Page 13 of Bourbon & Blood

It was a busy night, thick with tourists, and I swear it felt like it was over in a flash.

I was closing, when Mike sauntered up, counting out the night’s cash tips out loud. He was a good guy – always fair and always made sure to be totally transparent.

“Whew! We done good tonight,” he said, slapping the stack of bills against the edge of the bar.

“How good?” I asked curiously.

He grinned and said, “Three hundred.”

“Not bad,” I said.

“A piece.” He arched a brow and handed me my cut. I nearly swallowed my tongue.

“Hot damn!” I cried, taking my share, folding it in half, and sticking it into my front pocket.

“Good work there, hot stuff,” he said with a wink and wandered away.

I laughed a little and shook my head. Tomorrow night I’d be working with Dorian which would be nice. Dorian walked me home at night but alas, Mike lived the opposite way.

We finished closing and Mike locked up behind us. With a wave goodbye, we parted, walking in opposite directions up and down Bourbon while revelers crawled the streets in their drunken confusion, laughing and shouting. I kept my hands in my pockets and a death grip on my apartment keys as I walked briskly in the direction of home.

I had my pepper spray, and my wits, but still, I didn’t have a three hundred and sixty degree visual. I could only focus on what was in front of me or off to my sides. How was I to know that a shadow had detached from one of the bar fronts and drifted along the sidewalk behind me?

CHAPTERSIX

La Croix…

The front door of Louie’s mamma’s place folded like cheap origami under my boot, the doorframe shattering as she shrieked and sputtered coming up off the filthy living room couch. I backhanded her a good one, and she flew back onto it, her knees coming up to her chest as her hands went to her mouth.

I sat down on the coffee table across from her and leveled her with my gaze.

The first thought that struck me was that it was Louie’s eyes starin’ back into my own, showing too much white around ‘em as the fear set in. Saint had my back, standing in the doorway, leaning nonchalantly against the frame, his back to me, facing out into the street.

“What do you want?” Mamma Louie demanded.

“Want to know where your man stays,” I said.

“Here, he stays here,” she said. “But he’s in jail.”

“For now,” I told her and then I gave her a hard look. “But he don’t stay here no more. You feel me?”

She was still, too still; a frightened little rabbit – and I could almost taste that fear riding the tainted and fetid air of her drug den house.

“Your boy, you even care what happen to him?”

“He was askin’ fer it,” she said and her voice was high and frightened. I smacked her again, and she started to cry. I didn’t care.

“Wrong answer, woman.”

“What do you want from me?” she wailed between tears and I told her.

“Your boy, you’re dead to him, y’hear?” I demanded. She looked at me wide-eyed.

“You gonna kill me?” she asked, breathy.

“You ever take advantage of ‘im again, I just might,” I said.

“You can’t do that,” she said and I gave her a feral nasty grin.

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