The Hunt

He was surprised that no one had even seemed to take notice of the young lady. Perhaps the lighting was too dim, the drinks too plentiful, for the other patrons or staff to notice his new semi-light-skinned companion.

"Lovely evenin' tonight, ain't it?" She had a heavy Cajun accent, a sound familiar to Etienne, a comforting throwback to his childhood growing up in Metairie on the edge of the bayou. His own accent had been tempered during his stint with the Army in the Korean War, but he could still bring it out when it was useful.

"Ah suppose it is, that."

"You look like you got the troubles of the world restin' on your shoulders," she said, sympathetically.

"Been a long week."

The bartender set his whiskey down in front of him. Again, Etienne was surprised the barkeep didn't take umbrage at the presence of a colored woman at his bar. Etienne held up one hand to keep the barkeep from wandering off.

"Can I get you something? Pimm's and soda? Glass of wine?"

She reached out and picked up his glass. She took a leisurely sip, then licked her lips with a sultry smile. "This works fine fo' me, Cher."

He arched an eyebrow at her forwardness, the turned to the barkeep. "Bring me another, please." The man behind the counter gave him a strange look, but nodded and wandered away.

She clearly was after something. It wasn't unusual for him to sit alone at bars and see if he was approached by a working girl. That pretty much never happened with the black prostitutes, as they didn't venture into bars, and it only worked with new girls who hadn't been around long, as they quickly learned to recognize vice. Which probably meant...

"You're... Josephine, ain't ya?"

Her smile became even more sultry, if that was possible.

"O-o-o-h, you a fast one, ain't ya now Detective Cheval?"

He tilted his head to one side. "How is it you know who I am?"

"Detective, c'mon now. You a lil' famous on the streets among the ladies."

"Am I now?"

"Sho' 'nuff. A white detective, who doesn't seem to have it out for only us colored gals? I hear you bust the white ladies jes as much as us. You even go after them johns too."

"I don't have it out for nobody. Ah'm just doin' mah job, like everyone else."

"Not everyone is, Detective. Doin' they jobs, that is. Too many are jes out to hassle those they don't care fo' or shake us down, or jes sittin' on they asses until they get they pensions."

"You seem awful informed 'bout the NOPD for someone who's only been in town a short time."

"I listen well, Detective. Mah ears stay close to the ground."

"So whatchu doing he'ah tonight? I hope you ain't he'ah to make me an offer, because I'm not that kinda cop and I wanna enjoy my drink. Hate to have to get up off this stool to take you into the precinct."

She laughed, a rich full sound. The laugh of a person with a real thirst for life. "Cher, I hope I don' give the impression of being a gal dumb enough to solicit someone I just admitted I knew was vice."

"You do not, in fact, give that impression. Fact, you seem a little too sharp to be working the streets."

"Is that so?"

"That's a fact." The bartender returned with the second drink. Etienne lifted it to her, and they touched glasses before he took a sip.

"Well, Detective, I'm not he'ah tonight to make you an offer." She trailed one finger down his arm. "Not that kind, anyhow. Come to that, I'm not sure I'd want to charge a man like you anyway, Cher. We could call it a freebie, as it were."

Etienne's eyebrows shot up. "Well, you flatter me, but one, I don't usually date someone I might have to arrest one day, and two--"

"Who said anything about a 'date', Cher?" she said with a grin, cocking her head to the side.

He ignored her interruption. "Two, you coming on strong tells me that you want something from me. Something besides a generous financial contribution that you might usually collect."

Her grin faltered the slightest bit. "You are a fast one. Lolly has you pegged, alright."

He took a sip then turned to more fully face her. "Why don't we cut to the chase. What you lookin' fo' here?"

She took a long drink of her own, then contemplated the bottom of her glass. Without looking up she said, "You got any leads on the monstah what's huntin' us?"

His heart softened a bit. "Josephine, I'm doin' mah best. The NOPD is gon' find this guy and lock him up."

She snorted and looked up at him. "Sugar, that's the first lie you done tol' me. NOPD ain't worried fo' shit 'bout black whores gettin' kilt. I'm asking what leads you gots. Far as I can tell, you's t'only cop in the city really worried 'bout this situation."

He felt chagrined. She wasn't wrong. "Fine, I'm gon' find this guy."

"Alright. So, back to my question. Got any leads?"

"I can't talk 'bout an open investigation," he offered lamely.

She turned and leaned back against the bar, watching the jazz trio. "You at least got any kinda description of this... guy?"

"So you ladies can avoid him?" he asked, dodging her question. Truth was he had no leads on the killer. No one did.

She turned back to him with a gaze full of malice, her tone dead flat. "So's I kin find 'im."

He stopped with his glass halfway to his lips. He was so shocked he dropped his accent. "You need to stay off the streets right now, not go chasing after this guy."

"Rabid dogs need to be put down," she said. All the warmth was gone from her face.

"I'll catch him. I'm not going to stop until I do."

"Uh huh. S'pose you do. How many years ya think a white man go'n get for killin' some black hookers? That's assuming he don' get off entirely. Then he's back out agin' and it starts all ovah."

"What makes you think he's white?"

She gave him a sour look. "Sugar, they always white."

"Look, you can't go looking for this guy. It's not safe."

"Neither is working the streets, 'pparently. Now you gon' tell me anythin' 'bout this monstah, or am I wasting my time he'ah?"

"I ain't telling you nothin' that you can use to get y'self in trouble. Even if you found him, and if you... tried to take care of him, then either you'd get y'self killed or I'd hafta arrest you for murder. I don't want either of those things to happen. I'd hate to see a lovely lady like yo'self strapped into the 'lectric chair."

She smiled. "Sugar, that's sweet you think you'd have better luck catchin' me than you currently is having trackin' down him."

"I'm good at my job, I'll have you know."

"I believe you, Cher. If I didn't think you was, I probably wouldn't a' bothered talkin' to ya."

"Guess that'll hafta stand in for an apology."

She laughed her rich, throaty laugh again. "Darlin, I hardly think you the sorta man whose feelings get hurt so easy."

He grinned. "Well, now, you might be right about that."

Despite this woman's insane assertion that she was angling to track down a multiple-murderer of women such as herself, there was something about her; an allure Etienne couldn't deny he felt. Something he'd never experienced talking to any other lady of the night he'd come across in his job as a vice detective, or his years as a beat cop in the Quarter. She seemed more confident than one would presume, like she was wise beyond her years.

"So, if you don' mind me askin', how's it a gal from the bayou like yo'self ended up doin' what you doin'?"

She gave him a sly grin. "Don't you think people should do what they best at?" She ran a finger along the back of his hand. Her touch sent a thrill through him and he had to suppress the urge to shiver. "Some might say I have a gift in that area." She leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Maybe I'll show you sometime, providing' you can get over your reticence fo'... datin'... a lady such as myself."

"Why sho' that'd be an experience, of that I'm certain."

"Better believe it, Sugar. I's also good at mah job." She lifted her glass and finished her whiskey, licking her lips again.

I bet those lips could do some amazing things, Etienne thought. Then he blinked at himself. Where the hell'd that come from? Stay professional, son.

"So how's you end up running with Lolly and Alice anyways? Most girls walkin' the streets are hard luck cases. You don't seem like someone who would ever let hard luck find her."

"Not hard luck at all. And fo' sho some'tin I ain't planning to do as a career, Detective. But if the opportunity is to present itself fo' me to come across this monstah, I have to be running where he is, no?"

His face turned hard again. "Josephine, ah'm tellin' ya, you cannot be trying to find this guy. It's too dangerous."

"That's sweet, Sugar, but the only men who getsta tell me what to do is them who's paid me first. You ever decide to come around on me, I'll let you tell me what to do though, even fo' a freebie. But not... in this partic'lar case."

"Look--"

"Thanks for the drink, Sugar. I'm certain our paths gon' cross again."

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, then took a step back to let a waiter carrying a large tray of drinks pass between them.

"Josephine, I--"

He stopped in confusion. The waiter moved past and she was... just... gone. He stood from his barstool and scanned the room. He suddenly spotted her, a good fifty feet away, exiting out the open French doors to Decatur Street. He quickly fished out a bill and dropped it on the bar next to his empty glass, then hustled out the doors onto the street.

With the exception of Fat Tuesday, the second day of the work week normally made for slow traffic in the Quarter. The street was sparsely occupied, mostly couples walking arm in arm.

There was no sign of Josephine in any direction.

"What the hell?" Etienne muttered to himself, turning in circles, scanning the street.

Eighteen blocks to the west, two young women stood together on a street corner near a bar in the rougher area of the Quarter.

"T'night sho' been a bust," Alice said.

"Thassa a mouthful. Hope once we get closer to Halloween the tourists pick up," Nanette agreed.

The black girls working the Quarter usually made almost all of their money from white tourists from up north looking to satisfy their 'jungle fever' curiosity. White New Orleanians were not generally on their list of frequent customers. There were the rare locals looking for something their wives wouldn't give them who, for one reason or another, favored the black hookers over the whites. Black men tended to stay away from the popular tourist area to avoid being hassled by the cops for existing in the white folk's space.

"If'n I hadn't spent my last dollar on groceries this mornin', I don't think I'd even be out here tonight. Not worth it. Maybe--" Alice broke off as she spied a middle-aged white man approaching them hesitantly. "Hold the phone, we got a live one," she muttered to Nanette out of the corner of her mouth.

"Hello, girls... ah, I mean ladies, I... Ah, I was wondering if ah..."

"Looking for a good time, Sugar?" Alice purred as she stepped towards him, and wound her hands around the man's upper arm, pulling him close. "Oooh! You a strong one!"

Nanette had to stifle a laugh. The portly man was probably a salesman in town for some convention. Strong was not a word Nanette would use for him. She was briefly envious of how quickly Alice had moved on him. She was always quick to land a fish, and this gentleman looked like he'd both have deep pockets and a short fuse. A good combination, far as she was concerned.

After some whispered negotiations, Alice was pleasantly surprised when he offered his nearby hotel room for the night's activities. The girls pooled their money for a tiny rented room in a flop house off Decatur Street for times customers wanted more than a hand job or whatever could be managed in an alley. A customer offering a real hotel room was a rare and pleasant (relatively speaking) occurrence. Most of the hotels wouldn't let colored women past the lobby, though, so it would be tricky for Alice to get up to his room.

Nanette jealously watched Alice head off arm-in-arm with her new-found fish.

After another hour of no potential customers, she decided to call the night a wash and head back to the run-down boarding house on the edge of the Lower Ninth Ward she shared with Alice, Lolly, Josephine and, until recently, Sally. Thinking of her friend made her squeeze her eyes shut in sadness for a moment.

She was waiting for the streetcar to come trundling down the road when a familiar face walked up to her.

"Evening, girl," he said.

"Sir." She eyed the middle-aged white man. He'd seen her a few times before.

"Got a little time fo' me?" he asked.

She debated with herself. The few times she'd serviced this particular customer hadn't been particularly pleasant, but neither had it been particularly unpleasant. She could use the five dollars for rubbing out a quick one, as she recalled he liked, but with everything that had been happening on the streets lately, she hesitated.

He saw her hesitation, looked around, opened his wallet and held up a folded ten-dollar bill between two fingers. Twice her normal fee for what he liked.

"Fo' this kinda money, you want to go to my room?" she asked, taking the bill and slipping it in her purse.

"No, over the'ah's fine," he drawled.

She sighed. For some reason he liked doing it in an alley, rather than indoors. They waited until there was a lull in the foot traffic then slipped into an alley behind one of the ubiquitous bars of the Quarter.

After taking a look to make sure they were out of sight from casual passers-by on the street, Nanette set her purse on the lid of a trash can, gently pushed the man back against the wall and unbuckled his pants. As he lowered his white briefs to mid-thigh, she took him in her hand and began to stroke him. Gently. She recalled he usually didn't like it rough.

He leaned head back against the wall as he quickly became hard in her palm. She stood to one side, intent on not getting his seed on her when he climaxed. After a few minutes of her quietly stroking him, he sighed with pleasure.

"Would you mind using your mouth?" he whispered.

She cringed. Not her favorite thing. She'd rather just fuck him, to be honest. "Umm... not tonight, Honey. Maybe another time."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out another bill. "Please?"

As she weighed her decision, she continued stroking him, and took the bill with her free hand and held it up in the dim light. A twenty. That would make this a really good night for a Tuesday, and she could get home before midnight.

"Alright, just this once. But you warn me 'fore you get there, hear me? I don't want it in my mouth!"

"Thank you."

It was always odd to have a white man thank her for anything. Especially for something they paid her for. Something I bet his wife isn't doing for him, she thought, eyeing the wedding band on his finger.

She checked the alleyway entrance again, then squatted down in front of him. She wasn't about to ruin her stockings kneeling on the alley floor.

She held him steady with one hand, and looked up at him. He was staring down at her in anticipation. She didn't make him wait, leaning forward and taking the head of his cock in her mouth, sliding her tongue wetly along the underside. He sucked in a breath.

Nanette started bobbing her head along his length. She didn't think he'd last long, and as his breathing quickened she felt she'd made a safe bet.

He raised a hand and slid it into her hair and she stopped, reaching up and trying to gently disengage his hand.

"For thirty dollars, you can let me hold your hair!" he growled.

She was slightly taken aback. This was far more assertive than this man had ever been with her. Fine, faster he pops, sooner I'll be on that streetcar.

"Okay, Honey, but you remember to tell me when you comin', he'ah?"

"I will," he said, groaning as she took him back into her mouth.

He used his hand on her head to set the pace, a little faster than she preferred. Soon enough he groaned, and she felt his hand tighten in her hair and he grew even stiffer in her mouth.

"I'm gonna... gonna..." he moaned.

She took her mouth off him and started jerking him quickly, trying to move aside to get clear. He held her tightly in front of him by her hair though, preventing her from rising, then his hips jerked and he started shooting ropes of sticky cum all over her dress, one especially long jet splashing along her cheek and neck.

"Godammit!" she hissed, looking up at him in anger. "You got this shit all over my dress!"

"I'll give you another twenty," he said then pulled her back towards him. Before she could respond, he forced his cock back into her mouth, and groaned in pleasure.

Hellfire, I have to wear this dress home like this now! she thought as she reluctantly sucked him clean, his penis jerking and pulsing with the last dribbles of his seed.

He finally let her go and she stood. He opened his wallet and handed her another bill. She glared at him, took the money, checked and saw it was another twenty, and then reached out and yanked his handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and used it to wipe her face off.

"That was real good, girl," he said as he buckled his trousers.

She spat a gob of cum onto the alley floor.

"Honey, let me tell you something," she said, venom dripping from her voice. He looked abashed, as if he knew he was about to get a tongue-lashing, and not the pleasant kind.

"Look, I'm sorry, I--"

"What imma tell you, Honey, is that if you want to do that, we don't do it in the alley. Fifty'll get you want you want, plus you spring fo' a room so I can take my dress off first. You've ruined this one."

He managed to look both relieved and interested at the same time.

"You sayin' for fifty and a room, I can do that when you's naked?"

"Everything's got a price, Honey. Doing that in an alley and ruining my dress comes at a steeper price than fifty dollars."

"I... I'm sorry, that's all the cash I have on me tonight." He looked almost ashamed, but added hurriedly, "But, if'n you want, I'll meet you next Tuesday night and make it up to you. Another fifty plus some extra for yo' dress."

She tried not to roll her eyes. Still, this guy came so quick, it'd be another easy fifty plus whatever she could shame him out of for his treatment of her tonight.

"Fine, Honey. I'll look for you next Tuesday right out here. Same time, eight o'clock?"

"My Masonic meeting gets out between eight and eight-thirty, but my wife thinks they end at ten."

"I don't care where yo' wife thinks you at, Honey. Just what yo' wallet has to tell me."

"Right," he grinned.

"Now go on, git. I don't want to walk out of t' alley with you. Gonna take me a minute to get cleaned up."

"Alright. Uh... thank you," he said again.

She forced a smile. "Yo' welcome."

She watched him leave as she pulled another handkerchief from her purse and wiped at the stains over her breasts. After she got herself as presentable as she thought she could, she picked up her purse, contemplating whether she should walk home or risk the streetcar and having someone notice the faint lines of drying sperm on her dress.

As she took a step towards the alley entrance, an arm snaked around her throat and yanked her back. She tried to scream but a hand clamped over her mouth.

"You colored whores are all the same!" a voice hissed in her ear, the man's breath sour in her nostrils. "Degradin' yourselves t' no end, to take white men's hard-earned money!"

She flailed with her purse, trying to strike the man behind her, but the arm around her throat only grew tighter. The dim light in the alley grew dimmer while spots appeared at the edge of her vision.