Ava reached across the table, grabbing Lucy’s hands. “He’s taking me to the Blue Room at the Fairmont Hotel Friday night.”
“What about his card game?” Lucy said.
“He’s getting tired of playing every Friday night. Wants to take a break,” she said, squeezing Lucy’s hands. “I don’t know what you did to get Gabrielle de Jean out of my life, and I don’t want to know. For now, I have my Daniel back.”
Ava pulled an envelope out of her purse and cupped it into Lucy’s hand. “You earned it. Five thousand cash.”
Lucy politely took the money and slipped Ava the envelope from the clinic. “Here’s a little security for you.” She enlightened Ava that everything in the letter was fake. But she should keep the message in a safe place in case she and Daniel ever divorced. With Ava knowing of the affair and possessing proof that Gabrielle de Jean had a sexually transmitted disease, her divorce case would never get to court. Daniel would give her everything: house, cars, and cash. Anything to stop her from going public. If it did go to court, she could win a lawsuit against him for endangering her life with an infectious disease.
“But you said the letter was fake,” Ava whispered. “She doesn’t have an STD.”
Lucy smiled. “You and I know it’s fake. Your dog of a husband will think it’s real. That’s all that really matters. He will never risk going to court.”
CHAPTER SIX
A few days later, Lucy was walking home carrying two grocery bags. Most French Quarter residents shopped for one or two days at a time. Their small apartments had little storage room for groceries and sported undersized refrigerators. Only the wealthy could afford a car and the parking fees in the quarter, so the less fortunate hoofed it or took a taxi.
When she turned the corner, Lucy ran into a kid, almost knocking him down. Catching himself before hitting the pavement, he gave her a look of disgust, then brushed himself off. “Watch where you’re walking.”
Lucy quickly apologized. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“Like I said, watch where you’re walking, bitch!” He kept his hands tucked under his jacket. Lucy’s street smarts told her the kid was a drug dealer. It was just too warm for a coat.
“What do you have in your pocket?” Lucy asked, pulling on his arm. In her peripheral vision, she saw movement coming toward her. Another kid, not much older, was making his presence known. If necessary, Lucy could take them both, but there had to be someone overseeing these kids. Gang members protected each other, and they never traveled alone, especially two kids.
She asked again, “What’s in your pocket?”
“Why? You buying?”
“How old are you? Why aren’t you in school?”
“I’m ten and don’t care to go to school. What’s it to you?” the young punk said. “Lady, if you’re not buying, keep moving.”
Lucy observed the street. It had the usual tourists walking around. Then she spotted a man who appeared to have more interest in what she was doing than in reading the newspaper in front of him. The kid nodded at the guy.
“You might want to move on, lady. Picklehead is not someone you want to deal with.”
This was the first time Lucy had really set eyes on the thug they called Picklehead.
A typical drug distribution tactic—Picklehead was there to make sure the kids didn’t get
ripped off. If the police came, he’d walk away and play tourist. If the kids got arrested, they were underage and would only get a slap on the wrist. Unlike what could happen to Picklehead, who had a rap sheet longer than his arm.
Lucy placed the grocery bags on the ground and walked directly over to Picklehead.
“What’s your problem, lady?” he asked, while still keeping an eye on the kid.
“Find another area to push your drugs.”
“You know the saying, location, location, location.” He gave her a toothless smile. “This is prime real-estate. A lot of foot traffic.”
“Stay off Royal Street!” she shouted.
“Bitch, you better calm down.”
Lucy pushed him. “Why? You’re going to give me a shiner? Like you did to Vivien?” She looked around for help; the tourists went blind to the situation and walked by faster. “You like beating women—right? Makes you a big man.”
A police car was cruising the street. Lucy flagged it down, shouting “Drug dealer!” and pointing to Picklehead and the kid. By the time the cop got out of the car, no one was around, other than a group of vacationers on a walking tour. The gang members knew how to blend into crowds. As soon as the law arrived, off came each punk’s coat and cap, and into a backpack they went. You’d need a keen eye to pick the thugs out of a crowd.
The police were well aware of the Cornerview Gang. The gangs were growing, and the cops were too understaffed to arrest every street pusher. It was always the same answer whenever Lucy questioned law enforcement. They were going after the top man and once they got him, the rest would fall like dominos. But the money always funneled to the top man, and with money came power and payoffs. Drug commerce had been talked about by every candidate running for mayor. But once elected, not a one had come up with a strategy to stop the drugs infesting the city.
It was later that afternoon that Felipe Cruz came to Vivien for his weekly settlement. He walked directly behind the bead curtain, and Vivien handed him four hundred dollars.
“Now, we understand each other,” Felipe smirked, then grabbed her by the throat. “Don’t pull that shit again.” Dragging her farther into the back room, he said, “Pay on time and the correct amount, or you’ll be sorry.”
“Just a little misunderstanding,” Vivien said, her voice squeaky from the pressure on her throat. “Not a problem.”
Lucy slipped into Mr. Vic’s workshop next door. Returning with a box cutter, she slid it open and
