Mama Law and the Moonbeam Racer. Fred Yorg

didn’t do the trick so I excused myself and went to the washroom. I navigated my way across the crowded bar to the back corner and down a poorly lit hall. The men’s room door was first, then the ladies room and a pay phone at the end. A young girl who couldn’t have been more than sixteen was doing business with a ragtag looking punk. What an odd pair. He looked like your typical addict.

      Razor thin, sunken cheeks, pale with dirty unwashed hair. The creep had two gold earrings and as he turned I noticed a stickpin and stud through his eyebrow over his right eye. He was dressed in worn jeans with a black tee shirt. The tattoos up and down his arms and on his neck added further to his disfigurement.

      She on the other hand looked like a girl scout that just came from a cake sale down at St. Dorothy’s church.

      She looked up nervously, like a deer caught in the headlights, he brazenly ignored me. It was obvious for anyone with half a brain that he was selling and she was buying whatever drug was in fashion with the young crowd. I didn’t bother to roust them. Experience had taught me long ago it was a waste of time. If she wanted it, she was going to get the drugs somewhere. If I busted him, he’d be back on the street before I could finish the paperwork. The judge would take one look at her and go light on the girl and then Daddy would have to come pick her up. No sense in wasting my time, besides the paperwork alone would tie me up for hours, Miles and I had a bigger fish to catch tonight.

      Once I got into the bathroom, I tried to clean myself up as best as possible. The smell of liquor was still ever present, clinging to me like cheap after-shave. I attempted to pump some soap from the washroom dispenser, hoping that would help, but it didn’t work. Returning to the table, I was surprised to find Hope alone. “Where’s Miles?”

      “He went over to the bar to get a couple bags of peanuts.”

      “So what have you two been talking about?”

      “Miles was filling me in on you. He was dishing out all kinds of good stuff.”

      “Like what?”

      “Like your father was a prominent attorney from Baton Rouge. He said your mother is also an attorney and that she still lives in Bayou Cane, your hometown. Here comes Miles now.”

      “So Miles I hear you been talking about me. I leave the table for two minutes and you’re telling all my secrets.”

      “Not all, Mooney. I was just about to tell Hope that you had a law degree.”

      “You’ve got a law degree? You never told me that. Why don’t you use it?”

      “That’s a long story. Maybe someday when we have more time.”

      “Speaking of time, partner. I hate to break this up but we’ve got to get going. Hope, it was nice meeting you. I look forward to seeing you again. Mooney, I’ll wait for you in the car.”

      “Goodbye, Miles.” Turning to me, “Mooney, there’s so much I don’t know about you. When I get back, maybe we can spend some quality time talking. I want to know everything there is to know about you.”

      “You might not like what you hear, Hope.”

      “I doubt that. Now hurry up and kiss me goodbye like you mean it. You don’t want to keep Miles waiting and I’ve got a plane to catch.”

CHAPTER FIVE

      I threw down a twenty and left Hope at the table to wait for the check. After giving her one last goodbye kiss, I hustled out of the bar, Miles already had the car running and was waiting for me at the curb.

      Knowing the serial killer’s pattern was to strike between 10 p.m. to 3 a.m., Miles was eager to get into position for the stakeout, “Let’s get a move on, it’s getting close to nine.”

      “Sure thing Miles, just wait till Hope gets out.”

      “You could have walked her to the car. We’re not in that big a hurry.”

      “And keep you waiting?”

      “Never stopped you before. What’s the real reason?”

      “I don’t want to spoil her.”

      “You better, she’s the best thing that’s happened to you in a long time.”

      “Yeah, I know. There she goes now, let’s hit it.”

      “You know, Mooney, you and her make a good looking couple.”

      “What’s the punch line?”

      “No seriously. Abbe always said you were a good-looking man. She says you remind her of that actor, George Clooney.”

      “It’s hard for me to take that as a compliment.”

      “Why is that?”

      “Abbe’s tastes in men are in question. She married you, didn’t she?”

      “Fuck you. I pay you a compliment and you take a cheap shot.”

      Miles hit the accelerator and pulled our unmarked around the corner, then down Tatum Street and then over to the intersection of Wilcox and E 31st Street.

      “Any preference?” Miles asked.

      “Over there. About ten feet behind that dumpster. The shadows will give us a little cover.”

      “Good thinking, Mooney.”

      “Remember that so you can tell Hope the next time you see her.”

      “Mooney, you’re not pissed off that I talked about you?”

      “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m just busting. How’d you like her?”

      “What’s not to like? She’s beautiful, smart, likes a good joke, easy to talk to. I’d say you got a keeper. What about you? Are you getting serious?”

      “Thinking about it. Miles, check that guy out across the street. What’s he up to?”

      “Just a drunk with half a bag on.”

      “Keep an eye him, till he turns the corner.”

      Stakeouts were pretty much the same: sit in a cold car and wait. I always hated them, made me feel useless. Miles on the other hand seemed to genuinely enjoy them, he’d usually chat away by the hour.

      Normally, I didn’t mind the conversation, but tonight was different. I felt uneasy, apprehensive. Maybe, I was just tired. They say people are more paranoid when fatigued.

      “Miles, I’m feeling a little tired. I’m going to rest my eyes for a minute, take a quick cat nap.”

      “Go ahead. I’ll wake you if I see anything.”

      Laying my head against the cold window, I quickly drifted off and magically drifted back in time to my youth spent on the old cane plantation in Bayou Cane. The dream started out innocently enough. I was seven years old riding my new horse Buck down the old dirt road that separated the cane fields. Buck and I were headed to the stream on the back of the property by the old refinery. Big Aldos, our handyman and my best friend as a child, was fishing there. He’d brake off a piece of his cornbread and give me a taste of his home brewed dandelion wine to wash it down. Then the reins slipped from my grasp and Buck was out of control, galloping through the cane fields towards the soft lands over past the levee. I threw my arms around his neck and tried to pull back, but he wouldn’t stop…

      “Mooney, Mooney!”

      A familiar voice was bringing me back from the abyss, “WHAT, what is it?”

      “It’s you, you were thrashing about over there like you were having a fit.”

      It took me a minute to catch my breath and compose myself before answering. “Just a nightmare.”

      “The same one you always have where you’re out of control on…?”

      “Yeah, the same one.”

      “You