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Authors: Gred Herren

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“That's all anyone can do, Scotty. Try his best.”
“But David—why would he take such a risk?”
“You don't have to worry about David. There are other things you need to be concerned with. Stay focused.”
I felt better, somewhat. The Goddess never lies to me. But still—
“The ones you need to worry about are Frank and Colin. They are in danger, and you are the only one.”
“What kind of danger?”
“Pray for a brave heart. History cannot be ignored or forgotten, Scotty, remember that. . . .”
 
“Are you okay? Scotty?”
I opened my eyes. Both Frank and Colin were hovering over me, their faces pale. No matter how many times they've seen the Goddess send me into a trance, it never fails to scare them both shitless. I tried to sit up and sank back down. I had no energy at all, and I was still feeling a little on the dizzy side.
“You need to eat something.” Frank walked into the kitchen and started rifling through the refrigerator. I heard the microwave door open, the sound of him pressing buttons, and the hum of it heating something. “You haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon. Your blood sugar's probably too low.”
Colin knelt down beside me. “You had a vision, right?”
I nodded. My mouth was dry. I looked into his beautiful blue eyes, so concerned for me. I tried to swallow. “The Goddess”—I wiped my eyes—“she said I didn't need to worry about David.”
His face lit up with one of his megawatt smiles, and his entire body sagged with relief. “Oh, thank God.” His own eyes filled with tears, and I loved him so much in that moment that I just wanted to hug him as hard as I could. “But you still need to talk to him—or we can. His job's in danger as long as he's on that Web site.”
I nodded, took a deep breath, and swallowed. “Um, she also said you were in danger.”
The microwave dinged.
“Me?” Colin looked puzzled. “From what?”
“She didn't say.” Frank brought in a steaming plate of the chicken casserole Colin had made on Friday night. “Both of you, she said. Both of you are in danger.”
They exchanged a glance.
“What kind of danger?” Frank sat down in the reclining chair and crossed his legs. “Maybe of getting arrested for drug possession?”
“Goddamn it, Frank!” Colin exploded. He stormed over to Frank's chair, his fists clenched at his sides. Frank stood up and they stood there, glaring at each other, their chests almost touching. The air fairly crackled with testosterone. As I sat there looking, I could see blue sparks, like little bolts of lightning, popping off their bodies. My vision started to blur again, and I had this eerie feeling I'd seen this before. But that wasn't possible—we all three got along so well we'd never even had much of a disagreement before, certainly not anything where fists were clenched or tempers lost.
History cannot be forgotten or ignored. . . . What's going on here, Goddess? What are you trying to show me?
“Stop it, both of you,” I said, taking a bite of the casserole. “And sit down. You're making me dizzy.” The casserole tasted even better now than it had on Friday night. Damn, Colin was a culinary genius. There really isn't anything he can't do.
The boys stood there for another second, and then both grinned at each other and wrapped their arms around each other, hugging each other tight and sharing a kiss. I sighed with relief and kept eating. The food was definitely helping. I could feel energy starting to surge through me again.
Frank sat back down in the chair and Colin sat on his lap. “Guys, I'm sorry for being such a dick,” Frank said.
“Did you have fun last night?” I asked, changing the subject. No sense going over all that again. Really, the casserole was like a little piece of heaven. What the hell did Colin put in it anyway?
Frank nodded. “Yeah, I did. I've never had so much fun dancing before.” He shook his head. “I've never felt so, so free before, you know? I've always been a little self-conscious on the dance floor—and I've never been comfortable taking off my shirt in public before—but it felt right last night.”
“You?” Colin grinned at him. “But, Special Agent, you've got a magnificent body. When you took your shirt off last night”—he winked at me—“angels sang, the planets aligned, and”—he ran his hand down the center of Frank's chest—“everyone wanted you.”
“Yeah, right.” Frank's face reddened. “I don't think so.”
“Oh, come on, Frank.” I scooped the last of the casserole onto my spoon and swallowed it down. I felt much better. I leaned back into the couch and couldn't resist teasing him a little bit. “There were boys hovering around you all night long.”
“I guess I just always think of myself as being skinny.”
“Skinny?” Colin stared at him. “Lean, maybe, but not skinny.” He grabbed one of Frank's arms and made him flex. “I mean, look at the size of that baby! No, I don't think anyone would think you were
skinny,
Special Agent. You are porn star material for sure.”
“I was skinny in high school.” Frank looked away from both of us. “They used to call me Ichabod Crane.”
It's funny how high school keeps haunting you no matter how long you've been out—if you let it. “Frank, high school was over twenty years ago.” I leaned back into the couch. “You've got a great body. And all those assholes who made fun of you for being skinny are probably all fat out-of-shape blobs who look like hell now.”
“Yeah, well, whatever.” Frank shook his head. “We're getting off the track here.”
Every muscle in my legs moaned as I stood up and walked over to the chair. I knelt down in front of them. “Frank, you're a dreamboat. Stop worrying about that stuff. You were one of the hottest guys there last night.”
Frank smiled at me. “You're so sweet.” He stroked my cheek. “But we need to focus. Tell me about your meeting with your aunt.”
I sat down with my back against his legs, and he started massaging my shoulders as Colin and I filled him in. When we finished, he whistled. “There were two of them?”
“Misha was lying; I'm sure of it. I'm not sure about what, though.” Colin stood up, stretching and yawning. “Can we go lie down?”
All three of us got up and walked into my bedroom. Colin pulled off his shirt and dropped his pants and jumped up onto the bed in his white boxer briefs. Frank and I grinned at each other, then hurriedly undressed and climbed up on either side of him. Colin put an arm around each of us and we cuddled into his warmth. “What did
you
think, Scotty?” Frank asked.
“He was definitely not telling us everything.” I started stroking Colin's leg. “So, apparently, the guy I knew as Misha was really his brother, Sasha, which doesn't make a lot of sense to me. Why wouldn't Sasha just
be
Sasha? Why pretend?”
“Do you think Venus knows yet?” Frank was stroking Colin's other leg.
“Probably not. It'll take days for her to get cooperation out of the INS.” Colin shrugged, leaning his head back with his eyes closed. “You know, we have to think about the possibility this was drug related.”
Not this again,
I thought, tensing up. “I can't imagine he was that big time a dealer.” I pictured the strongbox, the roll of cash, the baggies filled with pills, the vials of liquid.
Well, maybe it was possible.
“But you don't know that,” Frank said calmly. “For all you know, Scotty, he could have been the city's biggest dealer. And we can't rule out the Russia connection, either.”
“The Russian mob?” Colin mused. “That's another possibility.” He laughed. “But I don't think we have anything to worry about from the cops anymore. We've got any number of more logical suspects for them to check into. Our work here is done, and now we can enjoy the rest of Mardi Gras.” He leaned over and kissed my neck. “Are we agreed on that? Now that our little Scotty boy is pretty much in the clear, we can focus on having fun again.”
That was a huge relief. It was all just a little Mardi Gras mambo, and our part of the dance was over.
“It would be nice to make it through Fat Tuesday without Scotty being kidnapped again,” Colin teased. I resisted the urge to punch him.
Like it's
my
fault I've been kidnapped twice? But still . . . “I think we can rule out the Russian mob.” I yawned. I was really tired, and the bed felt so soft, and their body heat was so comforting and soothing. There really
isn't
anything like cuddling with two guys you love.
“I mean, the thing that bothers me the most about all of this is the coincidences.” Frank kissed my shoulder. “I mean, what are the odds that your drug dealer has a twin brother who married an old friend of your grandmother's? And your dealer is sleeping with David?”
“It's New Orleans.” I shrugged. “Everyone in this city is about one degree of separation from everyone else.” It was true; for a big city, New Orleans was really just a small town. Everyone knows everyone else—and their business. There are
no
secrets in New Orleans.
“Okay—enough talk!” Colin commanded. “We're done with this, agreed? We're just going to relax and enjoy Carnival, agreed? And if Venus shows up again, we'll give her what we found.”
“Shouldn't we give it to her anyway?” My entire body felt like dead weight. I leaned back into Frank's hard chest.
“Probably not. Cops don't really like it when people interfere with their investigations. I've learned that the hard way.” Colin yawned and nestled down farther into the bed. “Damn, I'm tired.”
“We've been up all night,” Frank pointed out. “Maybe we should take a nap.” He pinched my butt. “And if we're going out dancing again tonight—I mean,” he hesitated, “I mean, shouldn't we rest up before we take X again?”
“I know that wasn't the Special Agent talking.” Colin laughed. “I mean, surely that wasn't an ex-FBI agent suggesting we do drugs again?”
“You really had a good time last night, huh, Frank?” I reached back around him and stroked his back.
“Yeah.”
“Then we definitely need to get some sleep.” I yawned. “Our costumes tonight are going to look great—so everyone be quiet and let's sleep, okay?”
They both mumbled assent.
“Works for me,” I replied and closed my eyes. Venus was a good cop. I didn't have anything else to worry about . . . and I could talk to David after Fat Tuesday about the Web site thing—and the condom issue. It wouldn't be fun—it would be pretty fucking awkward—but it could keep until Ash Wednesday. Why ruin his Carnival by worrying him? I could cross that bridge when I came to it. My breathing started coming more steadily. My entire body relaxed, and I could tell by his even breathing that Frank had drifted off already. He felt so good pressed up against me, and Colin's heartbeat and body heat were lulling me.
“Love you, Colin,” I muttered as I pressed my head up against his shoulder.
“Love you too, Scotty.” He kissed the top of my head.
And I drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Four of Swords
there will soon be a return to the active life
 
 
 
I opened my eyes just before four—bright eyed, bushy tailed, and raring to go.
I lay there for a couple of minutes, listening to the boys breathing. They were dead to the world, and I didn't think it would be cool to wake them up. Frank's arm was draped over me, extending past me and over Colin. Barely breathing, I carefully moved my own right arm from underneath Frank's and off of Colin. It worked, so even more carefully I lifted Frank's arm off me and slid slowly down to the end of the bed. Colin groaned a bit in his sleep, and I froze, but then Frank, still asleep, moved forward a bit until he remained against Colin. I managed to stand up without the bed bouncing and remained there looking at them.
I'm so lucky,
I thought, as a smile crept across my face.
Any guy would consider himself lucky to have either one of them, and I've got them both—and they love me.
I walked over to the window and looked out into the courtyard. The sky was overcast and it was kind of gray, but I could see Millie and Velma and some of their friends braving the inclement weather, sharing a joint and drinking mimosas. Just then, Millie looked up and saw me and smiled, waving her hand. I waved back. Millie and Velma were incredibly cool. Velma went to McGehee with my mom (and I'd be more than willing to bet that the best friend combo of baby dyke and social activist had caused many a sleepless night for the staid administration of that fine rich kids' school in the Garden District), and she and Millie were more like aunts than family friends. I debated going down for a mimosa, then decided that coffee was probably a better idea. My mind was still a little fogged from the Ecstasy hangover, and the last twenty-four hours
had
been a little on the intense side, even for me. I let the curtain close and walked into the bathroom.
I looked at myself in the mirror and almost screamed. There was snot in the corner of my eyes, my hair was standing up in what best could be described as a Medusa-like fashion, and there were bags forming under my eyes. “You could scare small children,” I said to my hellish reflection in the mirror. I was also very dehydrated, and before brushing my teeth I gulped down several handfuls of water from the tap. I took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. It hadn't been an optical illusion or my mind playing tricks on me. I looked pretty hellish. I badly needed a shave, and—what in the name of all that's holy was
that?
I leaned closer to the mirror and stared. Yep, I was right the first time. A big old, angry, nasty, red zit was starting to form on my chin. “Sheesh,” I said, running my finger over it. “I'm almost thirty—what the hell am I doing getting zits at my age?” I turned on the hot water spigot and soaped up my face before scrubbing it thoroughly with a rough washcloth. I splashed water onto my face, dried it, and looked again. Not quite so bad, but the hair was still a disaster area.
Oh, well,
I thought and walked into the kitchen. I ate a banana while starting another pot of coffee.
I sat at my desk while the coffee brewed and stared at my computer screen. I debated turning it on but finally decided not to.
I won't let Mardi Gras be ruined for me,
I said to myself.
The boys are right. Let Venus track down Sasha's killer; I'm out of it. And David can wait until Ash Wednesday
.
So, Mardi Gras is ruined only if I let it be ruined
, I decided and leaned back in the chair. The boys both wanted to go out dancing tonight, so there was absolutely no reason we couldn't put on our costumes for tonight and go out into the crowds again. And who would have ever thought taking Ecstasy again would be
Frank's
idea?
It
would
be a shame to waste the costumes for tonight.
I'd planned every night's costumes very carefully. To follow up last night's sexy Zorro outfits, tonight we were all going as Mercury, messenger of the gods. We'd gotten gold square-cut bathing suits, masks, and cheap boots. We'd painted the boots gold and sprinkled them all over with glitter. Colin had made these cute little wings for the boots we'd painted gold to match and, of course, glittered up. We also had gold body paint. That was our entire costume. Square cuts, boots, masks, and body paint. Well, and glitter, too. When we'd tried on the suits—I'd insisted on a dry run on all of our costumes—the boys looked like a million bucks, even without the body paint.
Everyone
was going to notice us tonight, which was the main point of costuming. If no one noticed, why bother?
Of course, wearing body paint had its drawbacks. For one thing, it comes off to the touch, so if—
when
—we got groped on the dance floor, everyone who touched us would have gold fingers. It also has a tendency to run, so once we started dancing and sweating, it would start streaming off of us in little rivers, leaving zebra-like streaks. By the time we made it home tomorrow morning we would look pretty shitty, but by that point who'd care? We'd also have to shower before getting in the bed to avoid ruining the sheets, but I also figured part of the fun would be the group shower to get cleaned up. Events had conspired this morning to keep us from having fun after we got home, but surely the Universe couldn't be so cruel as to have that happen two mornings in a row.
And the best part of the Mercury costume, easily hands down, was how much fun it would be applying the body paint to the boys. Just the thought of squeezing the body paint out of the tube onto their bare skin then spreading it over their muscles had been getting me excited for days. What can I say? I love to rub on the boys. Who wouldn't?
I rolled a joint and lit it, blowing the smoke up at the ceiling. I willed myself to relax. Angela had authorized us to investigate, but Colin and Frank both seemed to feel we'd done what she'd wanted, which was simply to clear me, not find the actual killer. I wasn't really sure how I felt about that. Weren't detectives not supposed to stop until they solved the case? Colin and Frank both always made fun of my “notions” of what being a detective meant. “It's not wearing trench coats and fedoras and following people around,” Colin had said once when I'd groused about spending so many hours on the computer looking things up. “Nowadays its mostly computer work, and making phone calls. It's not a Humphrey Bogart movie.” For Christmas, Colin and Frank had actually gotten me a nice black trench coat with a thick, warm red lining; a matching black felt fedora; and an antique magnifying glass. They were great gifts, expensive too, but I still got the sense that in a way they were kind of laughing at me. Oh, sure, they both loved me so it wasn't in a mean-spirited way by any means, but there it was. Frank had twenty years with the FBI; Colin had been working for Angela for a while; and I was the rookie, with no real experience in detection. And if I was being completely honest, I wouldn't have survived without the boys' help. As for any detecting I'd done, well, in all fairness again, it was just pure dumb luck and some help—a
lot
of help—from the Goddess. No, I wasn't a
real
detective. I was just the office mascot—and a lightning rod for trouble.
“Lighten up,” I said out loud. “So being a detective isn't what you thought it would be like. It beats dancing on the bars and training people, doesn't it?”
No, I didn't miss whoring myself for dollar bills from drunks. I didn't miss training clients who couldn't understand why they weren't losing weight or getting huge muscles overnight, who didn't feel the need to pay me on time. I didn't miss teaching aerobics classes, doing the same monotonous routine ten to twelve times per week until I knew it so well I could do it asleep. It was nice getting a biweekly paycheck that was way more than enough to cover my expenses. I'd managed, in the few months I'd been working for the Blackledge Agency, to pay off most of my credit card debt, and that was a really good feeling.
But it wasn't as
exciting
as I thought it would be.
Oh, sure, I never thought it would be one thrilling case after another. But here we were with a murder investigation practically fallen into our laps, Angela's permission to investigate, and just when it was starting to get really interesting, we were backing off.
Maybe the boys think partying is more important to you than solving the case.
Now
that
was an unpleasant thought.
I walked back down the hall and looked at the two of them sleeping. I couldn't help but smile. They really were two of the sexiest guys I'd ever seen in my life. Frank had his arms around Colin, and their bodies were so close together a playing card wouldn't have fit in between them.
No, I was wrong
, I decided, as I watched Colin shift a little in his sleep, and Frank snuggle him a bit tighter.
They are both professionals, and they wouldn't back away from a case just because I want to have a good time. If they've decided we're done, then we are done.
On the other hand, it wouldn't hurt anything for me to put some more thought into it, would it?
I walked back into the kitchen and watched the stream of coffee filling up the pot.
Okay, Mr. Detective, think about it.
I certainly hadn't killed Sasha. My connection to him was tenuous at best—the old “wrong place at the wrong time” thing, which was certainly beginning to seem like my stock in trade. The porn site, the connection to Aunt Sylvia, even the drugs—all were viable motives pointing in directions away from me. Sure, it was strange that my dealer had a twin brother who was married to an old family friend, and even stranger that one of them had slept with my best friend. It was an awful lot of coincidences—but these kinds of coincidences happened in New Orleans all the time. The only other explanation was that me, my family, and our friends were being targeted somehow—but, no, that was just stupid. What would be the reasoning behind that? Yeah, both sides of my family had money—the Diderots more than the Bradleys—but why on earth would anyone target
us?
Papa Diderot still was chairman of the board of the bank the family had owned since the Spanish flag flew over the city, but Papa Bradley was a retired corporate lawyer. No, that just didn't make any sense at all. It was coincidence, that's all. Like that time this really hot guy picked me up one night at Oz, and I went home with him. As he pulled into the driveway of a house in the Garden District, I realized in horror that I had been there before, only a few weeks earlier—picked up by a different guy. They'd been a couple for about twelve years and had an open relationship, as it turned out, but at the time I'd been terribly embarrassed.
I sighed. My head was starting to hurt from all this circular thinking. The boys were right, no doubt—it was probably best that we leave it all to Venus and the cops from now on. I wasn't totally comfortable with the idea of not turning over what we'd found out to the police unless they came after me again, but then again, why implicate David and the other guys on the Web site even slightly if it wasn't necessary? Besides, that was the cops' job, not ours. Maybe I should tip David off that Venus might come knocking on his door . . . but then why worry him unnecessarily? I didn't
know
she would—she might not ever find the Web site—and David did know about it. Weird that he'd never seen himself on it.
Stop it, Scotty! You're obsessing.
I sighed. Nope, no reason I could see not to enjoy the rest of the holiday. We had our costumes, we had our drugs, and we were safely out of it.
But my mind, damn it to hell, just wouldn't let it go. We were detectives. Wasn't investigating what we were supposed to do? Okay, Frank had been a longtime Fed, and Colin, well, I didn't know how long he'd been in the business, but certainly longer than me. Look at everything they'd been able to find out, while all I wanted to do was go to sleep! Some detective I was. What exactly did I have to contribute to this team, anyway?
The Goddess speaks to you; that's what you bring to the team.
I got myself a cup of coffee and spiked it with Bailey's Irish Cream and headed into the living room. My gift isn't exactly a science: sometimes the Goddess talked to me in dreams, sometimes I could focus on my tarot cards and get answers. Sometimes the messages that came to me through the cards didn't make sense—until it was too late to matter. Sometimes I misread them and realized it later. Sometimes they didn't tell me anything. It could be annoying, but you can see why I didn't set up a table in Jackson Square and take money for it.
I sat down at my coffee table, lit two white candles, and got out my tarot deck. I took another hit off the joint and pinched it out. I started shuffling, thinking about how cool it would be if I could solve this case without any help from the boys, prove to them I was a valuable asset to the agency. Not that they ever made me feel like I wasn't, but sometimes, like I said before, they would give each other that annoying Scotty-is-such-a-cute-little-whack-job look.
I closed my eyes and held the deck in my hands. I said a quick prayer to the Goddess.
Please, Holy Mother of us all, please tell me through the cards the answer to my question and help me to see the truth.
I opened my eyes and laid out the cards, then started slowly turning them over.

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