His father, a surgeon, had made a name for himself years earlier doing organ transplants, and Walter planned to follow in his father’s footsteps.
Lucy walked him to the bedroom and asked the lady he had requested to step outside. Young Walter had a kinky side. He’d asked Lucy to inject him with a small dose of what he called his “feel-good drug.” He claimed it improved his sexual experience. The downside was a full dosage would kill someone in seconds. The syringe was filled with just the amount he required for his sexual pleasure. She pushed the juice in, and Walter became immobile instantly. He could speak and said he was fully aware of his surroundings but would be stationary for ten or fifteen minutes. She had no clue what he was into, but immobile didn’t seem to go hand in hand with sexual pleasure.
Lucy took the syringe and a bottle that rolled out of Walter’s pocket. She just might have a need for some wonder juice one day.
The door opened, and his lady of the night asked, “Is he ready?”
“Honey, you have your work cut out for you,” Lucy said, stepping out and closing the door behind her.
A few no-shows, probably discouraged by the cop sitting out front, allowed Lucy a chance to close down early.
Exiting the alleyway door, she took to the street to find Ethan, the dealer dating Margo’s daughter.
Felipe might believe Lucy would never testify. If so, he was dead wrong. Lucy was rock solid determined to take all the local drug dealers down, starting with Felipe.
But first up, she had Ethan, a drug pusher with a bounty on his head, and she planned to collect.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lucy walked the streets that night looking for Ethan. His preferred corner was on Decatur Street across from the Morning Call Coffee stand. An area Felipe and his gang avoided because of the number of tourists and police. Apparently, Ethan didn’t care how touristy his distribution point was—or maybe there were some perks to being across the street from a famous coffee stand.
A man crossing the street hunched over drinking a cup of coffee caught Lucy’s eye. When he stopped and leaned against the iron gates of Jackson Square, she figured he might be her man. Strolling in front of him, she said, “Ethan?” He turned his head, and that was all the proof she needed. “Got any nose candy?”
He hesitated. “Who’s asking?”
“You selling or talking? I can go to Royal Street and get all the snow I need.”
“Corner payphone. Pick up the receiver like you’re talking. In the change drop, take the gram bag,” Ethan said. “Replace it with fifty bucks.”
“Fifty? What is it cut with, gold?” Lucy shot back like she was a pro.
“Ninety-five percent pure,” he said.
“Bullshit! No such thing,” Lucy said as she reached the payphone. She took the coke and left the change slot empty. From her purse, she pulled a doll.
“You didn’t leave the money,” he said. “Pay, or I’ll fuck you up right here on the street.”
Lucy gave a smile. “I don’t think so.” She tossed him the voodoo doll.
Ethan gawked at his name written on the doll’s head. “Am I supposed to be scared?”
“I would be,” Lucy said. “Get out of town and don’t return, or you’ll be dead before the sun rises.” She walked to the corner and disappeared into the dark. If the threat didn’t work, she had a backup plan that should shake Ethan in his boots.
She met Darlene, her pill-popping friend from the clinic, at the Napoleon House, one of many famous French Quarter bars and restaurants. Darlene was very good at taking Lucy’s directions, and she’d been following Picklehead ever since the cop car had showed outside the salon earlier in the evening. Darlene also knew him as one of her bulk clients. He’d buy all the pills she could produce.
Lucy slipped Darlene the gram of coke she’d ripped off from Ethan and asked, “Are you sure you can do this?”
“Yeah. I’m not a big fan of Picklehead either.”
With three empty shot glasses in front of him at the bar, Picklehead was an easy mark. Opening the top two buttons of her blouse, exposing a deep bouncy cleavage, Darlene was ready to perform. Brushing against him, she got his attention quick. After he got an eyeful of her open top and reeled his tongue back into his mouth, she took a seat next to him.
About to call him Picklehead, she caught herself. “Pete, you’re getting sloppy.”
“What are you talking about?” He pulled Darlene closer, making the third button of her shirt pop open, just as she’d planned.
“Some punk sold me a gram of coke on Decatur Street,” she said, plopping the bag in front of him. “Talked smack about you and Felipe and undercut your price. This cost me twenty bucks.”
That was all she needed to say. After three shots of Wild Turkey on top of his daily drug intake, Picklehead was ready to defend his territory. “I’ll teach this punk some respect.” He motioned for Darlene to follow him out of the bar.
At the corner, Darlene pointed out the guy Lucy had described. Darlene watched from a distance as Picklehead, the larger of the two, approached Ethan. Though Picklehead caught the guy by surprise, Ethan immediately pulled a handgun. Darlene watched the horror unfold. This wasn’t the plan.
Ethan marched Picklehead into Jackson Square with the gun pointed at his back. Behind the iron fence and tall shrubs, they disappeared into the darkness. Darlene moved around on the outside of the fence, jockeying for a view, but couldn’t see anything. Then she heard the dreadful sound of a single gunshot.
It was late at night, and street bands were still playing. Two horns and a drum belted out tune after tune close by. People had gathered, throwing money in a box for them to continue. Darlene was sure she’d heard a gunshot, but no one else
