|
#3
DEC 08 |
 |
“Murder Most Foul”
Remy LeBeau sat on the balcony of a certain brownstone in New Orleans, which currently served as the home of the Thieves’ Guild. He was sitting on the railing, leaning back against the wall. A cigarette hung from his fingers. As he exhaled, smoke lazily wandered out of his mouth.
Inside, the sounds of a celebration were heard. Remy’s younger brother Jacques had just been named the next head of the Guild. Remy had been the one who should be in the celebration right now, but he’d thrown the chance away for reasons of his own.
Remy leaned his head back and looked up at the stars.
Inside, Jacques found himself getting disoriented. Everywhere he turned were more smiling Thieves, all willing to thump him on the back and congratulate him. Of course, all the liquor he’d had pressed on him wasn’t helping at all. Even as he smiled and his back was thumped again, a bottle had appeared to fill his glass to the brim another time.
Remy’s eyes flicked to the side as someone else walked out onto the balcony. Jean-Luc LeBeau stepped out to the edge of the balcony and looked over the rail at the streets below.
“I’m not su’prised you’re out here,” Jean-Luc said.
Remy took another pull off his cigarette. “Victory celebration just don’t seem like no place for de runner up,” he said.
Jean-Luc turned and faced Remy. “Runner up. Dat’s what I don’t understand. You had de chance. Why didn’t you take it?”
“What do you mean?” Remy asked.
Jean Luc leaned against the railing on the other side. “You t’ink I didn’t have dat room watched? I know you had your chance. You coulda reached out and grabbed dat jewel! But you didn’t. Why? You coulda been home here for de rest of your life. You coulda been de leader.”
“I didn’t want to cause no trouble wit’ de Assassins,” Remy lied.
“Don’t lie to me,” Jean-Luc said, not as angrily as he could have. “I know you. De Assassins ain’t never concerned you before. I remember dat little ten year old boy who took on two fully-grown Assassins to save a little girl.”
“Who didn’t need much help, as I recall,” Remy said.
Jean-Luc smiled. “Dat little girl did turn out to be a handful, didn’t she?”
“More den you realize,” Remy said, smiling around his cigarette.
“So tell me de truth. Why didn’t you go for it?”
Remy leaned back against the wall and looked up at the sky. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just... I know how much Jacques wanted to be de head of de Guild. I jus’ couldn’t take dat away from him.”
Jean-Luc nodded. “At last we get to de truth.” He turned and looked out over the city. “I’ll be just as truthful. I t’ink dat Jacques is goin’ to be an excellent leader. I t’ink dat you woulda been, too. I wouldn’ta given you both de chance if I didn’t. If I’d had my choice, I really don’t know which one a you I woulda picked. You, I don’t know dat you woulda stayed. Wit’ Jacques, well, he needs to learn to stand up for his beliefs. Dat disappointed me when he wouldn’t even stand up for you after I had t’ exile you.”
Remy looked at his father. “Was dat all dat was? Just a test?”
Jean-Luc shook his head. “No. Dere woulda been war wit’ d’Assassins if I hadn’t exiled you. Dere may still be since you’re back. I just wish dat Jacques woulda been willing to take a stand on dat if he felt so strongly.” Jean-Luc met his son’s gaze. “De Guild can’t afford a leader who’s wishywashy like dat. He needs to learn how and when to make a stand.”
They both turned to see Jacques staggering out onto the balcony. He hurried to the railing (as best he could) and began heaving over the side. Remy started to chuckle at the thought of anyone unfortunate enough to be walking down the sidewalk at that moment. “Looks like he needs t’ learn t’handle his liquor, too,” Remy said. Jean-Luc burst into laughter.
Emma Fromme stormed down the street. Her so-called “date” had seemed interested in little more than pawing her. She’d left him passed out in a bar. And in New Orleans, being passed out in a public place could result in some very interesting scenarios. She chuckled, feeling her bad mood start to evaporate.
She stopped by the street and tried to hail a cab. A taxi pulled up. Just before she could open the door, something warm and wet hit her from above. She looked up just in time to see a head pull back over a balcony. The smell confirmed what she’d just been hit with.
“Sorry, lady. Not in my cab,” the taxi driver said as he pulled away from the curb.
Emma just stood there, fuming. She finally gave in to the temptation and started cursing the evening at the top of her lungs.
Above, Remy and Jean-Luc couldn’t stop laughing as they heard the poor vomit-covered woman’s tirade.
A few hours later, Souris was walking through an alleyway as he returned to his home. He was still nervous after his visit to the home of Bella Donna Boudreaux, head of the Assassins’ Guild. What does this mean? he thought to himself. What is going to happen now that she knows Remy’s back?
Souris was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the man in the trenchcoat who turned to look at his back.
“Excuse me,” a voice behind him said. Souris, irritated that a bum was about to bother him, expelled his breath in a huff and turned.
The man had shed his trenchcoat and stood there in a loincloth with some sort of decorative vest. A dying streetlight cast its feeble glow on his shaved head. His face was decorated with a painted skull. “My master has need of you, Monsieur,” he said as he raised a knife.
Souris screamed and started running.
Remy crouched on a roof and looked out across the French Quarter. Sorry, papa, he thought. I know dat others have died for lying to you, but I jus’ can’t tell you de truth. I can’t tell you how big my world’s gotten since I left. I been to other worlds. I been to other times. And I still love dis city, but de Quarter’s just gotten so... small. A squeal from below suddenly caught his attention.
“I know dat noise,” Remy said to himself. “Souris!” Remy jumped off the roof and began sliding down a gutter to a point where he could somersault to the ground.
He landed and whirled around to see Souris running (as best he could) down the alley, squealing. “Souris!” Remy said as he grabbed the smaller man’s shoulder. “What’s goin’ on?”
“M-m-m-m-monsieur M-m-ort!” Souris stammered as he panted for breath.
“Mistah Deat’?” Remy asked. “Ain’t no such person. If dere was, I t’ink I woulda met him somewhere along da way.”
‘H-h-he’s after m-m-me!” Souris said as he cowered into a recessed doorway.
“Dat so?” Remy said, smiling. “Well, we’ll jus’ wait for him here. I could use a little action, anyway. Been gettin’ a little restless.”
“W-we’ve got to get out of here,” Souris gasped.
“Don’ worry,” Remy said. “I t’ink we’ll jus’ take care o’ dis here and now.”
Miles away, Bella Donna Boudreaux walked through her darkened bedroom and opened the windowed door to her balcony. She stepped out and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply of the night air as it wafted off the bayous. Only one thought ran through her mind.
Remy. She sat down and looked out over the swamp. So you’ve come back. I know it’s only a matter of time before our paths cross again. Tears began to run down her cheeks as she tried to discern her feelings for the man she’d once called her husband.
Tante Mattie Batiste, healer for the Thieves’ Guild, was less than surprised when she heard a knock on her door. Visions of old wounds danced through her head as she slowly walked to the door. When she opened it, Anielle stood on the other side. Tante Mattie was speechless as Anielle gently touched her on the forehead...
...and then Tante Mattie understood everything.
The man with the knife looked down another alley. The master would be furious if he lost this fool. He glanced up as he heard a man speaking.
“Well, well. Looks like Souris hasn’t been hittin’ de bottle after all.”
“Out of my way,” the man growled.
“Don’t t’ink so. Not till we’re properly introduced.” Remy somersaulted to the ground, his staff out and ready. “Je m’appelle Gambit. Your turn.”
The man reached up and touched his head. The pain was beginning. He had to return soon. He looked up again. Perhaps this fool would do, after all. He could always take the other another night. “Bloodscourge.”
“Bloodscourge? Now dat’s not a friendly name.”
Bloodscourge smiled despite the pain. “Perhaps I’m not friendly. But perhaps my master will be!” With a yell, Bloodscourge charged, a needle in his hand. He stabbed with it toward where Gambit was standing. The needle hit only air. Bloodscourge looked around and saw Gambit hanging by his legs from a fire escape.
“Well, now. Whatever you’re on, I don’t want any.” Gambit easily flicked a card toward the needle. The card impaled itself on the needle and detonated. Bloodscourge threw the melted plastic to the ground of the alley and scowled. “Now, den. Since we’ve got rid of dat, why don’t you tell me what you want with my little friend.”
Bloodscourge smiled as he pulled the knife from its scabbard. “It’s not what I want. It’s what my master needs!” Bloodscourge leaped forward and stabbed the knife deep into Gambit’s thigh before he could react. With a grunt, Gambit fell to the ground. He uneasily stood, brushing his hair back out of his face.
“Now dat wasn’t nice at all. You messed up my pants.” Despite his bravado, Remy knew he had to end this fight quickly. He clutched the wound with his left hand. Remy scowled as he realized that his glove was quickly soaking with blood.
“You have one leg,” Bloodscourge said. “You are already defeated.”
Gambit smiled. “Not just yet,” he said. He threw another card. This one flew and stuck to the paint on Bloodscourge’s head. Bloodscourge screamed as the card detonated, throwing him backward into a wall. As Bloodscourge fell to the ground unconscious, Remy also slid downward.
Souris appeared from nowhere. “You beat him,” he whispered. He then noticed Remy clutching his leg. “Let me see that,” he said, reaching toward the wound.
Remy slapped his hands away. “Watch your hands,” he said. “I ain’t dat kinda guy.”
Souris scowled. “I should let you b-b-bleed to death for that one.”
“Jus’ gimme a bandage,” Remy said. “I know you always carry a pharmacy around wit’ you.” Souris produced a bandage from one of his many pockets and offered it to Remy. Sweat broke out on Remy’s forehead as he wrapped the bandage around his leg as tightly as he could. “Well now,” Remy said as he finished tying it. “I believe I coulda done widout dat.” Remy stood shakily and Souris raced to his side. Remy shook his head. “I appreciate it, but no t’anks. I got one stop to make before I head home.” Remy took a step and grunted as his leg gave way. Souris caught him before he could catch the ground.
“S-s-sorry, Remy,” he said. “L-l-looks like you’ll need a little help on this one.”
Remy decided to accept defeat gracefully. “All right. But get me a couple more t’ieves. I got a delivery I need to make.”
Inside one of the most beautiful mansions in New Orleans, a man known only as Baron LeVeau stepped into his study. A fire crackled in the fireplace, before a tiger-skin rug. The walls were covered with books on voodoo, as well as voodoo memorabilia. Above the mantel hung LeVeau’s most prized possession - a painting of his ancestor Marie LeVeau, one of the greatest voodoo practitioners ever in New Orleans.
LeVeau walked to his desk and pulled out a cigar. He expertly snipped the ends off and lit it. He was walking to his chair by the fire when he heard a thud behind him.
He turned and saw Gambit standing there. The thud had been Bloodscourge’s unconscious body hitting the floor.
“May I help you, Mr. LeBeau?” the Baron asked.
Gambit gestured at Bloodscourge. “You can help by keepin’ your pets under a better leash.”
The Baron held out his hands. “Why, Mr. LeBeau. Surely you’re not implying that I’ve done anything illegal.”
Gambit smiled. “Course not. Just remember dat I’ll be watchin’. I don’t know how many people dis t’ing killed, but I’m going to see that it ends here.”
“No killing. An odd attitude for someone who married an Assassin.” LeVeau allowed a sly smile to cross his lips.
“We ain’t talkin’ bout me here. We’re talking ‘bout you.” Gambit raised his staff and pressed a small control on the side. Remy enjoyed watching the blood drain out of LeVeau’s face as the staff extended and punched a clean hole through the portrait of his ancestor. “Don’t forget. I’ll be watchin’.” LaVeau wasn’t listening. He was moving toward the portrait to ascertain the damage. With a smile, Remy broke a window (he was feeling pushy) and disappeared into the night.
|
|
|
To Be Continued...
Previous Issue | Next Issue