“Yeah? Then you should watch out for me.”
He scowled at her, frustrated and angry. Her eyes weren’t in the least timid or frightened at that moment. In fact, the set of her jaw definitely reminded him of Angus.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said curtly. “It’s getting late.”
“And it’s New Orleans. Late is just the beginning.”
Wolf slid up next to Danni, nuzzling her protectively. It seemed even his own dog was against him and for her.
“You’d better have something like coveralls to wear!” he said.
She smiled. “I do.”
* * *
Danni Cafferty was true to her word. In ten minutes’ time, she’d changed into a ragged denim shirt covered in paint stains and an ancient-looking pair of jeans. She didn’t carry a bag at all, having stuffed her ID and whatever else in her pockets. Her shoes were Converse sneakers—with holes in them.
He figured there was nothing she could do about her face.
Her face was...classic, stunning. He wondered if it would help if he smudged her up a bit. Then again, maybe nothing would work.
“How do I look?” she asked.
Jane was closing down the cash register. “Good grief, Danielle! You’re not going out like that, are you?”
Danni laughed. “We’re slumming tonight, Jane. I’ll be fine.”
Jane muttered some remark about the youth of America, shaking her head. Billie, who was setting the alarm on the shop entry door, rolled his eyes. “You need me?” he asked Quinn.
“Not tonight, Billie.”
Billie nodded thoughtfully. “Well, you’ve got Wolf. Good old Wolf.” He pointed a finger at the dog, then at them. “You two eat today? Don’t forget, got to fuel the machine. I can cook you up something in the attic, you know. I got a little kitchenette up there.”
“We’ll grab po’boys on the run, Billie,” Danni told him.
“Go on out the front, then, before I set this,” Billie said.
Walking back to Quinn’s car, they stopped at a Lucky Dog stand and bought hot dogs; Quinn gave Wolf one as a treat, just the sausage. With cans of soda in their hands, they continued to his car. “Where are we going first?” Danni asked him.
“I was thinking we might want to see if Bo Ray is at that bar on Esplanade before venturing into the outer regions. If Natasha nails her people right—and I’m sure she does—he may be able to give us more.”
He found parking just off Esplanade and lowered the front windows, turning back to Wolf. “Need you to stay in here for a bit, old boy. Guard the car.”
Wolf hated being left behind.
“We’ll be right back.” Danni patted the dog’s head. “Couldn’t he jump out if he wanted?” she asked.
“That’s half the point of rolling down the windows,” Quinn said. “If something ever went wrong for me...well, the dog wouldn’t die here.”
When she stared at him, he added, “And he can come to the rescue. Dogs sense trouble.”
“He won’t just jump out and follow us?”
“Nope.”
They made their way over to Esplanade.
Quinn didn’t have Natasha’s instinct for people but he was pretty sure he knew Bo Ray Tomkins the minute they walked into the bar. He was a wiry young man of maybe twenty-five, already showing the slightly bloated belly of a man well on his way to liver disease. He was hunched over a glass of whiskey, seated in a dingy corner of the dark, undecorated bar.
Quinn indicated that Danni should take the seat opposite him; he pulled up a chair at Bo Ray’s table and they both sat. Bo Ray glanced up, panic filling his watery green eyes. He started to rise, and Quinn laid a hand on his. “Easy, Bo Ray. We’re not here to hurt you.”
Bo Ray looked at Danni and his eyes widened farther with something like awe, and then confusion. He glanced quickly around to see who else might be in the bar. The only other customers seemed to be a bunch of college types who might’ve been in the city for a bachelor weekend—and had found this particular watering hole for the cheap booze. The bartender was a tired-looking woman of about fifty who was smoking a cigarette while she poured drinks.
“Who are you?” Bo Ray asked. “What do you want?” His accent was Southern, but not local. There was a long drawl to it—Texan, Quinn thought.
“I have a right to be here. I’m over twenty-one and I pay for my drinks,” Bo Ray said before Quinn could answer. “And I’m clean. I don’t do drugs. You ask the bartender—I keep my tabs paid.”
“Yes, you pay for them by scoring drugs for tourists.”
Bo Ray flushed. His pasty face became bright red.
“Are you a cop?” he asked Quinn. “Is she a cop?” He managed a rueful smile and lifted his glass. “If so, the department’s taking a step forward. Hey, I got it—they hired you ’cause they’re doing some kind of reality show and reality shows have to have a few pretty people.”
“We’re not cops,” Danni said.
“I’m not doing any scoring—if that’s what you’re after,” Bo Ray mumbled.
“We’re not looking for drugs,” Danni told him.
“Yeah? Then what?”
“I think you go to a blue house down in the Ninth Ward and buy what you need,” Quinn said, “and I think you know about a lot that goes on there.”
The red left Bo Ray’s face as if a wave had washed over him; he was suddenly white as a sheet. He shook his head vehemently. “No! I don’t go there.”
“You know where I mean, don’t you?”
Bo Ray swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple jiggled. He lowered his head. “I don’t go there! I’ll never go there again.”
“You know what happened there, right?”
Bo Ray nodded, wincing, obviously not wanting to look at them.
“Bo Ray, we need your help,” Quinn said.
“I can’t help you! I wasn’t there last night. I swear to God, I wasn’t,” Bo Ray whispered hoarsely. “Please, go away.”
“We can’t go away,” Quinn told him.
Bo Ray finally looked up. “I don’t want to die.”
“You’re going to die because you’re killing yourself,” Quinn said. “But if we don’t find out what went on last night, you’re in danger of being killed. Don’t you see? It won’t matter if you don’t say anything to us. If the wrong people believe you know something—whether you do or not—they’ll kill you, anyway. We’re your only hope, Bo Ray.”
Bo Ray didn’t speak.
“You think you know who you’re dealing with but it’s far worse than you can even imagine, Bo Ray.”
“Please,” Danni said very softly. “If you help us, we can help you.”
“How are you going to protect me?” Bo Ray asked, his voice thin.
Quinn reached into his pocket for a paper and pen. “I can’t help you myself, but I’ll give you the name of a man who can and will. If you think you can get clean, that is.”
Bo Ray sat back in protest. “I ain’t dirty!”
“Like I said, you’re killing yourself. You start with a bottle of whiskey in the morning and when you can’t stand your own company anymore, you come out to a place where the well liquor is rotgut and cheap, and you think you’re okay because you’re functioning enough to come out at all. If you don’t want to die—if you want help, if you want to stay alive—this is where you need to go.” He finished writing down the information and held out the piece of paper.
“You’re probably not a bad guy,” Danni said, smiling at him. “I’d take that if I were you. Quinn’s right. If you want to live, you need a safe house. You can survive this—and more.”
He shook his head, but his protest wasn’t what it had been. He kept staring at Danni. Then he said, “You could be all wrong. I just keep my mouth shu
t about—”
“About what? The bust? You know about the bust, don’t you, Bo Ray?” Quinn asked.
Bo Ray winced again, as if he were being beaten by an invisible whip.
Then he let out a sigh. “I don’t know that much, honest. I never hurt anyone and that’s the truth. I wouldn’t put it past some of the guys that scored from Leroy, but I kept out of their way and they ignored me. I was there when Leroy started bragging about a big windfall he was gonna come into. He was acting like a big man that night. Said he was gonna make enough money to get Ivy off the streets—except he might not bother ’cause Ivy enjoyed the work so much. Ivy was real mad and hit him and he backhanded her across the room.” He paused. “So, I guess he made his big score. But he made it in time for someone else to come after him before he could get the money. And Ivy paid for it, anyway, from what I saw on the news.” He motioned to the television set with its wavy picture that was rigged above the bar. “That’s all I know.”
“Who else was there when Leroy was talking about his big score?” Quinn asked.
“Three other guys—Numb Nuts, Eyes and Big-Ass Mo Fo,” Bo Ray said, looking at Danni apologetically, presumably because of the language. “You ain’t gonna be able to touch Eyes—he’s got friends in high places. Pretends like he’d never do anything against the law. He has some major offices over in the CBD. Employs a dozen people, supposedly in business. Oh, yeah, he does give to charity, enough to make him look like a real good guy. Old Numb Nuts—he doesn’t like guns or knives or anything like that.” Again, he glanced uncomfortably at Danni. “Big-Ass Mo Fo...well, they don’t call him that for nothing. You should see the size of him. He was there that night. He was there, and he was interested. Now, I swear to you, that’s all I know. Leave me the hell alone.”
Quinn rose. “Get up, come on,” he told Bo Ray.
Bo Ray sounded panicked. “Hey! You said you weren’t the police—”
“And we’re not. Come on. I’m going to save your life.”
Bo Ray instantly grabbed for the glass in front of him. What the hell, Quinn figured, let him down it. Father Ryan was going to have his hands full. Might as well get the bastard into detox without fighting him any harder.
Quinn threw some money on the table, wanting to make sure there was no trouble with any bills that could bring Bo Ray back. Danni was already up, leading the way out.
“Where are we going? What are we doing?” Bo Ray demanded.
“Darned if I know,” Danni said cheerfully.
“What, what—” Bo Ray balked when they arrived at the car and he saw Wolf. “You gonna have that monster eat me?”
Wolf gave a half howl, half bark, then wagged his tail as Quinn opened the door.
“You be good to Wolf, Wolf will be good to you. Get in.”
He had to prod Bo Ray to get him moving. Danni took her seat in front and he joined her, quickly revving the car in case Bo Ray decided to jump out.
He looked over and saw that Danni had a curious little smile on her face. “So, where are we going?” she asked.
“Church.”
He took Esplanade, determined to avoid the crowds that roamed Bourbon Street, and made a few twists and turns. Danni watched their journey with interest.
At last he came to the rectory of Saint Francis at Peace. He parked on the street, got out and opened the rear door for Wolf and Bo Ray. Danni emerged on her side and waited. He took her hand, leading her through the gate to the door.
They were in a poor neighborhood, where some of the homes were historic but so run-down it was difficult to see any architectural value. It wasn’t a ghetto; it was an area where the city’s hardest workers lived. They could afford to buy or rent here precisely because it was run-down and because it was a place where kids who might go bad had a chance to take another path.
And it was where Father John Ryan ruled his parishioners with an iron hand gentled by a silk glove.
The door opened before they reached it.
John Ryan had come from Ireland—via Africa and South America—twenty-odd years ago. Quinn didn’t know everything about him, but he did know that the man had studied medicine before becoming a priest. He’d learned about people in his travels around the globe. At sixty, he appeared to be the typical kindly old priest, yet he was anything but. His posture was dead straight and he was imposingly tall, just a hair under Quinn’s own height. His eyes were clear gray and he was clean-shaven, bald, well-muscled and ready to dig in and help with manual labor when needed.
“Hey, John!” Quinn called to him.
“It’s Father Ryan, my boy, Father Ryan!”
“Yes, sir,” Quinn said, amused. He had people with him. John Ryan liked his title used in front of others.
“Wolf! Hello, there, my good lad!” John said, patting the dog who eagerly trotted ahead. “Quinn, to what do I owe this visit? Or should I guess? I’ve seen the news. Hello, my dear!” he said to Danni, extending a hand. He glanced at Quinn. “Could this be Ms. Cafferty? Forgive me, but you do have something of your father about you. In a far, far more beautiful way, no offense to Angus!”
“How do you do, Father Ryan. I’m Danielle Cafferty. Danni,” she said, shaking his hand.
“And this is...” John asked, looking at Bo Ray.
“This is a guy who’s getting out of here!” Bo Ray said.
“Bo Ray was at the crack house a couple of days before Leroy Jenkins was killed,” Quinn explained. “He knows who else heard about the theft of a bust that was stolen from the cemetery, then sold, stolen—and stolen again, leaving bodies at every turn.”
“I really need another drink,” Bo Ray insisted.
“He really needs detox,” Quinn said.
“Yes, so...you’re not staying, then, I take it,” John remarked to Quinn. “Just making a delivery.”
“That’s about it, Father.”
“Then come in, come in.”
The rectory was sparse but homey, filled with books, comfortable chairs and the scent of something cooking that smelled wonderful.
“Soup,” John told Bo Ray. “I’ll get you some shortly, and then I’m going to make a call.” He turned to Quinn and Danni in an aside. “That man will go into seizures if I don’t get him situated quickly. I know you have pull with the cops. I’ll use your name when I get him into the hospital.”
“Hospital?” Bo Ray shrieked.
“You want to live, remember?” Danni said, holding his hands.
“Come on, son. You’ll do as I say—in the name of the Lord!” John seemed to tower over Bo Ray, who wasn’t short. But Bo Ray was a rail and John Ryan looked as if he could go a few rounds with a heavyweight champ. To Quinn’s relief, Bo Ray gawked at John with fear and awe—and disappeared as John led him toward the kitchen.
Quinn was surprised when Danni said, “You know, you’re capable of acting like a total jerk—but I guess you’re not that bad.” She was smiling.
He shrugged. “Trying to keep the body count down, that’s all.”
John returned to the room alone. Apparently Bo Ray was in the kitchen eating soup.
“I’ve got him in hand. Now, tell me, what’s going on? I’ve heard rumors about something evil. My flock comes to me for protection. Hard to imagine this object causing so much harm, but...I’m a Catholic priest. I know my God is real, and that makes me aware that evil can be just as real. So, what can I do for you?”
“You’ve already done it,” Quinn assured him. “I didn’t want to leave Bo Ray on the street.”
John nodded. “Well, you two come with me for a minute.”
He took them through a door that connected the rectory to the church.
Danni glanced at Quinn skeptically; Quinn shrugged again.
Wolf followed—with no protest from John.
“I h
ave a few of these...and you don’t have to wear them,” John murmured. He’d left them standing before the altar as he went behind it. “You’re already wearing Saint Michael’s medals. No finer saint with whom to battle evil!”
He came back down to them, his gray eyes serious. “I bless you,” he said, “in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.” He drew crosses on their foreheads, and then slipped small crosses into their hands.
“These will protect us,” Danni said. “Thank you.”
“No, not really.” John grinned. “Your belief will protect you. These will remind you that there is a higher power, and you are fighting for that power. Frankly—although I do love your medallions—this puts me in mind of that great scene from the mummy movie, when the scroungy little rat pulls out a crescent moon, a cross and a Star of David. No,” he said, and he grew serious again. “You’ll need your own wits, your strength and your belief to win this battle. I ask God’s help to give you everything you require.”
Danni stepped forward impulsively and kissed him on the cheek. She reached for the clasp on her chain, undoing it and adding the cross he’d given her to the medallion, then slipped it back around her neck.
“Thank you.”
John flushed.
“Michael?”
“Yes, Father Ryan,” Quinn said dutifully. He couldn’t quite work the clasp, and Danni came over to do it for him. He felt her fingers on his flesh as he saw the brilliant blue light of humor in her eyes.
He was afraid he’d blush, just like John.
And he was shocked. He was standing in a church, and he suddenly wanted to draw her to him, forget his purpose and feel the warmth of this woman he was just coming to know.
Once upon a time, she would’ve been the first thing on his mind. But that was long before he’d learned to separate what he did from what he wanted.
“Oh, wait!” Father Ryan said.
Quinn was glad; he felt released from his strange spell.
“We must all go with God’s blessing!” He set his hands upon the dog. “God loves all His creatures,” he said. “Now go. I will tend to the safety of Bo Ray Tomkins. You, children, must stop what horrors you can.”