Chapter 13

After a leisurely lunch, Jarrod and Nick went by the railroad station to arrange for their car to be attached to the next morning's train to Chicago. Then they were off to the races at the fairgrounds. Nick had good luck on the horses, but Jarrod lost a bit of the money he'd won at the gambling tables earlier. "No matter," he said when they headed back to the hotel. "I'll make it up at the Absinthe House. Are you all settled for now, or do you want to stop by the gentlemen's club?"

And the annex. Nick understood that's what Jarrod was asking. He checked his watch, saw it was after five, and said, "No. Let's just get cleaned up and changed and have a good dinner and gambling at the Absinthe House." He thought about Caroline and smiled. "I don't think I can improve on the other night."

As they walked back to the hotel, Jarrod thought about everything that had happened since they got here. "I hope the trip wasn't too big a disappointment, what with getting mixed up in Darby's business again."

"No," Nick said. "I mean, I'm sorry we did, but that's a vacation for you. You never know what's gonna happen. I suppose we need to decide what we're going to tell Mother, and what we're not going to tell her."

"I suggest we just keep it all to ourselves," Jarrod said.

"I don't think she'd mind knowing you helped nail a hit man."

"We helped nail a hit man. You had a part in all this too. But I don't think we need to tell her about it."

"Why not?"

"Well, let's just say I'd rather not get into a long discussion about Darby."

"What about Louisa and Caroline?"

Jarrod smiled. "Let's just say I'd rather not get into a long discussion about the women we might have shared our company with. And I don't think you want to do that either."

"Louisa and Caroline were safe. We were gentlemen."

"But do you want to risk the annex coming up? You know how you can let things slip out sometimes."

Nick considered that. "You're right. Sometimes I do say the wrong things."

"Before we came out here," Jarrod said, "Mother said she didn't want details of how we spent our time. She has no illusions about us – she knows we're grown men. I think we best just do what she says and keep things to ourselves. If we say anything, we can just say we were gentlemen and leave it at that."

Nick sighed. "Yeah. You're right."

After cleaning up and changing clothes back at their room, they went on to the Absinthe House for dinner. They enjoyed the jambalaya and the music of the small house band and drank one last Sazerac together – toasting Jack Darby and the joy of not running into him even if he did overshadow their entire stay. Then they moved onto the gambling house and spent a long time playing poker, smoking cigars, and enjoying winning money and just not worrying about Jack Darby, hit men, or anything else.

Something curious began to happen there at about nine o'clock. A man came in with a camera and began setting up here and there around the room. He talked to people and took photographs, not staying very long in any one place. Several of the patrons looked unhappy about it, but as soon as he moved on, they were done with him.

It wasn't very long before the man set up at the Barkleys' table and pointed his camera at Jarrod and Nick. He quickly passed out business cards, saying, "Gentlemen, I don't intend to pester you for long. I'm only taking photographs for the newspaper. We're doing a series of articles on the various gambling houses here in New Orleans and tonight it's the Absinthe House's turn. Do you mind if I take one photo?"

Jarrod and Nick both shrugged. They were just playing poker, after all. Besides, everyone at the table figured if they let him do what he wanted he would go away quicker. He put the plate into the camera, set up the flash and in just a moment asked everyone to smile. Jarrod and Nick looked up, smiling just a little, and the photographer zeroed in on them. In a moment the flash went off and the photographer thanked everyone, pulled his plate and put it into his bag, and moved on to another table.

"For the newspaper, huh?" Jarrod said.

One of the other players said, "The newspaper's been doing it all over town for months. It's a way to drum up business for the gambling houses."

"Like they need it," one of the other players said.

"Nobody seems to worry about their wives seeing them in a gambling house?" Nick asked.

The other men at the table looked at him like he was crazy. "You're not from around here, are you?" one of them asked.

Jarrod laughed.

"I wonder if we could get a copy of the picture," Nick said to Jarrod as they went back to the game.

Jarrod looked at him, wondering why he asked that.

"Souvenir," Nick said.

"Evidence for Mother," Jarrod said.

"You think too much like a lawyer," Nick said.

Jarrod laughed again.

And everything was just fine until somebody at another table slugged the photographer. All hell broke loose - the photographer grabbed his equipment and ran out, men started throwing punches, other men ran for the exits, waitresses disappeared into a back room, dealers gathered up money and retreated elsewhere too, and bartenders held fast at their bars to protect the liquor. Jarrod and Nick got up to get out of the way, but somebody threw an errant punch that landed on Nick's jaw, and that did it. The Barkley men were in the thick of things too - until the police arrived and started hauling people away.

Jarrod and Nick got separated for a few minutes, but ultimately ran into each other outside, bloodied but unbowed, each of them brandishing his get-out-of-jail card that had sent the police off without them. Nick grinned. "Not a bad way to end a trip like this one. Something not to tell Mother about."

Jarrod laughed and said, "And Jack Darby is nowhere in sight."

XXXXXXXXXX

Epilogue

New Orleans Public Library, 1959

Cal Calhoun was careful with the old newspapers he was looking through, because they were old and brittle despite the constant New Orleans humidity. He was doing some research on the Absinthe House, where he and his business partner had their offices and his partner had his living quarters. They were thinking about some renovations but did not want to run afoul of the historical preservation people. His partner, at a nearby table, was consulting some books on New Orleans history.

And Cal suddenly came to an old photograph in one of the old newspapers. It was startling, partly because it was still in such good shape that he could see the people in it clearly, and partly because of who he was seeing in it. "Rex!" he called his partner, not too loudly. "Come over here!"

Rex Randolph got up, walked over, and looked over Cal's shoulder. "What have you got?"

Cal pointed. "Take a look at this."

Rex looked closely at the man Cal was pointing at. The photo was of the old gambling room at the Absinthe House, and showed some men at a gaming table. Rex began to grin. "Well, would you look at that? I've got a hundred-year-old twin!"

"One of your ancestors, maybe?" Cal asked.

"Maybe," Rex said. "It doesn't say who he is, does it?"

"No. But he sure is the spitting image of you – and take a closer look."

Cal pointed to another man, in the background, slightly out of focus but still clear enough to see his face. The other man was smiling, looking at the camera, holding a cigar in his hand. The man in the foreground didn't seem to know he was there. Rex looked – and was astonished. "Not twins! Triplets!"

The man in the background looked exactly like the man in the foreground, and they both looked exactly like Rex.

"Maybe these two were twins," Cal said. "Any twins in your family tree?"

"Not that I know of," Rex said. "These men would be my great grandfather's age, and I'm told I do favor old Great Grandpappy Darby. Maybe one of them is my great grandfather, but I don't think he had a twin."

"Well, they were here at the Absinthe House in the early 1880s. Interesting coincidence, that here we are now working on restoring the glory of the place."

"I don't know about the glory," Rex said. "The Absinthe House doesn't appear to be interested in opening up a gambling room again. But it is fascinating, isn't it? To see two men in an ancient photograph, who look exactly like me."

"The one in the background looks a bit on the roguish side, doesn't he?"

"I'm told my Great Grandpappy Darby had a past," Rex said. "But to me, he was just an old goat who liked to grab passing children and tickle them to death."

"He was alive when you were a kid?"

"Till I was seven."

"Too bad there isn't more here about these two men," Cal said.

"Yes," Rex said. And he smiled as he looked at the two men again. "Yeah, I obviously got my boyish good looks from somebody. I'll bet they're both relatives of mine," he said thoughtfully, and then he laughed. "Whoever they were, I'll bet they had a time or two together. They look like the type."

"And you got that temperament from somewhere," Cal said.

Rex raised his eyebrows. "I am the personification of decorum!"

Cal laughed. "You keep right on believing that, Rex. Just as I'll bet your Great Grandpappy Darby did."

Rex gave a laugh and another look at the photo. Yes, he was sure these two men were related to him somehow, and he was sorry he couldn't pin down how, but what the heck. Seeing his own face in these two men tickled him. Wasn't life just curious that way?

The End