The Trinity Game

danced in the place with Julia and her friends on Friday nights…fourteen years ago.
    Would she take him back?
    Casamento’s was also open. Under different circumstances Daniel would’ve suggested they stop for some gumbo and an oysterloaf, but just seeing the place was enough to make him happy. He switched the radio on, set the tuner for 90.7 FM.
    “The mighty O.Z.,” said Trinity. “Greatest radio station in the world. I’ve missed it.”
    “I stream it on the Internet.”
    “Thought you guys all sat around listening to Gregorian chants.”
    “Please,” said Daniel. He turned up the volume. Louis Armstrong and Louis Jordan belting out
I’ll Be Glad When You’re Dead, You Rascal You
.
    “Perfect!” Trinity laughed.
    They continued past cafés and art galleries, hair salons and tattoo parlors, pawnbrokers and auto body shops as Satch assured them he’d be glad when they were dead.
    It felt like coming home.
    Daniel could see himself making a life with Julia here in New Orleans. Even if she wouldn’t have him back, this was home. And despite Katrina, despite having been abandoned by the rest of America, New Orleans was rebuilding.
    A good place to rebuild his life…assuming he lived through this strange odyssey he was on with his uncle.
    The disc jockey thanked Big Easy Scooters, the Ra Shop, and Harrah’s Casino for their sponsorship, and then played a beautiful Trombone Shorty song about falling in love. The song ended as they passed under the 90, and Daniel slowed and shut off the radio. He found a parking spot on Peters, just a block from Canal, the French Quarter beyond. Despite the muggy heat, he slipped into a windbreaker he’d borrowed from Pat’s clothing stash. He reached across Trinity, opened the glove box, and put the gun in his waistband, under his shirt.
    “Here’s how this is going to work,” he said. “Keep the hat and glasses on, and walk at a relaxed pace. I’ll be about ten paces back, on the opposite sidewalk. Don’t look for me, I’ll be there. And don’t look around to see if anyone recognizes you—that’s my job. Your job is to be casual. Remember, you’re just another tourist. Don’t strut—”
    “I do
not
strut,” said Trinity indignantly. Daniel couldn’t tell if he was serious.
    “You have a distinctive walk, let’s put it that way, and the point here is to blend in. Oh, and go ahead and smoke—nobody’s ever seen you smoking on television, so it’ll help to disassociate you from your public image. Just walk to the address on Dumaine—”
    “Number 633…in case we get separated.”
    “Don’t worry,” said Daniel.
    “OK.” Trinity reached for the door handle.
    “Wait.” Daniel pulled Pat’s map from the backpack, followed the red line with his finger. “Take Bienville to Charters, then stay on Charters all the way in to Dumaine.”
    “Bienville, Charters, Dumaine. Got it.” Trinity climbed out and shut the door. He lit a cigarette, returned the Zippo to his pocket, and started walking. Daniel let him get some distance, then followed.
    People usually try too hard when changing their appearance, thought Daniel, and end up calling more attention to themselves. Trinity’s disguise wasn’t perfect, but the points of reference for his slick public persona had all been removed. Jeans and a plain cotton shirt had replaced the silk suit. The silver hair was now brown and mostly covered by a ball cap, and shades covered his eyes. He was smoking, and the trademark swagger was gone from his walk. Hisgait was a little too stiff at first, almost lurching, like his quads were sore after a long run. But after a couple of blocks, he eased into it.
    All in all, it was a pretty good disguise. Except for those damn cowboy boots.
Shit.
Daniel had intended to stop and buy Trinity some plain shoes, but with all the excitement that morning, he’d forgotten. Well, they were pretty dirty now, almost gray, not the gleaming white boots people saw on television. And it was too late to call Trinity back. Daniel said a silent prayer and hoped for the best.
    The sidewalks were busy enough but not congested, so following was easy. Pat’s route had them walking always on one-way streets, with the direction of traffic, so cars were passing from behind and motorists couldn’t easily see Trinity’s face. Daniel scanned the pedestrians as he followed. Nobody seemed to pay any mind to the man with the brown hair and baseball cap, walking stiffly down Rue Charters and