“Yeah.”
They got out of the car, and he locked the doors with the remote. When they stepped onto the curb, he walked up to a guy sitting there with a trash bag full of stuff.
“Hey, want to make a quick forty dollars?”
The guy blinked a couple of times, like he couldn’t believe his luck. “Forty dollars?”
“Yeah,” Xander said. “All you have to do is watch that car. Make sure nobody messes with it.” He took a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to the guy. “I’ll give you the other twenty when I come back.”
The man’s eyes were full of suspicion, but he took the money, stuffing it into his pocket.
“You know where Eddie Clement lives?” Xander asked him.
The man shook his head without even thinking about the question.
“Okay, thanks, anyway. We’ll be right back.”
They turned their attention to the house in front of them. Claire scanned the street, wondering if maybe they’d missed the house numbers from the car, but it was just like she thought; none of the houses had any identifying characteristics.
“Now what?” she asked.
Xander pointed to some guys huddled on the porch of a house a couple doors down. “I guess we’ll have to ask them.”
Claire swallowed her nervousness. “Right.”
She could hear the men laughing and talking as they approached. When they spotted Claire and Xander, a murmur went up through the group. They were all quiet by the time Xander started up the walk, his hand firmly on Claire’s arm.
“Hey,” Xander said. “How’s it going?”
Claire was surprised by the change in Xander’s voice, in his mannerisms. He was still Xander. Still dressed in nice clothes with the manners of an old-school Victorian. But now his speech was slightly slower, the words almost running together, and instead of standing perfectly straight, he was slouched just a little.
She didn’t know if the change was because of the neighborhood or the fact that they were around a bunch of guys. Maybe a little of both.
One of the men, tall with a chest the size of a wine barrel, stepped forward a little. “Good, good. What can we do for you, my brother?”
“I’m looking for Eddie Clement. Any idea where he lives?”
“Eddie Clement?” the man said. “Crazy Eddie Clement?”
The men erupted into peals of laughter, muttering to one another words that Claire couldn’t quite make out.
“That would be the guy,” Xander confirmed. “Crazy Eddie.”
Their laughter slowly subsided. The man in front slid his gaze to Claire before turning his eyes back to Xander. “Shit, man. Crazy Eddie moved after Katrina.”
Claire’s heart sunk a little.
“Any idea where he went?” Xander asked.
“Don’t no one ’round here go far,” the man in front said. “Crazy Eddie moved three blocks north. Used to live there.” He pointed to a house across the street, its roof caved in, a dark, moldy waterline just under the eaves.
Xander nodded in understanding.
It was easy to forget there were places in New Orleans, not far from where Claire lived, that were still totally devastated by Hurricane Katrina. She’d always thought of herself as a strong person, but these people were stronger than her by a mile.
“Any idea which house?” Xander asked.
“For Eddie?” the guy on the porch confirmed.
“Yeah.”
The guy thought about it and then turned to confer with the group behind and around him. They spoke softly to one another for a couple of minutes before the guy in front turned back to face Xander and Claire.
He pointed to a street on the left. “Take that three blocks up. It’s the green house on the corner. Probably see Miss Thelma on the porch.”
Xander stepped forward, extending his hand. “Thanks.”
The man looked at his hand in surprise before stepping forward slowly. He clasped Xander’s hand in his own.
“No problem, man.” His eyes drifted again to Claire. “Watch your girl up there, now.”
Xander nodded, his jaw tight. “Always.”
He steered Claire down the walk. Claire could feel the eyes of the men on the porch as she and Xander headed for the street on the left. She breathed a sigh of relief when they turned the corner, though it wasn’t any better here.
“You okay?” Xander asked softly. “I could take you home. Come back alone.”
“No way,” Claire said. “I’m fine.”
They continued up the street. Most of the houses looked like the ones where they’d parked; water-damaged, condemned stickers on the front, and roofs caved in with only a few semihabitable structures still standing.
The Guild didn’t discriminate according to wealth. You got in because of your heritage, your connection to the old voodoo families that helped establish the city. Still, because of the niche market, most of the supply houses did well—somewhere between middle class and really affluent like the Toussaints, who catered to the oldest, richest families and to authentic wholesalers.
This didn’t look like a place for a Guild member, and Claire couldn’t help wondering if Crazy Eddie regretted whatever he’d done to get kicked out.
“Think that’s it?” Xander was pointing to a house on the corner up ahead. The siding was only slightly green, faded now from water and sun.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
A figure became visible on the porch. As they came closer, Claire saw that it was an old woman, swaying back and forth in an old-fashioned rocker and staring off into the distance.
“That must be Miss Thelma.”
Xander nodded, loosening his hold on her arm a little when he realized no one was around but an old lady in a housecoat.
They approached the porch slowly, not wanting to startle the old woman. Even when they stopped at the bottom of the stairs, her only acknowledgment of their presence was the movement of her eyes in their direction. She didn’t pause in the rhythm of her rocking.
Xander seemed to hesitate.
Claire cleared her throat before speaking. “Hello. You must be Miss Thelma.”
Silence stretched between them. Claire was preparing to repeat herself when the old woman spoke.
“Maybe, maybe not. Who’s asking?” Her voice was cracked and low with an undercurrent of sharpness. Old woman or not, Claire wouldn’t want to mess with her.
Claire stepped forward and held out a hand. “I’m Claire Kincaid. This is my friend Xander Toussaint. We’re actually looking for Cr—” Claire stumbled over the nickname, realizing it probably wasn’t polite—or smart—to put the word “crazy” in front of someone’s name when you didn’t know exactly who you were talking to.
“Eddie,” Claire finished. “We’re looking for Eddie Clement. We were told he might live here.”
“Might be, might not.” The woman was still rocking.
“We’re not looking to give him any trouble,” Xander said. “We were just hoping he could help us.”
“What folks like you be needing help from Eddie for?” she asked, her eyes shrewd.
Claire swallowed hard, debating their options. On the one hand, she hated to give too much away to someone she didn’t know. Even an old woman like this could be connected to the Guild one way or another.
On the other hand, Crazy Eddie was their only hope for information about Maximilian without going directly to the Guild.
“We were kind of hoping Eddie might be able to answer some questions,” Claire said. “About the Guild.”
It was a test. A risky one, but necessary. Either the woman would know what she was talking about or she wouldn’t, but at least they’d know who they were dealing with.
For a split second, the woman paused in her rocking. She started up again, but it was enough for Claire to know she’d gotten the woman’s attention.