Violets Are Blue

Orleans.
    The message was classic. It was pure Jamilla:
I’m coming to New Orleans, and they’re going down. Don’t doubt it for a second
.

Chapter 60

    JAMILLA AND I met up at the Dauphine Hotel that night. She was decked out in a black leather jacket, blue jeans, a white pocket-T. She looked rested and ready for anything; I didn’t feel so bad myself.
    We had supper together, steak and eggs and beer, in the dining room. As always, I enjoyed her company. We made each other laugh. At ten-thirty we drove over to Howl. Daniel and Charles had shows scheduled at eleven and one. And then? Maybe they had planned another clever disappearing act?
    We were pumped to take them down. Unfortunately, we still needed concrete evidence that they were our killers. There were more than two hundred agents and New Orleans police involved in the case. Something had to break. Presumably, Daniel and Charles would have to feed soon.
    It was a Friday night, and Howl was almost full when we got there. Loud music played from speakers that seemed to be everywhere in the ceiling and walls. The crowd was mostly young and restless, drinking beer, smoking, dirty dancing. Several Goths were mixed in with the more clean-cut college kids. The two groups leered at each other, and the atmosphere was charged. A photographer from
OffBeat
magazine crouched in front of the stage, waiting for the magic show to begin.
    Jamilla and I sat down at one of the small tables and ordered beers. There were at least a dozen FBI agents in the club. Kyle was outside in a surveillance car. He had been inside the night before, but it was hard for Kyle to blend in with a mostly young, hip crowd. He looked too much like a cop.
    The back of my throat was already beginning to burn from all the smoke and the heavy perfume in the air. A gulp of beer soothed the gullet somewhat. My arm and hand still ached from the bites.
    My head was clear, though; I definitely felt a lot better than I had. I liked having Jamilla around again. She gave good counsel.
    “Kyle has a six-team surveillance on the magicians around the clock,” I told her. “They won’t lose them again. Kyle guarantees it.”
    “The FBI thinks they’re definitely the killers?” she asked. “No doubt about it? Lock ’em up, throw away the key?”
    “Some doubt, I suppose, but not much. You never know exactly what Kyle is thinking,” I told her. “But yes, I think he does. The techies at Quantico do. So do I.”
    She studied me over the lip of her bottle of beer. “Sounds like the two of you are pretty tight, huh?”
    I nodded. “We’ve worked a lot of cases together in the past few years. Our success rate is good. I can’t say that I really know him.”
    “I’ve never had much luck working with the FBI,” she said. “That’s just me, though.”
    “Part of my job is to make sure police relations with the Bureau run smoothly in D.C. Kyle is definitely smart. He’s just hard to read at times.”
    She sipped her beer slowly. “Unlike somebody else at this table.”
    “Unlike two somebodies at this table,” I corrected her, and we both laughed.
    Jamilla glanced at the stage. “What’s the holdup? Where are they? Should we start stamping our feet for them to come out and show us some magic? Show us what they’ve got?”
    We didn’t have to. A moment later one of the magicians walked out onto the stage.
    It was Charles, and he
looked
like a killer.

Chapter 61

    CHARLES WAS wearing a skintight black bodysuit and thigh-high patent-leather boots. He had a simple diamond earring and a gold nose stud. He stared contemptuously at the audience. He did this for several uncomfortable moments, his eyes full of hatred and disdain for every case he encountered.
    At least twice, I thought that he looked directly at Jamilla and me. So did she.
    “Yeah, we’re watching you too, asshole,” she said, raising her beer in mock salute. “You think those two pitiful creeps know we’re here?”
    “Who knows? They’re good at this. They haven’t been caught yet.”
    “I hear you. Hopefully, they both have stomach cancer and will die slowly and painfully over the next several months. Cheers.” She raised her bottle again.
    Charles leaned down and spoke to a college-age couple at a table near the stage. He was miked.
    “What are you two airheads staring at? Watch out, or I’ll turn you into a couple of toads. Upgrade you on the food chain.” He laughed, and it was deep and throaty. To my ear, it was