maybe,” was Anton Eugene's last suggestion on the day they'd returned his buffalo hearts to him.
The music at the Blue Heron was ear-wrenchingly loud, wonderful for private conversation. It was also a terrific place to meet old friends and make new friends in more ways than one. It wasn't unusual for Thommie Whiley, a.k.a. Mademoiselle Marie Dumond, to be approached by a stranger, but seldom one as good-looking as the one across the table from him now. He thought it a little quirky, the way their conversation had gone from the drinks the guy had bought him and the band to a dead guy he'd known only briefly a year ago, a guy named Victor Surette. He wondered if the pickup was a ruse, if this guy was an undercover cop or something, looking for dirt among the gay and transvestite world of the French Quarter; the guy knew immediately, even though Thommie was in full regalia as Marie, that he was hitting on a cross-dresser, as if he had some sixth sense about such matters.
But suddenly all such suspicion was put at bay when the guy said, “I'm Vicki Surette's brother, EmanueL”
“ His what?”
“ You didn't know he had a brother?”
“ No, I swear, I had no idea…”
“ I'm surprised; you might've guessed. Look closely, the high cheekbones.”
Their conversation was fimneled through the cacophony of noise coming from the band, the wailing sounds of Janis Joplin and Judy Garland wannabes and female impersonators, live on stage, the house packed so full that to communicate you had to shout, yet no one could possibly overhear any single conversation, unless the table were perhaps bugged-and even then it would take a sound expert to clarify the words from the cascade of gibberish all around them. But somehow Thommie Whiley could hear every word spoken by the guy who'd asked to buy him a drink, the guy now claiming to be Victor Surette's brother, Emanuel.
“ Well, I heard a guy took his apartment soon after his death,” Thommie said, “but no… I never knew you were his brother, no… and nobody around here seems to know anything about you either.”
Thommie glanced about the room, his fake eyelashes catching everyone's attention. “Vic… he never spoke about you either, man. Said his family pretty much disowned him. Did say they had money, but that was all.”
The other man giggled lightly. “He wasn't always proud of me or the rest of the family. Look…look closely, around my eyes, the cheekbones, the way my lips are always pouting.” He posed for Thommie. “Now you see the resemblance, don't you? Don't you see it?”
The noise of band and screaming performers filtered in one ear. “Yeah, now you mention it… yeah, you do look a little like Vic.”
“ He never liked being called that, Vic, you know. Never really liked Victor either. He preferred Vicki or Victoria, but never Vic… never.”
“ Yeah, you're right about dat; he surely didn't like being called Vic, no. He sorta put up with me calling him Vic, though.”
“ He was tolerant of others.”
“ Yeah, he was… and he was really a sweet guy, really. I loved him for that.”
“ You loved him?”
“ Yeah, anybody would,” Thommie said.
“ You took a piece of his heart, didn't you?”
“ Yeah, you could say that, but he took a piece of mine too. It works both ways, but you probably know that, right?”
“ Took his sweet heart and you broke it, I'll just bet.” He puckered and feigned a kiss at the air, and this excited Thommie.
“ Well, it was an amicable split, actually. You see, we both wanted out of the relationship. You know how it gets a little too heavy at times, so you back off s all.”
“ Broke his heart according to his diary.”
“ He say that in his diary?”
“ That and more, yes.”
“ I'm not so sure I want you or anyone else reading about me in Vic's-Vicki's diary. Cops couldn't find it. How'd you get it? Fact of the matter is, the cops didn't ever say a word about you either.” Thommie's natural suspicions reignited.“They didn't know about me.” Emanuel drank from his pink drink, shrugging at the same time. Even his shrug was alluring, coquettish, Thommie thought. “And as for the diary, well, Vicki sent it to me a few days before his horrible death, almost as if… as if he knew, as if he'd had some sort of strange premonition, you know?”
“ Did he say anything about a premonition?”
“ No, never.”
“ Not even in the diary?” Thommie was curious. He thought hard on Vicki Surette's face and recalled it with great fondness. He was so gentle, meek even in bed. The meek shall inherit the earth, he silently chanted. “So, you didn't at first know-that is, hear about his death?”
“ Not until I came to visit, no.”
“ God, that must've been tough. Getting it in the face like that, I mean.”
“ Learned it from the landlord of his building,” Emanuel almost sniffled.
“ So what're you doing now? Staying on in the Big Easy? Sorta doing your own thing?”
“ Sorta conducting my own, you know, unofficial investigation, if you want to know the whole story?” Emanuel's lips were large and full and sensuous, Thommie thought, the more so when he spoke.
“ Gee, that's kinda neat, like in the movies or something, kinda romantic in a way. But don't the cops notify next of kin?”
“ How could they? He was living under an assumed identity. His family would have nothing to do with him. He was completely cut off, alone, except for his lovers… except for you and the others.”
Thomas Whiley dropped his gaze. There was so much fire in this guy's eyes, so much pent-up energy. He did remind Thommie of Victor Surette; he brought back old memories which had haunted Thommie on and off since Victor was found mutilated a year ago.
“ Well I guess you read the papers,” Thommie said. “You know about the others since your brother, don't you… others like us found murdered?”
“ Their hearts dug out of them with some kind of nasty carving knife, yeah… I know all about it now. I've been interviewed by the cops, a million questions about Victor's friends, acquaintances.”
“ Did you give 'em the diary?”
“ Yeah, sure… soon as they asked for it. But I kept some of the information, like about where you live and where you hang.”
“ Jesus, you don't think I had anything to do with Vic's getting killed, do you? The cops talked to me; they must've told you I'm in the clear.”
“ They're actually worried about you, Thommie.”
“ Worried? What a ya mean?”
“ They think whoever's doing this Jack-the-Ripper number could come after you too.” Thommie shook his head slowly from side to side, his mouth for the moment not working. Finally, he squeezed out his thoughts. “I… me, no… nobody's getting me like that, no way.”
“ Whoever this maniac is, Thommie, he likes sweethearts like you. Frankly, I can see why.”
“ Whataya mean by that?”
Thommie felt Emanuel's hand rising to his groin below the table. After a brief massage, Emanuel said in a heaving voice, “I wouldn't mind digging around a little for your tender heart myself, Mademoiselle Dumond.”
Thommie smiled coyly and leaned in over the table, asking, “Why, sir, what are your intentions?”
“ Strictly dishonorable, madame, I can assure you.”
“ Then maybe I'll take a piece of your heart too.”
“ Hey, you've got some line, Marie.”
“ So do you, Emanuel. Pretty name, Emanuel…”
“ So's Marie… I much prefer Marie to Thommie.”
“ Really? Good ol' sweet-tassled Vic…Vicki, in a way it's like he's working from the grave, you know?”
Emanuel looked strangely at him, eyes questioning.
