Out of the Easy(9)

“Shut up and quit your hummin’. I’m trying to sleep, you little wench!” screeched Evangeline.

I dodged the shoe she threw at me from under her covers. Evangeline had no family. She certainly didn’t have a father like Forrest Hearne. I sighed, thinking about Mr. Hearne. He assumed I was attending college. And why not? No one said a girl like me couldn’t go to college. Then I laughed. How many college girls cleaned cathouses?

“I said SHUT UP!” screamed Evangeline.

I walked down the hall to Mother’s room and turned the knob gently, careful not to make a sound. Cokie had oiled the door for me. Mother hated when it squeaked. I slid quietly into the room and closed the door, smiling. Mother’s room smelled of her Silk ’n’ Satin powder she bought at Maison Blanche. As usual, her stockings hung over the chair, but her black garter belt wasn’t there. I peeked into her high, red-canopied bed. Mother wasn’t in it.

The bell tinkled downstairs. Willie was awake. I picked up my pail, left Mother’s room, and headed down to the kitchen.

Sadie, the cook and laundress, was scurrying around the sink.

“Happy New Year, Sadie,” I said.

She nodded, smiling with her mouth closed. Sadie was mute and never spoke a word. We didn’t even know her real name. Willie named her Sadie because she once knew a sweet crippled horse named Sadie. The horse ended up getting shot. Willie said she wished we were all mute like Sadie.

I set to making Willie’s chicory coffee. Like many in New Orleans, Willie was particular about her coffee. I perfected her brew when I was twelve, and she’d insisted I make her coffee ever since. There wasn’t really a secret. I bought the coffee from Morning Call and added a little honey and cinnamon. With the pail in one hand and the coffee tray in the other, I walked through the parlor and back to Willie’s door. I tapped my foot gently against the bottom.

“Open,” said the hoarse voice.

I pushed the door with my hip, catching it again and closing it with my foot. Willie’s apartment was nothing like the rest of the house. Potted palms throughout her sitting room and bedroom gave it a tropical feel. Willie’s rolltop desk sat on an antique Aubusson rug next to a buttercream marble fireplace. An ornate birdcage hung empty from the ceiling in the corner. As usual, Willie sat in the center of her high bed, propped against the pillows in her black silk kimono, platinum hair combed, red lipstick freshly applied.

“Happy New Year, Willie.”

She scraped a file across her long fingernail. “Hmm . . . is it?” she said.

I put the pail down and set the tray of coffee on her bed.

She took a sip and then nodded in approval. “Paper?”

I pulled the paper out from the back of my apron and handed it to her.

“How bad is it?” she asked, propped against her thick pillows.

“I’ve seen worse,” I told her. It was true. I had seen much worse, like when the insurance salesman from Florida got so drunk he fell down and hit his head. There was blood everywhere. It looked like someone had slaughtered a hog on the floor. I scrubbed for days and still couldn’t get the stain up. Willie eventually bought a large oriental rug to put over the spot. She even rearranged the furniture. But the stain was still there. Some things just won’t go away, no matter how hard you scrub.

“So, what do you have?” she asked.

I picked up the pail. “Well, first, this huge thing.” I pulled an enormous red shoe out of the bucket.

Willie nodded. “From Kansas City. He paid two bills to dress up in stockings and dance with the girls.”

“And he left a shoe?” I asked.

“No, the other one’s under the settee in the parlor. I keep them up in the attic for guys like him. Wipe them off and put them back up there. What else?”

I pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of the pail. “In Dora’s toilet tank.”

Willie rolled her eyes.

I produced a silver cigarette lighter from the bucket. “On Sweety’s bedside table.”

“Well done. It belongs to an Uptown attorney. What a horse’s ass. Thinks he’s so smart. He doesn’t know the difference between piss and perfume. I’ll have fun returning that to him. Maybe I’ll drop by his house at dinnertime.”

“And this,” I said. “I found it in the upstairs hallway.” I held up a bullet.

Willie put out her hand.

“Did you have one of the bankers here last night?” I asked.

“This isn’t from a banker’s gun,” said Willie. “It’s for a .38.”

“How do you know?”

Willie reached under her pillow and pulled out a gun. With a flick of her wrist she opened the cylinder, slid the bullet in the chamber, and snapped the cylinder back into place. “That’s how I know. Get your mother.”

“She isn’t here,” I said. “Her bed is empty, and her garter belt isn’t on the chair.”

“Such a liar. Said she didn’t feel well. She had that sack of trash in my house. I haven’t gotten a report from Frankie. Did anyone see Cincinnati last night?” asked Willie.

“I don’t know. For a minute I thought he was in the store, but it was only Patrick. He scared the bejesus out of me.”

“Patrick, hmph. He’s nothing like his father, that’s for sure. How’s Charlie doing?”