Imogene in New Orleans Read online

  Jackson hopped the curb and rushed to the car. As he leaned into the front seat, he heard branches snapping in the yard behind him, as if someone was running toward him. He slid in beside Billy.

  Neil took off as Buddy began screaming, “I’ll get you, cuz.”

  “Everybody duck down,” Jackson said. “Buddy shot at me. He’ll do it again. I heard him stuffing his pockets with bullets.” Imogene and Lena tried to do as he suggested. Goose stayed in his normal position, gazing at Jackson with his lazy eyes.

  “Maybe we can catch the ferry,” Neil said.

  “No, I’ve been on the boat long enough today, Neil. Please.” Jackson looked at Neil’s face from underneath Goose’s saggy jowls.

  “But I promised Imogene we’d try it on the way back,” Neil said, sitting up in his seat to look at Imogene through the rearview mirror.

  “This isn’t the time to play tourist. Hell, we’ve been shot at. Just get us back to the city.” Jackson poked his head out the window and saw Buddy standing on the curb.

  Billy sat in between Neil and Jackson, scrunched up with Goose in his lap. On normal occasions, he would’ve sided with his partner, in the cause of safety, but currently the plastic console was digging into his tailbone. He told Jackson he wanted out of the seat.

  Jackson had to relent. “Fine. Just drive by the dock and see how it looks before we load the car.”

  “We’ll be passing it anyway on our way to the bridge.” Neil drove on. “Jackson, why was he shooting at you?”

  “Because he’s crazy and impulsive. I thought he was going to spring on me the whole time, like a jack-in-the-box but with muscles and a temper.” Jackson left out the part about him “borrowing” the figurines. What Buddy had said about Neil made him unsure. He would need to run the information by Billy before divulging it to his New Orleans friends.

  Neil pulled up to the dock right as the metal drawbridge was letting down on the boat and the first cars began loading onto the vessel. The cars crept so slowly that Jackson could hardly stand it. He growled and then popped out of the vehicle to figure out the source of the delay. Five cars were ahead of them in line. He scanned the streets of Algiers.

  “Hey, Jack, what you lookin’ for, son?” Imogene’s hat poked out the back window.

  Jackson paced back and forth, expecting the hustler at any moment. “This is a bad idea. I’m telling you. If we eat bullets, it’s your fault. I tried to tell you.” Jackson couldn’t stand still. He fiddled with the buttons on his shirt, wiped his sunglasses off, patted his hair, and scanned the old streets of Algiers as cars slowly crept onto the boat. There were two more to board when he saw an old hog of a motorcycle gliding down the road. It looked like a chop-shop piece with short handlebars, an old motor, and fangs painted on the gas tank.

  The second-to-last car pulled in, and Buddy navigated his motorcycle into the parking lot. He had a long leather bag thrown over his shoulder, just large enough for a gun. Jackson grabbed the doorframe. “Neil, I told you. There’s Buddy.”

  “What does he think he’s doing? Move, Jackson.” Neil thrust the door open and jumped out. “I’ll show him.” He ran to the edge of the boat and began yelling, “You want us to call the law, Buddy? You give the word and that’s what I’ll do?”

  Jackson knew full well who the law was in New Orleans, and he wasn’t about to call Rogers and his crew to help. He figured Neil knew the same thing, but he wasn’t sure.

  Buddy didn’t respond to Neil’s threats. He just kept cruising toward the ferry. The last car pulled onto the vessel. The drawbridge ramp lifted bit by bit. Jackson felt he could shut it faster himself.

  The attendant scowled at Neil. “Sir, I need you to back up.” Neil put his hands on his hips and did as asked. The ferry floated a few feet out into the water.

  Buddy drove to the edge of the pier and patted his gun case, glaring at Jackson the entire time. Jackson felt a cold chill. Neil put his arm around him and led him to the car, as the boat began its meandering trip back to New Orleans.

  * * * * *

  Jackson rested in the backseat of the car, lying down with his arm over his face to block the sun. Imogene and Lena stood at the edge of the ferry, whispering and giggling like teenagers. Goose leaned over Jackson, performed a few exploratory sniffs, and licked his arm. Jackson hardly noticed. He was exhausted. He’d chased and been chased by the hustler and Rogers in one day, and in a few minutes he fell asleep. The women woke him when they needed to get back in the car. He was still groggy, but he picked up Goose and took him to the front so Billy could be more comfortable in the back with the women.

  The ferry approached dry land. As soon as Jackson scooted beside Neil, he saw one of the figurines he’d been carrying. It was propped up on the open ashtray. He reached for it.

  “You dropped that from your pocket, I guess,” Neil said, twisting the ends of his mustache. He looked straight ahead at the line of cars waiting to exit the vessel.

  Jackson had to reach for words, because of his suspicions about Neil. He didn’t want to reveal all his information. “Yeah…yeah, I found it at Buddy’s house…Glenway’s house.” He put his sunglasses on so he could study Neil’s expressions from his periphery.

  Neil flinched and then cut his eyes at Jackson. “What else did you find over there in Algiers? Proof that Buddy killed Glenway? He’s the one who did it. Allen thinks so too.”

  Jackson said, “Did you know Glenway left that house in Algiers to Buddy?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t doubt it. Not at all. It’s stupid. That’s what disturbed me about Glenway. I loved him one minute and wanted to strangle him the next.” Neil crumpled an aluminum drink can and flipped on his blinker.

  Jackson was oddly torn, as if he were stuck in between two worlds or two world views, that of Buddy’s and that of Neil’s. “It’s weird, Neil, I sensed that Buddy may have really cared about Glenway…but I also saw his temper. I mean, he could easily beat a man to death. He’s ripped and has an impulsive disposition. I pissed him off four times. I don’t know what to think.” Jackson put the figurine from the ashtray in his pocket, just as casually as if it were a nickel.

  “You think I ought to keep that just in case you lose it?” Neil asked.

  “No, I found it. I need to check on it myself. I’ll take good care of it and let you decide what to do with it later. Tell Allen I found it, though.”

  Jackson saw Neil tighten his jawbone. Jackson wasn’t about to mention he had three more of the carved pieces in his pockets. Goose was squirming around his lap, trying to get the AC vent to blow cold air on him, which gave Jackson a chance to check on the other carvings. He felt two of them easily but had to maneuver his hands very carefully around Goose’s hind quarters to check his left pocket, which the fat bulldog was using as a seat.

  Lena turned to Imogene and said, “Hey, baby, why don’t you come back to the shop with me while the boys gets some rest. Poor Jack look like he half dead, and Billy got his eyes closed, checkin’ his pulse, ain’t he?”

  Imogene smacked Billy’s arm, which did nothing to make him remove the two fingers he had planted firmly under his jaw for a pulse check. He had his eyes closed, resting his head against the back of the seat. Imogene shook her head. “Yeah, them boys are fuddy-duddies, Lena. They good to Maw-Maw but old actin’. Lots older than me and you.” Imogene winked at Lena.

  “Naw, baby, they just tired from runnin’ all over creation. I been thankin’ ’bout makin’ fried pies ever since you say you make ’em. Me and you’ll go to the grocery and have us a time at the shop while the boys gets a break.”

  Jackson was relieved that Billy didn’t argue with his mother, because it appeared she had made up her mind. Billy did convince her to take her medicine, since it was getting later. “Mother, you haven’t eaten enough. You look pale and your sugar’s low.”

  Lena said, “Shoot, baby, I gotta whole shop full of food. I’ll take care of your mama. Don’t you worry ’bout that.” Billy thanked her as they p
assed through the Bourbon Street intersection. The afternoon revel had already begun. The street was filled with strangers. Billy mumbled, “She’s better off uptown at Lena’s than in the French Quarter.”

  Jackson pulled the sun visor down and looked at Billy through the mirror to make sure he was all right, but Billy was searching through his medical satchel. He removed some money from an interior pocket and handed it to Lena for the trouble.

  When Imogene saw it, she said, “Take it, sister, just like they took mine for that cockeyed carriage ride. Cost me a house payment to cover it.” Imogene twisted her hat, apparently still upset over the price of horse travel in the city.

  When Neil turned off Rampart Street onto Toulouse, Jackson saw a familiar-looking man walking up the road, a bald man with a loud Hawaiian shirt. The man was walking with a cane. Neil felt the hairs on his neck stand up as he watched. Dumbfounded, he said, “That’s Thurston. What’s he doing?”

  Billy sighed. Neil drove straight to the hotel, pulling into the covered parking area at Chez Hill. Jackson opened the door just as Thurston approached the car. “Thurston, why—”

  He stopped short just as Neil reached his hand out to greet Thurston. “Hey, boys, this is the man who got you the deal at Chez Hill.”

  “What’d you mean?” Jackson grabbed Goose’s leash.

  Neil smiled. “I mean, you had planned to stay elsewhere, but Thurston recommended Chez Hill. He got you the discount through one of his friends.”

  Eighteen

  “No wonder Neil’s been so defensive about Thurston. His reaction was confusing me in their upstairs room with Allen.” Jackson smacked the hotel ironing board.

  “What?” Billy was busy taking an inventory of the items in his satchel.

  “You know, on the second floor of their house, in the camelback, where we taped all those names, those persons of interest. I couldn’t figure out what was going on with Neil when I mentioned Thurston. Gosh, Neil wasn’t saying anything about ‘TH’ because he knew who TH was.” Jackson peeked out the glass on the French doors. He saw Neil speaking with Thurston right where he’d left them.

  Billy put his satchel aside and sprawled on the bed. “Come here, Jackson. Let it go. Who cares?” Jackson went over to him.

  “I was so worried about you,” Billy said, rubbing his partner’s arm.

  “I was fine. The worst part was being stuck in Lena’s attic and then getting attacked by Buddy on the ferry. My back still hurts. That dude’s strong.” Jackson reached around to massage his neck. “I’m glad to be with you again, my pomegranate.” He felt the piece of paper with suspects crinkling in his pocket. “I think we’ve been lied to ever since we’ve been here. I hope Neil doesn’t take Thurston back to his house, especially with your mother in the car. He looked so chummy with him, which is odd because Thurston acted like a closed book toward me in the park, and then he fled as soon as I turned my back. No, I don’t like this one bit. Did you notice Thurston smiling at Neil like he was Mr. Gregarious?” Jackson looked down at Billy and his blue eyes.

  Billy said, “Something’s wrong with them all. I haven’t met one person who doesn’t have something odd going on.”

  “You’re right, my peach. But don’t get so discouraged. At least we didn’t do anything wrong. We’re clean as a whistle. Innocent as coo doves.” Jackson popped out of bed and began removing things from his pockets. “You know what would do our bodies good? A nice swim.”

  Billy rolled over and glanced at the emptied loot on the rumpled duvet cover. “Jackson Miller, is that why Buddy was shooting at us?” Billy picked up one of the gorgeous figurines and looked at it more closely. He rubbed the Mardi Gras court jester wearing a funny hat and oversized shoes. The character clutched several strands of Carnival beads. Billy raised it up to the sun pouring through the French doors. Its green color changed shades in the light.

  “Possibly. That’s what I was saying. You worry too much. You need to relax in some good, chlorinated water. Besides, I took those to find out how some of these people would act when they see them. Neil certainly acted funny.” Jackson unbuttoned his shirt and put on his swimsuit.

  Billy put one of the carved pieces on the pillow beside him. “Well, I’m not interested in these people’s reactions, if by ‘people’ you mean Catfish, Pirate, TH, Canebrake, Lena, and Lieutenant Rogers. We already know how Buddy and Neil reacted. That’s a good indication. Let’s take it as a sign and put those figurines in the safe here.”

  Billy opened the cabinet below the television to reveal the black safe. Jackson had seen him open and close the safe at least a half dozen times, and now Billy had something to put there besides treats for Goose and Imogene’s nerve pills. He made Jackson hand them over, and after he created a code, he locked them away and changed into swimming clothes.

  They let Goose join in the pool party. In fact, the dog looked so happy not to be left in the room that he barreled past Billy, following Jackson in a vigorous trot all the way to the elevator. They found the pool area empty. After putting their stuff down on the outdoor lounge chair, Billy jumped in and Goose barked at the splashing. He was all up for having fun, but the splashing disturbed him enough to say something. “Shut up, Gooey. They’ll make you go inside,” Billy said, doing a noisy backstroke.

  Jackson sat down on the patio chairs to remove his boat shoes. Music, mostly brass, floated into the courtyard. It was nearly six p.m., and the sun hit the far wall in the courtyard. Jackson leaned back in his chair and smiled at Billy doing his laps. He watched a dozen of the laps and then, from the corner of his eye, he saw that familiarly loud Hawaiian shirt. He glanced over as Thurston exited Hill’s office in a hurry.

  “Jackson, are you coming in? It’s amazing. Feels like warm honey in here.” Goose trailed Billy along the pool deck. He sensed too much motion in the water and barked. “Cool it, Goo. It’s just water.” Billy splashed and Goose barked again.

  Jackson kept his eyes on Thurston, who looked like he was running for his life. Jackson scooted to the edge of the pool chair, ready to follow from a more inconspicuous distance. When Thurston reached the side exit, Jackson stood up. “Hey, Billy, I’m gonna—”

  Hill burst through the door to the courtyard, wearing a blue and yellow pantsuit, as if he’d woken up and dressed for the 1970s. His tight yellow jacket had a wide lapel, and his polyester pants covered the tops of his scuffed-up white loafers.

  The open jacket revealed something shiny stuck in the waistband of Hill’s pants. He caught Jackson looking at him. “Miller, did you see an old man in a Hawaiian shirt come this way?”

  “Who? Thurston?” Jackson walked closer to have a better look at Hill.

  “Yes, Thurston. How did you know his name?” Hill buttoned his jacket and covered the shiny object, but not before Jackson noticed it looked like a gun.

  Hill whipped his head around and scanned the area.

  “We met an older man by the St. Louis Cathedral.” Jackson moved closer to Hill, trying to get another look at the gun. “He wore a Hawaiian shirt and knew our friend Glenway Gilbert.” Hill veered around the elephant ears. Jackson followed, and as Hill’s jacket brushed an oversized planter, Jackson had a clear view of the gun for a moment. It appeared to be an old pistol like a Colt Peacemaker. Hill quickly straightened his jacket to cover the weapon and stood as tall as he could. “Did you see which way Thurston went just now?”

  Billy started to answer in the affirmative, but Jackson interrupted him. “No. We didn’t see him.” Hill rolled his eyes at the boys. He snorted when he saw Goose slobbering beside the shelf of towels. Jackson slid his feet back into his shoes. “Why are you looking for him?”

  “Not that it’s any concern of yours, but Thurston and I were talking and he just left abruptly.” Hill’s pantsuit rustled as he searched behind the manicured bushes.

  “Did his leaving have anything to do with your six-shooter there, Mr. Hill?” Jackson buttoned his shirt.

  “Pshh. You boys need to mind you
r own business before you find yourselves in a prickly situation.” Hill pointed at Jackson when he spoke. Billy stopped paddling in the water. Goose watched the curious little man from a puddle of water near Jackson’s feet.

  “Like the one you’re in, Mr. Hill? You wouldn’t be carrying a gun if you weren’t in a prickly situation yourself.” The manager jerked quickly, smacking the air with his hand, as if to wave off Jackson with an invisible wand. He turned around and scampered toward the lobby. His white loafers made a furious slapping sound on the concrete as he walked. As soon as the door closed and Jackson saw Hill heading down the hallway toward the office, Jackson jumped from the lawn chair. “I’m going to see what Thurston’s doing.”

  “Not without me, Jackson Miller.” Billy grabbed hold of the ladder in the deep end and wiped the water from his face.

  “Billy, you can’t leave Goose. And I need you to watch that hallway beside Hill’s office.”

  Billy protested, splashing water everywhere and creating such a commotion that the English bulldog sounded his alarm, his loud barks echoing around the pool.

  Jackson told them both to stay put and keep an eye on the hotel manager’s movements. “Call me if anything else odd happens.” Jackson fled the courtyard through the back entrance and onto the side street, passing the dumpster where he’d witnessed Lieutenant Rogers and Neil’s confrontation earlier. He crept along that side street, staying as close as he could to the wall just in case Hill popped out with the gun. He knew he could catch Thurston if he hurried. As soon as he made it to the intersection of Toulouse Street, he looked to his right and saw the Chez Hill valets being yelled at by someone, so he took an immediate left and headed toward the river.

  Thurston had gotten much farther along than Jackson had anticipated. Jackson passed the young and old alike, all dressed up for Saturday night in the French Quarter. He, on the other hand, wore his boat shoes, red swim trunks with the drawstring dangling in front of him, and his favorite beaten-up button-down shirt. It was short-sleeved, cotton, and washed a hundred times so the cotton felt like silk. It was cool to his skin. He weaved through tourists, passing under balconies filled with people getting together for parties. He kept an eye on Thurston’s shirt, which was like a red flag slowly moving down the street. One block from Bourbon Street, he heard a loud noise. It sounded like someone had fired a cannon in Thurston’s direction. He sped up to check on the noise, worried that the bald-headed man had met a gruesome fate.