I spun on my heel, angry at her. Then I turned back and said as gently as I could, “If you need my help, you know my number. Call me anytime.”

Barbara seemed surprised by my offer. I turned away again and got into my car without looking back. Before I drove away, I jotted down the make, model, and license number of Ted’s car. It couldn’t hurt to check him out.

After a few blocks, I saw a convenience store and pulled in. I got a soda, then hit the pay phone in the back to call O’Connor. In a brief, and, considering the less than secure corner I was in, cryptic version, I told him of my truck-driving adventure.

“I got a new magazine with some interesting stuff in it,” I said, as a customer drifted down the aisle. O’Connor tried to ask several questions, but I couldn’t really answer them. Finally, we decided to chance a meeting. Monday was the earliest we could arrange.

“But be sure and call me if anything happens,” O’Connor ended with. “Anything.”

I left the convenience store and headed back to my place.

I had just walked in and hadn’t even decided which direction to go, bathroom or kitchen, when the phone rang.

“Hey, Mick, I owe you some money.” It was Joey. “You interested?”

“More than interested. Just about desperate,” I told him. Desperate women get invited places sanguine women don’t.

“So, I’m hungry. How about the lakefront? You in the mood for seafood?”

“Sounds good. Do you want to meet in the ‘mixed’ parking lot?” I asked. “You know, the one that several restaurants use.”

“Okay, I think I know what you mean. How’ll we find each other?”

“We have distinctive cars, remember?”

Joey snorted out a laugh, and said, “Yeah, we sure do. But I’m glad my car doesn’t have the distinction yours does.” He laughed again.

“If I keep working for you maybe I can change that. See you there in half an hour?”

“Twenty minutes. I’m starving,” he amended.

I agreed and hung up. I made a quick run to the bathroom, brushed my hair, and headed back out the door.

It took me twenty-two minutes to get to the west end of the lakefront where a number of seafood restaurants are located. Joey was leaning against his Porsche, waiting for me.

We haggled for a minute over which restaurant to go to, finally deciding with the flip of a coin. My choice, which I knew to be a better restaurant, won.

The maître d’, assuming us to be a boring straight couple, spoke to Joey and, after seating us, gave him the wine list. Beware of your assumptions,I wanted to tell the maître d’, a woman, no less. This man sells child pornography for a living.Sometimes it’s the small things, the ones you don’t notice until they’re directly in front of you. The maître d’ deferring to Joey and ignoring me, as if it were not only common but acceptable. I wondered what she did with two women diners.

The waiter came and took our drink orders, Joey getting his usual beer and a club soda for me. When the waiter returned with our drinks, Joey ordered the fried seafood platter. I opted for stuffed flounder.

After the waiter was out of earshot, Joey leaned forward and said, “So how much do you think that little jaunt of yours was worth?”

“Oh, I’d guess half a mil,” I replied.

Joey chuckled softly. “How about half-a-K?”

“Sounds good to me.”

He handed me some money. I quickly glanced at it. It appeared to be several hundred dollar bills, some fifties, and a few smaller bills. It looked like five hundred. I stuffed the money in my pocket, not wanting to sit in a restaurant and count out that kind of money on the table.

“Thanks, I needed that,” I said.

“There’s more to be earned.”

“Yeah?” I tried to sound interested.

“Yeah. This is just the start. This next one’s big and there’s a lot of money in it.”

“So where do I fit in?”

“Where do you want to fit in?”

“Near the money.”

“Good. Because that’s where I’ll be. You help me, you’ll stay next to the money.” Joey sat back and took a sip of his beer. He continued, “You know, at first, I didn’t think a girl could do it. Even a queer girl. But then I sat and thought about it. You were pretty tough fronting for Karen. And I thought maybe a girl might be better than a guy.”

I didn’t interrupt Joey and tell him that this “girl” was a woman. My anger gave way to the rational argument that the more preconceived notions I left in place, the less likely that he would ever see who I truly was and what I was really doing.

“So I thought,” Joey was still going, “no one will suspect a girl.”

Of course not, sometimes they don’t even see us.

“If you and I are together, they won’t look at us like two guys and what are we up to. But a guy and a girl, hey, it’s a date. No one expects a girl to be involved in something like this, so it throws them off guard, they got to scramble for how to react. So I figure, hey, this is it. You’re on the road, Joey. You got the gig and you got the angle to take it all the way. So, Mick, you stick with me, and we’ll both have trouble deciding which Porsche to drive today.”

“Guess I’d better stick with you, then,” I answered. Part of me felt contempt, but that was leavened by realizing that Joey was offering me what mattered most to him in the world. He believed he was giving me so great a gift that no one could turn it down. For this to work, I would have to play into Joey’s world, pretend to the point that I actually lived my role and take what he offered to betray him with it.

The waiter brought our dinner.

After a few minutes of eating, Joey surprised me by asking, “You like Zeke?”

“Zeke?”

“Yeah, Zeke. Ol’ bad-back Zeke.”

“A fine fellow. Almost man enough to make me go straight.”

Joey snorted. “Yeah, that’s about what I thought. You know the trick to this game is always keep moving, never stay in the same place.”

“What’s that got to do with Zeke?”

“Zeke don’t know that. He’s gotten real comfortable at Heart’s. Thinks everything’s gonna stay the same. Money always comin’ in and not much work involved.” Joey continued, “At first we needed Zeke a lot. We still need him now, but not so much. Soon we won’t need him at all.”

“I’m not a murderer.”

“Naw, nothing like that.” Joey waved away the thought with his hand. “Zeke takes a bad fall. What if the cops found a couple of them boxes piled up in Zeke’s office? Zeke thinks nothing’s gonna change. He’ll sign off on the next shipment, his name all over everything. Zeke’ll go down and we’ll be gone. With no evidence, who’ll believe him?”

“You’ll have to run his files to get everything out.”

“That’s where you come in.”

“I figured.” I was going to get to do Joey’s dirty work.

“Piece of cake,” Joey assured me. “Late Monday, early Tuesday is the dead time. One rag-ass bartender and the working girls. Walk in, walk out. Zeke’s sloppy, he’s got everything thrown in one big file.”

“It’s still breaking and entering.”

“It’s money. You’ll get paid for what you do.”

If I stole the file, it would be one more thing to turn it over to O’Connor. I nodded.

“Good. You haul another load. Just like you did. Zeke does the paper shit. And then he finds out how quickly things can change.”

“Who gives the order?”

“I do,” Joey said.

“But who gives you the order?”

Joey gave me a sardonic grin, as if he didn’t like being reminded that he wasn’t really the one in charge. “What do you care?” he tossed off. “You work for me.”

“‘Knowledge is power,’” I reminded him.

“And I got it and you don’t.”

I shrugged and half-smiled, letting Joey know that this was a game and he had won this hand. But, as I smiled, I thought, and you, too, Joey, will learn how quickly things change. Even a plea bargain wouldn’t be kind to Joey.

Dinner was slow and drawn out. Joey talked of all the things that money could buy. “Cars in different colors, like women buy friggin’ shoes. And a box at the Dome. I’ll throw a big party every Saints game.”

At some point, as he had still another beer and the plates were cleared away, I asked, “And then what? Once you have that, then what?”

Joey laughed off my question. “Maybe I’ll get rich enough to buy the Saints. But only if they’re winning.” Then he added, “I want to be as rich as Anthony Colombé. Watch people jump when I raise my eyebrow.”

There are richer men than Colombé. But I didn’t say that to Joey, just nodded my head, a pretense of agreement.

It was almost eleven thirty when I said good-bye to Joey in the parking lot. He reminded me to keep Monday free.

I drove along the lake, the lights from the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway bright and unmoving in a night that had become cool and clear. One boat crossed the water, its running lights skimming toward the Causeway, using the shimmering lamps to steer by. For a moment, I longed for something as clear and unmovable as a beacon atop a concrete pillar. But I had no guidance other than what I could discern, my biases and blind spots making that a dim and shadowy path. I turned off the lakefront and headed home.

When I got there, my answering machine was blinking. I ran the tape back, hoping it was Cordelia. And feeling a sharp sting of disappointment when a male voice began talking.

What did Cordelia mean when she said, “I love you,” I wondered angrily. Dropping me when I was no longer convenient or easy? Anger held me for a minute or two more, then I had a vision of her playing back her answering machine, hoping to hear my voice. I almost picked up the phone to call her, but the late hour prevented it. And the slow realization that I couldn’t see what happened next. Did she want me to call so we could be lovers again, or did she want the clear-cut finality of telling me it was over? Indecision and uncertainty returned. Maybe I would call her tomorrow. But the thought was more a wish than a resolve to actually do it.

I hadn’t even heard the message that had played through. I rewound the tape and this time listened to the male voice. “Hello, Ms. Knight…I’m not good with these machines. Anyway, this is Warren Kessler. I’ve got some things that I’d like with talk to you about.” He left his home number, saying that he would be up to around eleven, and then two different work numbers. I jotted down the numbers and erased the tape.

Then I took a long, scrubbing shower. Somehow the dinner with Joey made me feel a need to cleanse myself, as if I could wash off some of his greed and corruption. Or my duplicity.

Chapter 25

Last night’s chill had remained in the air, making crawling from under my covers difficult. The sky was gray, not the gray of rain, but the herald of changing weather, changing seasons.

I ran a hot bath, letting the steamy air fill the bathroom. After last night’s shower, I didn’t really need a bath, but I was cold and the hot water was inviting. And maybe I could wash off a little more of my sense of betrayal.

After the bath, a big mug of coffee was next. Fortified by heat and caffeine, I was ready to face the day. I dialed the first work number Warren Kessler had given me. I got a secretary who sounded as if she were surrounded by attacking Visigoths. I realized that she probably was—schoolchildren out for lunch (or was it recess? My memory of school-day schedules had been blurred by adult reality). After three transfers and as many holds, I was connected to Warren Kessler.

“Hi, this is Micky Knight, returning your call,” I greeted him.

“Hi, thanks. Listen, it’s a zoo here, but I’d like to get together and talk to you. Any chance you might be able to come by this afternoon?”

“There’s a chance. What time would be good?”

“It’s mayhem until the kids are gone. How about my office at four thirty?”

“All right, I’ll see you then.” Phones were ringing in the background and voices were clamoring for attention. Zoo, indeed. We hung up.

The rational part of my brain wondered what Warren Kessler wanted to talk to me about. The irrational part wondered why Cordelia hadn’t called. And why I was so terrified of calling her.

I left a little before four, going out of my way to avoid the CBD and the beginning of rush hour. Without children and parents waiting for them, the school had a quiet, expectant air. The hallway, designed for the crush of bodies between classes, was somber, its promise unfulfilled by my solitary footsteps.

Growing up in bayou country, I had gone to a small school built of clapboard and weathered shingles. It wasn’t until after the death of my father and coming to live with Aunt Greta and Uncle Claude in Metairie that I had gone to a school like this one. Despite the large number of children, I never felt that I fit in with them. I was angry at my father’s death, angry at having to live within the restricted confines of Aunt Greta’s arbitrary rules. Those were the days when children weren’t beaten and incest was a word none of us knew.

I stood for a moment in the hallway, wondering which way to turn. I saw no one to ask where Warren Kessler’s office was. As I stood there, I realized that one of the most profound things that had separated me from those sunny middle-class Metairie children with their comfortable lives was that I was having sex with my cousin. That festering secret built a wall, a boundary about me that I was simply unable to breach. Keeping secrets, powerful, destructive secrets, requires distance and denial, emotions choked and deeply buried, until knowing yourself, your wants and needs, becomes impossible.

For years I had repeated to myself that it hadn’t been so bad. I hadn’t really been hurt, there was no physical damage, as if the only real pain is the kind that bleeds so much that it can’t be hidden.

Alone in this empty hallway, I was a metaphor for the way I felt during those years, aloof and apart. Only now could I realize how deeply the damage had gone. What if I hadn’t felt tainted? What if I hadn’t seen myself as a child seductress, with guilt and shame my constant companions, twisted into believing that if the secret came out, the fault would cling to me? I didn’t make friends, because I always felt I was only a few fragile inches from losing them. If they only knew…

How many of those skewed childhood lessons still haunted me today? That I was fighting my past, I knew. What I was only now realizing was how often I lost to it.

“Can I help you?” A man in baggy overalls carrying a custodian’s broom was coming down the hall.

“I’m looking for the principal’s office.”

“Here to see the principal, huh?” he asked, no hint of humor in his voice. “Down to the end of the hallway, take a right. Can’t miss it.” He continued down the hallway.