Sister of a Sinner Read online

  “No, I’m fine inside my locked apartment. These dark men seem to pop up at various places on the street. Maybe I’m paranoid, and they just live in the area. That could be why I keep running into them. The squatty thug outside the coffee shop I’ve seen in Jackson Square. It’s the guy with the thin mustache I see most often.”

  “Creepy,” said Alix as the bleu cheese salads arrived. “We do have a problem with Thursday. Tom and I need to be at the mini-camp all day to do kicks and punts for the newbies. Dean will be there, too, throwing passes to the rookie receivers. Could you take a cab?”

  “Of course. I’ll call a driver I know.” Xochi toyed with her greens. “Did Junior make the move all right? I haven’t heard from him since I’ve been back.”

  Both Tom and Alix gave a hearty laugh. He said, “And you won’t. Coach Buck lines all those rookies up first day of camp and tells them he doesn’t want any crybabies calling home to complain to their mamas and girlfriends about how tough it is.”

  Alix lowered her voice to a gruff level roughly resembling Coach. “You think your opponents are going to be nice to you? Man up. I see any phones out during practice, I’ll knock them from your hands.”

  “That bad?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  The main course was served with flair. Xochi picked at her delicious food while Tom and Alix devoured theirs. “So, Junior is settled in all right?”

  Tom paused in forking up chunks of tender steak. “Sure, he showed us his bedroom set. Dual controls on the mattress to move it up and down, and the furniture jumbo size to suit him. Other than that, all he has is his clothes and a really complicated coffeemaker. Said something about your helping him decorate the rest of the place.”

  “Yes, I said I would.” Take that pretty salesgirl. Tom and Alix exchanged a glance, which she ignored. A little friendly furniture shopping meant nothing.

  They cajoled her into getting bread pudding for dessert before they left. She and Alix shared a portion while the ever-slim Tom gobbled his down. Afterward, they played the slots for fun and finally exited at the blue hour when the air turned balmy. Her escorts left her at her door and waited until she shot the blots.

  Funny, she’d never felt alone in the apartment before, but missed Junior’s company now. Maybe five years wasn’t such a vast difference in age. She’d known the cubby boy Junior since childhood and now knew him as a man of unexpected talents. While his big, warm smile dwelled in her mind, the phone rang, hopefully the man she thought about, but no. Connor Bullock wondered if they were on for a date Friday night, but please not Paco’s.

  “We’re going to try Tipitina’s for change.”

  “By we, you mean…”

  “Rachelle and Junior if he isn’t too worn out from mini-camp.”

  Connor’s voice held a dry tone. “I’m sure he won’t be. Probably does the two-step as well as that salsa stuff.”

  “We’ll see. Do you want to meet us there?”

  “No, it would be my pleasure pick you up.”

  “See you then.”

  But, she did not.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tuesday, Alex prepared a Wisconsin hot dish supper, and Tom supplied an evening of popcorn, DVDs, and yes, a brown sugar Bundt cake. Xochi invited them along to Tipitina’s on Friday, her treat. They somehow passed the word to Junior who said he wouldn’t be tired and would be there, especially if the doctor planned to attend. He’d be free to escort her to church on Sunday.

  Wednesday, a phone call interrupted their seafood takeout dinner at Xochi’s place. NOPD officer Tony Ancona needed her help in interpreting for a female witness who spoke only Spanish. “I know you have people in the department who can do that for you,” she told him.

  “Yeah,” he said. “But, they don’t have your insight on who’s lying. This lady is real nervous. One calming touch of your hand, and she’ll open up and spill about the drive-by shooting she saw. I’ve seen you do it before. How about I promise to take you out for dinner besides your regular pay, that great Italian restaurant on the other side of the bridge?”

  “You’ve already paid for my lunch plenty of times.”

  “Not the same at all. What do you say, Xo? Give a cop a chance.”

  “You are welcome to join me and my friends at Tipitina’s on Friday night.”

  “Are these friends Sinners who will make me look short and puny?”

  She rewarded that with her steaming hot chocolate laugh. “Oh, Tony, as they say, size doesn’t matter. You’re still taller than me. You already know Tom and Alix. My friend, Rachelle is coming along.”

  “Is she as gorgeous as you?”

  No way near even if Xochi didn’t regard herself as gorgeous and stayed away from mirrors. “She’s taller and a great dancer.” Not telling lies here. “Also some childhood friends, Dr. Connor Bullock, and Junior Polk, the Sinners new cornerback.”

  “Wonderful, the competition has both brains and brawn. I know who Junior Polk is. I catch some college ball. You’d better get a big table, a really big table if he’s going to be there. I’ll see if I can get a night off, find my elevator shoes, and the zoot suit with big, padded shoulders simply to be in your company.”

  Xochi sprinkled her laughter over him again. “I’ll look forward to seeing that. Okay, send a squad car to pick me up.

  “Be there in ten.”

  “Finish your dinner,” she told Tom and Alix. “I’m needed at police headquarters.”

  Despite getting a similar escort home after the witness, holding both of Xo’s hands and gazing into her deep brown eyes, did indeed spill the details of the crime, she found her brother and his wife adorably and probably uncomfortably curled up on her couch asleep. They woke after a gentle shaking of shoulders, stretched like giraffes reaching for the choicest leaves on the top of a tall tree, and headed to their condo.

  Maybe she should break the news about leaving New Orleans and learning to be a traiteur at the gathering on Friday night. She’d buy a round of drinks and ask them to toast her future. How could they object in a crowded, music-filled room? Yes, that sounded like a good plan. Almost like breaking up with a boyfriend or three.

  ****

  After days of being escorted and almost smothered with care by Tom and Alix, Xochi summoned her favorite cabbie to take her to work on Thursday. She waited just inside her door for his arrival, opening it only a crack to make sure the right taxi pulled into the access-way to her apartment. Diego did not get out to open the door in his usual courtly gesture, but she dashed across the space so quickly that perhaps he had no chance. Smelling the usual pineapple air freshener that filled the cab, Xochi slid into the back seat and slammed the door. “World Trade Center, por favor,” she said before realizing she was not alone.

  A sweet medicinal scent overwhelmed the pineapple aroma. Chloroform, the favorite of kidnappers, serial killers and rapists, at least on TV—the thought shot through her mind as the gauze pad descended and pressed against her nose and mouth. Holding her breath, she groped in her favorite hot pink purse, Junior’s gift, for her pepper spray, and did not find it among the lipsticks in the bottom of the bag. Should have kept it handier. Regardless, another hand knocked the purse to the floor. Xochi struck out with her feet, clawed with her fingers, wishing now she wore icepick heels instead of practical business shoes so she could go for the groin, and had inch long acrylic nails instead of natural nails, short and lacquered pink.

  “Breathe, bitch, breathe!” A fist punched her midsection, and she did, sucking in that sickly sweetness, feeling almost high and definitely disoriented. She continued to flail her limbs but sensed they weakened, did not hit home.

  The driver, not Diego, but a Hispanic man with a very thin mustache, peered into the back seat. “Maybe a little more on the cloth, Indio.”

  “Yeah, she’s kicking the crap out of me. One knock on the head and this would have been over.”

  Her wild eyes discerned the thug from the coffee shop kneeling on the seat, pr
essing on the cloth, Mexican but American born by his use of the idiom. Not that it mattered at the moment. If only the Korean couple who ran the electronics store beneath her apartment would decide to empty their trash right now since the cab had pulled far into the cul-de-sac near the dumpster. No luck. They never did that until the store closed. She shoulda known, shoulda suspected when the cab parked so far back and not at her door. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. Too late.

  “She must be free of damage, perfect, intact for the goddess,” the man designated as Indio replied. “I know what I am doing. Soon she will sleep. You will not touch her. El Jefe’s orders.” Large aquiline nose, burnt almond eyes, light brown skin, and a head shaved to make his sloping brow even more prominent, his heavy neck bore a necklace dangling charms and totems. He strove to appear Mayan and had earned his nickname.

  Defiant, the driver, not her driver, reached out to grasp her weakly kicking ankle. He ran a hand up her leg to her thigh, naked because the heat and humidity of the city made stockings unbearable. “Ah, yes, silky and rounded, not like her bony friend.”

  The Indian slapped his hand away, something to be grateful for. Vaguely, she wished she’d stuck to the straight Xochi Services skirts Stacey favored. Giddy, beneath the cloth she laughed and took in more of the drug. Another regret, not giving into Junior’s love. He would have been gentle. Sleepy, so sleepy.

  ****

  Xochi woke with no sense of time or place. Sunlight streamed through a porthole. The long Mississippi channel that led the Gulf of Mexico carried her away. Goodbye New Orleans, though she hadn’t planned to leave by sea. Farewell Chalmette Battlefield that passed by the porthole. No more sightseeing. The light made her headache worse. Her pathetic breakfast of stale pig’s ears and mediocre coffee tried to come up. Just the thought of Junior’s pecan waffles made her want to hurl. She twisted aside and spewed over the edge of the bed into a conveniently placed plastic bucket. They’d thought of everything. No one would miss her until evening.

  Xo wanted to fall back on the bed, a fairly large and comfortable one for a ship, but forced herself to stay seated, head between her legs, breathing deep and shoving her long hair out of the way behind her shoulders. Steadied, she stood up and did the obvious, tried the door, locked of course, not that she could escape from a moving boat into the Mississippi without killing herself. Maybe later she’d think that preferable to what the kidnappers planned to do with her. Extort money from Daddy Joe most likely, but would they let her live after he paid up? Even if they didn’t kill her, she might be sold into sexual slavery, not that she would be any different from easily obtained Mexican girls.

  She needed water. Letting the wall support her, she found a mini-fridge well-stocked with both bottled and mineral water, a carton of milk, soft drinks, even a few cans of beer and small bottles of wine. Beyond the beverages lay a good assortment of sandwiches, salads, and foods that could be heated in the small microwave. Her stomach roiled at the thought of eating. Cracking open a water, Xochi sipped slowly knowing her stomach would revolt if she did anything more. She opened a door to the bathroom, again larger and more luxurious than provided by most cruise ships. She’d been on plenty of those for family vacations, but always buddied up in cabins with bunks and a small bathroom to share. How Stacy hated that! How glad she was to have been taken into a family that could afford cruises for twelve children. She used the facilities and felt better.

  Back to the locked door again. She pounded on it with her fists.

  “Que?” answered someone on the outside. “What the hell do you want, bitch?” said another voice, the one she’d identified as Mexican-American in the cab and, as he’d said himself, kicked the crap out of.

  “Por que?” she asked. Why, why, why?

  “They don’t tell us nothing. We get to be on guard duty day and night. No one goes in or out like you’re something special. Any other time, me and Diaz would be by the pool or fucking women who want to be fucked. You got a bed, a nice place to take a shit, and enough food and water for the trip. We’ll be in Cozumel in a couple of days. So shut up and enjoy.”

  “Pardon, Senorita Xochi. They do not call my companion El Animal for no reason. He does not understand your importance.”

  The man who drove the cab, who had followed her in the sculpture park and elsewhere, spoke. Not a native speaker of English, heavily accented, he pronounced the sobriquet Ani-mal. What good these conclusions did her, she did not know. Just a habit of analyzing speech patterns. That he had a black aura said all no matter how soothing his words.

  “I have no importance except being the adopted daughter of a rich man.”

  “Much more than that. We will be well rewarded for our service to El Jefe.”

  “With a piece of her after the chief is finished?”

  “No se.” He did not know.

  Xochi thought she understood. El Jefe did not hold her for a ransom. He intended to complete his revenge against the family of Bijou Billodeaux. She and Tom were the only survivors. Tom would find her. Then, El Jefe would kill them both.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The doc seemed miffed, checking his expensive watch every few minutes as they stood sweating outside the yellow, two-story frame building on the corner of Napoleon and Tchoupitoulas waiting for Xochi to show. That merely increased Junior’s good mood. He wished he could have arm wrestled Connor Bullock for the privilege of escorting Xochi to the music hall, a bout he certainly would have won because an arm that played tennis and golf could not compare to one that pressed weights. But, cranky Coach Buck had kept his new recruits secluded at the Metairie training field until the very last second. The best Junior could do was take a thorough shower, trim his face-defining beard close, and lave himself with the lime aftershave Xo mentioned she liked, before racing to Tipitina’s to meet the group.

  Evidently, Xochi had stood up Dr. Bullock with his sharp features, light skin, green eyes, and big brain, not like her at all to do so. Alix suggested Xo might have been delayed by last minute business at the Trade Center or called upon by the police.

  The unexpected addition introduced all around by Tom to their group, Tony Ancona shook his head. “No, I would have heard.”

  “I waited a half hour past the time I was supposed to pick her up. She should have called me if delayed.” Irritation showed in every word Bullock spoke. “Finally, I thought she might have forgotten I was going to pick her up and come here directly by cab.”

  “Cab! That’s it.” Tom’s worried face brightened. “Rachelle, do you have the numbers for the drivers Xochi prefers?”

  The angular woman took her phone from the lime green clutch purse Junior bought her. She really did have a dress that matched, unflattering enough to make her resemble an unripe banana. “I got a couple of numbers she gave me, always hounding me to be safe, but I usually find a guy to take me home.”

  “I believe she also wanted me to give you a lecture on safe sex,” the doctor said in a voice so prudish all of them stared.

  “Live and let live, doc. Who wants the phone?”

  Despite his shorter reach, Tony Ancona’s hand shot out first. “Let me do this. Which numbers?”

  “Diego and Javier.”

  He punched the speed dial with one short, strong finger. “Hey, this Diego? I don’t care if you have a fare. This is Officer Ancona of the NOPD speaking. You pick up Xochi Billodeaux this morning or tonight?”

  A blast of rapid Spanish spewed from the phone. Ancona shook his head. “Any of you guys speak the language?”

  “Not as well as Xochi, but I’ll try.” Tom accepted the phone. “Diego, hermano de Xochi aqui. Yeah, hermano pelirrojo.” Tom rolled his eyes. “They always have to mention the red hair.”

  “Well, you are Xo’s only redheaded brother. I love it.” Alix tousled his curls.

  “Cut it out. Not you, Diego. Despacio, por favor. Si, Si. Momento.” Tom, gone pale beneath his freckles, held the phone against his chest to block their conversation. “He’s prett
y upset. Says his cab was stolen early this morning, but the police found it by the docks this afternoon. Xo’s purse was inside. The officers took it. He knows nothing about that. He did not steal. He did not see Senorita Xochi today. He had to clean all the fingerprint dust from his cab before he could use it, a whole day of work lost.”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I take one day off to spruce up and get a haircut, have an evening out, and something like this happens. Gimme the phone.” Tony ripped it away from Tom’s grasp. “Look, you spick, I know you speak English. Listen to me. You’re not in trouble yet, but you will be because I know you’re holding back important information. Drive that taxi over to Headquarters. Ask for Officer Ancona. Be there, or I’ll have you picked up.”

  Tom raised his russet eyebrows at the cop. “You’d better learn to omit spick from your vocabulary if you want to make any headway with Xo.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got carried away.” Tony tossed the phone back to Rachelle.

  “Gee, nothing this exciting ever happens to me.”

  “Be grateful. Any of you guys got a ride?” All three men held up a hand. “You, her brother, give me a lift to Central. The rest of you enjoy the show.”

  “No way. I’m following you over there,” Junior said, no give in his deep voice.

  “I’ll go as well.” Connor fished his keys from a pocket.

  “Waddabout me?” wailed Rachelle. “I’m promised an evening out and got no way to get home after dark.”

  Junior opened his wallet and drew out a large bill. “This should cover admission, a few drinks, and a cab ride home. Call Javier.”

  “You staying, blondie?” Rachelle said, looking for company.

  “No, I’m family to Xochi now. I’ll remain with Tom,” Alix answered, pallid but unrattled.

  “Suit yourself. I already missed some of the music.” Working that lime green dress like a pro, Rachelle moved inside the club.