Deja Dead Page 0,81
his side. Another sorted through trash on the far side of the street. Perhaps there was a third shift on the Main.
Discouraged and exhausted, I headed toward St. Laurent. I’d tried. If Gabby was in trouble, these folks would not help me reach her. This club was as closed as the Junior League.
I passed the My Kinh. A sign above the window advertised CUISINE VIETNAMIENNE, and promised it all night. I glanced through the grimy glass with little interest, then stopped. Seated at a rear booth was Poirette’s companion, her hair still frozen in an apricot pagoda. I watched her for a moment.
She dipped an egg roll into a cherry red sauce, then raised it to her mouth and licked the tip. After a moment she inspected the roll, then nibbled at the wrapping with her front teeth. She dipped again, and repeated the maneuver without hurry. I wondered how long she’d been working that egg roll.
No. Yes. It’s too late. Hell. One last shot. I pushed open the door, and entered.
“Hi.”
Her hand jumped at the sound of my voice. She looked puzzled at first, then relieved, as recognition surfaced.
“Hey, chère. You still out?” She returned to her roll.
“May I join you?”
“Suit yourself. You’re not working my ground, sugar, I got no grievance with you.”
I slid into the booth. She was older than I’d thought, late thirties, maybe early forties. Though the skin on her throat and forehead was taut and there were no bags under her eyes, in the harsh fluorescent light I could see small creases radiating from her lips. Her jawline was beginning to sag.
The waiter brought a menu and I ordered Soupe Tonqinoise. I wasn’t hungry, but I wanted an excuse to stay.
“You find your friend, chère?” She reached for her coffee, and the plastic bracelets on her wrist clacked. I could see gray scar lines across her inner elbow.
“No.”
We waited while an Asian boy of about fifteen brought water and a paper place mat.
“I’m Tempe Brennan.”
“I remember. Jewel Tambeaux may hawk pussy, darlin’, but she’s not stupid.” She licked at the egg roll.
“Ms. Tambeaux, I—”
“You call me Jewel, baby.”
“Jewel, I just spent four hours trying to find out if a friend is all right, and no one will even admit they’ve heard of her. Gabby’s been coming down here for years so I’m sure they know who I’m talking about.”
“Might be they do, chère. But they got no idea why you askin’.” She put down the roll, and drank the coffee with a soft slurping sound.
“I gave you my card. I’m not hiding who I am.”
She looked at me hard for a moment. The smell of drugstore cologne, smoke, and unwashed hair floated from her and filled the small booth. The neck of her halter was rimmed with makeup.
“Who are you, Miss ‘Person with a Card Says Tempe Brennan’? You heat? You inta some kind of weird hustle?” It came out sounding like “wired.” “You someone got a grudge?” As she spoke she raised one long, red talon from her cup and pointed it at me, emphasizing each possibility.
“Do I look like a threat to Gabby?”
“All folks know, chère, is you’re down here in your Charlotte Hornets sweatshirt and Yuppie sandals, and you’re asking a lot of questions, trying real hard to shake someone loose. You ain’t pussy on the hoof and you ain’t trying to score rock. Folks don’t know where to put you.”
The waiter brought my soup and we sat in silence while I squeezed small cubes of lime and added red pepper paste with a tiny china spoon. As I ate, I watched Jewel nibble her egg roll. I decided to try humble.
“I guess I went about it all wrong.”
She raised hazel eyes to me. One false lash had loosened, and it curved upward on her lid, like a millipede rising to test the air. Dropping her eyes, she laid down the remains of the egg roll, and slid her coffee directly in front of her.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have just charged up to people and started asking questions. It’s just that I’m worried about Gabby. I’ve called her apartment. I’ve stopped by. I’ve called her at school. No one seems to know where she is. It’s not like her.”
I took a spoonful of soup. It tasted better than I’d anticipated.
“What’s your friend Gabby do?”
“She’s an anthropologist. She studies people. She’s interested in life down here.”
“Coming of Age on the Main.”
She laughed to herself, watching carefully for my response to the Margaret