It’s New Orleans all right

Axel Weber

by Axel Weber

Story

The legs of the black woman were very long and she was standing on her high heels in her corner, smoking a cigarette. I was slowly driving past her, with the top down, sitting low in my old convertible. My face was cancer-red not only from the sun but from the drink. Our eyes met, and we exchanged the glance of the outcast. I pulled to the curb.

“Hi Darling”, she said.

“Hi Black Beauty.”

Her bum was sticking out onto the pavement as she was leaning into my car.

“Seen this guy around lately?”

I showed her a picture of a husband I was supposed to find. Her face didn’t show any reaction.

“Honey, even if I did know, I took this oath and it prevents me from discussing this with you. Client-whore confidentiality they callin’ it.”

“You got yourself a college-degree in law? You’ve been working this corner since forever. If anyone knows anything it’s you. Treat me as your priest and you’ll feel better soon.”

“As I said, even if I did, I wouldn’t.”

“Hoping for repeat business?”

Now she had to think before answering. She looked me deep in the eyes and shook her head.

“Everybody is coming back for more.”

“Sure. That’s why you are standing on the street. Alone.”

I revved up my old engine. Smoke came out of the pipes. The effect was more pitiable than daring. Not to speak of threatening. Black Beauty took a long pull on her cigarette and blew the smoke out between her teeth. She was way more dramatic than my engine.

I took my flask out of my jacket, unscrewed it and offered her a drink.

“I am still on duty,” she said without a smile.

“Looks like a pretty lame night to me. You could make some dough without working.”

“No way, hon,” she said as much to me as to herself.

As a private dick my brass did not lend me the same power the coppers had. If I wanted something I had to coax my way into a person’s heart. Not elbow myself through her door.

“Why don’t you hop in and we talk quietly?”

Still smiling, still leaning into my car. Still no.

“I’ll pay you for your time.”

She was not interested, and neither was I in her services. I pulled off the curb.

The River had carried away many bodies. Many more times the Cartel had. Unfortunately Katrina had not done away with crime in the city. The husband could be anywhere. Victim of nature or victim of violence. In any case a victim of New Orleans.

Population loss, crime increase. Everybody who could, moved away. I stayed. It was my city. And besides, I wouldn’t know where to go. The city was in debris and she was still beautiful to me and I loved her. My old cabriolet rumbled down the street, the exhaust pipes scraping asphalt as I bounced from pothole to pothole. The shock-absorbers of my car were riding as low as my city. The husband was still missing and the wife was still crying. I went into a watering hole and ordered myself a nice drink from an even nicer barkeeper. She was working for tips. The establishment was as New Orleans as it could get. I did not know whether this was good or not. But it was New Orleans all right.

© Axel Weber 2021-01-25

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