He waved to them. Dan was silent as he headed down the street. Then he murmured, “Six.”
“Bizarre, huh? But, hey. We do get people in the city all the time who think that it’s a den of nothing but sin. So-called Christians carrying signs about gay people going to hell. Whether it’s your faith or not, hate was not something preached by Christ. The world is filled with fanatics, and yes, I guess we’re a place where most people shake their heads at whatever and keep on moving.”
“No,” he said. “Six. My neighbor was telling me about an incident. An entertainer on the street was wearing a steampunk hat with a playing card—the number six—stuck in the brim. A man went up and grabbed it from her, raving about the number six.”
Katie frowned, remembering how the one woman that afternoon had paused to talk to her.
“One of my customers today, she said that some man at her hotel was going on about the number six, too. Something about the bodies of six dead goats having been found somewhere in the city a few years back. Oh! I wish I could remember what she said.”
“Dead goats.”
“Yep.”
They had reached Bourbon.
Lights flooded the streets; music blared from a dozen of the clubs. People walked down the street in pairs and groups and occasionally alone.
She saw Dan was watching the street, too. He nodded to one of the two mounted policemen who were about a block away.
The policeman nodded back and raised his hand, as if assuring Dan they were on the streets and vigilant.
“This isn’t where the Axeman killed,” Katie said.
“No, I don’t think he’ll strike around Bourbon Street, either. Too much activity. He would have watched his victims. He knew they were quiet, they went to bed early. They weren’t the kind to have weapons in the house. They didn’t have a dog.”
Katie sighed sadly. “They weren’t expecting it.”
He sighed, pulling out his phone. She heard him address Axel, and he told him about the goats and all the coincidental mentions of the number six and then hung up.
He smiled at Katie.
“You haven’t said anything else about George,” she told him.
“I told you. I’m keeping an open mind.”
“But you want me to call him.”
“I do.”
Timing couldn’t have been more bizarre. Katie’s phone rang. Caller ID didn’t know the number.
She looked at Dan. He shrugged.
She answered the call.
“Katie,” said a man’s voice, low and hushed and frightened. “Katie, it’s uh... George.”
She almost dropped the phone.
“George. I... How are you?”
“Scared.”
“Where are you?”
“Gretna.”
“I...um, I hope you’re okay. You... I haven’t heard from you in six years.”
He let out a long sigh. “Oh, Katie, I’ve wanted to, but I wanted a life, and I wanted you to have a life. I’ve seen you work. You’re great. People love you. I’ve seen you with your friends, laughing with the mime, having dinner with the other girl. I knew you were okay. And I had to... I had to really start over. I changed my name. It’s Calhoun. George Calhoun. I’ve been working as a PA on one of the B movies being shot here. We’re just finishing up...over in the Irish Channel. But...oh, Katie. I’m scared. No one I’m working with knows about my past. But when I heard about the murders... Oh, God. They’ll be after me again. Do you think...do you think that I’m being set up?”
Dan was watching her. George was speaking loudly and excitedly then, but her phone wasn’t on Speaker; she couldn’t tell if Dan was hearing his words or not.
“Tell him we need to meet with him.”
She stared at him, covering the mouthpiece on her phone.
“Dan! He won’t see you!”
“Then, have him come to your house.”
“What?”
“Tell him to come to your house. Otherwise, tell him we’ll—you’ll—come to his.”
She winced. But she wanted to prove George innocent. She believed him.
“George, could I come to your place?”
“I’m still working, just finishing up.”
“That’s fine. Where do you live?”
George gave Katie his address.
“What time would you be home?” Katie asked.
“An hour? Two hours. Ten o’clock, maybe.”
She repeated his address and agreed to the time. She hung up.
Dan nodded. She realized that he was just standing there listening.
“What is it?” she asked him.
“Do you hear that?”
“Music. There’s always music. We’re barely to Royal Street. We’re hearing all the music from Bourbon Street.”
He shook his head. “It’s not just any music,” he said. “It’s jazz. It really has begun.”
“New Orleans is jazz,” she muttered weakly.
“Right. But with some Aerosmith thrown in. Anyway...let’s get dinner.”
“Okay, wherever—”
“Antoine’s!” he said. “We’re not far. 713 St. Louis.”
“Antoine’s is a bit fancy...”
“Adam is buying us dinner.”
“Taxpayer money?”
“No, his money. He’s a wealthy man. And he’s told me I’m not to force PI pizza on you. I’m starving. Let’s go for it tonight, huh?”
She nodded, wishing she could shake her feelings of unease. But he caught her hand and led the way, and soon they were seated, and she realized just how often lately she had forgotten about eating. The delicious aromas that permeated the restaurant reminded her that she was very hungry, too.
And that everyone, no matter how involved, needed to breathe in the middle of chaos.
She loved Antoine’s. It had a great reputation for a reason. The food was delicious, and the atmosphere was charming. The service was customarily great.
“Oysters?” Dan asked, looking at the menu as they sat at their table with its snowy-white cloth.
“I know they’re a specialty here, but I don’t care for oysters.”
“I don’t, either.”
“Oh? But you suggested—”
He grinned. “I wouldn’t have stopped you,” he told her. “Would you like the escargots à la Bordelaise?”
She laughed. “Don’t care for snails, either.”
“That’s a relief.”
“I do love their pommes de terres soufflées,” she told him.
“Yes, potatoes! I’m in!”
They ordered iced tea and the appetizer, smiling as the waiter assured them a little sadly just what they were missing out on. They redeemed themselves somewhat by deciding that one would get the special shrimp dish and the other the filet de Gulf poisson amandine, as suggested by the waiter.
Katie
