Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Remi
We’re in the middle of a soft jazz number when the crowd collectively turns their attention to the back of the room. The stage lights are too blinding for me to see what the hell is happening. Which poses another problem: I’ve been unable to locate the mayor from this vantage point.
The song ends, leading us to our first set break. The band members trickle off the stage, with me last, trying to steer clear of Ellis.
“Cannon, we’ve lost our eyes, and we have no Duke Man. Abort,” Maks says in my ear.
Turning my back on everyone, I whisper, “What happened?”
A tap on my shoulder has me turning around to find Ellis with his go-to smile firmly in place. “So, beautiful, what’s a guy like me gotta do?—”
“Did you hear me, Cannon? I’m going offline now. Abort,” Maks repeats in my ear.
“To get to know a pretty girl like you?”
Ignoring both of them, I spin on my heel and march back on stage. Grabbing the mic, I announce, “Ladies and gentlemen—” The microphone screeches, and I hold it away from my face. “Hot mic. Sorry about that. Almost as hot as this party, am I right?”
The crowd agrees, hooting and hollering.
“Speaking of hot, where is our man of the hour?” I move my free hand to my forehead, making a show of scanning the room. “Mayor Morrissey,” I call in a sing-song voice. “Come on up here and help me out with the next number.”
I’m going to remind every damn man why I’m in charge of this operation.
The mayor appears in the spotlight with a practiced smile and a wave, taking the stairs two at a time. Joining me, he reaches for the microphone, but I shift my body while simultaneously bringing it closer to my mouth. “Mayor, could you help me tickle the ivory?”
An eruption of cheers and suggestive whistles.
He waves off the audience, shaking his head, but I’m not letting him get away that easily. Grabbing his hand, I announce, “You heard the people. It’s your first mandate, Mr. Mayor.”
Another collective cheer, and the mayor makes a lead-the-way gesture with his free hand.
As I walk him to the piano, his whiskey-soaked breath tickles my ear. “I don’t play piano.”
That’s okay, I’m about to play you.
“Follow my lead,” I whisper back.
We both take a seat on the bench. The piano’s facing the stage, our backs to the curtain, and this is my one shot to make the grab.
“What song should we play?” I connect the mic to the piano stand as party goers shout out song suggestions.
Playing a bluesy freestyle riff with my right hand, my left is at my side, ready to swipe the phone. Until I realize my mistake.
Dammit. The cell is on his other hip.
“Mr. Mayor, I’ve got the perfect song for us.” Undeterred, I grab his hands and place his right index finger on G and his left on E. Pressing them in a simple rhythm, I move them in a solo version of chopsticks.
We get a mixed reaction of cheers and playful jeers.
The mayor is focused on pressing his keys, and I quickly rise and dart behind him. Tapping him on the shoulder, he turns to where I was just seated, realizing I’m gone, and the music stops.
The crowd erupts with laughter as I’m now seated on the other side, and I run my knuckles down the length of the piano.
Lightening fast, I grab his phone and slip it in my pocket before moving both hands back to the piano, continuing my own version of chopsticks.
I finish out my bluesy tune, and the crowd goes wild.
“Thank you, Mr. Mayor, for being a good sport. I’ll hand this over to you if you’d like to say a few words to your supporters.”
He accepts the mic, and I go to slip offstage, but he grabs my hand. “Let’s give another round of applause to our entertaining pianist. What’s your name?”
Oh shit.
I snatch the microphone, wagging my finger.
“This is a masquerade party, Mr. Mayor, and what happens at the inaugural party stays at the inaugural party.” The crowd whistles boisterously.
“Have a little fun. Get into a little trouble—all legal, of course.” The audience playfully boos.
“But above all, laissez les bon temps roul .” I wave to the cheering crowd before passing off the mic and hustling off the stage.
My heart’s pounding a mile a minute as I make it backstage, only to run into a pissed off band leader.
“What the hell was that?” He gets in my face.
I cross my arms.. “My moment in the sun, and I took it.”
“We ain’t got room in this band for divas. You’re out.” He points to me.
I would argue, but this is my escape handed to me on a silver platter. “Whatever.” I storm past him and out the back door.
My next hurdle appears, blocking my path.
“Ma’am, I’m going to need to see some ID,” the police officer says.
“I’m in the band.” I flash him Devon’s lanyard, keeping my breathing steady. “It’s a break, and I need to run to my car real quick to grab a cigarette.”
“I’ve got you.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pack.
Ugh!
“Look, I didn’t want to say it, but I need a tampon because I’ve started my period and it’s like Niagara Falls down there.”
With a squeamish look, he motions me along.
There are officers swarming the front of the building, so I hurry down to the river walk.
A triumphant smile spreads across my face as I do a little happy dance. I freaking did it!
But the good times don’t roll nearly long enough; a man dressed in a tux and party mask appears, blocking my escape. He’s familiar, but I can’t quite place him.
“Ms. Landry.”
My skin prickles. I remember that voice.
“There’s been a change of plans. Give me the item you took from the mayor, and I’ll pass it along to Mr. Calvani.”
Angelo and I never discussed a third party being involved, and my gut is telling me this man is lying. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say in my most Cajan accent. “Excuse me.”
I go to pass him, but he grabs my wrist, jerking my body to his. A gun barrel is positioned against my temple. “I’ll say it just one more time. Give me what you stole from the mayor.”
Reaching into my pocket, my shaky hand holds out a tube of lip gloss. “Turns out the mayor’s lips aren’t naturally lustrous.”
He rips the lip gloss from my hand and chucks it into the Mississippi River. His threat is wordlessly empathized with the click of the gun’s safety.
“I’ll scream.”
A burst of fireworks, one loud pop after the next.
“And no one would hear you.” The barrel digs into my flesh to the point of pain. “Last chance.”
Out of tricks, my hand slips inside my pocket, this time producing the phone.
He snatches it and presses the screen, verifying it’s the mayor’s phone before it gets tossed in the river.
A miracle of a grab, all for nothing. Frustration and fear course through my veins as I say, “Now let me go.”
“Didn’t figure you for a sucker, Ms. Landry.”
He drags me by the arm to the water’s edge.
“No!” I scream, but the boom of fireworks snatches the sound away.
“A shame you can’t swim.” He shoves, and I go flying into the murky waters of the Mississippi.
Angelo
The minutes tick by with me in this holding cell, giving me ample time to consider who I’m going to kill first. It’s a tight race between Detective Pierre and Mr. Bennett—the ladder, because he hasn’t been answering his phone.
And I pay my lawyer far too much for him not to answer his fucking phone.
Then again, I can’t forget the mayor, the source of my well-timed arrest. Rubbing it in my face at his victory lap celebration. Oh, but Mayor Morrissey has no idea the kind of war he’s started with me.
Honorable mentions to my piece of shit brother; it goes to show how chaotic things have become that Fabien isn’t sitting at number one. And hell, while I’m on a roll, I might kill Al’s little pussy of a boyfriend out of sheer principle.
My thoughts vacillate between murder and the object of my obsession. And as much as I enjoy chasing Remi, I need to know where she is and if she’s safe.
“Mr. Calvani,” an officer calls, and I look up. “Your lawyer is here to see you.”
The cell door opens, and I’m escorted to a client room where Mr. Bennett lounges without a care in the world.
“Where the hell have you been?” I spit when we’re alone.
Mr. Bennett holds up his hands. “You know I was at the mayor’s party; couldn’t hear my phone over the music.”
“Then turn up the volume on your phone.” I slam my fist onto the table. “I’m not paying you to eat, drink, and be merry while I’m rotting in a fucking jail cell.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Calvani. It won’t happen again.” He cowers.
“Go tell them to either charge me or get hit with the biggest lawsuit this department has ever seen,” I command.
“Hold your horses, Mr. Calvani. Detective Pierre pulled me aside before he had to respond to a separate case; some kind of shooting in the Garden District.”
“Riveting. Get to the point where I care,” I say between my teeth.
“Detective told me he was forced to bring you in for questioning about the shootout that happened in the Quarter.”
“By whom?”
“I’ll give you three guesses, and two of them can be wrong.”
“Mayor Morrissey.” I hiss.
Mr. Bennett nods. “Detective Pierre intends to hold you longer than NOPD policy without charges.”
“To what end?” I demand.
“You’ll cry foul, and the department will have egg on their face. Any potential charges will quietly go away.”
“I’ve been arrested publicly .” Rage coats my tone. “I’m not too keen on this quietly going away.”
He rises. “Then I’ll go speak to?—”
I hold up my hand, halting Bennett in his tracks.
Pride before the fall.
My brother’s warning rings in my ear, but pride won’t keep me from heeding it.
“Sit the fuck down.”
“But—”
“Sit. Down.”
His large ass finds his seat.
I’m also not too proud to punish Bennett.
He’s going to leave me to rot in jail so he can party? He can sit here and rot with me for as long as it takes.