House of Blues

turned around, she knew she was going to see a
lot more of Manny than she really wanted to.
    "Throw me my pants, will you?"
    Instead, she pressed the button for a nurse, and
opened the door to the corridor. "Got to go, Manny. Stay out of
trouble."
    She went to the nurses' desk and told them Manny was
about to run out on the bill, hoping that would qualify as an
emergency.
    "And by the way," she added, "may I
see a phone book?"
    Anna wouldn't be listed, but she had to look.
    There was a John Garibaldi. She dialed and a child
answered.
    " Is your mama home?"
    "No."
    " Is her name Anna?"
    "No, that's my auntie. She's really nice. She
takes me to get ice cream and things."
    " Ah. Well, I have a special present for your
auntie. Can you tell me where she lives?"
    "In the house with the wall."
    Not four walls?
    "On what street?"
    "On our street."
    "She lives near you?"
    " Uh-huh. I have to go now."
    Skip noted the street name. It was near Bayou St.
John. She sighed. Just to make sure, she really should check the
reverse directory.
    Manny was racing down the hall, chased by four
nurses.
    " Hey, Manny, would you say it was a house with a
wall?"
    He stopped in the middle of the hall. "How the
hell did you know that?"
    "I'm psychic." The nurses were starting to
swarm over him.
    "Go back to bed, okay? I'll bring you some
cigarettes."
    But she wouldn't. She knew it even as she said it.
    The City Directory was irrelevant now. She went to
find Anna's, thinking just to drive by, to get the feel of it. Anna
might be "really nice" to her little niece, but Maurice had
been there the only time Manny had, and when next seen, he'd had a
gun. She'd need backup to approach.
    The wall, she thought, must separate the house from
the street. And sure enough, when she got to the John Garibaldi
address and drove another block, there was such a house. And there
was a gardener trimming the ivy that grew on the wall. She got out of
the car with her clipboard. "Is this the Garibaldi home?"
    " Who wants to know?"
    " I do. Why?"
    " Why you want to know?"
    "I'm conducting a survey." She rummaged in
her purse and pulled out a ten.
    He took the ten and shrugged. "She's home."
    But Skip didn't want to knock on the door, not
without backup.
    "What you waitin' for? She's home."
    "I have a free gift for her."
    Funny term, free gift. Is there any other kind?
    She opened her trunk and pretended to look for it.
The gift wouldn't be there, of course, and she'd say she had to go
back to her office to get it. Still, she wished she'd never spoken to
the gardener.
    She thought she heard something behind her, and she
was conscious of a blur—sornething in motion. And then a searing
pain at the back of her skull, the thin part, she had been told.
 

    24
    Her hands wouldn't move. When she tried to wiggle her
fingers, make a fist, anything, she couldn't. Worse, she had no
feeling in them. She was alive, though, because her head was killing
her. It must be a nightmare. She willed herself to wake up.
    Her eyes flew open.
    She was in a room she'd never seen before, a hotel
room perhaps, but a very fancy one, so well done it looked almost
like a real room in someones house.
    She wasn't alone. Another woman sat in a chair in the
middle of the room, reading a magazine, facing away from her.
    She tried to sit up but she couldn't. Her hands were
above her head, attached to the bed, like Jesus on the cross. This
was no nightmare, except metaphorically. She could see them if she
looked up, secured to the headboard with duct tape.
    She remembered the name, "Anna Garibaldi."
Could that be Garibaldi in the chair?
    "Anna? Are you Anna Garibaldi?"
    The woman turned toward her. "You're awake. I
was worried about you."
    Skip recognized her face. "Reed Hebert."
    "Reed Foucher, actually. How do you know me?"
    " Jesus shit." Skip had just realized the
import of the situation.
    "What's happening here?"
    "Do your hands hurt? I wish I could help you."
She twisted so Skip could see that she was handcuffed.
    Okay, so she was Reed Hebert and she was a prisoner.
"Sally!"
    Frantically, she swiveled her head, looking for the
little girl she knew wasn't there.
    "You know me, and you know Sally, but you're not
one of them. What are you?"
    "A cop."
    "Oh, shit."
    " Yeah. Not exactly the cavalry. Where's Sally?"
    " Here somewhere. She's fine, but we're all
prisoners."
    "Who is we?"
    " Sally, me, and my sister Evie."
    Skip nodded. "I know about Evie."
    Reed's face was suddenly alarmed. She'd