Voices rose outside the Balcony Bar up the street, catching her attention. Two short fat girls in high heels, tight tops, and too-tight skirts had started screaming at each other, thrusting fingers at each other. The front of one girl’s top was damp. She’d had a drink thrown in her face. That wet spot was gonna get cold, Maureen thought.
By the door of the bar, Maureen could see the large form of the bouncer rising above the crowd. He had his massive arms folded across his chest, and he was paying close attention to the unfolding conflict. She knew there was another door guy there, too, somewhere in the crowd. A smaller man who checked IDs. Unlike the NOPD, she thought, the bar had enough staff to handle their business. She saw that no boyfriends or wanna-be shining knights had stepped into the conflict. Good news. Alcohol-infused testosterone always made things worse. Always.
Even if the girls came to blows, Maureen would make a move only if a weapon appeared. She’d see it and hear it from the crowd, which would open up like a slow-motion explosion if something got drawn. Unlikely, considering the combatants. Which was fine with her. She really didn’t feel like jumping into a drunken catfight. Not the return to action she’d had in mind. In a minute and a half to two minutes, the incident would escalate or defuse.
Maureen turned again, her phone held to her ear, looking at Preacher through the windshield. He was watching the busser at the Rum House across the street sweep under the outside picnic tables. He was picking his nose. What was Detective Atkinson doing right then? Maureen wondered. She thought about the Sixth District task force, the one that specialized in dangerous arrests and warrants. She thought about Homicide, Vice, Special Victims. The fast track to plainclothes work, like Detillier had mentioned, that was what she wanted. Plainclothes, property and persons, they were the way out of uniform and into the bigger and better work. It was never too early to start thinking about the future, now that she was putting past calamities behind her.
“You there?” Detillier asked.
“I’ll be happy to talk to him,” Maureen said. “Anything it takes to get these guys. Do I need to wear a wire? Because I’m okay with that.”
“Won’t be necessary,” Detillier said. “This isn’t an investigation of the man. Think of it as a fact-finding mission, a feeling out, to see if he’s worth continuing attention after he settles matters concerning his son. You won’t have to wear a wire. You won’t have to make an arrest.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Give me a time and place where he can meet you,” Detillier said. “Someplace you’ll be comfortable. Someplace informal.”
“You don’t want him at HQ? Or maybe at the Sixth District?”
“We don’t want the meeting on police property,” Detillier said. “He’s paranoid. Fearful. We want him to relax if he can. Put him at ease. Again, the meeting should come across like a favor, like the NOPD is reaching out and complying with his wishes, not like an interview or an inquiry. He’s coming back to HQ in the morning; we’re going to send someone out to him with the details on where to meet you.”
Maureen sighed. The fucking feds. They loved to overthink things. Okay, where did she want to do it? Someplace she’d feel more comfortable than Gage would. Someplace that would give her the upper hand. If he was nervous and paranoid, she wanted to use that against him.
“Tell him Li’l Dizzy’s,” she said, “corner of Esplanade and North Robertson, at one o’clock.”
Detillier paused, mulling over her idea. Maureen wasn’t entirely surprised. Detillier was local. That meant he’d know Dizzy’s.
She waited for his response and watched as a man wrapped one of the yelling girls, the one with the wet top, in a bear hug from behind. He lifted her off the sidewalk and walked her away from the crowd. She did not like it, and threw her drink in his face, over her shoulder. The other girl stormed away up Magazine Street, stopping and turning once to point her finger and yell something about “acting the ho.”
Maureen, thankful she’d been spared getting involved, closed her eyes and imagined a hot bath. She thought about how a pill and a whiskey would make that bath even better.
“He’s not going to like that place,” Detillier said.
Exactly, she thought. “Hey, guess what, it’s not a freakin’ date. I like that place. I feel safe there. And I don’t know this guy from Adam. If I get shot at again, I don’t wanna be the only gun in the room. That’s my offer.”
“If we thought your life was in danger,” Detillier said, “we wouldn’t set it up like this. We wouldn’t even ask.”
Lies, Maureen thought. She didn’t hold it against him. Everyone had to play the part they were given. “My life is always in danger until we chase the Watchmen out of New Orleans.” She switched her phone to the other ear. “Listen, Dizzy’s is a good place to meet him. Strategic. It’s not far from HQ. He won’t feel like we’re trying to lead him somewhere. Maybe instead he feels special, like we’re sharing our turf with him. The café closes at two, so there’ll be a natural end to things if I have trouble getting rid of him.”