Six Crime Stories (2 page)

After Q. Liz was killed
,
no one had to ask me to get involved anymore. I put my sax playing on hold and stepped right back into my role as the
'
Sociation
'
s constable like I
'
d never given up the job. No one said a word about it
,
either
,
not even Yolanda the fire-eating flamenco dancer or Scabby Earl the scar-tist.

The cops were looking into it
,
they said
,
but that
'
s a hit-or-miss proposition. It
'
s always better when you
'
ve got one of your own looking out for you
,
and I won
'
t deny that
'
s what I was to Q. Liz.

Plus which
,
I thought maybe she
'
d
'
ve still been alive if I
'
d gotten past getting my feelings hurt and taken her seriously.

So I started asking questions around the
'
Sociation and hitting up my cop contacts for dirt...and things got complicated fast. Q. Liz surprised me from beyond the grave
,
which was something she was extra good at back before the grave
,
too.

It turned out she took my advice
,
after all. About finding a replacement for me
,
that is.

Sometime between talking to me and getting killed
,
she hired some whackjob over the Internet to come to New Orleans and do something about Johnny Murder.

And I do mean whackjob.

*****

The first thing I noticed about Quinto Starbulk was his cologne. It was strong and sweet and thick like the smell off a fresh-picked daffodil mixed up with antifreeze
,
and it kind of made me sick.

It hit me before I even saw him
,
while I was talking to Madame Destine in Jackson Square...though I swear he had it on so heavy he might
'
ve been a couple blocks away when I first caught a whiff.

Madame Destine--real name Dolores Schellhammer out of Madison
,
Wisconsin--was just telling me she
'
d seen a guy who looked like Johnny Murder down at the casino an hour ago. I was just about to ask what she
'
d seen Johnny doing at the casino when I got a snootful of that daffodil/antifreeze and noticed Madame D. looking up behind me.

Before I could turn around
,
I heard a deep
,
smooth voice like a radio announcer
'
s or a boxing match emcee
'
s.
"
What was Johnny doing when you saw him at Harrah
'
s?
"
said the voice
,
so close behind me it made me jump. I
'
d smelled the cologne
,
but hadn
'
t heard a single footstep on the bricks when whoever was back there had walked up to me.

Madame Destine clammed up at the stranger
'
s question. Twisting around
,
I got my first look at the screwy sonofabitch who was about to make my life more miserable than it already was.

He was tall--six-three easy
,
maybe six-five--and muscular as a Teamster. A tweed jacket with suede patches at the elbows hung off his broad
,
boxy shoulders
,
and under that he wore a black turtleneck and gray wool trousers. I thought he was nuts
,
dressing like that in New Orleans in June
,
but I couldn
'
t see a patch of sweat on him; in fact
,
the whole time I knew the guy
,
I never saw him sweat
,
not even a little.

He had a face like a cross between a movie star and a football player
,
with chiselled features and a square jaw atop a thickly muscled neck. His wide
,
dark eyes matched his jet black hair
,
which was slicked back from a sharp widow
'
s peak and graying at the temples. About the only flaw on him was a tiny
,
dark mole right smack between his eyebrows
,
reminding me of a jewel on the forehead of a swami.

"
Excuse me
,
"
I said as I stared up at him.
"
I don
'
t believe I
'
ve had the pleasure of invitin
'
you in on our little conversation here.
"

"
I don
'
t mind
,
"
said Daffodil/Antifreeze with a giant smile.
"
No need to stand on ceremony when there
'
s work to be done.
"

I figured the guy was a tourist who
'
d happened to overhear my talk with Destine...and I was getting annoyed.
"
What work you think you
'
re doin
'
?
"
I said.
"
Other than not mindin
'
your own business
,
that is.
"

Daffodil/Antifreeze cleared his throat and looked grim all of a sudden.
"
Solving the murder of Elizabeth Deschanelle and tracking down the zombie scum known as Johnny Murder.
"

I must admit
,
he threw me for a loop with that one.
"
Well
,
now
,
"
I said
,
pushing myself up off the folding chair at Destine
'
s table and turning to face him.
"
I don
'
t think I caught your name.
"

The guy gave me a funny look.
"
Quinto
,
"
he said
,
extending his hand.
"
Quinto Starbulk. I
'
ve been hired to look into this case.
"

"
Hired by who?
"
I said
,
holding off on the handshake.

"
Miss Deschanelle herself
,
"
said Starbulk
,
pushing his hand toward me.
"
Before she died
,
she hired me to track down Murder. Though she
'
s dead
,
I fully intend to complete the assignment in honor of her memory.
"

Staring him in the eyes
,
I pushed my hands in my pockets so there
'
d be no misunderstanding about my not wanting to shake.
"
That
'
s real nice of you
,
"
I said
,
"
but we
'
ve got it under control. No need for you to stick around.
"

"
I never walk away from a case until it
'
s solved
,
"
said Starbulk.
"
Just ask Eighteen Wheeler or Fussbudget Bunco or the Pheromonials.
"

"
Just ask what?
"
I said
,
frowning.

"
Lowlifes I
'
ve crossed paths with
,
"
said Starbulk.
"
They learned the hard way that I always finish what I start.
"
Smiling
,
he dropped his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
"
I can tell you
'
re the same way
,
Gerald. We
'
re going to make a fantastic team.
"

"
What the hell?
"
I said
,
jerking my shoulder out from under his grip.
"
Where
'
d you come up with
'
Gerald
'
?
"

"
Let
'
s just say I did my homework before I got here
,
"
said Starbulk.
"
You
'
ll be happy to know you passed the background check with flying colors.
"

"'
Background check
'
?
"
I said
,
getting angrier by the minute.
"
My background
'
s none of your business!
"

"
Au contraire
,
"
said Starbulk.
"
As it turns out
,
your background is very much my business! In the course of my research
,
I found the two of us have something in common.
"

"
Like what?
"
I snapped.

"
A father!
"
said Starbulk.
"
Gerald
,
I
'
m your long-lost half-brother!
"

I glared at him
,
imagining my fist wiping the smile off his movie star face.
"
Bullshit
,
"
I said.
"
I
'
m an only child.
"

"
Not anymore! Your father--
our
father--had a son by a woman in Kansas City named Bianca Furrier. I am that son!
"

Starbulk fanned his arms out excitedly
,
as if waiting for an embrace
,
but I just stood there with arms folded across my chest and stared. A thousand questions leaped into my mind
,
a thousand ways to shoot down his story...but I didn
'
t want to waste my time.

I couldn
'
t see the slightest resemblance in him to me or my father or anyone else in the family. His story didn
'
t hold water
,
because my father had never mentioned going to Kansas City or having another son. Starbulk had come up with my given first name
,
which I kept to myself
,
but it wasn
'
t exactly a secret; it wasn
'
t like he
'
d told me something only a relative could know.

There wasn
'
t a chance he was my long-lost half-brother. Frankly
,
even if there had been
,
I wouldn
'
t have wanted to know about it.

He was irritating enough as a stranger. I
'
d only known him about fifteen minutes
,
and already I wanted to get the hell away from him.

Without saying another word about our supposed brotherhood
,
I turned to Madame Destine.
"
So what was this guy looked like Johnny doin
'
in Harrah
'
s?
"

"
Poker
,
"
said Destine.
"
In the high stakes room.
"

I nodded.
"
Thanks for your help
,
Destine
,
"
I said.
"
Let me know if you see or hear anythin
'
else.
"

"
I will
,
"
Destine said soberly.
"
Please be careful.
"

"
Thanks
,
"
I said
,
and then I turned and charged past Starbulk
,
marching off through the light Tuesday tourist traffic in front of the cathedral.

Starbulk
,
of course
,
followed close behind.