The Heavens Rise

him with it, there was no evidence of the blow on Marshall’s face and neck. And there was no evidence of anger in the young man’s contented expression.

“I’m so glad you came, Allen Shire. You see? I have so much to learn, and I’m going to learn it all from you.”

IV ANTHEM

13

NEW ORLEANS

MAY 2013

What the hell are you doing?” Marissa Hopewell shouted. Her voice sounded rain muffled through the iPhone’s tiny speaker, and for a moment, Ben considered hanging up on her and blaming it on a lost connection.

He should have known better than to answer a call from his employer after what he’d just done. But it was instinct, and ever since Marissa had been promoted to editor in chief of Kingfisher a few months before, he had been determined not to take advantage of their long personal history. Still, he had no interest in involving her in the text message he’d received a few minutes earlier.

It was almost ten o’clock, and he was speeding down St. Charles Avenue in his Prius. He was most certainly not sitting in the upstairs balcony at Good Friends across from the complete bore Marissa had set him up with because they were two of the only gay men she knew.

“Well,” he finally answered, “I’m driving and talking on the phone at the same time.”

“Well, that’s fascinating.”

“You’re right. It’s big news for people who think blonds can’t walk and chew gum.”

“Uh huh. How’s your date going, smart mouth?”

“You first, hot stuff.”

“Seriously, Ben. Did you just walk out on Dobie after I—”

“No! Pardon me, I did not just walk out. I excused myself and explained that I had a— Wait, Dobie?”

“Explained that you had a what exactly?”

“His name’s not Davey?”

“Oh my God, Ben.”

“Maybe it’s for the best then.”

“Ben! Do you have any idea how difficult it was to get him to—”

“No, actually. I didn’t realize I was that hard a sell. Jesus Christ!”

“Ben!”

“Should I switch colognes?”

“It was a hard sell because you work for a newspaper and you might have to cover his office one day. But honestly, I might fire you before that ever becomes an issue, so it’s just as—”

“You’d really fire me over a blind date with a guy who admits to listening to One Direction?”

“Where are you going? Dobie says you hightailed it outta there like your pants were on fire.”

“So he was thinking about my pants, huh? Doesn’t sound like it was a total bust then, right?”

“Where are you—”

“Did he actually use those words? The ones about my pants being on—”

“No. He did not. He thanked me for wasting his time and asked me not to fix him up with anyone on my staff ever again.”

“So he was lying when he agreed to a rain check?”

“He was being polite. Which you have never, ever been in your entire life apparently.”

“Yeah, because that’s what Kingfisher needs more of right now. Polite reporters.”

“Watch your mouth, Uptown Girl.”

“Speaking of which, how is your date—”

“You have thirty seconds to tell me where you’re going right now.”

“Well, that’s good, ’cause I’m going to be there in fifteen.”

It was a lie but he hung up on her anyway.

The author of the text messages that had sent Ben Broyard flying through Uptown New Orleans was one Luther Rendell, an NOPD patrol cop with the Second District whom Ben had been cultivating as a contact for years.

The first text had read: Shots fired at Fat Harry’s.

The second, which came just a few seconds later read. & they were fired at yr buddy w. the funny name

•   •   •

St. Charles Avenue was a broad, oak-shaded thoroughfare that gently mirrored the Mississippi River’s crescent path through the city. Along most of its length, it was lined with Greek Revival mansions so beautiful and well maintained that an Oregon native Ben had gone to Tulane with had once asked him if people actually lived in them or if they were all museums. Antique streetcars traversed the street’s broad, grassy neutral ground, islands of segmented light that gave off great lazy rumbles as they traveled the shadowy avenue.

Ben usually avoided Uptown bars like Fat Harry’s. They were too popular with his old high school classmates. Every now and then it was fun to see which former crushworthy varsity athlete and small-time bully had been knocked from his genetic pedestal by a constant diet of fried seafood and Dixie Beer. But an occasional burst of schadenfreude wasn’t worth the risk of an old Cannon student he barely knew dragging him into a conversation about those awful final months of senior year. Anthem Landry felt the exact same way for the exact same reason, which meant that if he’d set foot inside Fat Harry’s at all that night, he’d have been pretty sauced by the time he arrived.

Ben was jogging across the grassy neutral ground when the lights atop the ambulance parked in front of Fat Harry’s spun to life. It peeled off into the night, sirens screaming, revealing the crowd of mostly white college students gathered in front of the bar’s awning and large front windows. Ben had an insane urge to run after the thing, or at the very least, dash back to his Prius so he could pursue. But then he saw Luther Rendell, one of three uniformed cops standing at the edge of the crowd, and when the guy waved him over, Ben stepped out from the path of an approaching streetcar and crossed the street.

“Was that him?” Ben asked, breathless.

“No. That was the other guy,” Rendell answered. He was bantam-framed, with knots of gray hair that looked like steel wool, and as usual he reeked of Camel Lights and gas station coffee.

“The other guy?”

“The one who fired the shots.”

Rendell walked them away him from the crowd. “So apparently your boy Landry—”

“He’s not my boy, but continue.”

“Your friend, ’scuse me. He and the guy with the revolver get into it over the video poker machines and everyone’s watching like it’s not going to go so well for the guy with the revolver. Because they don’t know the guy has a revolver. They just know he’s got a big mouth and your buddy Landry’s about twice his size. About twice everyone’s size, to hear them tell it.” Which meant A-Team was long gone, Ben noted, otherwise Rendell would have seen for himself how tall Anthem actually was.