City of Night

Aubrey said, “That was all bogus. Your dad didn’t turn. He was a good cop to the end.”

“I know. But thanks for saying it, Aubrey.”

When he cocked his head in the sun hat, he looked like Truman Capote in ladies-going-to-lunch drag. “You telling me you know who really waxed him and your mom?”

“Yeah,” she lied.

“Just who pulled the trigger or who ordered it to be pulled?”

“We’re at the top of the food chain with this guy,” she said.

Looking at Michael, Aubrey said, “So when you punch his ticket, it’s going to be big news.”

Staying mostly mute and playing half dumb had worked well for Michael. He shrugged.

Aubrey wasn’t satisfied with a shrug. “You’ll probably be killed doing this.”

“Nobody lives forever,” Michael said.

“Lulana says we all do. Anyway, this is O’Connor’s vengeance. Why should you die for it?”

“We’re partners,” Michael said.

“That’s not it. Partners don’t commit suicide for each other.”

“I think we can pull it off,” Michael said, “and walk away.”

A sly smile robbed the old man’s pinchable face of its previous innocence. “That’s not it, either.”

Grimacing, Carson said, “Aubrey, don’t make him say it.”

“I just need to hear something that makes his commitment believable.”

“This isn’t going to snap back on you,” she promised.

“Maybe, maybe not. I’m almost convinced. I know your motive, darlin’. His, I want to hear.”

“Don’t say it,” Carson warned Michael.

“Well, he already knows,” Michael said.

“That’s the point. He already knows. He doesn’t need to hear you say it. He’s just being a pissant.”

“Now, darlin’, don’t hurt old Aubrey’s feelings. Michael, why in blazes would you want to do this?”

“Because—”

“Don’t,” said Carson.

“—I love her.”

Carson said, “Shit.”

Aubrey Picou laughed with delight. “I am a fool for romance. You give me your cell-phone number, and the man with the goods will call you inside two hours, to tell you how and where.”

“Aubrey Picou, I should make you eat these roses,” Carson said, shaking the French Perfume and the Black Velvet in his face.

“Seeing as how they’ve been flavored by your sweet hands, I suspect I’d like the taste.”

She threw the roses on the ground. “For that, you owe me one. I want to borrow the money to pay for the guns.”

Aubrey laughed. “Why would I do that?”

“Because we once saved your life. And I don’t have several thousand stuffed in a sock.”

“Darlin’, I’m not a man with a reputation for generosity.”

“That’s part of what Lulana’s been trying to tell you.”

He frowned. “This makes me more of a party to it.”

“Not if the loan is on a handshake. No paperwork.”

“I don’t mean legally. I mean morally.”

Michael thought his hearing had failed. The word couldn’t have been morally.

“Just making the connection for the deal isn’t so bad,” Aubrey said, “ ‘cause I’m not taking a commission, I make nothing from it. But if I finance it, even interest-free…”

This clearly surprised Carson. “Interest-free?”

“Seems like I’ve got some responsibility that way.” Under his big floppy hat, he now looked more worried than absurd. “This Jesus guy is scary.”

“Scary?”

“I mean, if he’s half as real as Lulana says—”

“Half as real?”

“—then you have to think consequences.”

“Aubrey,” Carson said, “no offense, but considering the way you’ve lived your life, I don’t think scary old Jesus is going to make a big issue out of you loaning me money for this.”

“Maybe not. But I’ve been trying to change the kind of person I am.”

“You have?”

Aubrey took off his hat, wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief, and at once put the hat on again. “They all know who I used to be, but Lulana, Evangeline, and Moses — they treat me with respect.”

“And it’s not because they’re afraid you might have them kneecapped.”

“Exactly right. It’s amazing. They’ve all been so nice to me for no reason, and after a while I sort of wanted to be nice to them.”

“How insidious,” Michael said.

“It is,” Aubrey agreed. “It really is. You let people like that into your life — especially if they also make good pie — and the next thing you know, you’re giving money to charities.”

“You haven’t really,” Carson said.

“Sixty thousand this year already,” Aubrey said sheepishly.

“No way.”

“The orphanage desperately needed repairs, so somebody had to step up and fill their soup pot.”

“Aubrey Picou helping an orphanage,” Michael said.

“I’d be obliged if you don’t tell anyone about it. I’ve got a reputation to protect. The old crowd would think I’ve gone soft or senile.”

“Your secret’s safe with us,” Carson promised.

Aubrey’s expression brightened. “Hey, what about this — I’ll just give you the money, no loan at all. You use it for whatever you need, and one day when you’re more flush, you don’t give it back to me, you give it to some charily you like.”

“You think that’ll fool Jesus?” Michael asked.

“It should,” Aubrey said, pleased with himself. “Anyway, it would be like if I gave a bunch of money to a school for the deaf and the school principal skimmed a little off the top and used the skim to pay for a three-way with two hookers.”

“Do you follow this?” Michael asked Carson.

“It’s too metaphysical for me.”

“The point is,” Aubrey said, “the skim and the hookers wouldn’t be my fault just because I gave money to a school for the deaf.”

“Instead of paying back what you lend me, you want me to give it to a school for the deaf?” Carson asked.

“That would be nice. Just remember, what you do with it in the meantime, you have to answer for.”

“You’ve become a real theologian,” Michael said.

Chapter 18

After the body of William, the butler, and all of his severed fingers had been removed from the mansion by two men from the Hands of Mercy, the head housekeeper, Christine, and the third-floor maid, Jolie, cleaned up the blood in the hallway.

Erika knew that as the mistress of the house, she should not get down on her knees and help. Victor would not approve.

Because class distinctions prevented her from assisting, she did not know what to do; therefore, she stood by