“I’m afraid so, ma’am,” Johnny said.
“Doesn’t matter if Felipe’s in jail or out. He’s reached beyond the prison walls already. His girlfriend or bitch just came by and threatened me. They have matching tattoos.”
“Hummingbirds?” Zack asked.
“That’s right.”
Zack exchanged a look with Johnny, then turned to Lucy. “It’s a gang thing. Means she got her wings.”
“Her wings?”
Johnny sipped his coffee and rolled his eyes at Zack. “Tell her—she has a right to know.”
Zack hesitated. “Means she killed someone. Did the wings have color?”
“Yes, blue and red. Is that a good thing?”
“No. It means she’s killed multiple times,” Zack said.
Lucy’s blood boiled and her face burned. Something had to be done. Running wasn’t the answer. “What do you need from me?”
Zack laid out a plan. The District Attorney of Orleans Parish had filed a pretrial motion. With Lucy’s testimony, there was a good chance another judge would rule in the prosecutor’s favor and reject Felipe’s bond.
“What time is court tomorrow?” Lucy asked.
“Ten in the morning,” Zack said. “I’ll send a female cop to spend the night.”
Lucy thought about the night callers. “No, I don’t want some woman cop babysitting me.” Then she added, “Whether he’s in jail or out, I’m still at risk.”
Zack nodded. “I understand, but it’s still best if he’s locked up.”
“If I’m not dead—pick me up at nine.” She gave a slight smile. “Let’s put this asshole away forever.”
Zack told Lucy he’d call in a few favors and accomplish what the DA’s office couldn’t or didn’t want to do. He’d get some true blue cops to make extra patrols down Royal Street and get one unit to sit in front of the salon that night.
She might lose a night caller or two as a result, but the police presence would be worth it. When the detectives left, Lucy returned to the salon. She was quickly engaged by Ava Weber and introduced to Margo, the woman who’d shared her problem with Ava. Ava insisted that Lucy talk to Margo, so Lucy took the woman by the hand and walked her to the tarot card table.
Margo spoke for ten minutes, but never mentioned her problem. Frustrated, Lucy shut her down. “Please get to the point,” she said, flipping tarot cards and moving them around the table at random.
“My daughter is dating a guy, and I want him gone,” Margo whispered.
“Let’s make this clear. I can’t get the guy out of your daughter’s life, like in gone forever,” Lucy said, giving her a wink, an added touch she’d learned from Vivien. “You understand.”
“I understand.” Margo winked. “How much?”
Lucy sized her up much like a man would. A linen suit, silk blouse, and draped in fine jewelry. She admired Margo’s bracelet. “Did you get that at Boudreaux’s?”
Margo smiled with pride. “No, my husband bought this for me on his last trip to New York. It’s from Tiffany.”
Keep talking, lady, the price just went up. She had to smirk; her mentor Vivien had taught her well. Keep the client talking; they’ll tell you all you need to know.
“My fee is five thousand.” Margo didn’t flinch.
They went over specifics. Margo’s daughter was eighteen, seeing a twenty-seven-year-old man. The guy’s age was a problem, and so was the fact that he didn’t have an actual job. After hiring a private investigator, Margo had learned that the man pushed drugs on the street but used more than he sold. Margo knew where he lived and the corner where he hawked his product.
“I need this Ethan guy out of my daughter’s life.”
From a box, Lucy pulled out a doll. After pushing a three-inch pin very dramatically into the head, she wrote “Ethan” in red across the forehead. Margo, engrossed and watching intently, didn’t blink. Then Lucy gave Margo instructions she had to follow, or the spell wouldn’t work. That was the beauty of the scam. You involved the person, so when the curse didn’t work, the responsibility fell back to the customer. Usually they returned and paid more money for another try.
Margo held the doll as if it was fragile. Her job was to push the pin in a little each night for three nights and hide it in a dark place.
“The doll can only do its part when you complete yours,” Lucy said.
Margo paid a thousand-dollar cash deposit and promised to return with the balance once the doll did its magic. Lucy wasn’t too concerned about hitting the deadline, though she’d try. She got a grand up front and had the opportunity to get more when the hex didn’t work, or when by chance, the guy dropped dead of a heart attack, got hit by a car, or Lucy managed to arrange something else to make him gone forever—the end result didn’t matter. Each scenario got her paid.
With court in the morning and only three days to satisfy Margo, she had a lot on her plate. Lucy made three trips to the front window. It was near closing time and still, no police car was stationed out front as promised.
Lucy walked the last customer out and stood on the curb. Even with Picklehead camouflaging himself between a lamppost and a car, she spotted him easily.
A black and white pulled up. “I’ll be parked here all night, ma’am,” the officer said.
“Thank you.” Lucy hoped she didn’t need him. She looked back at Picklehead, but the police car must have spooked him. He was gone.
After dinner, a slight knock on the alleyway door got Lucy scrambling for her gun. Opening it carefully, she saw her first night caller. He’d been reluctant to enter through the front door after seeing a cop posted curbside.
Lucy calmed him down and served him his choice of drink: a cold flute of champagne. She joined him, saying it had been that kind of day, and had two to his one glass. Intrigued by Walter Ross, a young medical student at Tulane University, she pumped him with questions. Coming from a wealthy family, he wasn’t shy about spreading his money around. An excellent tipper to
