Page 8 of Vows & Violence
She kisses me slowly and deeply, and almost bruising. I feel it everywhere. I kiss her back like it’s the last time, because with our luck, it might be.
New Orleans on Halloween is a fever dream with a death wish. Every block's packed with devils and angels, skeletons and queens. The air smells like sweat, sugar, and something rotting underneath. Kids scream over funnel cake. Grown men in skull masks scream louder. A second line parade weaves through the Marigny, brass band blaring twisted jazz while a man in a top hat tosses fake bones at the crowd.
I don’t see costumes anymore. I see cover.
A witch glances at me. Her face is painted like aDía de los Muertosskull, but the spiral drawn in eyeliner under her eye makes my pulse spike.
Just a coincidence. Right?
Weller’s already pacing the hallway outside the morgue when I arrive. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
“You look like hell,” I say.
“I live there now.” He doesn’t smile. “Come on.”
We head inside. The morgue's colder than I remember. The fluorescent lights flicker. I glance at the drawers, my cop instincts already on high alert.
“This guy came in last night,” Weller says, pulling a drawer open. “Found outside the old courthouse. No ID. But you’re going to recognize him.”
He peels the sheet back.
My breath leaves my lungs like I’ve been sucker punched.
“Baker.” I stare at the face. “He was working with Vale. I saw him two days ago. He handed off files near Lafitte Greenway.”
“Right,” Weller says. “Except the coroner says he died last night. And get this, his fingertips are burned, like someone torched them one by one. Mouth sewn shut and a spiral carved into his chest.”
My stomach turns. “He was alive two days ago. I’m sure of it.”
“I believe you,” Weller mutters. “But... look again.”
I lean in. Study the waxy skin, the bruised lips. Nothing moves. I glance at Weller. “What am I supposed to…”
The corpse blinks. Once. Slow.
I stumble back. “Jesus Christ.”
Weller grabs my arm, pulls me away from the table. “You saw it too, right?”
“Yeah.” My hands shake. “That’s not possible.”
“None of this is. But it’s happening anyway.”
Out in the alley behind the precinct, I light a cigarette with shaking hands. Smoke fills my lungs, but does nothing to stop the spiraling in my head. The body blinked. I saw it. Weller saw it. But if I admit that out loud, then I’m not just chasing ghosts, I’ve become one.
My burner buzzes.
Phoenix: This bar is wrong. The kind of wrong that breathes. Check in soon. —P
I don’t reply right away. I can’t. That fucking body is burned behind my eyes. It blinked, and I know what that means.
Whatever we’re chasing? It’s not just cartel money and MC betrayal anymore.
It’s deeper. Older. Smarter.
Weller’s voice echoes in my skull.“This isn’t a case. This is a message.”
I stomp out my cigarette with the heel of my boot, wishing I had a drink right now. It’s time to find Phoenix and Viper and fill them in.
