To the west, even the neon flare from Harrah’s Casino looked subdued against the hazy sky.
The first chill of early morning slithered off the Mississippi, barely shifting the odors of old buildings, old beer, or the scent of flowers in hanging baskets.
“You don’t need a cab,” he said. “I’ll walk with you and you’ll be fine.”
A ship’s horn bleated from the river and Marley jumped. Standing in the street with him on the sidewalk, she seemed even smaller. “I’ll be fine?” she said, only it wasn’t a question really.
He threw up his hands. “Oh, for God’s sake. Do you really think I’m some sort of perverted killer?”
“I don’t know what you are,” she said.
No, of course she didn’t. He pulled out his wallet and searched through it. “I may have a cab number in here somewhere,” he said. Why fight her logical arguments? In her position he wouldn’t want him to walk her home, either.
Mentally, she had moved away from him again. He felt it without looking at her, but when he did glance up, he knew he was right.
Green, gold and pink, Scully’s neon sign pulsed over Marley’s shuttered features.
“Marley?” he said, deliberately quiet.
Her face moved in his direction, but not her eyes, or not immediately. “Doesn’t look as if I’m going to get a cab,” she said finally.
He took another look through his wallet.
“We can probably be home before I get a ride,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced. “Let’s go. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“Are you sure?” There wasn’t much he liked about this. She behaved as if she were acting under pressure. “We could go back inside and find a phone book. Hell, someone in the club will know who to call.”
Again she looked away and thought about it. “That would be silly. You know I’ve had…It’s been hard today. I don’t go around telling people about myself, not the stuff they’ll only laugh at.”
She didn’t need more grief, not after what she’d taken from Nat earlier. “Okay, then.” He grinned and offered her an arm. “I didn’t laugh when you said you saw things…or people, was it? When you aren’t in your body you see them?”
“Thanks,” she said, “but you’re laughing now.”
She started walking.
“No, I’m not,” Gray said, catching up and falling into step beside her. “I’d like to know more about…more about it all.” What did bother him was hearing voices, or feeling things he shouldn’t feel.
“There’s nothing more to know,” she said.
She was probably right and it might be kinder to his health to think so. Anyway, he knew better than to press her again on the subject and they went in silence to the corner of Iberville Street and made a left. His shoes rang on the sidewalk. The soles of her shoes must be soft.
“Tell me how you got to know Liza and Amber,” Marley said. “Why did you choose them? Detective Archer said you were a good cop. Or he more or less said that. So why be a journalist at all?”
Gray wasn’t sure what to say, or if he ought to tell her anything at all. But it couldn’t hurt to see if talking about himself a bit would put her at ease.
“My old man was a cop,” he said, unsure why he started there. Then he knew. “So I wanted to do what he did. He was…is a good guy.” Talking about his father was easy.
Illness had shrunk Gus Fisher from the big, strong man he’d been into a memory of himself. Sometimes Gray thought of his dad as two people, the one who slew a boy’s lions and seemed invincible, the other still wise and funny, but who had reversed roles with his son. Gray was his father’s rock now, or he was when Gus would allow him to be.
“I like to hear people talk about their families,” Marley said.
Gray gathered himself. “You work with yours, don’t you?”
She laughed. “Yes.”
When she didn’t go on, Gray let it go. “Gus didn’t really want me on the force. I thought he did, and he pretended that’s the way it was, so we fooled each other for years. He was proud to have me there. When I made my first moves up through the ranks, he was about ready to pop, he was so pumped. It didn’t matter to him that he was what he called a plain cop and always would be. That was good with him.”
“You love him a lot,” she said and he heard her soften.
“I thought I was a cop for life, but I only got more frustrated because I wanted something else. Long story short, with my dad’s blessing—and I knew he’d give it—I took time off to see if I could make it as a writer.”
She was quiet once more and her pace slackened. They walked slowly through the heavy night. As they got farther from the river, nothing moved but the two of them. Gray didn’t remember the city being so quiet at this time of the morning. But then, he didn’t hang out in this area anymore.
“Whew,” Marley said. “It’s so muggy.”
His turn to laugh. “That’s new?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head and smiling up at him. “I’ve never liked the real heat even though I was born here.” Her smile faded very slowly.
She’d gone away from him again. And his spine began to tingle as it had several times in the hours since he met her.
He almost laughed at himself. Even journalists had libidos. Marley Millet had his doing contortions, not that he knew why. She was good to look at in a kind of breakable way, but that wasn’t it. The lady appealed to his need for challenge. He wanted to know her and know about her.
Come on, Gray. You think she’s got something to do with this case.
“You were going to tell me about Liza and Amber,” she said.
And so she persisted—because, like him, she wanted something. They wanted things from each other.
“Writing about jazz singers in New Orleans is a natural,” he said. “It’s not a new idea, but maybe it is the way I’m doing it. I’m not going after people who are institutions already. It’s the strugglers who interest me—mostly the women. Women always came, but not in the numbers there are now. What is it that makes them want to make it badly enough to come here? This can be a dangerous place for a woman more or less on her own.”
“From where I’m looking, it is a dangerous place,” Marley said. “Liza and Amber know it is, too.”
Gray figured he’d walked into that.
Marley would not have gone two steps with Gray Fisher, alone, if Sykes hadn’t threatened her with a fate worse than death if she didn’t.
“How,” he had asked, “are you going to find out if the guy’s a threat without giving him a chance to jump you? Trust me and do it.”
She hadn’t laughed, or not on the outside…
While she listened to Gray, Sykes loped along on the journalist’s other side. Now that he had Marley’s attention, Sykes had dimmed himself. When she saw his face, it was almost clear, but the rest of him blended into the background and appeared as a figure made of transparent shadows.
And Sykes had never had any trouble making himself heard and understood whenever he felt like it. Unlike Uncle Pascal, they all knew Sykes was a scary-when-he-didn’t-smile, scarier-when-he-did-smile, outrageously powerful paranormal talent.
“What do you make of Danny Summit?” Gray asked. “I didn’t know he was so involved with Amber till tonight.”
“I don’t know anything about him,” Marley said. “Maybe he’s just what he seems to be, worried about his girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” Gray snorted. “Neither of them said a word about it to me.”
“Until tonight,” Marley said.
“And they live together.”
“Seems that way,” Marley agreed. “I don’t think he meant to tell us that. Earlier he told me he loved her, but she wasn’t his girlfriend. Go figure.”
Sykes nodded and took mincing steps as if he had to struggle not to outpace Marley and Gray. That wasn’t as true when it came to Gray, who was almost as tall and long-legged as Sykes.
“Don’t do anything to make me laugh,” Marley communicated with him. “You don’t need to walk at all, do you?”