Out of Body

Chapter 17

By the time he saw the last of Nat and Bucky’s vehicle, Gray was pumping his legs along North Peters Street and breaking a sweat.

The sweat had as much to do with praying that he could catch up with Marley before she got into trouble as with running hard on a muggy day.

He must be losing his touch. When she had announced she had “places to go and people to see”—more or less—she might as well have admitted she was going after Sidney and Pipes—only he hadn’t immediately put the two things together. Allowing himself to be sidetracked by Nat hadn’t helped.

And how did he know if he’d really met Marley’s brother? She hadn’t mentioned him other than in passing and never said what his name was. Sykes Millet sounded like a made-up name to Gray. The man had been built like a strong, lean athlete and a little woman like Marley would be no match for him if he decided to grab her.

Hell, where was his head? Even Bernie Bois had talked about all of the Millets being redheads. Gray had met one of Marley’s sisters already and the woman’s hair had been an amazing coppery-red.

The man who called himself her brother had dark hair. He had also been in a hurry to take off the moment Gray’s back was turned—a cop was in sight. A lot of people could tell a cop when they saw one.

Marley could be irritating with her overgrown attitude, but she wouldn’t be the first small woman to pretend she could look after herself no matter the circumstances. If so-called Sykes had a mean streak and was on his way to use it on Marley, she would be no match for him.

Pedestrians crammed each sidewalk and the narrow streets were clotted with cars, trucks, bikes and motorbikes; anything wheeled that would move. People yelled, and laughed—and jaywalked. And the street bands played, confident of their right to gum up progress as long as they kept toes tapping.

Damn. Depending on how fast she could move, he might have no chance of catching up with her. He didn’t want her following Danny and the two women into Scully’s. Until he was sure Danny wasn’t involved in whatever had happened to Liza and Amber, he didn’t trust him.

He hardly knew this woman, but he cared about her. That almost stopped him in his tracks. Keep moving and quit thinking. He did care about her. There was something different about her, and not just her psychic talents—which he was less and less inclined to doubt. Marley didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about herself—that was different. She cared about other people and it showed.

Gray cut through an alley. Marley had deliberately tried to throw him off by making it look as if she had headed into the Warehouse District rather than toward Scully’s. He was betting she didn’t go far off the track before doubling back and making directly for the other club.

The traffic was slow. He ended his sprint at Canal Street.

A fresh spurt of honking turned him around. At the entrance to Chartres Street, someone in a bumblebee suit pushed a double-decker cart loaded with hats of every shape, color and size into the intersection.

At any other time, Gray would laugh. Not now. He was too strung out. He didn’t have any options left but to head straight for Scully’s.

He stopped a block short and mingled with the strolling tourists. Ahead, the neon club sign flashed, its colors anemic in the daylight. A cab stood at the curb outside the Hotel Camille, alive now that guests came and went through the revolving front doors.

Not a single red-haired woman, tall, short or in between, could he pick out in the crowds.

Scully’s didn’t serve food in the daytime so only a few hardy drinkers straggled in. There wasn’t any music until the evening. Danny said the reason was that any daytime tourists in search of a meal headed for Bourbon Street. The regulars were all he got.

He had to go in, Gray decided. And he’d think of something to say by the time he got there.

At the curb, waiting for an open-topped tour bus to pass, he had an interrupted view of the door at Scully’s. Riders’ heads got in the way, then breaks came and he glimpsed his target through grubby windows.

Not so grubby that he didn’t see the sun catch on the polished brass door handle when two women left Scully’s. One tall, dark haired and dressed in beige, the other shorter with long, blond hair.

He readied himself to erupt across the street as soon as the bus was out of his way. To his right sat another taxi, just idling away, its filthy noxious exhaust trembling in the heat.

The women across the street got into a black BMW that surged away, threading through impossibly small spaces and skimming the sidewalk when necessary.

Why such a hurry? he wondered.

Gray dithered an instant, deciding whether to try following.

Most likely an instant too long. He decided to go after the women and waved in the wing mirror of the cab closest to him.

A small woman nabbed it before he could reach the handle. Intent on securing the ride, she didn’t look in his direction, but she wore a black T-shirt and shorts. Even if a stray red curl or two at the back of Marley’s neck, beneath the wide brim of a veiled, black hat hadn’t given her away, the flash of her long trailing leg would have.

Up ahead the BMW made a right turn followed by Marley’s cab.

Gray felt doom bearing down on him. He was going to lose Marley and he didn’t want to think about the potential outcome of that.

A bicycle messenger ran down the steps from a military model shop. “Hey,” Gray said, hopping in front of the lanky, blond kid. “Can I borrow your bike?”

“Do I look stupid?” the kid said.

Gray grabbed the handlebars of the messenger’s rusted-out bike. “I’ve got to get somewhere. I’m desperate.”

“I gotta get back to base or I’m toast.”

Whipping out some bills, Gray flapped them in the blond boy’s face. “Would this buy the bike?” It was three times what the heap of rust was worth.

The kid was moving a wad of gum from one cheek to the other and closing his fingers on the money when Gray leaped on the bicycle. As he rode away, he grabbed the messenger’s black baseball cap.

“What’s that?” the kid hollered. “Now you gotta get extra with the deal.”

“Why not,” Gray shouted without turning back. “Don’t we all expect a little lagniappe with our deals? I gave you extra, didn’t I?”

He pedaled away with the sound of disbelieving laughter in his ears.

The BMW, with Marley’s cab on its tail, made a loop and headed away from the French Quarter. Gray pulled the baseball cap down over his eyes and pedaled like hell, making sure he didn’t get too close, or a traffic light too many behind. He soon saw their route led back through the warehouse and business areas toward the Garden District.

Bikes were good things in tight spots. Somewhere in the back of the garage at the Creole cottage he shared with Gus in the Faubourg Marigny there was a bicycle. He’d check it out and keep it handy.

The Garden District came up fast, partly because of the speed the BMW managed to make by keeping up its weaving path between all vehicular comers.

Greek Revival, Romanesque and Italianate mansions glowed in the sunlight along streets lined with old oaks and sycamores.

Between elaborate columns, closed shutters helped trap cool air inside the high-ceilinged rooms they hid.

Here there were fewer cars. Gray hung back and hoped that Marley wasn’t looking.

His next thought was gratitude that he had slowed down. The cab swerved to the side of the road and stopped as if it had encountered a spike strip.

Under most circumstances, Gray would have ridden past, but that would be pushing his luck. He rode onto the sidewalk, leaned the bike against a hedge and crouched down as if he was having problems with a chain.

The black car had pulled into the driveway of a vast pink mansion with intricate wrought-iron railings along its flower-laden galleries and central double doors at the top of a tall flight of white stone steps. The house stood atop mounded lawns so green they didn’t look quite real and pristine pathways snaked through the grounds. Just visible at the back of the property was a white pavilion surrounded by flower beds. As Gus would say, this house wasn’t bought with green stamps.

Marley got out of the cab and paid it off. Gray could make a few guesses at the next move she intended to make and any of the possibilities could mean trouble.

She stood behind the trunk of a large tree and peered around to look across the street. He understood why she needed to cover her hair, but where had she come up with the huge black straw affair? She might as well be in a raincoat with the collar turned up!

Sidney ran up the front steps of the mansion and paused, looked back to watch Pipes’s slow climb. Gray saw Sidney’s impatient head motion. Then he saw Marley prepare to leave her cover.

One of the front doors of the house called Bord De L’Eau opened and the women went inside.

Gray sprang. He caught Marley in the middle of the street, hauled her from her feet and carried her, kicking, back to the sidewalk.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed when he plunked her down behind the tree she’d recently left. “Where did you come from? You followed me, Gray Fisher.”

“You’re right. And I’m going to keep on following you as long as you seem to have a death wish.”