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Prologue
Once upon a time, there was a grand city on the banks
of a mighty river. That it even existed was a mistake. The land
was poor and low, prone to flooding. The man that found that
river was looking for the Holy Grail of explorers: the Northwest
Passage - the waterborne route through the Americas to the Far
East. Even though the newly discovered territory was less than
ideal, he claimed this swampy land anyway for Louis, his king.
Later the Le Moyne brothers, Iberville and Bienville, found the
closest high point of land along this river to the ocean. The
younger man would name this place for the regent of France.
The city that grew
there has always been considered French, and yet the Spanish
actually owned it longer than the French Crown. A great emperor
reclaimed it, only to sell it to an upstart democracy because
of a slave revolt in the Caribbean. So valuable was this city,
that the bloodiest battle the New World had ever seen up to that
point was fought there after a war was over. Only Gettysburg
would replace it on every American schoolboy's lips as the greatest
battle ever.
This city, the largest
in the South, was the first target of Abraham Lincoln's Union
in its life-and-death struggle with Jefferson Davis' Confederacy.
With its fall, the Confederate States of America was doomed.
The city and its state were among the last to be released from
the yoke of Reconstruction. Left to its own devices, the city
looked inwards and allowed others to replace it as the leading
metropolis in its region. This isolation also allowed it to develop
the most unique culture in the United States.
This city was a
powerhouse in petroleum and chemicals. It boasted the biggest
port in the nation. Millions of people from all over the world
would spend billions of dollars just to walk its streets. And
its music would change entertainment forever.
This story is about
three women: one a Cajun from the swamps, one an Uptown Jew,
and one a Mississippi girl. It is about their trials and tribulations,
the men who loved them and the men who broke their hearts.
But it is also about
a fourth lady, one that is known by many names: Isle d'Orleans.
The Paris of the Americas. Queen City of the South. The City
that Care Forgot. Birthplace of Jazz. The Big Easy. Crescent
City. New Orleans. What she was and what she may be again.
This is their story.
~*~*~
BOOK ONE
~*~*~
Way down yonder in New Orleans
In the land of the dreamy scenes
There's a garden of Eden
You know what I mean
Creole babies with flashin'
eyes
Softly whisper their tender sighs
And then you stop
Won't you give your lady fair a little smile?
Stop
You bet your life you'll linger there a little while.
We've got heaven right here
on earth
With those beautiful queens
Way down yonder in New Orleans
"Way Down Yonder in
New Orleans" by Henry Creamer and Turner Layton
~*~*~
Chapter 1
August, 1998
Elizabeth Boudreaux,
a brand new sophomore at Loyola University of New Orleans, waited
for the elevator in the twelve-story tall Buddig Hall dormitory,
her arms full of hanging clothes rumpled from the hatch of her
old Civic. After a wait that seemed to last forever, the car
arrived and the doors opened. Fortunately, no students came barreling
out of it to knock her down. The curvy brunette, her curly hair
pulled back in a ponytail, entered the car and pressed the button
for the fifth floor. A creaking minute later, she walked down
the hallway to her new room - and new roommate.
She's got to
be better than Louisa the Loser!
Elizabeth had asked
Housing to assign her a new roommate for the fall term. All of
her friends were settled, so there was no solution there. Lizzy
hoped that roommate roulette would work out better this
time.
Her large brown
eyes scanned the declining numbers. Reaching her door at the
end of the hall, Lizzy realized she had a dilemma. With her arms
full, she could not pull out the room key, wedged securely in
the front pocket of her Levis. What to do? Drop the clothes
or knock on the door? Would they get that dirty?
While trying to
make up her mind, the door opened. "Oh… Hi!" cried
a slim girl with straight black hair and blue eyes. "Can
I help you?"
"Umm…
yeah… This is my room."
"OH! You must
be Elizabeth!" the girl cried in a southern accent. She
stuck out her hand. "Hi! I'm Marianne Dashwood, but my friends
call me Mari."
Having no other
choice, Lizzy took the offered hand with the fingers of her right.
"Hello, Mari. Can I come in now?"
Mari started to
laugh. "Oh, I am SO stupid! I'm sorry… Come in, come
in!" She backed up, allowing Lizzy to move into the room.
She looked around and found that Mari had taken the bed on the
right side of the room.
Good - things
are already looking better. At least this ditz didn't take my
bed. Where is she from - Mississippi? Lizzy preferred to sleep on her left side, and
because Louisa had claimed the left bed last year, Lizzy slept
facing the wall for nine months. Lizzy dropped her burden on
the unclaimed bed.
"There! I can
greet you properly. I'm Elizabeth Boudreaux."
"Hi. Do you
go by Elizabeth?"
"I'm called
Lizzy, or Liz, too."
"So tell me
about yourself. Where are you from?" Mari sat on her bed,
pulling one foot underneath her.
"Chackbay,
Louisiana. It's a little town outside of Thibodaux. Do you know
where that is?"
"Sure do -
that's where Nicholls State is. I'm from Jackson, Mississippi
- as if you couldn't tell from my accent."
Nailed it, Lizzy thought.
"You got kin?"
Mari asked.
"Four sisters.
Ummm…Mari, can we hold off on the third degree for a bit?
I've got to get the rest of my stuff out of my car."
"You want some
help?" Mari asked brightly.
Things are defiantly
looking up! Louisa
wouldn't pick up after herself, much less volunteer to help a
stranger move in. "Sure. Come on."
~*~*~
An hour later, all
of Lizzy's possessions were moved from the car into the room.
Mari insisted on helping Lizzy put her things away. While working
happily together, Liz learned that Marianne was a sophomore like
herself, majoring in Vocal Music and a member of the school's
MEISA (Music and Entertainment Industry Student Association)
chapter. She had one sister at home with her divorced mother.
Her father was an expatriate oil-field worker in Saudi Arabia.
"Yeah, ol'
Dad thought getting out of the country would save him money.
He didn't figure on the company docking his pay for Mom's child
support. He was mad at first, but it's all cool now."
"Are you still
in touch?"
"I haven't
seen him in seven years. A couple of cards a year and a phone
call on my birthday - his loss."
"I don't know
what I would do without my dad. He's my best friend."
"I feel the
same way about Mom." Mari clasped her hands against her
heart. "What's your mother like?"
"Don't ask."
"Is she mean?"
"Oh, no. It's
just… well, she swallows you, you know?"
"I understand.
Four sisters, huh?"
Lizzy nodded. "Jane's
at Southeastern Louisiana in the nursing program. Mary and Kit
are still in high school - Mary graduates this year. Lydia starts
high school next year."
"Does Mary
know what she wants to do?"
"Teaching.
Mom gave us a love of reading, but Mary's the bookworm of all
of us."
"What are you
majoring in?"
"English Writing.
I want to go into journalism."
"Awesome. Will
you write for The Maroon?" Mari asked about the Loyola
student newspaper.
"I did that
last year. I'm thinking of joining the staff of a new paper,
the Loyola VOICE. It's supposed to be more hard-hitting.
Oh, and I'll submit some stuff for ReVisions - the literary
arts journal."
"I wish I could
write."
"I wish I could
sing. I'll bet you're good."
"I'm okay."
"Okay? Didn't
you say you've got a scholarship?"
"Partial
scholarship. And that was for my voice. You got one for your
brain."
"Partial
scholarship, Mari," Lizzy replied with a grin.
"Well, us two
'partials' are gonna have a great year, Lizzy! I love this room.
It's a lot better than the one I had at Biever Hall last term."
She sighed. "A bathroom of my very own."
"Mari, in case
you didn't notice, we share it with the girls next door."
"Don't disrupt
my groove, Lizzy. At Biever I had to go all the way down the
hall." Lizzy shuddered. At that moment Mari's cell phone
rang.
"Hello…?
Emma, darling! How're you, sista? Where…? Okay - can I bring
my new roomie? Lemme ask…" Mari put her hand over the
phone. "Lizzy, got any plans for dinner? I'm meeting my
friend, Emma, at Fat Harry's. She's real nice. You'll like her.
Say you'll come, please?"
Lizzy shrugged.
"Sure, I'd love to go."
"Awesome!"
She returned to the phone. "She's in - her name's Elizabeth,
and she's a sweetheart. We'll see ya there at seven. Okay. TTFN!"
She switched off the phone. "This is gonna be so much fun!
Her name's Emma Weinberg - she's at Newcomb. I met her at Summer
Lyric. We were doing Man of La Mancha, and she was helping
out with set design."
"I love that
musical! Did you play Aldonza?"
"I was the
understudy, but I got one performance. Anyway, with all the time
backstage, I got to be friends with Em; that's what a lot of
us call her - Em. Em's real cool and she knows EVERYBODY. She
lives at home in this big ol' house off St. Charles Avenue. Her
dad's a widower. Oh, and she's Jewish - you're cool with that,
right?"
"Of course."
Lizzy wondered where Mari was going.
"Oh, good.
Some people are funny that way. Back home, a couple of the matrons
at the New Antioch Baptist Church…woo! Jesus is gonna come
back and smite them, just wait and see. You're Catholic, right?
I mean, that is a crucifix, right?"
Elizabeth looked
at the small crucifix she had placed on her desk. "Yes,
it is, and yes, I am."
"I'm Methodist,
myself. People ask me why I came to a Catholic college, as if
I was going to a seminary. Hello! Notre Dame is a Catholic college!
Stupid people just give me the red ass. Anyway, Catholics don't
have any problems with Jews, right?"
Lizzy just shook
her head at Mari's stream of consciousness. "No, we don't."
At least, we're not supposed to.
"Hate just
sucks, you know? So, we'll meet Em at Fat Harry's at seven. That
will give us some time to get to the bookstore."
"Why are we
going to the bookstore?"
"Roomie, get
with it! These walls are too bare! We gotta get some posters!"
Lizzy smiled. I
think I'm gonna like this semester.
~*~*~
New Orleans's very
reason for existence is the Mississippi River, the longest river
in North America. Starting in Minnesota, the Father of Waters,
as the natives called it, snakes south, cutting the United States
in half. Joined by first the Missouri and then the Ohio, the
Big Muddy flows down through Dixie until it reaches present-day
Baton Rouge. The river then turns east, flowing for over fifty
miles, before turning southeast again just past Chalmette to
empty into the Gulf of Mexico. Therefore, for some distance,
the East Bank of the Mississippi is north of the river, and the
West Bank is south.
In New Orleans,
like so many other rules and terms, north, south, east and west
have no meaning there.
If one is in the
city and is moving in an eastward direction, they are moving
downriver, towards St. Bernard Parish, known to locals as "Da
Parish." If that person started their journey near Tulane,
in the heart of the Uptown district, they are also considered
to be traveling Downtown, towards the downtown Central Business
district (CBD) and the French Quarter. If one heads north, they
are going towards the Lake, referring to Lake Ponchartrain. Going
west means heading towards the state's second most populated
parish, Jefferson, and the large, unincorporated area called
Metairie. If Metairie were a city, it would have been the second
largest in the state. So when traveling, one is said to be going
towards Jefferson, Metairie, or upriver.
Crossing over the
river, meant one was going to the West Bank, which is south of
the city as the crow flies. The North Shore is the north shore
of Lake Ponchartrain (the Lake) - St. Tammany Parish.
Confused? It does
take a bit of time for new residents and college students to
figure it out. For tourists, it's best to take taxis.
~*~*~
Located on famous
St. Charles Avenue, between the Uptown and Riverbend neighborhoods
of New Orleans, Loyola stood next door to the much larger Tulane
University, across the street from Audubon Park. Many people
took advantage of the streetcar stop right in front of the two
schools, but Mari and Lizzy hopped into Mari's rusty used Corolla
and drove down the majestic live oak-lined avenue to the corner
of St. Charles and Napoleon. Parking on Napoleon Avenue, the
two girls walked to a dark wood storefront that was the entrance
to Fat Harry's.
In a town renowned
for its neighborhood joints, bars and pubs, Fat Harry's was an
institution with the college-aged crowd. Dark, crowded and smelling
slightly of stale beer, it was the stomping grounds of generations
of the Uptown university types. Students consumed burgers and
quaffed beer, listening to the same Motown music their parents
rocked out to. If New Orleans ever passed a law against polo
shirts and khaki pants, half the men in the city would be naked.
Mari and Lizzy squeezed
their way in. It only took moments for Mari to spot her quarry.
The two girls made their way to a tall bottled-blonde sitting
at a high table.
"EMMM!"
screamed Mari.
"MAR-EEE!"
returned the blonde. The two hugged and blew air kisses.
"Emma Weinberg,"
said Mari, "this is my new roommate, Elizabeth Boudreaux."
Emma shook Lizzy's
hand. "Nice to meet you, Elizabeth. Where did you go to
school?"
Lizzy understood
this to be New Orleans code for "Where did you go to
high school?" "E.D. White in Thibodaux. You?"
"Newman,"
Emma answered, naming one of the more prestigious private schools
in the area. She was a slender girl with three prominent features:
a slightly long nose and one of the bigger chests Lizzy had ever
seen on a woman of her slim frame. It wasn't anywhere near Dolly
Parton or Pamela Anderson big, but it was something to write
home about. She was in designer clothes, Manolo Blahnik pumps,
and had a Prada bag on the table, but Lizzy found her smile to
be genuine.
"Sit down,"
she said with a wave of her hand. "Why don't y'all look
over the menu while I get us something to drink? What can I bring
you?"
Before Lizzy could
answer, Mari piped up, "A Miller Lite. How 'bout you, Lizzy?"
At Elizabeth's questioning look - they were all sophomores, at
least a year too young to buy alcohol - she continued, "You
want a beer?"
Lizzy shrugged -
it was Emma's neck for buying beer underage. "Abita Amber."
Emma smiled and
moved to the bar. Once there, she caught the eye of one of the
younger bartenders. "Yeah, Em?" he asked.
"Jimmy, I need
a Lite, an Abita and a Zima."
"Aww, Em…
I don't know…"
"C'mon, Jimmy,
this is for your Emma. Pleeease…?"
"Jeeze, you'll
be the death of me. If I get busted…"
"You won't,
Jimmy," Emma assured him.
Jimmy capitulated
and soon returned with the drinks. "Run a tab?"
"You're a sweetheart,
Jimmy. I'll settle up before we leave. Bye bye." Jimmy grinned;
he knew Emma was good for a thirty-percent tip. Emma returned
to the table. "Here we are, ladies. A toast - to a new semester."
After drinking to
the new school year, Mari asked, "So what you gonna order?"
as the waitress approached.
"Small burger,"
said Lizzy.
"I'm gonna
get some cheese fries. Y'all want to share?"
"Ooooh…
cheese fries! I'm in," said Emma.
Lizzy smiled. "I
tell you what - forget the burger; I'll get nachos."
"With extra
jalapeños?" asked Mari.
"You bet, cher."
"Yeah!"
Mari turned to the waitress and ordered the nachos and cheese
fries. After the waitress left, the girls continued their conversation.
Responding to Emma's question, Lizzy told her that she was studying
to be a journalist.
"So what are
you studying, Emma?" asked Elizabeth.
"Oooo…that's
a good question!" laughed Mari.
"Oh, shut your
mouth, you redneck!" Emma teased back. "Well, Lizzy,
I started out as a psychology major, but I didn't enjoy that.
So I switched in my second semester to sociology. Now I'm in
fine arts." She smiled. "I'm experiencing all that
college can offer."
"She's really
working on her M-R-S, if you ask me!" laughed Mari.
"Oh?"
said Lizzy at Emma's frown, "any prospects?"
"No. How about
you?"
"No. There
was a boy back home, but… that's history."
Emma sighed. "Long
distance romances never work."
Lizzy grimaced.
"It would if the asshole in question would stop rodayin'
around behind my back."
Everybody laughed.
Emma turned toward
a flash of sandy hair. "Hey, there's Chuck. Chuck! Over
here!"
A good-looking,
tall, sandy-haired man with a friendly grin approached the table,
a Bud in his hand. "Emma! Good to see you, lady! How was
your summer?"
"Not bad. All
ready for your senior year?"
"Can't wait."
Emma turned to the
others. "Girls, this is my friend, Chuck Bingley, from Tulane."
"Howdy do,
ladies?"
"Chuck, this
is Mari Dashwood and Lizzy Boudreaux, both from Loyola."
Chuck grinned. "Loyola,
huh? You gals know why Jesus has his hands raised in front of
the school?" He was referring to a large statue of Christ
at the entrance to Loyola.
Both had heard the
old joke before - uncounted times. "Yeah, we know: 'I can't
help it if Loyola is a better school than the one next door!'"
they cried in unison.
"No, no, that's
not it," laughed Chuck. "It's the other way 'round!"
"Give it up,
sugar," advised Emma, "or you'll never get a date."
Chuck's face fell.
"You… you heard?"
"What?"
asked Emma.
"Jennifer and
I… we broke up over the summer."
"Oh, Chuck,
I'm so sorry," she said with nearly convincing sincerity.
She never liked Jennifer.
"Ah, well…
water under the bridge. Hey, I've got to join my buddies, but
I've got an invitation for y'all. First night of Rush we're throwing
a big party, and you're invited. All of you."
Emma turned to the
others. "Chuck is President of the Alpha Iota Fraternity
chapter at Tulane."
"It'll be dry
- college rules - but it'll be fun."
"It sounds
great," said Emma. "Is that William over there?"
she pointed to the crowd in the back.
"Yeah, and
Chris, too."
"Tell them
'hi' for me."
"Sure will.
It was great seeing you, Em. And nice meeting you ladies. Don't
forget…" he said as he moved away, "first night
of Rush! AI House! Be there!"
"Cute guy,"
said Mari after Chuck was out of earshot.
"Yeah, he's
really nice. Too good for that bitch Jennifer."
"Whoa, sounds
like history there," remarked Lizzy.
"I watch out
for my friends, Lizzy. Jennifer treated Chuck badly. She was
a real user, you know?"
"And now he's
free," Mari said with a grin. "You're going after him?"
"Maybe…"
Emma said with a smile.
"Aww…
looks like Chuckie's gonna get some TLC for that broken heart,"
laughed Lizzy.
"Chuck E's
in love…" Mari sang.
"Mari!"
Emma laughed. "Stop it, you slut!"
Elizabeth basked
in the good humor of her new friends. She was relieved that she
had found some friends at school at last.
~*~*~
"Ahh…
cheese fries." said Chuck. Without waiting for permission,
he took a handful out of the basket. No "processed cheese
product" here, the hot french fries were topped with piles
of grated cheddar, the heat of the fries melting the cheese into
gooey strings of addictive, cholesterol-filled goodness.
"Leave some
for us, Chuck," advised Chris Breaux.
"Nope,"
he mumbled with a filled mouth.
"That's the
way with those Baton Rouge guys," remarked William Darcy.
"If it wasn't for low class, they would have no class at
all."
"Hey - I resemble
the remark!"
"You're going
to resemble a whale if you keep stuffing down those fries,"
said a forth member of the group.
"Aww…
who invited the cop?"
"Watch it,
Bingley, or I might just run you in for impersonating a gentleman,"
responded Lt. Richard Fitzwilliam of the New Orleans Police Department
and Darcy's cousin. Unlike the rest of the family, Richard felt
a calling for blue-collar work. He had earned his Criminal Justice
degree at UNO before joining the NOPD. His parents, while proud
of him, did not know what to make of their boy in blue. He remained
good friends with his younger, wealthy cousin. "Was that
Emma Weinberg you were talkin' to?"
"Yeah, and
a couple of babes from Loyola."
"'Babes' is
right," said Chris. "You get some introductions?"
"Down, boy,"
advised William. "They gotta be sophomores, at most. Too
young for my blood."
"Willie, you
are WAY too picky for your age," said Richard. William frowned
- he hated being called "Willie", but there was nothing
he could do about it. Richard knew it bugged him, and he lived
to see William get upset. William could not give him the satisfaction.
"You got that
right," agreed Chuck. "Their names are Mari and Lizzy.
I invited 'em to the big Rush party in a couple weeks."
He turned to Richard. "Don't hassle them about their beers,
please?"
"Not my problem.
Let the alcohol boys handle that," Richard said as he took
a pull on his longneck.
"So, is the
chapter ready for the semester?" asked Will.
"Yeah, I got
a good crop of officers. The house is in good shape. There's
money in the bank. It's all good." He sipped his beer.
William lowered
his Heineken. "Being president all you thought it would
be?" he asked Chuck.
"It's a pain
in the ass. You should have told me. I worry every day."
"I did tell
you, pledge." Will was Pledge Director (the new member
trainer) when Chuck joined AI, and he reminded his friend of
that fact every now and then. "You didn't listen."
"Remember that
time you were trying to show his pledge class how to run the
floor buffer?" chuckled Chris. "I thought I would have
died from laughing."
"Damn, those
were the days," said Chuck with a smile. "We drove
Will absolutely nuts. It was great."
"Chuck, if
I die at a young age, you'll be happy to know that it was all
your fault."
"Young age,
Will?" snorted Richard. "You were NEVER young!"
Everybody broke
up at that. "What is this - pick on Darcy day?" Will
complained.
"Whatamatter,
Mr. Perfect?" teased Chuck. "Can't take it?"
"Better than
you, pledge - or should I remind you of that peanut-butter-and-mayonnaise
incident?"
"Man, that's
cold, Will," said Chris.
"All right,
enough of this fraternity bullshit," injected Richard. "I
gotta get home to Olivia soon. How do you think the Greenies
are gonna do this year?" This got them into one of their
favorite subjects: Tulane Green Wave Football.
"The team's
fired up, after being overlooked for a bowl last year,"
said Chris. "If Shaun King can stay healthy, I think we
can do at least as good as last year."
The group fell into
a discussion of the quality of the receiver corps and the chances
of Coach Tommy Bowden being lured away that season. Richard was
enjoying the conversation when, glancing around, he spied a familiar
face. Only his years of training prevented his beer from going
down the wrong way. He carefully placed his bottle on the table.
"Guys, I gotta
run, or the wife'll have my hide. Chris, Chuck, Will - have a
good evening." The group exchanged goodbyes and Richard
moved towards the door.
"I bet we win
nine games this season," said Chuck, starting up the conversation
again.
"Won't take
that bet, nobody can stop our offense. Our defense is the key,"
said Will. "We will have to out-score 'em."
"Well, we got
a chance of doing that. Now, what is Mike Ditka gonna do with
the Saints this year?" asked Chris.
They were so busy
arguing over the quality of the players drafted by the Saints
head coach they didn't notice that Richard hadn't yet left the
bar.
~*~*~
Richard approached
a young man with blonde spiky hair. "Well, hello there,
Wickham."
Greg Wickham whirred
around. "Lieutenant!" he cried, eyes bugging out. "What
do you want?" Greg nervously wiped the back of his hand
across his mouth.
"Why don't
you tell me what you're up to?"
"Fuck off.
You're off-duty." He turned back towards the bar.
Richard grabbed
Greg's arm in an iron grip. "Wrong answer, punk. I'm never
off-duty. Outside - or I break your arm."
Greg saw the seriousness
in Fitzwilliam's eyes. Having no choice, he put down his drink
and allowed himself to be "escorted" out of the bar.
Once on the sidewalk, Richard guided Greg to his un-marked police
car and threw him against the hood.
"Assume the
position, punk," drawled Richard. With a groan, Greg turned
around and leaned over the hood, his arms spread wide and his
legs apart. Richard quickly patted him down.
"Any guns or
sharp objects, Wick-? Hello! What have we here?" Richard
extracted a wad of cash from Greg's front pocket. "My, my,
my. You have been a busy boy, haven't you? What's in here - a
couple thousand?"
"My inheritance
from my aunt - twice removed, officer."
Richard counted
the cash. "All in twenties? Yeah, right. Don't get smart,
punk, or I might just hold this as evidence. How did you earn
it? Selling crack to kids?"
"I don't do
that shit…"
Richard slammed
him against the car hood. "Watch your language, Wickham,
you'll hurt my little ears. Now, again - where did you get this
money from?"
"I'm tellin'
you, I just got an inheritance!"
Richard pulled out
his handcuffs. "This is just for your protection. Let's
go check out your car, Greggie-boy." Once Greg's hands were
secured behind his back, the two walked over to where Wickham's
Camero was parked. "You got any problem with me searching
this thing? Just askin'. Remember I got probable cause."
"Go ahead,
officer. I got nothn' to hide."
"We'll just
see…" Richard quickly and expertly searched the vehicle.
As Wickham was being cooperative, he expected he would find nothing,
and he was right. Richard returned to his prisoner and released
the handcuffs. Greg rubbed his sore wrists, glaring at the policeman.
"How about
my money?" Just as he finished mouthing his words, the roll
hit him in the chest. Greg quickly picked up the money and stuffed
it in his pants. "I ought to sue you for false arrest…"
Greg was slammed
backwards against the roof of his car. "Oh, please do that,
sir," Richard growled, gripping Greg by his shirt
front. "I would love to have you explain that money in court.
The IRS would be on you so fast it would make your head spin."
Greg said nothing. Richard continued, "I know you're
still dirty, Wickham. The word's out about you on the street.
Coke and weed - you're the man. The only reason you're walking
away tonight is because business is tight… this time."
Greg remained silent.
"Uptown is
my town, punk. I hate drug dealers in my town, especially
ones who sell to high school kids. I busted you once…"
"I don't do
that anymore!"
"Shut it! And
I will bust you again! You're too stupid to not make a
mistake. It's just a matter of time. And next time it won't be
probation. It will be a nice little cell in Angola. They love
pretty little white boys in Angola. By the time they get finished
with you, you won't be able to sit down for a year." He
leaned very close. "Stay - out - of - Uptown. Got it?"
"I hear you."
"Good."
Richard shoved Greg against the car one last time. "Drive
safe, Wickham. And remember - I'm always looking out for
you." Greg dusted himself off, walked around to the driver's
side, and let himself in. A moment later, Greg fired up the Camero
and pulled away.
Richard sighed.
He hoped, rather than expected, that his warning would do any
good. The drug war was never-ending, with a steady supply of
fools and the curious willing to escape reality for a while.
With that depressing thought, he returned to his car and went
home to his wife.
~*~*~
Greg Wickham was
still shaking as he drove up Napoleon towards Claiborne. He knew
he had been lucky. Lucky and stupid. It was only good fortune
that he had completed his last delivery of cocaine just before
he had stopped by Fat Harry's to grab a bite to eat and perhaps
run into one of his customers. Instead, he ran into the cop who
had arrested him. He was stupid not to put his earnings into
safekeeping before he went to the bar. Lazy! Lazy will get
you killed, dude!
He drove around
in circles, taking turns at odd intervals, making sure that he
wasn't being followed.
Greg had changed
his modus operandi. Instead of hanging out on street corners,
waiting for whoever showed up, he was now cultivating a clientele
of college students and young professionals - white kids who
were scared of driving into the projects, yet willing to pay
top dollar for quality product. As long as he was careful and
not greedy, Greg figured he would make a fortune - and live to
spend it.
Tonight, he was
lucky - lucky it was Fitzwilliam he bumped up against. He might
hate him, but the cop was also squeaky clean. Fitzwilliam wouldn't
steal his money. Another cop might not have been so honest.
Finally assured
that he was clear, Greg turned his car towards the West Bank.
His crib was nice and quiet. No gang-bangers hung at the street
corners. And the Benjamins were safe in his vault under the floorboards
of the place. He didn't live large and never had any of his customers
there. No land line phone. A private company PO Box. He was as
invisible as he could be. And as long as he never did business
in Jefferson Parish, the sheriff's office wouldn't be hassling
him.
Greg beat his steering
wheel in frustration. He had a good thing going, and he almost
blew it! Two big ones! Focus! He had to focus. If Fitzwilliam
could find him, so could a potential competitor. He needed to
blend in better yet stay out of sight. Hit and move - make your
appointments and leave. Don't stick around.
He needed a cover.
He needed a "friend" - a friend at school. Tulane would
be best. Lots of money at Tulane. Lots of potential customers.
All he needed was
a fool…
Who among his current
customers was a fool? Someone who thought he was bright?
Somebody too damn clever for his own good?
Greg Wickham smiled.
He knew his man.
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