“Why is everyone telling me about the impossible today? It’s difficult, not impossible. Work your channels of influence more aggressively,” the Padre said as he put his arm around the man. “Remember how important he is to me. Money is not an issue.”
“The political pressure will be immense. It’s the bus incident, Padre — no one can forget the bus. I’m not sure if I can get him out, and even if I could, it will take a great deal of time.”
“Senior Gonzalez, you don’t have time,” the Padre said as he looked into the politician’s eyes. “Remember, you work for me. This must be done at once. If you have to, think of something more direct. I can provide anything you might need. Just do it fast. I want to see him soon.”
“Yes, Padre.”
CHAPTER TWO
The Sonesta Royale
Avery and Ziggy collected their belongings from the airport baggage carousel: a small roller bag for Avery and a black plastic lawn sack tied at the top with twine for Ziggy. The skinny hippy was still visibly shaken from the rough landing.
“Like, did we crash, or were we, like, shot down?” Ziggy asked.
“I’m guessing the landing gear failed to deploy properly,” Avery replied. “I plan on suing. I suggest you retain legal counsel for your own benefit.”
“Yeah. Like, good idea, man.”
“Take my bag and follow me. I’m off in search of ground transportation.” Avery strode off toward the nearest taxi stand.
“Like, wait up, dude,” Ziggy replied as he struggled with the roller bag and unwieldy lawn sack.
“Taxi, sir?” the driver at the front of the line of cabs outside baggage claim called out to Avery as he approached the stand.
“Obviously,” Avery replied as he climbed into the back seat of the cab. The cabbie assisted Ziggy with their luggage before they both joined Avery in the car.
“Where you headed?” the cab driver asked as he checked out the two odd-looking characters in the back seat through his rearview mirror.
“The Royal Sonesta. Double time,” Avery replied as he pulled an oversized pair of aviator-style sunglasses from his fanny pack.
“Excellent choice, sir.” The cabbie pulled away from the curb. “First time to New Orleans?”
“Like, yeah, man,” Ziggy replied.
“You’re going to love it,” the cab driver said to Ziggy. “Best food in the world. Got to get you some beignets, some debris, some gumbo. It’s all good.”
“Eyes on the road,” Avery barked to the cabbie as he buckled his seatbelt.
“Don’t you worry,” the cabbie replied. “I’ve been driving cabs in this town for thirty years. I can get you anywhere you want to go with my eyes closed.”
“I’d prefer you kept them open,” said Avery.
“No problem, sir. No problem. My name’s Pappy,” the balding man with a sunburned head said to the two men. “Where you fellows from?”
“Like, Texas,” Ziggy replied.
“Oh, we love y’all folks from Texas. Though you do tend to act the fool down in the Quarter sometimes. Anyways, we love you spending money just the same. Business hasn’t been so good since the hurricane and the oil spill. Anyone coming down now is extra welcome. Here’s my card in case you need anything while you’re here.” The cabbie handed a rumpled handwritten business card to Ziggy. “I know ’bout everyone in town. Pappy can get you whatever you need or to wherever you need to go. The number is on the back.”
“Groovy, man,” Ziggy replied. “You know, like, any good voodoo shops? I, like, got this business back home that…oh, like, no way, man,” Ziggy interrupted himself. “I, like, forgot to put the CLOSED sign up,” Ziggy said dejectedly as he thought of unhappy customers banging on the front door of his curio shop.
“Don’t worry,” Avery said. “There’s more than one head shop in Austin. I’m sure the community will survive your temporary absence.”
“It’s, like, not just a head shop, man,” Ziggy protested. “I’ve got, like, rare artifacts and totally museum- quality type stuff, too.”
“Right. I’m sure the Smithsonian absolutely covets your collection of monkey paws, shrunken heads, and vintage Ouija boards.”
“Oh, I got just the place for you,” Pappy said, looking back at Ziggy. “Stay away from the places in the French Quarter. They’re just for the tourists. But Pappy’s got the real thing for you. Oh, yes, sir. The real thing.”
“Like, right on, man,” Ziggy replied.
“How much farther to our destination?” Avery asked, perturbed.
“Oh, not too far. Hardly any traffic,” Pappy replied. “Just sit back and relax, and let Pappy tell you all about this fine city. See, right over there we got what we in the bayou call a…”
Avery spent the remainder of the ride trying to ignore the impromptu geographic and historical tour from their chatty cab driver. On the other hand, Ziggy hung on the cabbie’s every word. Pappy was still lecturing on the history of the riverboats when they pulled up to the grand hotel in the heart of the French Quarter. Afternoon revelers were already starting to gather on the upstairs balconies that lined the front of the building. Ziggy paid the driver and went to grab the bags. After a moment’s hesitation, he reluctantly allowed the bellman to take their belongings and roll them inside on a cart. By the time Ziggy made it through the lobby and to the reception desk, Avery was already in a heated argument with a hotel staff member.
“I’m very sorry, sir, but we don’t have any record of your reservation,” the front desk receptionist repeated to Avery.
“Impossible!” Avery bellowed. “My reptilian-like associate made them personally. Zigmund, produce the confirmation number immediately! I’m desperately in need of a room and a nap.” Ziggy fished a small slip of paper out of his pocket and recited the sequence to the young receptionist.
“I apologize again, but it doesn’t match any of our records,” the young man replied. “It’s not even the right number of digits.”
“Is there a problem here I may assist with?” the assistant hotel manager, who had just arrived on the scene, asked politely.
“Of course there’s a problem,” Avery huffed. “This imbecile in your employment has massacred our reservation. This will no doubt cost your establishment at least half a star in my travel rating blog.”
“Michael, take a quick break,” the assistant manager said as he perused the handwritten confirmation number. “I see. Give me just a moment. I think I may know what the problem is. Your last name, sir?” He picked up a phone and dialed a number.
“Pendleton. Avery B.”
“Thank you,” the assistant manager replied. “Ah, yes,” he said into the phone after a few moments. “Do you have a reservation for a guest under the name of Pendleton? I see. Yes. Thank you very much.” He hung up the phone. “You see, Mr. Pendleton, this is actually quite common. This is the Royal Sonesta. However, you made your reservation with the Sonesta Royale. It’s not all that far from here, and while I like to take the high road when discussing our competitors, I highly recommend you avoid that particular inn. It’s quite, uh, how would you say? Rather rustic.”
“How rustic?” Avery glared down at Ziggy, who had hidden himself behind his lawn sack.
“Well, suffice to say, the rats are terribly unrefined, the mold on the walls is less than fresh, and running water can only be guaranteed if you have a room on the top floor during a rainstorm. Other than that, it’s a bit unpolished.” Ziggy slunk even lower behind his sack as Avery’s face began to turn purple. “However,” the assistant manager continued, “I may be able to acquire suitable accommodations for you here. Just give me a second.” The man began typing into his reservation computer. “Yes, wonderful,” he announced after a few moments. “We’ve
