poles, reflecting the sun into hundreds of colored strings of light. There were already mobs of people settled on the neutral ground and along the sidewalk on the other side of the street, waiting for the afternoon parades to start rolling and the good times to start again. I caught a whiff of charcoal and my stomach growled.
Should probably eat something soon,
I thought as the car shot up the avenue. One of the most important things to remember about taking Ecstasy is you always have to eat something. It cuts your appetite, and if you don't think about it you'll forget all about food, which isn't a good thing—especially if you've been dancing all night long. You
have
to put more food in for energy or else you'll be totally exhausted.

Other books

The Playmaker (Fire on Ice) by Madison, Dakota
Dirty Magic by Jaye Wells
When You're With Me by Wendi Zwaduk
The Prophecy of the Gems by Flavia Bujor
The Red Pole of Macau by Ian Hamilton
His Heart's Desire by Kristi Ahlers
Roman Blood by Steven Saylor