Imogene in New Orleans (12 page)

Jackson tried to help Imogene over the curb, but she swatted at his hand and then turned around to the passengers. She took off her hat and waved it at them.

Jackson nudged her from her audience. After a few steps, he grabbed her bony elbow and started in on her. “Imogene, what were you thinking, leaving like that? Do you realize we’re in a dangerous city? Billy thought you were kidnapped. He’s worried sick.”

“Just stop your fussin’. How come y’all get to run off and leave an old woman to fend for herself if it’s so dang’rous here?” She limped over to Billy, who opened one eye to peer at his mother.

“Where have you been, Mama? My God, I ought to drive you back to Alabama right now.”

She folded her arms. “If y’all let me speak, I’ll tell you. Y’all get to go all over creation and I’m s’posed to sit here like a little old lady and have nothing to do but whistle to myself. Bull.”

Billy sat up on the bench and said, “Do you not remember yesterday, finding our friend Glenway dead? Do you want to end up like that?”

“Shoot, if I was dead, I imagine y’all would treat me better. This is pitiful.” She snatched her sunglasses off her face. “Hey, did y’all not catch that rough sort, Buddy? I took a ride hoping to find you, but it went the other way.”

The boys looked at each other. Jackson sat down and asked her, “Why did that woman on your tour say, ‘I hope you find your man?’”

Imogene limped over to the bench opposite the boys. “’Cause I told ’em I was lookin’ for Buddy myself and then they asked why and I told ’em ’bout the Gilbert boy gettin’ killed.” She removed a piece of paper from her purse. “That’s what I was gonna say before y’all jumped on me like chickens on a June bug. They let us stop in this pirate shop, where they drink whiskey—a saloon or some such—’bout four blocks thataway. That’s where I asked this sweet boy ’bout Buddy and Gilbert. He knowed exactly who the Gilbert boy was too. Said they got something called ‘Redhead Wednesdays’ on account of him. Anybody with red hair can get a free drank.”

The boys didn’t say anything. Billy stared blankly.

“Y’all know about that ‘Catfish’ from the book? Yeah, well, the fellar at the tavern tried to introduce us, but Catfish run off ’fore I could meet him. He said if I’ll bring y’all back to the pirate shop this evenin’ after his shift, then he’ll tell us where Catfish lives.”

Jackson felt Imogene might be telling a tall tale, because she was smiling as she spoke. “Maw, is that true?”

“As true words as I’ve ever spoke.” She turned her head in the direction of a carriage full of people and looked longingly at it.

Billy sat up. “Mama, you know it’s not right to lie. What would Daddy say?”

“Shoot, Daddy would’ve rung your jowls for accusin’ your mama of lyin’. That’s what Virgil would’ve done. Y’all don’t believe me? Well, come back to the pirate shop and I’ll show ye. The minute I walked into that place, this friendly barkeep pointed Catfish out to me. Catfish had on a mesh hat just like your daddy Virgil wore when he fished. And overalls. He had a feather lure pinned on his hat. And that fellar can run, I tell ye. He took off like a skint cat when that barkeep hollered at him. There wasn’t no way for me to catch him. I was sore about it, too, ’cause I wanted to chat him up. Yeah, he run like he was scared. And anyway, after that, the barkeep looked at the pictures I took of the poor Gilbert boy and his place in the Quarter.”

Billy put his palm to his forehead. “I feel light-headed.” He leaned on Jackson’s shoulder. “And Mama needs to go back to the hotel immediately.”

Her face was so red she looked like a kid who’d gotten into her mother’s makeup and applied it with a spatula. She shook her head. “I’m tellin’ you, I found out more ’bout the murder and who could’ve knocked off the Gilbert boy than y’all found and that’s why y’all ain’t listenin’ to me. Y’all don’t have to believe me, but Imogene Deal McGregor ain’t a liar. I’ll tell you that right now.”

Jackson didn’t make eye contact with her because he could feel her pitiful stare on him. He needed to stay neutral between her and her son in order to keep the peace. It was a delicate balance. Billy squeezed Jackson’s hand as he stood up.

“What happened to Thurston?” Jackson turned around to see an empty space where the gentleman had been sitting.

“You talkin’ ’bout that fellar with the cane and the flowery shirt and the bald head? Shoot, he’s long gone, son. I seen him jump up from the bench and hurry away without y’all noticin’. Used a nice cane to get gone.”

An empty carriage pulled up beside them.

“I wasn’t finished talking with him.” Jackson looked at the vehicle and the fine horse with its combed black mane.

“I reckon he was finished talkin’ to you, buck. Was you as ugly to him as you been to Maw-Maw McGregor? If so, he probably run like them other ’uns, Buddy and Catfish. Come on boys. Here’s our chance for a real ride.”

Jackson scanned the park, hoping to catch a glimpse of Thurston. “Might as well. You did promise her, Billy.”

Billy looked from the carriage to his partner with helpless, forlorn eyes. His cheeks were redder than Imogene’s, and his face was sunken into something worse than a frown. Imogene had her arms crossed, and her bottom lip poking out as if she knew her son wouldn’t agree to it.

Billy fastened his medical satchel. “I’m not walking back to Chez Hill. That’s for sure. Okay, Mama. No funny business, all right?”

“Shoot, I ain’t the funny one. Look to yourself ’fore you start callin’ out poor Mama.” She turned on her good leg and nearly skipped to the vehicle, thrilled that the boys had decided in favor of it.

“Wait on us, woman,” Billy said. Jackson helped both the McGregors into the carriage. Imogene patted the red velvet cushions on the seat and then ran her finger along the gold paint on the trim. She wanted to sit by herself facing the horse’s tail, and the boys didn’t argue with her. She immediately began taking pictures. She got one of herself and a half dozen of the boys squeezed up together. “Now, boys, this here’s a vacation.” She let the breeze blow through her gray locks as the carriage led them to Canal Street. “Did y’all run this far, chasin’ Buddy?”

“No, we didn’t make it here. We lost him near Bourbon Street after I ran into a performer.” Jackson wiped a few gold flakes from his shorts. He watched his partner fiddling in his medical satchel

“I ain’t been here either. The pirate shop’s way over yonder, opposite of this, but I do say I like this big street here.”

The horse clopped down the enormous lanes of Canal Street. The driver took the first right he could, heading back toward the river. Jackson saw Billy relax his shoulders shortly after strapped himself into the cuff. Billy didn’t say he felt better, but he looked it. He had his eyes closed in the open air.

Jackson felt cooler too, and he even took the camera at Imogene’s suggestion, so he could see the pictures of her escape. He carefully scrolled through her adventure, partially verifying her tale. “Imogene, that place you’re calling the pirate shop. Is it Lafitte’s?”

“That’s the very one, son. Lafitte’s is an odd name for a sailor, ain’t it? The barkeep said Lafitte was the roughest sort of fellar that ever put boat in the water. They’re havin’ some sort of celebration for him. Can’t remember the particulars.” Something caught her eye. She jumped up and slapped her purse against the carriage door.

Billy started yelling at her. “Are you trying to jump, Mama?” He grabbed hold of her arm as she peered down a street.

“That’s him, the one they call ‘Catfish.’ Right there.” She leaned over just a bit more until her sun hat scraped the ledge.

“Are you planning to run after him, Mother? My gosh. Sit.” Billy yanked her down and she bounced into the velvet seat.

She snarled at her son, “I’ve seen wild turkeys handled better than that. Confound it.” She craned her neck over the gold trim.

Jackson held the camera out to her. “Show me the picture of Catfish, Imogene. I want to see if that’s really him.”

“You can’t miss ’im.” She leaned over the camera as Jackson scrolled through the shots on the tiny screen. Imogene squinted. “That’s him there, wearing that yellow mesh cap and them overalls. Plain as day.” Imogene turned around and pointed at a man in a mesh hat walking down the street. “And there he is in real life.”

“We can’t see his face, him walking away from us, Imogene. And how do you know that’s the Catfish from Glenway’s book?” Jackson showed the picture to Billy as he pinned Imogene to the carriage seat with his leg.

“Get off me.” She squirmed to the edge. “I told y’all. I spoke to the barkeep for a good while and he pointed out Catfish sittin’ in Lafitte’s pirate shop.”

Jackson and Billy scanned the crowd of people streaming down the boulevard. They saw no one who looked like the picture Imogene had taken, but Jackson found it difficult to identify someone he’d only seen from the back. The photograph did show a young man’s mesh hat and overalls, as Imogene said, but Jackson was looking at a sea of people from the carriage.

Imogene stood up and leaned over to the driver. “Hey, son, hang a right here, will ya?”

The driver did as she asked, and just as they passed a streetcar stop, they saw a young man wearing a mesh hat and a pair of overalls.

“There he is, boys. Hey, Catfish. Are you the one that Glenway Gilbert spoke of?”

The young man darted his gray eyes at the carriage and then he jammed the bill of his yellow cap down to his nose.

Imogene said, “Hey, don’t run twiced, son. Maw-Maw just wants to speak with you.”

He jumped into the busy street and hit the opposite sidewalk running, dodging through tourists.

“Dear God, how come all them that know the Gilbert boy run like scalded dogs?” She clutched the top of the cushioned seat and pointed for the driver to follow. The man shook his head. “Ma’am, this isn’t a car. I can’t just turn any way you want me to turn.”

“I ain’t tellin’ you to turn any which way. Just head toward that country boy best you can. He can’t outrun your horse, even with us bein’ pulled.” She hit the seat with her hand as if to activate the horse.

The driver had a clear shot to cross the street and go down the street where Imogene pointed, and he did it. “This’ll cost you extra.”

“Shoot, the boys got a bank account to choke a bull. Go on, son, ’fore we lose ’im.”

Jackson didn’t object to her ridiculous claim about his bank account, knowing full well that she was only trying to convince the driver to go after the runner.

With every passing moment, Catfish distanced himself from the carriage. The driver finally got across the street and picked up speed, but he wasn’t going as fast as Imogene wanted.

Billy sank low in his seat from embarrassment and motioned for Jackson to do the same. “Do it, Jackson. They’ll think she’s by herself. You can’t make Mama act right.” Imogene looked like Perseus guiding a chariot, perched high on the cushion. The more she yelled and smacked the seat, the more Billy hid his face from sight. The carriage could only clop along at about ten miles per hour, which only accentuated Imogene’s excitement. She urged it onward: “Fly, horse, fly!”

Jackson watched in amazement that she had convinced the driver to handle the vehicle in such a way. Tourists began taking pictures of Imogene, standing tall in the seat while the driver guided the horse with the reins. She kept her eye trained on Catfish, describing his every step as if the driver couldn’t see the runner for himself. They made some ground on him until a car pulled out fifty feet in front of them, slowing them down.

Imogene said, “Bull. Gallop around him. You’re better than all this, horse.” She smacked the side and nearly climbed out of the seat. “Devil, why’s that fancy car goin’ so slow? Move, bucko. Me and the boys are gettin’ close.”

The carriage accelerated and they were again on the chase. Jackson saw Catfish glance back, revealing his droopy chin and the fishing lures on his overalls. He wore clod-hopping construction boots and his muscles rippled from underneath his shirt. The young man could have easily beaten Glenway to death. Catfish stopped at the “T” in the road up ahead. He was heaving air, and Imogene said, “We’ve worn him out, son. Keep on him. He’s ours for the catchin’.” Catfish put his hands on his hips as they got within thirty feet.

Imogene said, “Go, Jackson. Get after him, son.”

Jackson stood up and put his hand on the gilded carriage handle. “I can’t until it stops. I’ll break my leg jumping.”

“Naw, you won’t. Hey, cabby, hold up and let Jack go. All right, Jack, on my count…” Jackson clutched the side of the carriage, propping one knee on the seat under Billy, who lay on his side. “What am I going to do if I catch him? He’s a big boy. He’s probably the one who killed Glenway.”

“You gotta get him, Jackson. It ain’t right if he knocked off the Gilbert boy.” Imogene wiped her mouth with her hand.

When they got within three horse lengths of Catfish, he took a sharp right and ran straight into Royal Street, where the road was barricaded to vehicles. The driver looked at it and said, “Whoa, girl. Not that way.”

“Go after him, son. He’s gettin’ away. We’re almost on him.” She pointed and yelled and did her best to convince the driver otherwise, but he was stuck. The horse and carriage couldn’t get past the barricades even if he wanted to go.

“We’ll just have to go the other way and find him somewhere else in the Quarter. Won’t we, boys?” Imogene convinced the driver and the boys to ride through the French Quarter, even though Billy protested. He had to tell her to sit more than a dozen times, but she wouldn’t do it, thinking that Catfish could be lurking around every corner and shadow. They passed a LAFITTE’S sign, pointing the way to the bar.

“Hey, boys, we’re close to the pirate shop.”

“But Imogene, you said that redheaded bartender couldn’t talk until later this evening.”

“Yeah, I reckon so.” She gave a pining look in the direction of the famous establishment, her mouth slightly ajar, as the carriage rattled down the cobble stone road.

On their third pass through Toulouse Street, three blocks from Chez Hill, Jackson happened to inquire about the tab on the meter. After being told it was three hundred and fifty dollars for the two and a half hours in the carriage, Imogene whistled through her teeth. “That’s robbery, boys. Highwaymen would charge ye less.”