So, I’m not going to.
I’m going to try not to worry about the shitstorm back home and enjoy my time here because who knows how long I have.
Necking the rest of my beer, I throw the bottle into the trash, then pull my shirt up for a quick sniff. I smell half-human after the long ride, so I grab a jacket and head for the door with no shower.
Time to make new memories.
Walking out of the hotel, I head for Bourbon Street. Even though I’m trying to keep myself positive, the crap back home swirls through my mind. If the cops come searching for me, who knows what the fuck they’re going to do.
I need to let the president of NOLA Defiance know I’m in town, just in case I need to call on them for anything. Plus, it would be fucking rude of me to come all this way and not stop by.
Pulling out my burner, I dial Grudge’s number. He won’t know it’s me calling, so I expect him to be grumpy on the other end as I continue my walk to Bourbon Street.
“Who the fuck’s this?” Grudge grumbles down the line, his deep voice making me smile.
“Grudge, it’s Kevlar, from Houston. I’m on a burner.”
He lets out a chuckle. “Fuck me, it’s been a while. On a burner, hey? You deep in shit?”
Tilting my head, I watch as a drag queen walks past me with a pig on a leash. The things you see in New Orleans. Can’t even say I’m surprised.
“Yeah, brother. Won’t go into details, but I’m laying low. Just thought, as a courtesy, I’d let NOLA know I’m in town.”
“You bring your shit with you?”
Exhaling, I turn onto Bourbon Street making it a little harder to hear. “Hopefully not.”
“Good! Have fun while you’re in town, kid. Let loose. But just so you’re aware, I’ve stepped down as president. My damn bones aren’t what they used to be. I’m too fucking old.”
My eyes widen as I come to a halt. Leaning back against the side wall of one of the numerous pubs, I prop my foot back against the wall. “Who’s the new pres?”
“Hurricane… he’s good. Reminds me of me when I was younger. Razor’s the new VP… I’ve stepped into the Wise One position.”
I can definitely picture that.
“Grudge?”
“Yeah, brother?”
“Thanks for everything you did for me and Em.”
He snorts. “Don’t even mention it. She was special…” he pauses, taking a deep breath, “… but you gotta get on with your life, Kevlar. You have to find a way to keep her in your heart, but also find room for someone else.”
That thought terrifies me.
“Yeah, maybe one day. Will you tell Hurricane I’m here?”
“Yeah, I’ll let him know. Expect a call. He’ll probably wanna come see you.”
“Yeah, I might be here a while. Happy to catch up.”
“All right, have a good night on Bourbon Street.”
“How did you—” He ends the call before I finish my sentence. I guess the old guy knows the sounds of his hometown well enough to guess where I am.
Turning around, I look down Bourbon Street. The long stretch of road is alight with neon colors. The buildings stretch up in their ornate architectural design giving this whole place an old-worldly vibe. The street is alive and buzzing with people from all walks of life. Laughter and music fill the air as drunken revelers stand on balconies throwing beads down to even drunker women below who are flashing their tits freely. The party atmosphere is definitely alive, and somehow, it’s lifting my mood. A crowd of people circle a kid who must be all of ten-years-old as he sits banging on some upturned buckets like they’re the best drum kit in town. Thing is, he’s holding a tune, and he sounds pretty damn good.
Smiling as I keep walking, I pass a life-sized Chewbacca, and nobody bats an eyelid. I chuckle to myself as I make my way to Pat O’Brien’s. I forgot just how animated this town is. How bright and effervescent these people are.
I fucking love this place.
Even with the tainted memories.
As I walk up to Pat O’Brien’s, there’s a small wait. So, I line up, pulling my cell back out to make sure there’s nothing from Zero.
Just as I thought.
Nothing.
Zero told me not to contact him, and I need to adhere to that. They have this number, so they’ll call when they know the way forward. So, for now, I need to bide my time.
Half an hour later, I’m walking inside the famous bar. It’s much the same as when I was here last with Em, and she drank so many hurricane cocktails that we got fucking wasted. Fox had to call an Uber to take us back to the NOLA clubhouse. Those were the days when you could celebrate without fear of shit raining down on us, without fear of death and damn chaos.
I chuckle fondly at the memory. Walking up to the bar, my instinct is to order a beer. But I want to celebrate Em, so I get a drink for her and order a fucking huge-ass hurricane. It might be a bitch drink, but a couple of these will knock me on my ass quicker than I can say gumbo.
Grabbing the tall glass with the world-renowned cherry-red liquid, I walk outside, the oversized fountain changing colors in the darkened night. People laugh, drink, and generally be merry as the music plays loudly. I make my way to a table at the very back of the patio. Sitting on the metal chair, it scrapes along the pavers as I pull it in. I place my hurricane on the glass-topped table and sit back, people watching. The other three chairs at my table are empty as I sit under a green umbrella, near the giant palm fronds out of sight of most people—just the way I like it. Being incognito is the right move for me at this point in time.
I must keep a low profile.
Tossing the straw, I bring the drink to my lips and take a sip. The hit of alcohol invades my senses like a brick hitting a wall. It’s no wonder Em and I got so fucking wasted last time we were here. My eyes shift around the patio, observing all the people flirting, drinking, happy as fucking Larry. I sit back, a fugitive from the law, desolate from my kids, a fucking widower, wishing I could be back home in Houston dealing with this shit.
Suddenly, a chair pulls out to my right, and a guy slumps down wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap at nine-thirty at night. “You don’t mind, do you? You’re here all on your own, and honestly, I need a place kind of out of the way. This is the only seat in the area that’s… well, hidden.”
I assess him—black tee, leather jacket, that scruffy brown hair women love, a bit of light stubble—he appears to be a fucking rebel to me. “Look man, I don’t want any trouble. I’m trying to lay low myself.”
He smiles, all toothy and wide. “You in trouble with the law, big man?”
I furrow my brows. “That’s none of your fucking business. You’re the douche coming to me searching for a hiding place.”
The ass slumps back in his seat, getting comfortable. “I ditched my security team. I need a moment away from it all.”
“From what?” I scrunch up my face.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck who you are.”
“I like you… even if you are drinking a bitch drink.” He cocks his head to the side.
“I’m drinking this to honor someone, so fuck off.”