Excerpt
Bourbon Street wasn’t as crowded as usual during the evenings but the sidewalks, filled with questionable strangers and citizens that peddled musical talents for the drunken dollar. Dionne, beautifully bronzed skin, green eyes and sleek thighs staggered alongside Carol who was a stunning brunette. She often changed her hair color to satisfy Dionne’s appetite. Dionne liked her so-called equals slimmer but more erotic than she was with a peculiar sexual craving for trying likings of the abnormal. They were leaving the Cotton Club where action was pushed to the climax every day and every night even if the sour street corners were empty.
They strolled through the dim lit alleyway to Dionne’s 1965 silver Maserati, not knowing that someone was following them. It was Peterson, the District Attorney of New Orleans. He stood in a dark alleyway, careful not to be seen by anyone while he watched Dionne tongue her lover, giggle, embrace, lightly scratching each other’s skin.
He was following her not only because there were several murdered prostitutes that were connected but he was fascinated with her good looks. The way she carried herself turned him on but he wouldn’t publicly admit it even to the darkest side of himself. He struggled with the fact that he would never reach a part of her that would allow him to feel powerful as a man. A pat, that would make him believe he could conquer the world. He wasn’t her type but she got off on control no matter who it was. She controlled Deputy Gilder who once led the current investigation of serial murders of the most desirable prostitutes. He was corrupt. He was out of control and in the open about his dealings with drugs and crime. Peterson cut him loose and since he had the opportunity to watch and follow Dionne, he did.
There was a lot happening in New Orleans and surrounding counties. Not that it had just begun, it was a build up of many situations. Murders went unnoticed. Drugs were trafficked in the city at will with the help of the law, Attorney General Lye Garrett. It was all untouchable until Sharon Nobles went missing. She was the neglected niece of Senator Nobles.
Carol stopped to watch a couple grasp one another. She couldn’t see what they were up to but it was interesting enough to figure out.
“That’s somebody else’s business,” Dionne pushed her along, tugging at Carol’s beltline.
The smell of stale liquor was all over the sidewalk and around unknown alleyways. Peterson took the last puff of a cigarette and dropped it to the pavement. As Dionne unlocked the passenger door for Carol, he approached them.
He stepped forward with his gray hair glaring underneath the street lamps and his thin French stature was muscular. His Louisianan accent was piquant which gave an impression to strangers that he wasn’t threatened by anyone. “What’s the drug of choice tonight? Cocaine? Heroin? Or that new potent stuff they mix with Vicodin?”
“Uh-oh,” Carol jokingly whispered.
He stepped closer. “You know the streets but the streets don’t know you. You’re too smooth.”
“Beat it you jerk.” Carol leaned against Dionne.
“That’s what you do.” Peterson spoke calmly, putting his hands into his trench coat pockets. “That’s what you do. Eat ‘em up. You’re raw. Never mind the sausage. Go straight to the bun. No Up-Side Down Heinz Ketchup. No Stay Cap Frenchie’s Classic Mustard sauce. Everyone’s favorite. Raw.”
“Shouldn’t you be somewhere popping your whacker,” Dionne said with a smirk on her face.
Peterson moved closer. “So smooth and lively. You know how to get away with things. That can lead to some serious trouble.”
“Something’s always shooting off in that teeny-tiny-weenie head of yours,” Dionne said closing the door behind Carol who sat in the passenger side.
“I got my membership,” he explained. “I joined the club a while ago. Like everyone else, I’m watching you.”
Dionne strolled quietly over to the driver’s side of the Maserati. “Then I’ll leave the lights on so you can watch.”
“You always do.” Peterson lit another cigarette, watching Dionne get into the car. “You always do.”
She sped off into the back roads of Bourbon Street, not thinking once about Peterson and his plans to follow her.