Cut and Run 7 - Touch and Geaux

sent a CIA kill team to his bayou and he almost blew them up.”
    They all snickered, little boys in the schoolyard talking about a frog they’d stuck in the teacher’s drawer.
    Zane looked around, his mouth hanging open. “You’re all insane.”
    “Welcome to Recon, baby!” Digger said with a slap to Zane’s back that almost knocked him over. The man gave a boisterous laugh and headed off toward a group of women who stood drinking near the entrance to Lafitte’s. Owen drifted away with him, having said nothing to Zane and barely greeting Ty with a nod.
    Zane looked around, still stunned by the turn of events. They weren’t here for a rescue. They were here for a party.
    “Life with Ty, huh?” Kelly said to him. He was smiling, his hands in his pockets, just as relaxed and laid back as he had sounded the first time Zane had met him. He was an unremarkable-looking man, with hair a shade between brown and blond and eyes that may or may not have been gray. Or blue. Or green. But Zane remembered Ty talking about how capable the team’s medic had been.
    Zane nodded, trying to return the smile. “You never know, I guess.”
    Ty and Nick were in the middle of the street bickering again. Or rather, Ty had his finger in Nick’s face and Nick was laughing at him.
    “Last time I fall for it, O’Flaherty, I swear to God! Next time you call and need help, you’re on your own.”
    “Yeah, tell that to my boat!”
    “ You shot the holes in it!”
    “Strategically! It still floats!”
    “I coughed up glitter for a week after Panama, you prick!”
    Nick put up both hands to fend off Ty’s ranting, but he was laughing too hard to respond again.
    “Every fucking time!” Ty shouted before he smacked Nick on the side of the head and stormed off.
    Nick doubled over laughing.
    “So . . . how many times has he fallen for that gag?” Zane asked.
    Nick gasped and held up his hand, displaying all five fingers. “This makes five!”
    Zane began to chuckle. It was Ty’s one true weakness they could exploit, his loyalty to them. He had come every time they’d called, and would continue to do so no matter what.
    Kelly chuckled at Zane’s side as they watched Ty disappear into the bar. They followed after him, and Zane’s mind immediately went to the last time he’d been in New Orleans, to the last time he’d followed someone he loved down one of these streets.

    “Where are you taking us?” Zane asked as his wife led him down a series of alleys in the French Quarter that looked like they should be filled with vampires. Or prostitutes.
    She looked back at him, her eyes sparkling and her hair cascading down her back in waves.
    “I promise you’ll love it.”
    Zane smiled and followed, willing to give anything a chance if it got her this excited. New Orleans was their treat to themselves for their tenth anniversary, and Becky had been looking forward to this for months.
    “It’s this little dive I heard about. They do a sort of comedy burlesque act. It’s supposed to be one of the hidden gems of the French Quarter.”
    “I hate to break it to you honey, but we’re not even in the French Quarter anymore.”
    After another thirty yards, Becky paused at a weathered, wooden door set into a stone wall. They were close to the river, heading past the Market and toward the outskirts of the French Quarter. The carved wooden sign that hung perpendicular from the wall named the pitiful little establishment as La Fée Verte.
    “I think this is it.”
    Zane glanced around and smiled weakly. They were well off the beaten path, the noise of the main thoroughfares dulled by the thick walls and crumbling plaster. “If this isn’t it, we’re going to end the night in jail.”
    “You, hush,” Becky muttered as she pushed through the door.
    Within was a surprisingly large room. It was ill lit and crowded with scarred chairs and tables, most of which were full. The walls were brick stained by age, with patches covered haphazardly by aging plaster and thick baroque fabric. A long bar lined the far wall, and opposite that was a stage with a single microphone stand and heavy, wine-colored curtains.
    There were no windows, and the light in the bar came from antique string lights overhead and sconces along the walls that held real candles flickering within hurricane lamps. Wax dripped onto the tables from many nights of lit candles that had never been cleaned up.
    Zane let his eyes adjust to the dim light. He’d seen worse.