The Art of Sin (27 page)

Chapter 23

     Located on Royal Street, in the heart of the French Quarter, the New Orleans Police Department Eighth District Station was more like an antebellum home than a place for law officers. The Greek Revival building had white Corinthian columns surrounding a yellow plaster exterior, and a white post-railing on the roof, detailed with ornamental urns.

     Grady browsed the building and then the assortment of police cars and motorcycles parked out front. He thought it almost a shame that something as grand and elegant as that old building would be home to those who spent their careers wrestling with the ugliness of the city. It was as if the buildings of New Orleans, with their unique beauty, hid the real secrets of those who inhabited them. Stashing away a multitude of sins behind romantic balconies, charming doorways, and enchanting decorative facades, only added to the mystique of the Big Easy.

     “Right on time,” a man’s craggy voice called to Grady.

     Glancing to his right, Grady spied Detective Villere sporting a casual brown blazer and khaki pants. A brown belt held in his wide girth and also showed off his shiny gold badge.

     “I saw you from my office window,” the detective revealed, pointing to a window to his right. “Come inside.”

     Once they entered the thick glass doors, a whir of activity greeted Grady. Police officers—some dressed in their uniformed blues and some in street clothes—scurried around a large main floor. There were glass partitions along the edges of the room, allowing visual access to all of the offices. On the main floor were an assortment of metal desks laid out in rows, where uniformed officers fielded phone calls.

     “I’m over here,” Detective Villere said, motioning to his right.

     Grady followed him to the small office.

     “Kind of makes it hard to have any privacy.” Grady waved at the glass office walls.

     “They designed it that way. I guess the city wanted to make sure we were doing our jobs.” The detective went to a standard issue metal desk—no different from the ones on the central floor. He picked up a brown manila folder, opened it, and placed it before a black and gray metal chair in front of the desk. “Look these over and see if you recognize anyone,” he directed.

     Grady moved closer to the desk and had a seat. He began carefully examining six mug shots, stapled to the inside of the folder. At first, none of the faces looked familiar, and Grady was about to turn to the detective when something about one of the pictures caught his eye.

     The face was of a very young man with coffee-colored skin and a round, almost cherubic-looking face, but it was the eyes that resonated with Grady. It was the same terrified look he had seen in the eyes of the assailant that night. He stared at the picture and slowly other details about his very young assailant came back to him.

     After a few more seconds, he pointed to the mug shot. “That’s him.”

     Detective Villere checked the mug shot. “You’re sure?”

     “I remembered the look in his eyes. It’s the same as the kid in that mug shot. It’s the same guy.”

     The detective picked up the folder. “That’s the kid we have in custody.” He shut the folder. “Now that we have a positive ID, we can get him to talk.”

     “Talk about what?”

     “If he knows he was identified, he’ll probably be willing to tell us who gave him the gun, hoping that will lessen his jail time.”

     Grady sat back in his chair. “Does all of this ever get to you?” He waved his hand over the desk. “I can’t imagine doing this for a living.”

     “Funny, I can’t imagine doing what you do for a living. With me, I’m getting satisfaction by getting bad guys off the streets and keeping people safe. What do you get from your job?”

     Grady ignored the question. “How would putting Matt Harrison away give you satisfaction?”

     The detective shrugged. “Personally, I like the hell out of Matt. Professionally, he makes my skin crawl. However, it’s who he hangs out with that really interests me.”

     “Can you really separate your personal feelings from your professional ones?”

     The detective rested his hip against his desk and folded his arms over his ample belly. “When you dance with those women on the stage, do you keep your professional feelings for them separate from your personal feelings?”

     Grady was about to answer when he thought of his dance with Al. It was the one time when his personal feelings and professional feelings had melded into one.

     “I used to think I could, but lately ….”

     “Then, my friend, it’s time for you to get out of that game. When your professional life clashes with your personal life, you’re going to have to give up one or the other. If you don’t, you’ll be miserable with both.”

     Grady stood from his chair. “That’s worth thinking about.”

     The detective moved away from his desk toward the open office door. “You’re a bright man, Grady Paulson. I did some checking up on you. BA in finance from Yale, upper management at Lehman Brothers; you were going somewhere. I think you could get back on track, if you found your melch.”

     “My what?”

     “Melch: the thing that makes it all worthwhile.” Detective Villere smiled and placed his hand over his chest. “For me, it’s my wife and kids. They are what I go home to every night that makes all I go through here bearable.” He paused. “So, who do you go home to?”

     “Haven’t had a home to go to in a while,” Grady divulged.

     Detective Villere held out his hand. “I hope you find one soon, Grady.”

     Grady shook his hand. “We’re done?”

     “All done,” Detective Villere confirmed. “Let me know where you end up, in case we need to speak with you again.”

     “I will.” Grady moved toward the door.

     “And Grady?” the detective called to him.

     Grady turned to see the detective looking out a window to Royal Street. 

     “Good luck with the girl,” he added.

     “What girl?”

     Detective Villere just smiled and shook his head.

     Grady walked out the door of the Eighth District Police Station and observed the bustling French Quarter around him. The warm air held a myriad of enticing aromas wafting up from Brennan’s Restaurant on the next block. He was about to step from the curb when he spotted a red BMW 325i parked next to the police station entrance. Curious, he took a step closer, but quickly discovered the car was empty. Shaking his head and disappointed by the flurry of hope in his gut, he was about to turn away from the car when he heard a woman’s musical voice behind him.

     “I was told I could find you here.”

     Grady slowly spun around.

     Al was standing by the curb, her blonde hair flowing about her shoulders, wearing a pair of green scrubs and holding a brown paper bag in her hand.

     His heart momentarily thrilled at seeing her. Then Grady remembered how she had pushed him away, and his resolve hardened against her. “What are you doing here?”

     “I thought we should talk. I think there are some things we should settle between us.”

     Grady surveyed the smattering of people strolling along the sidewalks on either side of the street. “Who told you where I was?”

     “Uncle Matt. I called the club looking for you and he picked up the phone. We chatted for a while … mostly about you.”

     “I’ll bet that was an interesting conversation,” he mumbled.

     “The reason I’m here is because I need to give you something.”               

     Grady took a step closer to the curb. “What do you need to give me, Allison?”

     She held up the paper bag in her hand. “I got you these from the French Market.”

     Grady pointed to the bag. “What is it?”

     “Strawberries.”

     He eased in front of her. “Why are you bringing me strawberries?”

     “To tell you how I’m sorry I am about all the things I said … and that you were right about Geoff. He was a proud peacock.” She rolled her eyes. “He fired me today.”

     Grady fought to keep his smug grin in check. “Did he?”

     “He said his wife wanted him to work with only male anesthetists.”

     Grady took the bag of strawberries from her. “What brought that on?”

     “I’m not sure. I went into work this morning and he called me into his office. He just gave me his keys to my place and said it was over.”

     Grady put the bag behind his back, eyeing her reaction. “How do you feel about that?”

     “Relieved,” Al sighed. “He also told me he would make sure the note on my house was signed over to me. No strings attached.”

     “I’m glad for you,” Grady admitted, keeping the emotion from his voice. “I know how much you love your home.”

     “Now you and the others don’t have to move out. With Geoff no longer holding my purse strings, I can stay in the rental business.”

     Grady cast his eyes to the street. “Well then, you can find a new tenant for my place. I’ve decided to head back out on the road. I’ll be leaving next week.”

     “You weren’t going to tell me?”

     His eyes veered back to her. “I was going to slip a note under your door.” He held up his right pinkie. “But I figured it would be safer to just leave my keys and my excuses with Suzie.”

     They stood for a few uncomfortable minutes as the sound of the French Quarter surrounded them. There were a million things Grady wanted to say, but he said nothing as his grip on his bag of strawberries tightened.      

     Finally breaking their agonizing silence, Al waved at the police station. “Did they find the guy who shot Doug?”

     Grady pulled the bag of strawberries from behind him and brushed out the creases he had made in the bag. “Yeah, it was a fifteen-year-old kid. They’ll probably need me to come back to testify at a hearing.”

     Al took a step closer to him. “Maybe when you come back the watermelons will be out.”

     “Maybe so.” He held up the bag. “Thank you for these.” Grady made a move to leave when she stopped him.

     “I was hoping we could at least be friends.”

     That familiar burn in his gut for her sparked to life, but he refused to give in to it. “I can’t be friends with you. I can’t go backwards. There’s been too much between us.”

     She inched closer. “I know that, but I was hoping you would give me another chance.” Al came right up to him. “I was wrong, Grady. Wrong to turn to Geoff, wrong to not trust my feelings for you, and wrong to let you slip away.”  

     The pain of her rejection was still fresh in his heart, but intermingled with it was a glimmer of hope that maybe all was not lost. “What feelings for me?”

     She smiled and his defenses crumbled. “The ones I have been denying since the moment you hit on me in the French Market.”

     He studied her gray eyes, weighing her sincerity. “I didn’t hit on you.”

     “Of course you hit on me, Grady. It was obvious. That line about—”

     “Fine, I hit on you. Let’s get back to the part where you were going to tell me how you feel about me.”

     She ran her hand up his T-shirt. “So you admit you liked me from the beginning, too?”

     “At this particular moment, I’ll admit to anything.” He dipped his head to her. “Just tell me how you feel. I need to hear it.”

     “How I feel?” Al caressed his cheek. “For the first time in my life, I feel alive, completely alive with you, Grady Paulson. If you go, I’m afraid I’ll disappear into my empty life and never know that sensation ever again. If you stay … well, I think we might just have a chance at happiness together. What do you say?”

     “Are you sure you want a future with me? I want you, Allison, but I want all of you … I don’t want to win you by default.”

     “You’re first in my heart Grady, then, now, and always.” She stood back from him, wearing that wonderful grin that always got to him. “Besides, I always hated peacocks. They’re way too noisy, and they like to peck at your shoes.”

     His reservations retreating, he shook his head at his inability to resist her. “Where did you learn that about peacocks?”

     Al stepped back to the curb.  “The zoo, naturally.” She went to the driver’s side door of her red car. “Get in,” she instructed.

     Grady moved toward the passenger side door. “Where are we going?”

     “To talk about our future together.” 

     “What if I don’t want to talk?” he pressed, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

     She eyed the police station next to the car. “We could take the opportunity to explore another one of my fantasies. You ever had sex in a police station?”               

    
Laughing, Grady opened his car door. “Get in and take me home before you get us both arrested.”

     “You don’t want to try?”

     He saw her standing next to the car, the light breeze dancing in her hair, and suddenly he knew he would never leave her. He couldn’t. Like the crusty Detective Villere had suggested, he needed to find the thing that made his life worthwhile. In that instant, Grady knew he had found his melch. Without Al, he was lost.