New Orleans Noir

called, but all Phillip had to do was say they’d argued and Chad said he was going out in the Quarter. Besides, it would probably be days before anyone even noticed Chad was missing—and it wasn’t like the post-Katrina police force wasn’t already spread thin. Even before the storm, they weren’t exactly a ball of fire.
    And Phillip was obviously a lot smarter than I’d given him credit for.
    We left the car on Spain Street on a dark block on the lake side of St. Claude. I’d told Phillip to leave the windows down and the keys in the ignition. Someone would surely take that invitation to a free car. The police wouldn’t be looking for the vehicle for days, maybe even weeks—if ever. Maybe I could report the car stolen?
    But that wouldn’t lead them back to Phillip.
    Phillip got into my car and we pulled away from the curb. “Some adventure, huh?” he said, rolling down his window and lighting another cigarette. “Thanks, man.” He put his free hand on my inner thigh and stroked it, giving me the smile I’d seen him use a million times in bars. I knew exactly what that smile meant, and my blood ran cold. “Do you really think we’ll get away with it?”
    “As long as you stick to your story and don’t freak when the police come by to interview you—if they ever do,” I replied, knowing that he wouldn’t freak. Oh no, he was much too clever for that. How could I have missed that before? If the body disposal went as planned, it could be days, even weeks, before anyone even notified the police. Chad worked as a waiter in a Quarter restaurant, and from all appearances, never seemed to have any friends. Who would miss him? He wouldn’t show up for work, they’d write him off—people tend to come and go quickly in New Orleans, especially now—and that would be the end of it. Unless a family member missed him, filed a missing-persons report, and really pressed the cops—which wouldn’t do much good, unless his family was wealthy and powerful.
    You have to hate New Orleans sometimes.
    As we drove down Claiborne, the one thing I couldn’t stop thinking about was those bruises on Chad’s throat, and the two hours Phillip had waited before he called me. His story was a lie. No one freaks out and stays alone with a dead body for two hours. And I hadn’t heard anything. Sure, I’d had the iPod on pretty loud, but I’d heard their fights before. As for the bruise on his cheek, the cut lips—maybe he’d done that to himself somehow, as he tried to figure out a way to get me to help him. There was no way I would ever know what had finally pushed Phillip over the edge, why he’d decided that Chad had to die rather than just breaking things off with him. Or maybe the story he’d told me was partially true—maybe Chad had hit him, he’d fought back, knocked him down, and Chad had hit his head on the table on the way down. But Phillip had definitely finished him off by choking him.
    I fell for his story like an idiot, worried as always about poor dumb Phillip in a jam, and now I am an accessory after the fact.
    Just get home, get away from him, and make an anonymous call to the police, tip them off. As long as they find the body before it’s too late …
    I glanced at Phillip. That was a good idea. Just get away from him and make the call.
    Thank God I’d never followed up on the attraction I’d felt for him when he first moved in.
    I pulled up in front of the house and turned the car off. I gave him a brittle smile. “Here we are.”
    Phillip gave me that look again. “Thanks, Tony. You really are a good friend.” He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Whew. Some night, huh?”
    “Um, yeah.”
    He got out of the car and stretched, his muscles flexing and rippling in the light from the streetlamp. Before, I would have admired their thickness and beauty. Now, all I could see was their strength, and it terrified me. “Man, I’m beat.” He gave me that smile again, and this time it curdled my blood. “Mind if I come in for a while? You have any pot? I could use some.”
    Fuck!
    “Phillip, I’m really wiped and just want to go to bed.” I faked a smile. “Wait here and I’ll roll you a joint.” I climbed the steps to my side of the house as quickly as I could. I unlocked the door and walked into my living room. The lights were still on; I hadn’t turned them off when I’d rushed over there. My computer screen glowed, my bag of weed still sitting there on my writing table