R. Ellory - A Quiet Vendetta

I raised my hand; I smiled once more. ‘There is no explanation needed, Emilie. You are here with Victor and you are more than welcome. Would you care for some breakfast?’

‘Oh hell yes, I could eat a dead dog if it had enough ketchup on it.’

I laughed. She laughed too. She was more than pretty. She carried herself with elegance and grace. She was about the same age as Victor, a little younger perhaps, and there was something about her that told me here was someone who could capture his heart effortlessly. Here was someone who would teach him to forget Elizabetta Pertini.

I turned back to my room. She followed me. Within a minute or two room service came with breakfast – fresh fruit, warm bread, some cheese and baked gammon, eggs Benedict, orange juice and coffee. We sat facing one another at the small table by the open window, the breeze from outside lifting and separating the fine organdy curtains, and with it came the scent of bougainvillea and mimosa.

‘So what do you do?’ she asked as she poured juice into my glass.

I shrugged. ‘I am retired now,’ I replied.

‘And before you retired?’

‘I worked all across America, traveled a great deal.’

‘Like a salesman or something?’

I shook my head. ‘No, I was not a salesman.’ I paused for a moment. ‘More like a troubleshooter perhaps, a troubleshooter for businesses, you know?’

She nodded. ‘So you’d like go somewhere and if something wasn’t working right in someone’s business you’d fix it?’

‘Yes, I would fix things, make them work again.’

She nodded approvingly. ‘Cool,’ she said, and then glanced over her shoulder towards the door to the adjoining room. ‘You figure I should go call Victor or something?’

‘He’s okay… let him sleep. Seems you wore him out, young lady.’

She looked at me askance, and then she blushed. ‘We didn’t… we didn’t… well, you know-’

I laughed. ‘Victor is not used to dancing for hours on end. He has come from somewhere where dancing was not his first order of business.’

‘He’s cool though.. he’s a nice guy.’

I nodded. ‘I think so, yes.’

Emilie looked at me, her expression momentarily pensive. ‘Where’s his mom? Is she gonna come down for the Mardi Gras too?’

‘No, Emilie, she’s not. Victor’s mother died when he was a very young boy.’

‘Oh hell, that’s awful. What happened?’

‘An automobile accident,’ I said. ‘There was an automobile accident and his mother and his sister were killed. It was many years ago.’

‘Hell, I’m sorry, Mr Perry.’

I smiled. ‘Perez,’ I said. ‘It’s Ernesto Perez,’ and then I spelled it for her which she found very amusing, and the moment of sadness was gone.

‘So what you guys doing down here?’

‘We came for the Mardi Gras.’

‘Right, right,’ she said. ‘Me too. You been here before?’

‘I was born here,’ I said. ‘A thousand years ago I was born right here in New Orleans, a little town outside of the city.’

‘And Victor was born here too?’

‘No, he was born in Los Angeles.’

‘Like Los Angeles in California?’

I nodded. ‘The very same.’

‘Wow, that’s cool. So he’s like Californian, like the Beach Boys or something?’

‘Yes, like the Beach Boys.’

She nodded. She paused to eat her eggs. She glanced back over her shoulder towards the half-open door at Victor still collapsed on the bed.

‘Go,’ I said. ‘Go wake him up. Tell him to come and have breakfast with the family.’

She smiled wide. She almost fell off the chair and hurried back through to the adjoining room. She struggled to wake Victor, but finally he slurred resentfully into semi-consciousness, and when he realized that she was up, that I was right through in the next room sitting at breakfast, he rolled sideways off the mattress and hit the floor. She was laughing then, dragging him to his feet, pulling him across the room and to the table, where he sat down heavily. He looked as if he’d gone ten rounds with Slapsie Maxie Rosenbloom.

‘Dad,’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘Victor,’ I said, and smiled. ‘I think perhaps you should drink this.’ I handed him a bowl of hot black coffee. He took it, held the bowl between his hands, and then he looked sideways at Emilie and smiled sheepishly.

‘You met Emilie then?’ he said.

‘That pleasure I have had already, yes,’ I replied.

Victor nodded, looking at me as if he figured I might need an explanation. I smiled at him. I sensed him relax. ‘I’m gonna take a shower,’ he said. ‘If that’s okay with you guys.’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Emilie and I will sit here and talk for a little while.’

I watched Victor head back to his own room. At the doorway he glanced back and smiled at Emilie. She waved him through the door and turned back to me.

‘We went everywhere looking for a hotel,’ she said. ‘Everywhere was booked out completely and I didn’t have anywhere to stay. My uncle is gonna be tearing his hair out.’

‘Your uncle?’ I asked.

‘Sure, my uncle. He brings me down here every year.’

‘And where is he?’

She shrugged. ‘Back at the hotel cursing me like God only knows what… probably have called the cops by now or somethin’ equally stupid.’

‘He’s at the hotel?’ I asked.

Emilie looked awkward. ‘Well, er, yes… at the hotel. It was quite a way from where we were and there was no way we could have gotten a cab at that time.’

‘I see,’ I replied. ‘Of course not.’

There was a moment’s awkward silence between us.

‘You should call him,’ I said, feeling the first sense of tension. The very last thing in the world I needed was to be tied up in some missing persons report with the New Orleans PD.

Oh sure, Officer, it was fine. I was over in the hotel with Victor and his dad. I slept there, and then I had breakfast. Sure, I’m telling the truth… go over there and ask them for yourself .

Emilie looked at me sideways. She smiled coyly. ‘Helluva liar I make, eh?’

I was silent for a moment waiting for her to explain.

‘Okay, okay,’ she said. ‘I could have called my uncle and he would’ve come and fetched me, but… well, I like Victor, he’s cool an’ everything, and I figured what the hell, you know?’

‘ Chi se ne frega ,’ I said.

‘Key senna what?’

I laughed. ‘It’s an Italian expression. It means what the hell, who gives a damn, that kind of thing.’

‘Exactly!’ she said. ‘I thought that very thing… not like I thought that we might-’

I raised my hand. ‘I believe your intentions were nothing less than honorable, Emilie.’

She smiled. ‘Right, Mr Perez, my intentions were honorable.’

‘Ernesto.’

She nodded. ‘Right, Ernesto.’

She reached for the coffee pot and refilled my cup. She was charming, bursting at the seams with life and energy, and I was pleased that Victor had found someone his own age here in New Orleans so quickly.

‘So you should call your uncle,’ I reminded her. ‘Use the phone here. Give him a call. He’ll be worried.’

Emilie was hesitant for a moment and then she nodded. ‘I can use your phone?’

‘Of course… over there on the stand.’

She rose and padded barefoot across the carpet. She called information and asked for the number of the Toulouse Hotel. She scribbled the number on the jotter pad and then dialed.

‘Mr Carlyle, please.’

She waited a moment.

‘Uncle David? It’s me, Emilie.’

For a second she looked surprised, and then she held the receiver a few inches from her ear and looked across the room at me.