City of Night

Chapter 69

Vicky’s sister, Liane, whom Carson had spared from prison on a false murder charge, lived in an apartment in Faubourg Marigny, not far outside the Quarter.

She answered the door with a cat in a hat. She held the cat, and the cat wore the hat. The cat was black, and the hat was a knitted blue beret with a red pompom.

Liane looked lovely, and the cat looked embarrassed, and Michael said, “This explains the mouse we just saw laughing itself to death.”

Having regained consciousness in the car, Vicky could stand on her own, but she didn’t look good. To her sister, as she patted the cat and stepped inside, she said, “Hi, sweetie. I think I’m gonna puke.”

“Carson doesn’t allow that sort of thing at her house,” Michael said, “so here we are. As soon as Vicky pukes, we’ll take her home.”

“He never changes,” Liane said to Carson.

“Never. He’s a rock.”

Vicky decided she needed a beer to settle her stomach, and she led everyone to the kitchen.

When Liane put down the cat, it shook off the beret in disgust and ran out of the room to call the ACLU.

She offered drinks all around, and Carson said, “Something with enough caffeine to induce a heart attack.”

When Michael seconded that suggestion, Liane fetched two Red Bulls from the refrigerator.

“We’ll drink from the can,” Michael said. “We’re not girly men.”

Having already chugged half a bottle of beer, Vicky said, “What happened back there? Who was Randal? Who were those two that switched off my lights? You said Arnie’s safe, but where is he?”

“It’s a long story,” Carson said.

“They were such a cute couple,” Vicky said. “You don’t expect such a cute couple to squirt you with chloroform.”

Sensing that Carson’s It’s a long story, though containing a wealth of information, wasn’t going to satisfy Vicky, Michael said, “One thing those two were is professional killers.”

No longer in danger of puking, Vicky acquired that red-bronze hue of Asian anger. “What were professional killers doing in our kitchen?”

“They came to kill us professionally,” Michael explained.

“Which is why you’ve got to get out of New Orleans for a few days,” Carson said.

“Leave New Orleans? But they must have come to kill you, not me. I never antagonize people.”

“She never does,” Liane agreed. “She’s the nicest person.”

“But you saw their faces,” Carson reminded Vicky. “Now you’re on their list.”

“Can’t you just get me police protection?”

Michael said, “You’d think we could, wouldn’t you?”

“We don’t trust anyone in the PD,” Carson revealed. “There’s police corruption involved. Liane, can you take Vicky out of town somewhere, for a few days?”

Addressing her sister, Liane said, “We could go stay with Aunt Leelee. She’s been wanting us to come.”

“I like Aunt Leelee,” Vicky said, “except when she goes off about the planetary pole shift.”

“Aunt Leelee believes,” Liane explained, “that because of the uneven distribution of population, the weight imbalance is going to cause a shift in the earth’s magnetic pole, destroying civilization.”

Vicky said, “She can go on for hours about the urgent need to move ten million people from India to Kansas. But otherwise, she’s fun.”

“Where does Leelee live?” Carson asked.

“Shreveport.”

“You think that’s far enough, Michael?”

“Well, it’s not Tibet, but it’ll do. Vicky, we need to borrow your car.”

Vicky frowned. “Who’s going to drive it?”

“I will,” Michael said.

“Okay, sure.”

“It’ll be a hoot spending a few days with Aunt Leelee,” Liane said. “We’ll drive up there first thing in the morning.”

“You’ve got to leave now,” Carson said. “Within the hour.”

“It’s really that serious?” Vicky asked.

“It really is.”

When Carson and Michael left, the four of them did the hugs-all-around thing, but the humiliated cat remained in seclusion.

In the street, on the way to the car, Carson tossed the keys to Michael, and he said, “What’s this?” and tossed them back to her.

“You promised Vicky that you’d drive,” she said, and lobbed the keys to him.

“I didn’t promise, I just said ‘I will.’”

“I don’t want to drive anyway. I’m sick about Arnie.”

He tossed the keys to her again. “He’s safe, he’s fine.”

“He’s Arnie. He’s scared, he’s overwhelmed by too much newness, and he thinks I’ve abandoned him.”

“He doesn’t think you’ve abandoned him. Deucalion has some kind of connection to Arnie. You saw that. Deucalion will be able to make him understand.”

Lobbing the keys to him, she said, “Tibet. I don’t even know how to get to Tibet.”

“Go to Baton Rouge and turn left.” He stepped in front of her, blocking access to the Honda’s passenger door.

“Michael, you always moan about me driving, so here’s your chance. Take your chance.”

Her surrender of the keys suggested despondency. He had never seen her despondent. He liked her scrappy.

“Carson, listen, if Arnie was here, in the middle of the New Race meltdown — if that’s what’s happening — you’d be ten times crazier with worry.”

“So what?”

“So don’t get yourself worked up about Tibet. Don’t go female on me.”

“Oh,” she said, “that was ugly.”

“Well, it seems to be what’s happening.”

“It’s not what’s happening. That was way ugly.”

“I call ‘em as I see ‘em. You seem to be going female on me.”

“This is a new low for you, mister.”

“What’s true is true. Some people are too soft and vulnerable to handle the truth.”

“You manipulative bastard.”

“Sticks and stones.”

“I may get around to sticks and stones,” she said. “Gimme the damn keys.”

She snatched them out of his hand and went to the driver’s door.

When they were belted in, as Carson put the key in the ignition, Michael said, “I had to punch hard. You wanting me to drive — that scared me.”

“Scared me, too,” she said, starting the engine. “You’d draw way too much attention to us — all those people behind us blowing their horns, trying to make you get up to speed limit.”