From what Ava said, it looked like Gabby had found her latest victim.
Lucy positioned Ava in a chair at Wanda’s workstation so she could perform her magic on the depressed middle-aged woman.
The more she thought about Ava’s situation, the madder Lucy got. She’d thought she’d left her old lifestyle, the wild, gypsy-like part of herself, back in Tupelo.
New Orleans was supposed to be a fresh start.
But an ember, long smothered, flared back to life. The part of her nicknamed Voodoo Lucy whispered in her ear. You can fix this.
“Ms. Ava, is it worth five grand?” Lucy asked without blinking. “You know—to have this woman out of your life?”
Ava snapped out of her drunken stupor. “Make it happen,” she said.
CHAPTER FOUR
The apartment was quiet except for the sounds of a saxophone playing “Gentle on My Mind” coming from the street corner. Slim Jim, as people called him, set up shop at night and played soft tunes for tips till the early hours of the morning. It was when Slim Jim was taking a break that Lucy heard a crash come from Vivien’s room. Something had hit the floor, maybe a lamp. Then Vivien screamed.
Lucy charged downstairs. Grabbing a knife from the kitchen, she rushed down the hall and pushed the bedroom door open, catching a glimpse of a man leaving through the bedroom’s side door that opened onto the alleyway. Vivien was sitting on the floor propped against the bed, holding the right side of her face.
Lucy helped Vivien onto the bed and got her a cold compress. From the redness and swelling, it was apparent Vivien had taken a forceful blow.
Lucy’s hand shook as she pressed an ice pack to the swelling. Vivien had become a dear friend. “Vivien, who did this?”
“Picklehead.”
“Who?”
“He works for Felipe. Picklehead was my last caller for the night. He stiffed my girl. Then got into it with me. I sent her home and dealt with him myself.”
“Not such a good idea,” Lucy said.
Between sniffles and blowing her nose, Vivien explained that Felipe had demanded an increase to four hundred a week for protection, claiming Vivien’s business was exceptional and she should pay more. Vivien had let her guard down, allowing Picklehead in after hours. Once he got what he wanted from her working girl, he delivered Felipe’s message.
“I should have never confronted him without my gun,” Vivien said. “I know better.”
Lucy fetched a glass of water for her from the kitchen. “Who is this Picklehead?”
“Local strong-arm for the gang. Real name is Pete Hayward. His head is kind of elongated, and he has severe scarring on his face from acne. That’s why folks call him Picklehead.”
Lucy secured the door to the alleyway and tucked Vivien into bed, her determination to deal with Felipe growing. If she was going to make this place home, she wasn’t going to live in fear, and neither were her friends.
The next morning, Lucy came down the steps to the smell of French Market coffee brewing. Vivien was in the kitchen making breakfast, like she did most mornings.
“Good morning,” Vivien said in her usual upbeat voice.
Lucy glanced at her swollen cheek and a black eye. “Vivien, I was thinking—”
Vivien cut her off. “If it’s about last night—let it go. I’m fine. I’m going to pay him. It’s the price of doing business.” She dished up her breakfast and took a seat the kitchen table.
Lucy poured Vivien a cup of coffee, then sat and held her hand from across the table. “We can stop this craziness. You can’t continue to let him run your life. You’re living in fear.”
Vivien smiled. “Oh, honey, I’m fine. It’s a misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding!” Lucy blurted.
Vivien’s sunny demeanor changed like someone had flipped a switch. “Let it go! Am I clear?” Her lips pressed into a thin, hard line.
“Very clear.” Lucy slammed the coffee cup down. It was best to take her morning walk down Royal Street rather than stay and get into a no-win argument with Vivien.
As she walked the French Quarter, Lucy couldn’t stop picturing the damage to Vivien’s face, couldn’t stop reliving those heart-stopping moments when she’d been clutching a knife and running to Vivien’s aid. What if she’d arrived moments earlier? What if she’d fought Picklehead?
And now Vivien was trying to shrug the whole thing off and pretend it was nothing. Vivien was no different from an abused wife. Blaming herself and believing it was her fault. No different from Lucy’s own mother, sporting a shiner after Lucy’s father had come home drunk.
Lucy took a deep breath, shoving her emotions into a dark place inside her. The place she kept all her secrets.
She’d figure out a way to get rid of Felipe and his thugs, whether Vivien liked it or not.
Walking briskly through the streets, Lucy smiled at store owners as they opened their doors for the start of a new day.
One of her favorite places to stop was Royal Antiques. They sold fine china, crystal lamps, furniture, and many quality items from estate sales. She admired an armoire on display that reminded her of the fine furniture Mr. Vic made in his wood shop.
On her days off, she often roamed the ground floor of the salon building where the building’s owner, Mr. Vic, worked. He rented out most of the building to the salon and some apartments, keeping a small portion for his furniture business. Fascinated with his skill as a craftsman, Lucy often watched him make solid cedar furniture with not much more than a saw, a chisel, and sandpaper. She’d sucked up every detail when he’d showed her how he made a tongue and groove corner of a
