The restaurant was an unprepossessing place on St. Louis Street called Antoine's. As the carriage pulled up in front and Longarm, Annie, and Clement got out, Longarm smelled some of the most enticing aromas he had ever encountered floating out the open windows of the building. Inside, the dining room was rather plainly furnished, but the delicious smells were even stronger. The place was busy too, but Longarm and his companions were immediately shown to one of the few empty tables. Moments later, bowls of steaming soup were brought to them, as if they had been expected--as indeed they had been, Clement confirmed a few moments later. 'Annie and I always dine here at least once whenever we are in New Orleans,' he added.
Longarm could understand why. The soup, which had bits of crawfish floating in it, was rich and thick and savory. It was followed by tender veal in sauce, steamed vegetables, and loaves of French bread dripping in melted butter. The bread was crispy on the outside, soft on the inside, and steam rose from it when Longarm took his first bite. He had to admit that everything was good, and he ate heartily. So did Annie and her brother. Longarm found himself watching Anme approvingly. He liked a woman with a good appetite. Everything was washed down with excellent wines, first white, then red, and by the time the meal was over, Longarm was feeling pleasantly stuffed.
He stifled a groan as he stood up to leave with Annie and Clement. Both of them had packed away as much food and drink as he had, but neither seemed to be feeling any ill effects. Longarm could have used a nap.
He came fully awake as they got back into the carriage and headed for Gallatin Street, however. No longer was he indulging himself, although he seemed as relaxed as ever. Now he was working again, and inside, every nerve was alert.
The carriage turned from St. Louis Street onto Decatur and headed along the river, past the Pontalba Apartment Buildings with their luxurious accommodations, past Jackson Square with its memorial statue of Old Hickory, and along the rear of the old French Market before jogging to the right into Gallatin Street itself.
Longarm had seen places like it before: Front Street in Abilene during the days of Wild Bill Hickok, Allen Street in Tombstone, Ferguson Street in Cheyenne. It was an area of saloons, gambling dens, whorehouses, dance halls, pawnshops, and seedy offices used by businessmen who were no more honest than they had to be. Women in frilly nightclothes leaned over the balcony railings of the buildings the carriage passed, calling to potential customers on the street below. Men stood on corners, hawking goods that were undoubtedly stolen. Dark-mouthed alleys opened frequently from the street, and the noises that came from them gave ample warning that it would not be wise to venture down them alone. Longarm glanced in one window as they passed and saw a redheaded woman standing there nude, her lush body on display in the light of a lantern that hung above her head. Her breasts were large, the nipples rouged, and one hand was between her legs as she caressed herself. Annie was looking in the same direction, but if she saw the lewd spectacle, she gave no sign of it.
'Ah, here we are,' Clement announced a few moments later. 'The Brass Pelican.'
The outside of the gambling club appeared to be better kept up than many of the buildings in the area. It was a low brick structure with a pair of whitewashed columns flanking the heavy entrance door. Above the door, mounted on an iron rod that protruded from the building, was the statue that gave the club its name. Longarm had to admit that the sculpture was an accurate rendering of a pelican. The bird's wings were lifted, as if it was ready to take off, but its long legs were still curled underneath its body. The huge beak was pointed down at the short flagstone walk leading to the entrance, and the pelican appeared to be casting a skeptical eye at the patrons who passed back and forth beneath it.
Clement stepped down from the carriage first, followed by Longarm. Longarm hesitated, unsure whether or not he should offer his hand to Annie or allow her brother to assist her down. She held out both hands as she stepped through the carriage door, however, so both Longarm and Clement had one to grasp. She linked arms with them and walked between them up to the door of the Brass Pelican.
A huge black man wearing a uniform similar to that of the doorman at the St. Charles Hotel was on duty there. He greeted the newcomers with a broad smile and said, 'Good evenin', Mr. Clement, suh. And to you as well, ma'am.'
'Good evening, Luther,' replied Clement. 'This is Mr. Parker. He's our guest for the evening.'
'Yes, suh.' The doorman nodded respectfully to Longarm. 'How do, Mr. Parker.'
Longarm returned the man's nod, then walked into the club with Annie and her brother as Luther opened the door. The sound of someone playing a piano quite loudly came to Longarm's ears, which was no surprise. Just about every saloon and gambling joint in the world had a piano player, no matter where it was. In this case, though, the fella pounding on the ivories actually seemed to have some musical talent, and the piano itself was almost in tune. That was pretty rare.
The air was thick with noise. The music, the laughter of women, the clatter of the roulette wheel and the rattle of dice, the almost prayerful words of the gamblers as they called on this spin of the wheel or this throw of the dice to come out in their favor for a change, the exultant shouts and the bitter curses when the outcome of the play was determined ... it was all familiar to Longarm. He had heard it in a hundred saloons, in a hundred different towns. And the smells were the same too. Tobacco, whiskey, spilled beer, cheap perfume, unwashed human flesh. Not really a pleasant odor, but one to which a man could become accustomed, and a part of him would miss it all, the noise and the stink both, whenever he found himself in a place that was quiet and clean and well lighted.
Longarm put a cheroot in his mouth and clamped his teeth down on it. A place like this always made him feel as if he had just come home.
Most of the big main room was taken up with gambling tables and apparatus, he saw as he looked around. But there was a tiny dance floor, as Annie had mentioned earlier in the day, tucked away in the left rear corner. A mahogany bar ran down the right-hand side of the room, and at the end of it was a door that no doubt led into some back rooms where other business was conducted.
Standing at the end of the bar near the door was a tall, burly man whose head was as hairless as a billiard ball. He wasn't old, however. Longarm judged the man's age to be about the same as his own. He wore a dark, conservative suit that might have belonged to a banker or a lawyer instead of a saloonkeeper and proprietor of a gambling den. He chewed on a long, fat cigar and toyed with an empty shot glass as his eyes surveyed the place, constantly on the move. Longarm didn't have to be told who he was. The bald man's attitude alone was enough for Longarm to peg him as Jasper Millard.
Sure enough, as soon as he had checked his hat and cape, Paul Clement headed straight for the bald man, leaving Longarm and Annie to follow him across the crowded room. Clement raised a hand in greeting, and even over the clamor, Longarm heard him say, 'Good evening, Jasper! Busy night tonight.'
'Always,' grunted Millard as Longarm and Annie came up to join him and Clement. 'The Good Lord willing, it'll stay that way.' He looked at Longarm with shrewd, dark eyes. 'Who's your new friend?'
Longarm stuck out his hand, and without waiting for Clement to introduce him, he said, 'Name's Custis Parker,
