Lara

Hours pass as I lie in the darkness listening to Molly breathe. Desperation has me by the throat, making it impossible to sleep. I can’t stop thinking of how we might escape until finally I give up and slip out of the bed.

I creep to the door, sliding the bolt and stepping out into the dark passage, and I make my way down the hall to Rosa’s room. Her light is still on, but I’m frozen in place by what I hear inside. It’s Tanya’s voice, whining and fighting.

“No,” she mumbles. “Let me go!”

“Stop doing this. You’re going to kill yourself.”

“Then let me die,” Tanya shouts, her voice breaking.

The noise of something banging to the floor has me leaning forward to look. Tanya is on her back, eyes closed, and in her hand is a crumpled piece of aluminum foil and a lighter. The room smells like vinegar, but I don’t understand any of it.

I lose my balance, and my shoulder hits the door. It creaks open, and Rosa’s face snaps to mine. Her brow collapses.

“Lara,” she sighs. “Get out of here. You shouldn’t see this.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Heroin. Fentanyl.” Rosa pushes off her knees and sits in the chair, leaning forward with her face in her hands over what looks like a sleeping Tanya.

“Why would she do that?”

“She’s an addict. It’s getting worse. Fast. If we don’t get her clean, she’ll die.”

The words are terrible, horrifying, but instead of fear, something different blooms in my chest. I scan the place, mentally logging the items surrounding the skinny girl on the floor. The wheels are turning, and I can’t stop the idea growing bigger by the second…

“It’s powder?”

Rosa frowns. “Yes.

“How does she get it?”

“I’ve heard some of the voodoo shops have it, but you can probably buy it on Bourbon Street if you know who to ask.”

I’m out the door, headed to my room while she’s still speaking. Molly is asleep, but it’s still pretty early. I pull on my jeans and grab the black sweater, jerking it over my head and down to cover the white tank. Calm fills my mind. The calm of knowing exactly how I’m going to handle this. My path is plain, and I know I won’t falter.

But first I have an errand to run.

Tapping on my new phone, I text Roland to meet me at the corner of Royal and Orleans in five minutes. I grab a coat and small hat on my way out the door. It’s brown tweed with a black band and a little feather on the side.

Roland grins when he sees me, and we set off down the narrow street toward Bourbon. I pull the collar tight at my neck. The sky is overcast again.

We stop at the corner, and Roland lights a cigarette. “Care to tell me where we’re headed, old boy? I have to admit this drag you’re wearing is working for me.”

I cut my eyes at him and start walking again, slipping my hand in the pocket to clutch the money I grabbed from pawning my mother’s pen. I’ve never made a drug deal, and I can only hope it’s enough to get what I need.

We reach the small shack on St. Anne’s just as Roland finishes his cigarette and tosses it to the ground. “Voodoo?” he chuckles as he grinds out the butt. “Now will you tell me what the hell we’re doing?”

“I need to buy something. I didn’t want to come here alone.”

“At least you’re smart.”

“Come on.”

The house seems deserted, but Roland dashes up the steps and holds the door for me. It’s as cold inside the narrow cottage as it is outside, and the pungent scent of pipe smoke mixed with spicy patchouli oil surrounds us.

We pass counters adorned with dolls and alligator claws, crude noise-makers, and other assorted gris-gris.

An olive-skinned woman in a white turban with frizzy hair sticking out the bottom passes through a beaded curtain that divides the front of the house from the back. She comes to where we’re standing and looks us up and down, frowning.

“Children,” she mutters in a thick, New Orleans accent, shaking her head. “What do you want?”

Roland points at me.

“I need something.” I hesitate, then I lean toward her. “Fentanyl.”

“You don’t come here for that,” she snaps. “You need a prescription.”

“I just need an ounce.”

The woman doesn’t react, but Roland catches my arm and turns me to look at him. His eyes narrow, and he drags me back to the entrance. I struggle against him, but he’s stronger than me and has me outside in two steps. Then he fixes those brown eyes on mine.

“What’s going on?” he demands.

I glance down and a huge gust of damp wind whips my hair up and around my face. “I have to do this.”

“Do what?” His arms are crossed, and I simply look at him until he lowers them again. “Who?”

“Guy.”

At that, he grips my arm and pulls me back to the street, the way we came. I struggle to break free of his hold until he finally stops walking and turns to look at me again.

“First, there’s no way you’d ever get him to take it. And second, what makes you think you could hide something like this by yourself?”

“He’s coming for Molly.” My throat grows tight, and I can’t finish. I can’t tell him what I said to Gavin, my dark bargain.

Roland spins on his heel and throws out his arms. “So let him have her!”

My hand clenches into a fist, and I hit him so fast, it surprises both of us. He staggers back, covering his mouth, and I rub my fingers. The pain brings tears to my eyes.

Then he grabs my arm and jerks me to him with a force that makes me cry out. “Don’t ever hit me again,” he growls through clenched teeth.

Two tears hit my cheeks.

He shoves me back, still holding his lip. A trickle of blood appears, and I dig in the pocket of my borrowed coat to find a tissue.

I hand it to him. “I said I’d take her place.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, and his teeth clench. “Who did you tell that?”

“Gavin.”

He explodes a loud exhale. “He’ll never let that happen.”

“I won’t let Guy have her!” My voice is desperate and tears blur my vision. “This is the only way to stop him. For good.”

I start back for the cottage, but Roland catches my arm, gentler this time, and pulls me to him. “Calm down,” he says, stroking my hair. Then he wraps his arms around me and presses my head into his chest. I shiver as the tears fall.

“Why have you stopped caring about her?” I whisper through the thickness in my throat.

“I haven’t. It’s just… you have to learn when to fight, and when to let go. There are those you can save, and those you can’t.”

“And into which category do I fall?” Anger rises in me again, and I don’t want to be in his arms.

For a moment he simply looks at me. Then he steps forward and catches my face. I’m about to speak when he bends down and kisses me, pushing my lips apart with his.

My stomach clenches, and the metallic taste of his blood is in my mouth as I fumble with the scratchy wool of his coat, trying to get away. He holds our lips together a second longer before letting go and pulling back.

Then he looks directly into my eyes. “Which do you think?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because there’s a bond between us. You know it.”

I seize that sentiment. “Because you looked out for me when I came here. Don’t you see? That’s how it is with Molly and me.”

“It’s not the same.”

“It is!” My throat is tight again.

“Molly has none of the history we share. None of the debt I owe your mother.” His voice softens at the words, at some memory I don’t know. He steps to me, and smooths the tear off my cheek with his thumb. “That I owe you.”

“You have no debt to me.”

But he smiles and waves a hand, and just like that I watch his own invisible curtain rise. “I’ll help you. But I won’t let you put yourself in danger.”

I’m still trying to understand what just happened, but his words give me hope. “You’ll help me?”

“Of course. But not like this.” He motions to the cottage. Then he crooks his arm and nods in the direction of the theater. “Come on.”

With hesitation, I take his arm. I believe him, but still… He doesn’t have to know if I return to the cottage, and there is only one way I know to stop Guy permanently.

I’ll be back, if only for insurance.

* * *

Mark

The men are back.

All of them.

Since the night of Lara’s birthday, I’ve been to Algiers to basically stand with my arms crossed while men unloaded crates from a barge, I’ve made two more trips to the Walgreen’s on Magazine for Narcan, which turns my stomach, and I drove to the airport to pick up the Canadian and the other guy, Esterhaus.

Tanya is fading fast, and I’m pretty sure her decline started the night I stood outside the door, guarding the gangbang happening under the stage. I didn’t see her there, but a few of the girls said they were given pills to “help them relax.”

I’m not doing that job again.

I’ve made five thousand dollars in five days, and every cent I don’t spend on food, gas, clothes, or prescriptions, I put in the Bank of the French Quarter. It’s small, but it’s cheap. I’m lucky to be living rent-free, but when Terrence returns, I’ll have to start coughing up rent money. My hope is by then, I’ll have found a better job and a place for the three of us—Lara, Molly, and me—to live.

The last time I held her, she tried to push me away, but when I kiss her, I feel where her heart is. She’s mine. I just have to show her I can and I will take care of her. And Molly. I lost points that night I went to Atlanta, but Lara has a phone now. I don’t even care if that rich guy bought it. I have her number, and I always tell her where I am, whether she wants to know or not.

For instance, tonight I had to go all the way to Holly Grove, almost to Metairie to collect payment from some asshole who runs a laundry service.

It turned my stomach because it felt like the kind of shit Rick was into before they blew him away. As far as I’ve been able to learn, Guy is the puppet master in all their seedier affiliations, but I’m puzzled that Gavin knew my uncle and he didn’t.

Gavin only appears to run the Pussycat Angels club, and, to my knowledge, Rick didn’t have any dealings with strippers or prostitutes. That I know of…

I’m still working that one out.

The rain hasn’t let up for a week, but it’s not storming. Mist hangs in the air, almost as if it’s too saturated for precipitation. I hop off the streetcar at Dauphine and continue walking toward the theater. I’ve got less than an hour to get there before intermission.

Pulling my topcoat closer at my neck, I lean into the wind, keeping my eyes on my feet as I cross, block after block, headed to Orleans Street. I stay east of Bourbon, trying to avoid that mob as long as possible.

I pull out my phone, scrolling to Lara’s number in my recent calls, grinning at the nickname Wifey I’ve given her. I study the photos I’ve taken of her. Her smiling, her looking tolerant, her in my arms, her face buried in my chest.

She still says we have to break it off, but that Freddie bastard is back in Paris, and I plan to tell her my money situation and make another pitch for staying with me when I get back tonight.

A dark figure in a long black topcoat jogs fast south. The wind whips around me, fanning my coattails and shooting the runner’s hat off his… her head?

“Lara?”

She’s panting and leans against a brick wall, looking at the sky. We’re surrounded by buildings in the middle of a block, and I can tell she’s disoriented. My stomach tightens, and my fists clench, preparing for a fight. I don’t know why she’s running, but I’ll kick some ass if someone’s bothering her.

A quick look left, and I cross the one-way street to where she’s collapsed against the side of a building. “Lara,” I say louder, and she lets out a little yelp.

Her eyes are huge, and I reach for her arm, pulling her to me. “I thought that was you. What are you doing out here?”

She takes a step as if she’ll bury herself in my topcoat against my chest—a welcome place for her always—but she stops herself.

“I… I…” She looks away and then down at her hand in mine. “I lost my way.”

“Well, lucky for you Gavin sent me uptown this afternoon. I’ll take you back.”

We walk beside each other in silence for a while. The strong gusts hit us in the face, and I want to pull her to me, put my coat around her, and shelter her from the damp. She glances sideways and our eyes catch.

“How are you?”

She shakes her head. “The same.”

“Something’s changed. Freddie’s gone.”

“Just for a month.”

Catching her arm, I stop our progress and turn her to face me. “It gives us more time. There’s still a chance for us.”

She looks down, and her eyes blink faster. “You’re so good.” She places her narrow hand on the sleeve covering my forearm. Her slim fingers widen and narrow as she pulls it back. “I would give anything for that to be true.”

We’re at the corner of Royal and St. Anne Streets, and before I can pull her to me and reassure her it can be true she turns. Her pace quickens, and she’s jogging ahead of me to the theater.

She hurries through the back doors, and I let her go for now. She has to get ready for the show, and I’ll be able to kiss her cheek and hold her to me in a few minutes. We will be together. She’ll believe it once she knows what I’ve done.