Well hello again my friends! Much thanks to everyone who reviewed, and a special shout out to WinterIsComing01 for giving me some advice on the French language =D Also, on the subject of the French language, and the other various foreign languages I'll be using in this story, I'm including their translations in parentheses directly following the quote because I hate having to scroll up and down to the end for a glossary, breaks up the flow in my opinion. Enjoy guys! Also, bonus points to anybody recognizes the songs from which the Chapter titles come from (which I have to include in the actual post because apparently the site has decided to put a limit on the title length)
murphyisawesome: nice story i like but i hope that u dont make murphy gay cause it would just ruwen the whole story but really good writing 10/10
Haha, don't worry, I won't, I like Murphy as a straight boy, more love for the ladies ;) Thanks for writing in!
WiterIsComing01: very intense opening scene...also just FYI - "Qui" in French means that/which/who - "oui" is yes, "ouais" is a way to say "yeah". Also, when asked a negative question, "si" is used to affirm (eg "Aren't you going to school?" "Si!" (yes)) Make sense? :-)
Yay, advice on the French language! There shall be copious lines of foreign languages, all of which I'll be using Google translate, so if it becomes butchered, may I have forgiveness in advance? It is lovely to see you again my friend =)
Shorty22133: Nice! I think it's hillarious that i stumbled upon your story, seeing your 'Wildflower' story reference in your author note... I'm in the process of reading 'Wildfire', which is FANTASTIC btw. This BDS story is really good and i can't wait to read more!
Awesome, I'm glad you happened upon this story and gave it a chance, and I hope you stick around for a while more!
"We're Going Down, Down, and Sugar We're Going Down Swinging..."
May 12th
Summer in New Orleans is no joke. I mean I knew that going in, having spent a decent amount of time in the South before, but every single day I woke up slicked with sweat and tangled in my sheets in the apartment I shared with my only companion in life thinking you know at some point I may just melt into a puddle of goo and then the cops can call in early for the day. Coffee and beignets all around!
But it never does. You'd think being close to the coast that would have some kind of mitigating factors. Hah, yeah, right, and true love can mitigate laws against interracial marriage pre-Civil Rights Movement in the South. Note the healthy dose of cynicism. Its something you get good at having when you live like I do.
Even at night its still unbearably warm out, mostly thanks to the humidity which traps the heat in the moisture-laden air and holding it against your skin like a wet blanket. Every morning I was questioning why the hell we stayed in this place, but we hadn't yet found the inspiration to take off again. We, which includes myself, Willow Schmitt, and Jules King. The only saving grace of this entire city was its tourism, gambling, and the fact that you can still sometimes find someone to speak French too. (Montreal was just way too damn cold to even consider hiding out in, plus our lack of Passports pretty much shoots that plan in the face.) Albeit its broken, Creole French, but hey, I'll take what I can get.
I sat up on my futon and felt my hair sticking up in all kinds of crazy ways after having been wrangled into a rat's nest from tossing and turning all night, trying to find some position where I wouldn't sweat out every drop of fluid in my entire body. When we'd first moved down South I had cut it short, almost higher than my ears, but it had grown since then and its longest layers rested at the base of my neck, the color caught somewhere between dark and milk chocolate, in the right light little streaks of caramel would go through it. On the best of days the waves are lightly tussled, almost to the point of curls, and fall in a sultry mess around my face. On the worst of days (almost every single day below the Mason Dixon line), nothing I could do would persuade it into obeying, and the strands would go anywhere from curls to waves to frizz. I'd given up after a while of dealing with it. Why bother when I usually needed to look a bit roughed up anyway.
Jules was still asleep on her futon, her long limbs splayed out every which way, honey blonde hair cascaded all over her back and mussed over her face. Normally Jules was up before me, but I hadn't been able to sleep last night. Correction; I hadn't been able to sleep well. There's definitely a difference. I'd been plagued by dreams. Half remembered memories of a time that all I wanted was to let fade into the dark dusty corners of my brain where the rest of my life had disappeared in. But it wasn't just those dreams that bothered me. I'd dealt with those for years now. No, there had been a new one tonight. I'd seen a flash of lightening and an empty rooftop. I'd heard howls of wind and smelt cigarettes and whiskey and gunpowder. I felt a hot flush of skin beneath my palms, muscle rocking underneath my nails, my own body pushing back hard, but I was not afraid or angry, I felt electrified…alive. Coarse sable strands slipping through my fingers and a warm voice tinged with a heavy accent floating down my ear but the words had faded with the dream. I'd seen a rosary and heard the cadence of a prayer and felt a rush of excitement and something that might have been fear spill through my veins like water over my skin in the shower. I shivered again and reached over into my duffle bag and grabbed my journal and pen, snatching it up, dating the page, and scribbling everything I could remember, both good and bad, my thoughts on it, which were to the effect of never go to bed without having calmed down the night before or dreams get weird. I still wasn't done by the time Jules rolled over and sat up.
"Dreams again?" she asked me as she pushed her thick hair away from her face so she could breathe properly.
"Ouais." I said as I finished scribbling in the journal. It was a twice a day ritual. Write down my dreams when I woke up, and write down my day before I hit the sack. My faulty memory mandated that I do this, and so ever since Jules and I had been on the road I'd kept up with it. I went through so many notebooks, but I always carry them with me, just in case.
"The same or different?" she asked as she pulled her knees up to her chest and stretched her arms over her head, pulling by her wrists until her spine curved just like a cat's and her back popped so loud I could hear it. My stomach turned a little at the sound (it's a thing, don't ask) but I was used to it so I didn't make a comment.
"Some of the same. One different though." I told her.
She nodded and tussled her thick hair again. "Me too. Can I see?" she asked, looking to the journal that I had just finished. I nodded and handed it to her and then got up to my feet. Jules and I shared everything, and I often made it a point to tell her my dreams or any snatches of memory that I had so I could get a perspective outside of my own. I left my futon unmade and padded into the bathroom, the cheap tile beneath my feet dusty and just slightly cooler than the rest of the apartment. I could have sprawled against it to cool off if not for what I was afraid might be lingering on its surface.
"You sure this is what you saw?" she asked me. I was in our small bathroom twisting the nobs for the shower, running it just barely lukewarm and once under the spray I'd turn it to even colder so I could cool off a bit.
"Yeah, why?" I asked as I shrugged out of my oversized T-shirt and underwear. I glanced in the mirror and sighed. I'd forgotten to take my eyeliner off last night and so now it was all smudged and skewed. No matter, the shower would strip it and I'd start over.
"Cause I had the same dream."
I snagged a towel and tucked it around myself before peering back into the main room of our studio apartment.
"Huh?" I asked. I was sure I hadn't heard her.
She set my journal back into my bag and then turned back to me. "I had the same dream. The new one, on the rooftop. I saw a rosary too and heard a man saying a prayer. I heard gunfire."
I narrowed my eyes. "Am I still dreaming?" I asked softly.
She flashed me a smile and reached her hand out and stroked my messy hair and my cheek. "Non ma chérie. Nous sommes tout simplement fatigué." (No sweetheart. We're just tired) I leaned into the touch for a moment and smiled.
"Pas de repos pour le bien que fatigué. Temps pour aller travailler." (No rest for the weary though. Time to go to work) I answered back. She nodded her head and nudged me towards the shower.
"I'll make some coffee." She told me, turning away and padding towards the tiny kitchen. I stepped further into the bathroom and stared longingly at the tub and decided that tonight when we came back from work that I would take a long, long soak and maybe just fall asleep early.
I stood under the cool spray and let the water attempt to spurn me with a little bit more energy. As I was going through my routine and I caught sight of my wrists and the dark band of ink encircling both. Flashes of golden streets, chilly air, the warm smell drifting in from the boulangerie (bakery) as my child hands curled around the intricately designed iron wrought balcony railing from our flat. As much as I could remember of that design I'd had inked around both of my wrists, encircling a single word on each that was drawn on right where the radial pulse beats; on my left 'Don't Think' and on my right 'Just Breathe'. It was a daily mantra, and I was glad to be able to look down and physically see it whenever I needed that reminder.
I finished up my shower and set to work on the rest of my morning routine. It would be hot as blazes outside today, but because of my predisposition to get red and crispy when exposed to sunlight, I shrugged into a pair of black jeans rather than my shorts and a plain white t-shirt and my well worn black and white Converse shoes. There was no need for me to get all gussied up, that was Jules' job. I mean if I put effort into it, I could look pretty too, but that would have defeated our purpose. I preferred a rough and tumble look which is why I didn't bother even brushing my hair as it began to dry, letting the messy waves do as they liked. By the time I was smudging a bit of fresh eyeliner around my hazel eyes I could smell the coffee Jules had made up.
"Je vous remercie, qu'aurais-je jamais faire sans toi?" (Thank you, what would I ever do without you?) I scooped up my cup and sipped it long and slow, savoring every inch of flavor I could.
"Je suis ici cherie." (I'm over here sweetheart) Jules responded with a slight snicker from across the room.
"I know. I was talking to the coffee." I sassed. Jules rolled her eyes and I chuckled a bit, leaning up against the counter and watching Jules look through her racks of clothing for something wear today.
"What are we running today?" she asked me as she flipped through her various outfits.
I tilted my head. "What day is today again?" I asked.
"It's Thursday petite amie (sweetie)." She reminded me and I nodded my head in response.
"Let's not overkill it. Let's run the lonely hero play, I have my running shoes on." I said, curling my tongue around my teeth as I took another sip of coffee.
Jules bright blue eyes glittered. "Red or blue?" she asked, running her fingers down two different outfits.
"Blue. Brings out your eyes." I told her. She plucked the outfit off the rack and went into the bathroom to start getting ready. Jules is a master actress. She can play any part she needs to in order to get what we need to live off of. A damsel in distress, a simpering cheerleader, a sultry vixen, and damn does she have the body to do it. Long, long legs, slinking hips that just love to be held by silk, satin, leather, lace, denim, or cotton, a well toned core, elegant shoulders, and a neck that harkens back to regal marble statues when she piles her thick hair on the top of her head either in a messy clip or an elegant up-do, and always she makes sure to take advantage of her ample cleavage. Just enough to warrant a second look, not a full on leering stare. Golden skin that was neither dark enough to be considered a true tan but not pale enough to warrant being trapped beneath clothing all the time like mine to avoid being baked by the sun. I had ventured to ask Jules on a multitude of occasions why she ran around with the likes of me when she could have had any modeling or actress job she wanted. And she'd fix me with her crystal blue eyes and smile and remind me that if she had either of those jobs she would never be able to eat another beignet again. And I would laugh, but my heart would blaze with heat, because I could see what she really meant behind her eyes. It was one of the only things in the world I was grateful for.
Now, I make no pretense about it. Jules and I, we don't make what you could call an honest living. We're hustlers, which is a way of saying con artists without saying it. We run the grift as it were, and over the years, we've gotten damn good at it. We're not interested in long scams, because by definition, it takes too long, and the payout is not really a guarantee, plus it gets way to sticky and tangled up for our tastes. No, we run fast scams. Does that make us thieves? Let me tell you something I've learned in the ten years I've been doing this. You can't con an honest man. And now you might be thinking 'well sure, you can't con an honest man, but you can still trick him out of his money.' Is taking advantage of someone's idiocy a crime?
Didn't think so.
It's not a crime if you can convince someone to give you money. Panhandlers do it every day. So do gold diggers. Sure, it might not be respectable, sure it might be dangerous, but me and Jules decided a long time ago that we weren't going to live like beggars, and we weren't shacking up with any guy with a wad of cash looking for a good time, because then we'd be no better than whores, and Jules and I might be a lot of things, but that ain't one of them.
It didn't take long for Jules to finish up. When she stepped out of the bathroom she had on a short sleeve royal blue blouse with the top button undone and a much darker blue skirt that came about halfway from her hip to her knee, just short enough to tease, and a pair of gold heels. Not that she needed the height, without them she already stood at impressive five nine, but with them they knocked her up to about five eleven. Her eyes were done up with soft, natural brown and golden eye shadows to bring out the blue with just a tiny bit of black liner carefully applied for a stronger effect, nothing like my heavy smudges that were just shy of careless. She'd pinned up her honey blonde hair with a large butterfly clip that sparkled with fake crystals. You'd never know by looking at her right now, but on her long golden back was a stark black tattoo of two wolves in full stride, legs outstretched, back flexed, ears pinned back, thick plumed tails curled inwards towards the small of her back while their noses were stretched up towards her shoulder blades, aiming for the full moon inked between them, but the moon itself was also a wolf's eye. She'd gotten it all done in a single session and even though Jules could take a lot of pain, even she was glad when it was over, and on the rare occasion when opportunity offered, she loved to parade around in a backless shirt or dress in order to show it off. We only got those chances when we were somewhere new and nobody had the chance to recognize us yet.
"Why don't you look delicious." I laughed as I dropped back down to my futon and dug around in my duffle for our shared box of cash and costume jewelry. I handed Jules the set of matching royal blue necklace, bracelet, and earrings. She quickly donned them and then double checked in the mirror. I dove my hand back into the bag and pulled out two leather cuffs that I quickly slipped onto my wrists, covertly hiding my tattoos. I hate hiding them, I really do, but I'm no fool. Their distinctive markings, and the goal is to blend in. I also picked up another tennis bracelet made of costume jewelry but we had kept it cleaned and polished so the fake stones sparkled like diamonds. To add to what I had on me was a deck of playing guards, a pack of cigarettes and my zippo lighter. I only had a couple smokes left in the pack but I also had a wad of cash tucked away in there as well. The bracelet I kept in my hand, the deck of cards, smokes, and my lighter I tucked into my pockets for later.
"You ready to go?" I asked as I downed the rest of my coffee.
"Let's rock and roll." Jules said, flashing me a smirk. She picked up a matching blue clutch with some cash inside and we left the apartment together, however we very quickly parted ways. We'd be back together soon enough though, on Bourbon Street, ready and willing to take advantage of an idiot who was just looking to give his money away.
Our plan is simple, and it works like a charm. Jules finds a guy, lonely, maybe a little bit desperate, and strikes a conversation with him. They walk and talk and she flirts just a bit, but then grows sad and tells him that yesterday while she was out some kid ran up and ripped her bracelet right off her wrist and ran off with it. She lures him into feeling sorry for her, telling her that if he'd of been there he'd of chased that little punk down, smacked him a good one, and brought her bracelet back. And she'd say that she'd reward him handsomely if that was the case. And he'd say well wouldn't that be so sweet of her. I'd be a safe distance away, watching the exchange, and Jules would give me a signal whether the mark was falling for it or not. If he was, she'd open her clutch with her left hand, the one with the bracelet. If he wasn't and she didn't think he'd go for it, she'd brush her long bangs to the side. If he was going to go for it, she'd take him by the arm and lazily wander up the street, enjoying each other's company, until there was a sufficient crowd. And then low and behold who turns up but the thief, aka me, holding the bracelet, looking for a pawn shop to sell it too, or, someone on the street, anybody who looks interested. Jules would excitedly point me out, and the man, having fallen for her con and expecting a reward (of any sort, monetary or otherwise) would approach me and demand that I give him the bracelet back.
"Well what do I get for it?" I demanded, slipping back further into the crowd, twining my fingers around the bracelet so the little stones flashed in the sunlight as I lured the mark a little bit further away from Jules. We always did this in a crowd in case the mark ever decided to get violent, much less chance of him pulling a weapon on me to steal it back. We also specifically targeted marks more liable to use less angry methods of persuasion.
"Come on kid, just give it to me, it's not yours, stealing's wrong." He told me, looking down at me like I was an insolent teenager. You have no idea how bad that look makes me want to beat the shit out of people. I'm fucking twenty-five years old, not some spoiled fourteen-year-old brat.
"I'm perfectly willing to give it back, without a scene, I just want a fair price. Finders keepers." I said. When he hadn't quite cracked I shrugged my shoulders, spun on my heel, and started to walk at a quick pace through the crowd to make a getaway. I felt him run up behind me, breath catching in his chest.
"Ok, ok, here!" he hissed. I allowed him to get in front of me, knowing I had another method of escape if I needed it, and he opened up his wallet.
"All of it." I demanded.
His eyes narrowed. "What do you take me for?" he snapped.
"A very smart man who if he plays his cards right can walk back a hero to his lovely blonde friend and be well rewarded." I answered. I jerked my head in Jules' direction who was waiting at the far end of the street, looking our way anxiously. I smirked at him and tilted an eyebrow, curling my lip just slightly. I could see it in the mark's face, he was cracking, the greed was taking over. He jerked out all of the cash he had and pressed it into my hand. I smiled and gratefully handed him back the bracelet.
"Thanks a lot hoss." I said before slipping away into the crowd, pulling out my pack of smokes and tucking the money inside before pulling a cigarette out and lighting it up, mingling back into the crowd, the shimmering waves of heat soaking into the concrete as I left the mark empty handed and exhaled a plume of smoke. The flavor of the tobacco and nicotine curled through my mouth and I smiled as I took another drag. When I was a safe distance away I pulled out the smokes again and counted how much I'd gotten. Hundred and fifty bucks.
"Drinks are on me tonight." I chuckled. We liked to hit the tourists in the morning when they were liable to still have most of their cash on them. Drunken marks were some times easier to con, but no matter the time of day Jules always came through for me during these little stunts. I didn't always make this much, but whenever I did, I was grateful.
I stole away from the street I'd been trolling and wandered around the city. Jules's next play would be to gush with gratitude for the mark, spend another couple of hours with him, exchange phone numbers, agree to call, and then rush off saying she was meeting with her friends. And of course, never call back. Cause we're not whores, remember? We'd meet back up later at the flat, meanwhile I would keep my head down and start looking for places to troll for tomorrow. Jules and I tried not to run more than one scam a day, because conditions had to be right, and if people started recognizing us, then we'd have to bail out of town again, and that was just not comfortable. We had a cache of money squirrelled away in the event we had to run quick, but it wasn't something we liked to do. We were good at it, but after ten years, it was getting tiring.
I eventually found myself wandering down near the Mississippi River. On the one bank it was full of industry, sky scrapers, noise, and all things that would benefit someone like me. On the other it was almost an entirely different world; green grass, swaying trees, small houses and neighborhood streets. I always came down to the river because it reminded me of the river Seine in Paris and the one time I think I'd been happy without anything tainting it.
"Of course you were happy then. You were a child." I muttered angrily to myself. I pulled out my last cigarette and it lit it up, sucking in the carcinogens like there was no tomorrow. For someone like me, there might not be. I stuck to the city side of the river and kept my eyes peeled, a habit I'd long since learned. As I walked up and down the street, looking for potential marks, I started catching sight of some seedy guys pacing up and down the sidewalks. Seedy was probably the wrong word. Threatening was more accurate. There was nothing in particular that alerted me to the difference of their presence, except for the fact that maybe there was so many of them present. They were all tall, all of their shoulders straining at their shirts, hard jaws, scars, some tattooed, chunky jewelry on their wrists or fingers, and all hard eyes sweeping over the street. I recognized these guys. They were the cronies of one Calvin Dane, resident top gangster of New Orleans. Anybody that does anything illegal in this city knows Dane. And therefore, Jules and I know Dane. Mostly because we'd made the mistake of trolling for marks in one of his clubs and he'd promptly thrown us out after groping Jules and bruising the back of my neck with the force of his grip as he'd literally tossed us out into the street with a warning that if he ever caught us trying to grift money from his club again that he'd have us working as whores in the back booths of his strip joint faster than we could say 'please.' Dane had come into the gangster world with an iron fist and a long chain that he had no problems cracking over the backs of anybody who got in his way, and he'd keep cracking until they went for broke and ran for their lives, or died. He also didn't mind using that chain to strangle the other members of the competition. Ever since he'd shown up here, he'd systematically, bought out, driven off, or killed anybody that got in his way. He owns the city now, and even the cops know it. They'd tried multiple times to charge him with anything they could, drugs, prostitution, murder, trafficking, anything, but nothing could stick. They couldn't even get parking tickets on him because he's paid off or blackmailed more or less every judge in this town. Cause Dane is a very clever man. I don't know exactly how he hides the evidence of what he does, but however he does it, he's damn good at it. My guess is that he's paying experts of some sort, maybe even cops, to help him dispose of anything that could link him to a crime. But of course I don't ask. That's a great way to get killed. You don't ask questions in this place.
I turned to go. I wasn't interested in tangling with Dane's boys tonight. I'm a tough girl, I know how to handle myself, but against bruisers like these, when its just me, and I'm unarmed, I'd really rather not. But I hadn't gotten more than a block away when I felt someone's presence behind me. I paused and felt the steps behind me do the same.
Paging Will Schmitt, flight number 2367 to the gates of Hell is now boarding.
I turned on my heel and was faced with probably the least intimidating of Dane's thugs. I remembered him from the night Jules and I had been kicked out of Dane's club. He was a tall, handsome black man with neatly kept dreads tied behind his head, the flash an understated gold chain around his neck. His shoulders moved fluidly beneath his leather jacket, and even beneath the cloth I could all but see the ripple of his well-muscled biceps. He'd been the mark that Jules had set upon, and if I remember correctly she'd said his name was Dominic.
"Willow, how nice to see you again." He said, his sharp white teeth flashing in the growing darkness that was quickly being pushed back by the multitude of neon and headlights that were starting to light up the city.
"Dominic right?" I asked, deciding to play cool for the moment.
He nodded and flashed another smile. I might have trusted it, if it weren't for that crawling feeling in my gut that said this was not going to end well for me. I shook it off anyway. "How have you been, Willow?" he continued as we moved a little closer to one of the buildings to allow foot traffic to pass us on the sidewalk uninterrupted.
I shrugged my shoulders. "Please, call me Will. And I can't complain." I answered, pulling out my deck of playing cards and beginning to shuffle them. It was something I did when I grew nervous, not that Dom had to know that.
"Good I'm glad. It was lucky of me to come across you this evening, Cal wouldn't mind having a word with you," he said to me, and now his eyes darkened. The gold around his neck flashed in the thin light from the streetlight a few yards ahead of us, but the darkness around the doorstep we were crowding was getting thicker. My heart beat faster beneath my ribs but I exhaled coolly, wishing like hell for a cigarette, or a shot of whiskey to steady my hands.
"Would he now? Why's that?" I asked. I thumbed my cards again and leaned against the brick of the nearest building and kept my cool even as Dom traced his thumb against his lower lip.
"Well that's his business isn't it? I'm just the messenger," he told me, and I saw the look in his eyes. It was a press, a push against my liberty. It was not a forceful snatch, but it was a firm coax of an imaginary hand beneath my chin pulling me along. I instinctively knew that Dom could get rough if he wanted to, but he was a gentleman, as much as one could be in his shoes, and so he'd play nice, but only for so long. This wasn't a request. He leaned towards me a bit and I saw the handgun in its holster beneath his arm hidden by his jacket. My heart thumped harder in my chest, sweat breaking out on the small of my back and my neck. My feet were getting those little electric pulses that always happened when I was about to have to run, possibly for my life. I'd done it before, but it usually ended up with me racing back to the flat, Jules and I shoving everything in our bags, and driving all night until we were sure we'd left our last town in the dust.
"I haven't done anything." I said firmly. I shuffled the cards again, taking in a deep breath to steady myself.
Dom shrugged. "I know that. You're no fool, Will, you wouldn't screw Dane twice. But as you're not a fool, you'll also know that you should come with me."
I shook my head. "Come on Dom, don't play around like that. You do think I'm an idiot if you think I'm going with you alone."
He actually chuckled a little and flicked his dreads back over his shoulder. "Dane said you would say that. He also said to tell you that he knows about you, Jules, Boston, and Redfield, and that unless you want both your pictures on the front page news by tomorrow morning to come with me." Now his voice was firm with just a little edge, like the gleam of light on the blade of a knife.
My breath caught hard in my throat and even my well practiced poker face was fast enough to hide it. Dom's eyes loosened with a knowing look and maybe even a little bit of sympathy. I'd of never pegged him for a gangster just by first glance, he really didn't seem the type, but I still knew not to push my luck. If Dane trusted him, then that mean he had a reason. My heart was racing in my chest, sweat starting to bead in the small of my back and the base of my neck. I wished like hell for a breeze but there was none and already my thoughts were racing. Dom was staring at me expectantly, waiting for my answer.
I pushed off the wall, flicked one of the cards out of the deck loose and then stowed the rest. "Got a pen?" I asked.
He nodded and dipped into the pocket inside his jacket and pulled a felt tip loose and handed it to me. I popped the cap and took the ace of spades I'd pulled free and scrawled a message on the card before handing the pen and the card back to Dom. He stared at it with a confused expression for a moment.
"Take that to Dane, it will pacify him. I'm no fool, I'm not going anywhere near Dane, not without Jules with me. You take that to him, and we'll be in touch." I smiled briefly to help smooth the situation over. "Je vais revenir." (I'll be back)
I turned on my heel and walked away, not giving him room to negotiate. I expected Dom to follow me but after three blocks, well outside of the thickets bits of Dane's territory I looked back and he wasn't there. I breathed a little easier but all the same, I picked up the pace. As soon as I had the chance I found a payphone and put in a call.
"Hello?" Jules voice immediately comforted me.
"Come meet me at Voodoo Child. Drinks are on me." I said. I tried to keep my voice light but I found myself shaking anyway. Jumbled memories and thoughts were starting to pound into my brain like those foam hammers on whack-a-mole at the arcade. Everything felt hazy and thick and oppressive, just like the unrelenting humidity.
Jules picked up on the stress in my voice immediately. She was always able to see through anything that was going on with me, no matter what it was. "Are you all right? Did something happen?" she asked, becoming more concerned.
"No I'm fine, but I need to see you, and the house is too crowded." 'Crowded' was code for that someone still could be following me and I didn't want to lead anybody back to where we lived but we needed to be in person.
"Ok. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"I'm on my way, should take me twenty with traffic. Get me a drink if you can. Bye." I hung up the phone and headed back up the street, wishing like hell I had another smoke. Heat lightning flashed overhead and a rumble of the thunder growled in the darkened sky and I thought back to my dream and wondered if the ominous storm overhead was related to the darkness in my own mind.