The Right Side Of The Law Part 7

"He?" Kristen smiled and reached out to pat the nun's arm. "I believe I already have my angel. You've been very kind to us. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

Sister Marian blushed. "You, dear girl, are as beautiful as you are brave. Your mother must be very proud of you."

The comment was unexpected, but Kristen kept her focus. She had lied to Sister Marian. She'd said she was searching for her father who had abandoned her and her mother years ago. She hadn't revealed her loss of memory, or that she was on the run from Salva. She'd just needed a strong enough reason to allow her and Amanda to stay at the shelter. An abandoned family in search of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d father who had run out on them seemed like the perfect excuse to be asking the shelter for sanctuary. And it had worked-the shelter had welcomed them with open arms.

"So you'll stay with Amanda tomorrow night?" Kristen asked.

"Tomorrow it's my turn to lead the evening praise service. It usually lasts until eight, sometimes eight-thirty."

"I can't take Amanda with me. He can't know about-" Kristen snapped her mouth shut.

"What was that? Are you speaking about that wild Blu Devil again? Do you really think he has information about your father?"

"Yes, I do." Hating the way she had to continue to lie, Kristen changed the subject. "Were you able to get me a phone book?"

"It's on your nightstand." Sister Marian stood, then painted to the thick directory where it sat on the tattered little table. "I'll let you rest now, and see you in the morning at breakfast. And don't worry about tomorrow night. As soon as I can, I'll be back to watch Amanda for you."

Hours after Sister Marian had left, Kristen was still up. Amanda was asleep on the narrow bed, but she was seated in the chair with the phone directory in her lap, scanning the pages in hopes that a name would spark her memory. All she needed was one name-any name-that would become a small clue as to who she was and where she belonged.

Kristen was still going through the lists of names at 4:00 a.m.

Chapter 6.

Cruger's was always crowded on Friday nights, and noisy, too. But when the screen door swung open, then slammed shut, the noise settled and heads turned to watch the Blu Devil saunter through the door in his usual attire of faded jeans and a black sleeveless T-s.h.i.+rt. What followed was at least a dozen offers to pay for his beer and share a table-a year ago, no one would have offered him squat. Just look what a few newspaper articles could do for a man's image, Blu thought with disgust.

He declined the offers, waved a few genuine friends off with a nod, and dismissed the three women bunched together at the bar who were anxiously waiting to be asked upstairs. In truth, since he'd made the decision to work for Patch, the only s.e.x he could round up was the kind he had to pay for. But it had been weeks since he'd used an upstairs room.

Dismissing the women, Blu limped to the far end of the bar and hooked his backside onto a stool. Nate Cruger, the establishment's owner, stood behind the bar, both hands moving in two different directions. He'd been serving beer and gossip to his customers for over thirty years and he was the best in the business at both. WithOui, mon ami, and a smile quickly following, he slid a beer bottle in Blu's direction while he kept one ear on Billy-Bob LaRoux whining about his girlfriend's old man, and his free hand ringing up Spoon Thompson's tab.

When Spoon spied Blu, he stuffed the change into his pocket and came to stand beside him. "You want to find a table and talk over my offer, duFray? I've been rethinking the money end of it and-"

"And it won't be enough, Thompson. You can't afford me."

Spoon shook his head. "Now, Blu, I don't think that's true. I'm willing to-"

Blu turned his head barely an inch and evil-eyed Spoon into silence. "Go away, Thompson. We don't have anything to talk about."

When Blu released the older man from his devil's stare, he tipped up his beer bottle and took a healthy swig. He heard Spoon swear, then out of the corner of his eye, he saw him back up-right into a drunk who had staggered to the bar to pay for the pleasure of his condition. The drunk lost his balance and fell to the floor. When Blu saw who was beneath Spoon's feet, he took a second look. Perch Aldwin-drunk? That was a surprise.

He knew Perch had hit on hard times-only yesterday Spoon had said that his business had gone belly-up. But falling-down drunk didn't fit Perch Aldwin. He'd been raised on principles and the idea that hard workfixed everything. Or fast fists and no conscience, Blu thought with a sardonic grunt that was directed at himself more than anyone else.

As Perch grumbled his displeasure from his sprawled position on the floor, Spoon Thompson laughed, then gave the downed man a kick before stepping over him. Blu watched as Perch groaned, then tried to get up. On the third try, he gave up and laid there. Blu waited to see if someone was going to be a good-ol'-Joe and help him out. When no one made an effort, he slid off his bar stool and hauled the old man to his feet. Since Perch was too rubber-legged to stay vertical, he shouldered him and headed out the back door.

In the alley, Blu propped Perch against the brick wall, then backed off. When the older man finally focused on who it was who had come to his aid, he started swinging his arms. "Get away from me, you no-good evil b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You got no reason to come after me. Not anymore, you don't."

"I'm not ha.s.sling you, old man. I'm not in that line of work any longer. You want me to call somebody to pick you up? Curt?"

"Go to h.e.l.l, you black-haired devil. Don't owe n.o.body nothing anymore. Ain't got nothing no more."

They were old enemies, and Blu knew that Perch would forever remember the night he had put his grandson in the hospital. He eyed the scar over the old man's graying brow, knowing every time he faced this man, he would be reminded of who he had been once upon a desperate time.

Realizing there was nothing he could say to make Perch feel better, to make himself feel better, Blu left the old man in the alley and went back inside. Seated at the bar once more, he slipped Billy-Bob LaRoux twenty bucks to drive Perch Aldwin home, then checked his watch.

It was after nine, and Blu was beginning to think Angel wasn't going to show. He would be annoyed if that was the case, but not worried. Last night he'd followed her after dropping her off at DuBay Pier, and he'd learned she was staying at the Catholic women's shelter on Carmel Avenue.

He didn't want to have to run her down, though. It was crazy, but he wanted her to come looking for him, as she'd done before. He wanted to see her step into the bar and scan the room full of faces until she found him. He wanted her to come to him a step at a time, wanted to watch it happen.

Wanted her totrust him.

h.e.l.l, he was wanting too much from a littlefille he barely knew. That wasn't the Blu Devil's style-wanting what you couldn't pay for, or didn't deserve.

He glanced at the door as it opened, disappointed when he saw it wasn't her. He wished he had mentioned someplace a little less busy for them to meet. Cruger's was packed on weekends and he should have considered that. And if that wasn't bad enough, the crowd was mostly men. With what Angel had gone through in the past three years, she didn't need to be meeting him in a barroom full of rowdy, obnoxious men. Especially since the men viewed the women who frequented Cruger's in the same light as the three easy females at the other end of the bar.

When Angel finally showed up, she was forty minutes late and Blu was on his fifth beer, two over his limit-a limit he'd set for himself not because he didn't enjoy drinking, but because excess often led to reckless behavior he usually regretted later, or couldn't afford financially.

He pushed away from the bar, forgetting all about waiting for her to come to him. Relieved to see her, and at the same time annoyed as h.e.l.l that she'd kept him waiting, he crossed to the door, took hold of her arm, and steered her toward an empty table at the back of the room. Without a word, he jerked the chair out and put her on it. Then he reached for a chair close by and straddled it, wedging her into the corner, forgetting about her fear of big men and being manhandled.

"You're late," he snapped. "Where the h.e.l.l have you been? I said nine o'clock."

"Nine didn't work."

Blu eyed her hair, suddenly realizing that half the length was gone. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"Your hair, dammit."

"I feel better if I keep changing my looks in case Salva-" She stopped herself. "It's a wig."

Blu eyed the wig. "So you think Maland's out looking for you."

"I don't think. I know he's looking for me." She laid her small bag on the table, opened it and pulled out

the photos. Handing them to him, she said, "The first four are me, the other two are you. The ones of me aren't recent." She leaned toward him and Blu caught a whiff of lemon. "See, my hair is short in that one. These were taken before I met Salva because I've worn my hair to my waist for two years. Salva insists."

Her last comment made Blu take his eyes from the picture to stare at her. "What do you mean, he insists?"

"Like he insists all the men working for him wear his tattoo, the women wear their hair long and straight." A control freak, Blu decided. A twisted crazy who likes to play power games. He kept his thoughts to himself and shuffled to the next picture.

"See, my hair's the same in that one. That's a Sandpiper there, and I'm standing near-"

"Hold it." Blu jerked his head up again. "A Sandpiper? You know what kind of boat this is?"

"Yes. But I don't know why I know that."

Blu rubbed his jaw, then handed her the next picture. "And what do you see in this picture?"

She studied the snapshot. "The background is blurred, but behind the dock I'm standing on I think that's

an old pilothouse. It looks like it's from the seventies. They were broad like that, and top-heavy." Shelooked up. "Is that what you wanted me to tell you?" Blu didn't know what he'd wanted her to tell him, but suddenly his curiosity doubled. "Blu?" It was the first time she had leftdeviloff his name. "Yeah?"

"What do you think it means, these things I know?"

"It means you haven't forgotten everything about your past. You must have spent time around a marina. Yesterday, on the Gulf, you were as seaworthy and comfortable as I was on theNightwing. You know boats and you've been on water a lot."

She was smiling now-sure they'd just discovered a piece of the puzzle. Her smile was so d.a.m.n sweet that Blu felt his inside turn to mush. Never having felt anything like it, he quickly went back to examining the pictures, examining a younger version of the woman who sat beside him. She had the same innocent eyes, the same sun-bleached hair, only short enough that her ears and slender neck were exposed. She looked maybe fifteen-her tank top revealed a slight swell to her teenage b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and her short cutoffs accenting a hint of curve to her maturing hips.

Blu set down the pictures. "You said you're twenty-four?"

"And you said it's a lie."

He examined her delicate features, her smooth flawless skin. "I think you think it's a lie, too."

She broke eye contact, stared at the scarred table surface. "Salva's older," she confessed. "He celebrated his thirty-ninth birthday a month ago. Why would an older man be attracted to someone so much younger?"

Blu stiffened. Why indeed.

"If we met three years ago and I'm not twenty, then-"

"Then he's got a lot of explaining to do." Blu's tone was full of disgust.

Her head shot up. "No! I don't want to see him again. Not ever." Suddenly she was gripping Blu's arm in the same frantic manner she had yesterday when she'd thought he was going to turn her over to Jackson at the apartment building. "Promise me I won't ever have to face him. I don't ever want him touching me again, Blu. Oh, G.o.d, please. Please, Blu, if he finds me, he'll-"

"Take it easy." Blu covered her hand with his. "If he shows up-"

She pulled her hand away from his. "If he shows up, I'm dead. Do you get that? Dead. Or may as well be."

Her fear was real and it bothered him. Oh, h.e.l.l, there it was-the Crescent City Devil had started to grow a conscience. Blu picked up the pictures and quickly flipped through them to single out the one of Angel he liked the best-the one where her eyes were as bright as her smile-then handed the others back. "I'll keep this one."

"Why?"

"There's a chance I might be able to locate the pier, or the boat. I'll check it out."

The reason for pocketing the picture was lame, but it was the best he could do short of telling her the truth. And right now Blu wasn't too happy with the truth. He didn't need a conscience messing with his thinking and muddying up the water.

"Then taking the photos was a good idea. It could be a clue. We might be able to find that pilothouse and then-"

"Whoa!" Blu stuck the picture in the pocket of his black T-s.h.i.+rt. "Don't get your heart set on a miracle happening. This is a long shot at best."

The comment, as well as his chiding tone, was like dousing her with ice water. Suddenly she was no longer smiling. "Long shots are better than nothing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to use the rest room. Where is it?"

"Down the hall, left of the bar." Blu had to physically stand and move his chair to let her out of the corner. When she headed in the direction he'd pointed, he spun the chair around and sat. As she sauntered away from him in her him jeans and blouse, he studied her, deciding if she was going to change her looks, she'd need to do more than simply buy a wig a shade darker than her original hair color and shorten it by a foot.

After she'd disappeared, Blu found himself tapping his fingers on the table, already anxious for her to come back to him. He scanned the bar crowd. Cruger's was a small joint, easy to see everyone in the place at a quick glance, and he knew them all. The bar itself consisted of plain wood tables and mismatched chairs. There was no decor to speak of-men didn't appreciate that sort of thing, anyway, and knowing that, Nate Cruger had been smart enough to put his money into the one thing customers did care about, good beer.

A long five minutes lapsed. When Angel didn't return, Blu checked his watch. Wondering if she was sick, or if she'd simply taken off, he got up and headed down the hall that led to the unis.e.x rest room.

Seeing the door was closed, he was just about to knock when he heard a scuffle followed by a faint cry. A split second later one solid kick sent the door flying inward. Two seconds later Blu was inside reaching for Sam Miller-a welder he recognized from the docks-who had Angel pinned against the sink, groping her with greedy fingers. He didn't say a word as he threw the inebriated man face-first into the wall. Blood ran from the man's nose, but Blu ignored it as he drove his fist into his stomach, then into his jaw. The sound of bones breaking was sickening, and the doomed man dropped to his knees.

Still enraged, Blu grabbed Sam by the s.h.i.+rt and lifted him back to his rubbery legs. His fist was poised and nearly on its way to break another bone when Angel cried out for him to stop. He spun around to find her clinging to the far wall, her eyes wide with fear, her face ghostly pale. A second later she was bolting for the door, scrambling through the curious crowd that had jam-packed the hall.

"Angel!" Blu let the near-unconscious man slump to the floor and raced after her. By the time he elbowed his way out of Cruger's, she had more than a block headstart on him.

The b.u.t.tons had been torn from her blouse. Kristen tugged the edges together to cover her white bra, and sprinted down the alley. She turned the block before the women's shelter and ducked into yet another dark alley to catch her breath.

She desperately wanted to go back to the shelter, but not with her clothes torn and her body shaking with fear. She didn't want her daughter to see her this way, and not Sister Marian, either.

Kristen still didn't know how she could have entered the bathroom without seeing that creep lurking in the corner. It wasn't until she'd locked herself in that she'd spied him grinning at her. She released a shudder, recalling the moment he attacked her. She had tried to fight him off, had prayed for someone to come to her rescue. And then Blu had appeared with his fists clenched and his anger raging and ... suddenly she'd been transported back to the island where-more than once-she'd been forced to watch Salva beat the life out of a guard or brutalize some poor gardener.

Yes, in that moment Blu had become Salva, and in those terrifying seconds she'd panicked.

Kristen knew the situation was completely different. Blu was there to help her, not hurt her. But the moment had twisted on her and it had snapped her back to the island in the blink of an eye. Embarra.s.sed now that she had run, she stepped out of the alley. She had to find a change of clothes, and then she had to get back to the shelter before something else crazy happened.

A small shop at the end of the street still had its lights on. The name over the door read Spirit World. Kristen hurried to the door and stepped inside the cluttered little shop in hopes of finding a replacement for her ruined blouse.

As she scanned her surroundings, she saw an array of voodoo dolls, incense, candles, and various effigies. Optimistic that she would find something in the line of clothing, she headed down a narrow aisle. Overhead, and along the outer walls, hundreds of wooden masks stared at her. The masks were crudely made, some depicting animals, others, human. Then there were creative combinations of both. Strangely enough, the masks didn't intimidate her. She knew that the house-blessing masks were as commonplace in New Orleans as seafood gumbo.

They were?

Again Kristen was aware that she'd remembered something she apparently knew as fact, but not how or why. She glanced around, studying the masks. It was strange, but she felt almost at home with these masks. A strange kind of kins.h.i.+p.

The sweet scent of opium incense clung in the air. And the scent seemed as familiar to Kristen as the house-blessing masks. Her own favorite scent, lemon verbena, could be found in shops such as this.

She continued to move through the aisles until she came to a gauze-draped doorway in the back. There were voices coming from behind the curtain, a strong female voice and a deep baritone. Kristen crept closer, peeked along the open side of the curtain. A woman sat at a small round table, her face young and beautiful, her dark intelligent eyes outlined with colorful glitter. Her lips were a ripe red. As she moved her dark curly head and began to chant, the large gold hoops at her ears glistened in the lamplight.

Kristen feigned interest in one of the masks next to the door so she could linger without suspicion. Eaves-dropping was something she'd gotten good at while living with Salva. She had always felt like a houseguest in what was suppose to be her own home, and the only way she'd learned anything had been by listening in on conversations.

That's how she'd discovered that her mother-in-law hated her. It was also how she'd found out that Salva had a brother he spoke to once a week on the phone. It's how she'd learned that every guard, maid and nanny who worked for her husband did so out of fear, not loyalty. It's also how she'd come to realize that "the business" her husband operated was of an illegal nature. No wonder he hadn't cared if she was a fugitive-her husband was one himself.

The chanting stopped and the woman began to use tarot cards to tell the man's future. Absorbed in the woman's hands as she turned over the cards one by one, Kristen didn't hear the outside door open, or see the man who slipped inside. And it was only after she sensed someone behind her that the hair on the back of her neck stood out.

With her heart climbing her throat, she slowly turned to find the Blu Devil less than a foot away. On instinct, she clutched her torn blouse to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and took a step back.

He said, "We don't have time for you to act up, so don't. You're being tailed, and we can expect the guy in the next minute or two."

"Guy?"