Millard crooked a finger at one of the hostesses, a blonde in a tight red dress. "Tessie, this is... I'm sorry, I don't know your name, my dear."
"Claudette," she supplied with a smile.
"This is Claudette, Tessie," continued Millard. "Take her upstairs, get her settled in, and see about arranging for the temporary loan of several gowns. Claudette's going to be working here, and since she's a friend of Mr. Parker's, I want her treated right."
The blonde glanced at Longarm, shrugged, and nodded. Clearly, the fact that Claudette was his friend didn't really mean anything to her, but she would do whatever Millard told her.
"Come on, honey," she said to Claudette. "I'll take care of YOU."
Claudette stood up, smiled nervously at Longarm and Millard, and followed Tessie upstairs. Millard turned to Longarm and asked, "Satisfied, Parker?"
"I reckon we'll see," said Longarm.
Tessie came back downstairs a little later and told Longarm and Millard, "This is going to take a while. I've got her soaking in a hot tub, and she doesn't act like she wants to get out. I think this might be the first real bath she's ever had!"
Longarm figured that was possible. Since it was still fairly early and the crowd in the club was still small, he said to Millard, "I think I'll go get a bite to eat, if that's all right with you, Boss?"
Millard waved a hand. "Sure, go ahead. Just don't get lost. If Annie Clement's in here tonight, I don't want her spending the whole evening asking me where you are."
Longarm grinned ruefully at the thought of Annie and Claudette being in the same place at the same time. That was a definite likelihood. He might be wise to keep them apart as much as possible.
As if reading Longarm's mind, Millard chuckled and said, "Didn't think of that when you asked me to hire her, did you?"
"Well, to be honest, no," admitted Longarm. "But I reckon I'll just have to make the best of it now. I'll worry about it after supper."
He left the club, but he wasn't looking for something to eat. Instead, he headed for the docks. That notebook he had discovered in Millard's desk earlier in the day still bothered him. Or rather, not the notebook itself, but the information he had found written down in it. He was still intensely curious about those ships that had left New Orleans bound for Saint Laurent.
Gallatin Street was only a block away from the river, but the levee area was around the great curve of the Mississippi that gave New Orleans its nickname of the Crescent City. Where Canal Street met the waterfront was the hub of the shipping industry. Longarm spent the next hour roaming through the area. Ships were docked two and three deep at the wharves. Loading and unloading began before dawn and went on by torchlight until well after midnight. From the north came the riverboats with their tall smokestacks and their paddle wheels. The goods they brought downriver were transferred onto tall-masted sailing ships that would ply the waters of the Gulf and then head across the Atlantic to Europe. Likewise, the cargoes they brought on their return voyages were loaded onto the steamships and carried back up the mighty Mississippi. It was a thriving trade, with merchandise of every conceivable kind passing through this port.
At the moment, however, Longarm was interested only in the ships that had sailed for Saint Laurent, so he asked around until someone pointed him toward a burly black stevedore who reminded him somewhat uncomfortably of the man Longarm had been forced to kill the night before.
"Howdy," Longarm said to the man, who was taking a break after loading some crates onto a riverboat.
Immediately, the man looked suspiciously at him and said, "What you want, Boss?" He had the lilting accent of the West Indies in his voice.
Longarm shook his head. "I ain't nobody's boss. I'm just looking for a little information."
"I don' know nothin' 'bout nothin'," the dockworker said flatly.
"I'm told you were around a few days ago when some ships left here bound for an island called Saint Laurent. The ships were the Erasmus, the Bonneville-"
"I know de ships you talkin' 'bout. Dey belong to Mr. Millard. I done worked on dem before."
Longarm was surprised the man admitted so easily that the ships belonged to Millard. He asked, "Did you load them this time?"
"No, Boss," the man said with a fervent shake of his head. "Mr. Millard's men, dey load dem ships, tell us to stay away from 'em."
Longarm frowned. "So there was cargo on the ships when they sailed, but none of the regular dockworkers loaded it?"
"No, Boss. Dey load dem ships in de middle o' de night, so nobody aroun'. Why you wanna know 'bout dis'? You a lawman?"
That guess hit way too close to home. Longarm laughed harshly, then declared, "Not hardly. I'm just a fella who's got an interest in what Millard does."
The dockworker stood up quickly and began to move away. "You jus' leave me outta dis, Boss," he said, sounding frightened now. "Don' wan' nothin' t' do with dat Royale. You white folks jus' keeps your troubles to yourselves."
"Wait a minute-"
But the man wouldn't listen to Longarm. He hurried away, casting nervous glances over his shoulder as he did so.
Well, at least he had learned a few things, Longarm told himself. The ships had definitely been carrying cargo when they left New Orleans bound for Saint Laurent, but that cargo was a secret and had been taken on board under cover of night by Millard's own men, rather than the usual dockworkers.
Word of the intensifying conflict between Millard and Royale had reached the docks too. In fact, the man Longarm had just been talking to had taken him for an agent of Royale's. Longarm hoped that suspicion didn't get back to Millard's ears any time soon. Millard already seemed to trust him a little less after the incident in the office.
Longarm stopped and got a quick bite to eat on his way back to the gambling club. The streets were growing fuller. In fact, the crowds were building to a downright throng. With a frown, Longarm stopped and thought about what day it was, then closed his eyes and winced.
It was Fat Tuesday. Mardi Gras. Tonight would be the busiest night of the year in New Orleans, complete with the traditional parade with showy, elaborate floats put together by the krewes, the societies devoted to such activities. The celebration would go on until dawn, at least. What a night for Claudette to start working at the Brass Pelican.
Longarm shook his head and moved on, grinning at the costumed people who were beginning to appear on the streets. He saw men masquerading as devils, pirates, wild Indians, and clowns. Women seemed to prefer more sedate costumes. Many of them were made up to look like Marie Antoinette, complete with beauty spots, powdered wigs, and gowns cut so low that often the upper rings of their nipples were visible. It was already a spectacle, and would be more so before the night was over.
When he reached the club, practically the first thing he saw was Claudette. She was wearing a blue gown that went well with her hair and eyes, and glittery earrings dangled from her ears. Her hair was piled atop her head in an elaborate arrangement of curls that made her look much more sophisticated than the simple bayou girl he had met a couple of days earlier. It was a little difficult to believe that she was the same person.
But as she saw him and came hurrying toward him, smiling broadly, he had no trouble recognizing her. She practically threw herself into his arms and hugged him.
"Oh, Custis, these clothes, she is so nice I never dream I wear such a thing, me," she exclaimed. "Thank you, thank you so much."
"You're welcome," Longarm told her. "If this is what you really want, Claudette, then I'm glad I could help you get it. You sure gave me a hand." He lowered his voice. "Speaking of that, you didn't say anything to Mr. Millard about how you helped me get away from those old boys the other day, did you?"