New Orleans Noir

cracking up.” Jimmie took her hand and caressed it. “You can lean on me, girl.” He handed her his cigarette.
    She took a drag, wiping her eyes. “You think the city is finished, Jimmie?”
    “Hell no. If yellow fever, fire, and Betsy didn’t wipe us out, Katrina won’t either. But the government might.” He gave her a toothy smile.
    His handsome gaze lingered. Their breath quickened, and she leaned toward him. They kissed and embraced under the moonlight in the Mustang parked in the Dead Zone with an urgency like it was wartime. And it was.
    Later, she opened the door from the backseat and looked for her panties. Jimmie sat there with his Wranglers unzipped, smoking a cigarette.
    “You sure got a tiger in your tank,” she said automatically. She said that to all the men. She found her panties in the front seat and put them on.
    “You may want to keep those off. I’m not finished yet,” he said tenderly, putting a hand on her back. She brushed it away.
    “This was a mistake,” she snapped.
    “Why?” Jimmie asked in a puzzled voice.
    “ Why why why . Don’t be so clingy.” She couldn’t believe what she was saying, but she couldn’t stop herself.
    They rode in silence to Montegut Street.
    “Please stay,” Jimmie said low, as he stopped near her gate. She wouldn’t look at him.
    “Go cool yourself off, Jimmie. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
    She got out and walked to her door. The Mustang squealed away loudly.
    Wyatt sighed long.
    “Someone told me they found his clothes all neatly folded on the rocks down there at the Riverwalk. You know how crazy a kid he was; he probably tried to swim across the river to Algiers. Nobody ever makes it. The current lost him. Hell, the hurricane lost him.”
    She left Wyatt and wandered down by the Riverwalk, desolate at this hour. Clouds moved fast across the moon. Is this where you did it, baby? Just like you to go skinny-dipping in the River Styx , she thought. She walked down the steps to the water. She used to drink wine here with her ex. There was a figure sobbing.
    “Jimmie Lee?”
    She looked closer; it was the brunette her ex had been seeing.
    “He set me up. The bastard!” she sobbed. “He called and asked me to meet him, and when I walked into the bar, there he was all cozy with some new fat rich cunt from New York who thinks she’s going to save New Orleans. He wouldn’t even look at me.” The brunette shuddered as she cried.
    “That’s really tough, kid,” she said, as she sat down on a step and lit a cigarette. Lightning flashed in the direction of the Gulf, followed by the low drones of thunder.
    “You must really hate me,” said the brunette when the sobs receded.
    “No, I hate myself,” she replied, and offered the brunette a cigarette.
    “I’m sorry about your friend,” the brunette said, taking the offered cigarette. “Does anyone know how he ended up in the river?”
    She took a long drag and stared at the light dancing on the river currents. A breeze came off the water, small respite to the burning.
    “He was number one hundred,” she said finally.
    The former rivals sat side by side smoking cigarettes. Watching the shadow of a barge in the dark moving quickly and silently up the river.
    Here is where you’ll always find me
    Always walking up and down
    But I left my soul behind me
    In that old cathedral town*
    *From the song “Boulevard of Broken Dream.” Words by Al Dubin, music by Harry Warren; © 1933 Warner Bros., Inc. All rights administered by WB Music Corp., lyrics reprinted by permission of Alfred Publishing Co., Inc. All rights reserved.

NIGHT TAXI
    BY CHRISTINE WILTZ
    Lakeview
    M ike left his office at the shipping company at 5 o’clock sharp, his senses dull from another day of taking orders, checking invoices, and listening to the pursers gripe about prices going up. Didn’t they know? It’s what prices do. He always left work vaguely angry. All day counting the big money, all night counting the stingy tips. When he thought about driving the cab, trying to make ends meet, which they never did because the price of everything kept going up, he would get so worried he’d forget about being angry.
    It had been worse since the hurricane. He was one of the lucky ones, his house was still standing; the floodwaters had leveled out with barely a centimeter to spare under his floorboards. The roof had nearly blown off. He and his wife prayed for no rain as they waited for their name to come up on any one