Deadly Pedigree - By Jimmy Fox Page 0,59

I know how Gerald and his kind operate. When I seen what was going down, tried a little trick from my field training. Neither one of you saw me moving closer,” Shelvin said with evident pride. “Used the wind and the crow calls to cover the noise, and my poncho to blend into the woods.”

“Did you hear what Chirke said? That’s probably your land.”

“Uh-huh, I heard him,” Shelvin replied.

“I believe there’s much more to the story of injustice done to your family. I might need your help.”

“That’s cool. Now, go on back to New Orleans, Nick. Me and Gerald here got some things to discuss.”

Nick handed the gun to Shelvin, who then crouched down next to Chirke.

“This a classic, here. Model 1911 .45 caliber. Well, well, Gerald. Mighty big gun for such a small man. I remember some guys carrying ’em in Desert Storm. Don’t got one of these,” he said, admiring the pistol, “yet.” He slide the magazine out and cleared the chamber, and then tucked the gun in his waistband, familiarity with weapons obviously second nature to him.

Five minutes later, Nick was back on the highway, heading for New Orleans, scrupulously obeying the speed limit.

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18

His ticket to the play was waiting for him at the box office, along with an attached note from Una: “You’re late–I’m angry!” The studentworking the ticket window told him that Una had paced around outside, expecting him; she confirmed that Una was in an ugly mood.

He’d put on a wrinkled, nearly clean white shirt in his car; now he tried to make his squashed tie and coat look somewhat more presentable. Ready as he ever would be to face Una’s ire, he walked through the Art Nouveau lobby of Fortescue Auditorium, through double swinging doors, and then down the aisle into the dimmed light of the intimate theater. Sadie Fortescue College was highly regarded as the traditionally women’s, fine arts-centered branch of Freret University.

Nick immediately recognized the wrestling scene of As You Like It. Dion served in one of his several roles as Charles, the boasting wrestler. His tall frame was padded out to make him a formidable match for the smaller, scrappy Orlando, who was about to vanquish him in an upset.

For late summer, not a bad crowd. A heartening number of students. Must be bad weather in the Florida panhandle.

Una had excellent seats in the middle section; but he’d have to scurry over a dozen people to get there. During a wonderfully overacted raucous moment in the onstage action, Nick plunged down the row, trailing his briefcase and copious apologies after him.

“Puh-lease! Do you mind! Watch where you’re stepping,” a familiar voice protested. The Usurper. In the dimness, he hadn’t yet recognized Nick.

“Frederick, doing a little thesis advising tonight? Oh, it’s you, Hilda.” Mrs. Tawpie stiffened at Nick’s sarcasm and shrank away from the armrest she shared with her husband. Nick gave Frederick’s famously expensive shoes some good stomps.

“Where have you been?” Una snarled in his ear. He could see she didn’t really want an answer; he shrugged a plea for understanding. She gave him a quick glare of disappointment and returned her attention to the play. After a few moments, her hand found his in the darkness. Ah, sweet forgiveness!

And so they settled back in their seats and entered the timeless world of the feuding dukes and the band of worthy exiles wandering in the forest of Arden, engaging in philosophical fencing and amorous feints. Whenever the pompous Duke Frederick strutted on the stage, Nick made sure to laugh with inappropriate volume in the real Frederick’s direction.

“A fool, a fool! I met a fool i’ the forest, a motley fool. A miserable world!” said Dion as Jaques, beginning the splendid “thereby hangs a tale” passage. He was magnificent, topping even his most outlandish classroom performances, some of which Nick had been privileged to see. Just about every time Dion delivered his lines, the actors after him had to wait for the audience’s applause to die down before continuing with the play.

Something Jaques had said, Nick wasn’t sure what, made him “deep contemplative” in the protective darkness. He replayed the events of the last few days in his mind; suddenly, the characters he had met and read about moved on a bright stage…

He saw Hyam Balazar, a boy of seven or eight, standing at a ship’s railing, searching the Atlantic horizon to the west for his new island home which his mother, behind him, assures him is near. Then, Hyam, growing