Setting my duffel and backpack in the middle of the floor, I pull the skinny mattress back and check the corners for signs of bed bugs. Going to the head, I pull it back. Not seeing anything, I reach over and kill the lamp before dropping fully clothed onto the blue-striped mattress.
If I decide to stay, I’ll have to buy sheets… and food, which means I need money. The muffled roar of street noise filters through the walls, and I consider Terrence’s offer. It would tide me over until I make a decision.
Until then…
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the small burner phone I picked up last week. It’s untraceable, which is probably perfect for this. My thumb wavers as I hold it over the numbers. I take a deep breath and slowly dial, 9… 1… 1…
Dread tightens in my chest as I wait for the answer.
“911, what is your emergency?” The voice is robotic, bored.
“Uh, I need to report a noise.” Shit! I didn’t plan this before I dialed.
“A noise?”
“Sorry.” Scrubbing my fingers against my eyelids, I try to think of words that don’t sound incriminating. “I thought I heard a car backfire, but—”
“Modern cars don’t backfire. You heard a gunshot.” Again, bored robot. “Give me your address. Are you in a safe location?”
“Yes… I’m fine. I—it’s 216 Evangeline, second floor. Maybe my neighbor?”
“Don’t go in or out of your apartment until police arrive. Keep your door locked. Police are on their way. I—”
“Thanks.” I press the pad of my thumb against the red end call button and drop the small phone onto the bed.
A chill skates over my skin, and I curl my knees into my chest, covering my ears with my palms. The sight of Rick that way unearthed memories of my dad, and that old pain radiates through my spine. I don’t cry, but the fist of grief tightens my shoulders. It’s oppressive and relentless, demanding action.
Sliding my hands to the back of my neck, I hold on, waiting for sleep to come. Waiting for answers I’ll never have.
Terrence is on the stoop holding a paper cup of coffee in his hand when I emerge the next morning. A cigarette is in his mouth, and he smiles when he sees me.
“Good call,” he says.
I pause in the entryway and consider my stuff. I don’t have much worth stealing, still, it’s all I have. “No lock?”
He pulls a key out of his pocket and motions me outside, locking the front door behind me. “Reopens after six.”
Key in his pocket, he takes off, headed northeast on Bourbon. I jog after him up the littered sidewalk. It’s far less crowded than at midnight, but even at this hour, people still roam, drinks in hand and beads around their necks.
“So you own the place?”
“My aunt does.” He takes a drink of coffee. “She lives in Chalmette. I run it for her.”
We cut across the street when we reach Orleans in the direction of Royal. Rounding the corner, we’re on a narrow lane of wrought iron balconies over narrow doors. Archways blocked off by wooden barriers. It’s Pirate Alley.
We’re half a block away when Terrence hits my chest with the back of his hand. “Let me do the talking.”
A man who looks like the classic dockworker stands in front of a group of similar men giving orders. He’s my height, but he outweighs me by at least fifty pounds, with thick hands and cords of muscle.
“Shipment arrives at ten,” he growls. “New set design requires a catwalk and series of cranes and pulleys. They’ll be mechanically operated, but I need extra men to work late as safety backup during the shows.” A trickle of laughter filters through the crowd. “Now get busy. First show rehearses at three o’clock.”
He turns, and he’s facing Terrence and me. “Who is this, Price?”
“New tenant looking for work. I’ll vouch for him.” Stepping back, he gestures between us. “Mark, this is Darby Stamp. Darby, Mark Fitzhugh.”
“Fitzhugh…” Darby’s eyes narrow, and I stand straighter. “You do drugs?”
“No,” I answer fast.
“Good. Half these guys do, which means half won’t be back, and if they are, they’re late.” He starts walking and Terrence nods for me to follow. “If I catch you with any of the dancers, you’re fired.”
“Got it.” After all that’s happened, romance is not on my mind, and I’ve never been into drugs. Not that I could afford them.
“Those two rules mean I have to find a new crew about once a week.”
He stops at a table holding a coffee dispenser and a large platter of assorted bagels, and dispenses what looks like liquid tar into a paper cup. Then he picks up a bagel and takes a bite, frowns, and tosses it in the trash.
“Pay’s seventeen-fifty an hour. Stop by the office to fill out the paperwork before the end of the day.”
“Thanks.” I hesitate by the table as he heads to the auditorium.
“Help yourself to the food.”
I reach over and quickly take a bagel. As soon as I pick it up, I realize it’s hard as a rock, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Darby keeps talking. “No breaks. You eat while you work. Follow me, and I’ll show you the safety backup.”
He pulls a metal door open, and we enter the side of a large backstage area. Ropes and boxes are scattered among long strips of red velvet curtain. Metal ladders lead up into the rafters, and squinting overhead, I see a narrow catwalk.
“We’ll install two more of them for the performance tonight. The girls wear these belts that are attached to these mechanical pulleys.” He motions to an ancient-looking switchboard. “You’ll be up there holding the safety rope. It’s attached to one dancer, so I need you and a few other guys I can trust to agree to take turns…”
While he speaks, movement catches my eye from the backstage area. Two women dressed in tight black pants and cutoff shirts approach. They’re both blonde and stacked. One looks up at me and smiles. Her dark brow arches, and her pink tongue slips out to touch her upper lip. My skin heats at the invitation, and I cut my eyes back to Darby.
He nods in their direction. “Some of the girls live here. Don’t go in their rooms unless Gavin or me tells you to. I’d hate to fire you so soon.”
“Right.”
“Now get back outside and help unload the truck.”
I step back as he continues forward and turn on my heel to exit through the metal side door opposite the way the two dancers went. I’m not looking for trouble.
Out of nowhere a small, dark form collides with my chest. She starts to fall, and instinctively, I grab her by the upper arms, pulling her to me.
“Oh!” It’s a breathless cry.
“I’m sorry. I—” My voice trails off as bright blue eyes framed by thick lashes capture mine.
I quickly take in full, pink lips and long, glossy waves swishing down her back. She smells fresh like flowers after rain, and as I hold her, I can feel she’s slim but strong. She’s fucking beautiful.
“I’m okay.” Her voice is confident, and… annoyed? Amused?
I let her go. “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I didn’t see you in the dark.”
She glances down. “I am wearing all black.”
I quickly scan the tight halter-top and workout pants she’s wearing. It’s the same as the other two girls’ outfits, but her exposed torso is lined with muscle, not soft like theirs. Her expression is playful as well. I can tell she’s younger, more innocent.