*** No One Left To Burn ***
Chapter 1
14
I discharged the cabbie in front of the Sheraton Hotel on
Checking in took little time, but a lot of looks.
I got looks from the cashier, looks from the registration clerk, looks
from the bellboys and looks from the concierge.
I didn’t understand why every one was gawking at me so, until I looked
at myself in the mirror behind the front desk.
Then I knew why.
The dried blood on my face and shirt; the dried vomit on my jacket; the
mud splotches on the knees of my pants and an eight inch rip in a pant leg all
made me look like someone who’d just crawled out of the gutter on Bourbon
Street, which incidentally, is not an uncommon sight seen in the French Quarter.
So, why all the stares?
I was almost a new man after I shaved and showered.
I stepped out of the bathroom feeling great and smelling like a spring
bouquet. Unfortunately, I knew quite
well the way I felt was only a temporary euphoria.
But as quickly passing as I knew it was going to be, I also knew that it
was going to be great while it lasted. And
I had every intention of milking it for all it was worth.
I wadded up the shirt and
pants that I had worn in and tossed them into the bathroom trashcan.
I put on tan Dockers, a light blue broadcloth shirt with button down
collar, brown Bush Nunn loafers and a black Members Only windbreaker.
It was really too warm for the last item but it was needed to conceal the
.38 in the holster I wore high on my right hip.
It was a fashion penalty I was charged with in order to carry an
equalizer. I wouldn’t normally
wear it, this being a social thing. Except
what happened tonight made me feel that carrying a gun was the wise thing to do.
I opened the wallet I’d picked up in front of my apartment.
I started to look at the contents then thought, fuck it, there would be
time for that later, and stuck it in my left hip pocket.
I checked myself in the full-length mirror and decided that I looked
pretty damned good, all things considered. My
lips were still slightly swollen and the cut above my left eyebrow was lingering
slightly open but not oozing blood like it had been when I checked in.
I caught the elevator to the ground floor and purposely walked past the
registration desk, past the cashier, the bellboys, and the concierge.
Not one gave me a second look. I
judged right then that most people, and perhaps myself included, are
discriminating, biased chicken shits. I
walked out of the cool, lighted lobby of the Sheraton and into the sweltering
night.
Getting a cab was a snap. There
were six lined up - two deep - unloading and loading fares and luggage.
I got into one, gave Jan’s address to the driver, and settled back for
the ride across town. It was going
to take about twenty minutes to get there, so it gave me an opportunity to go
through the wallet I took out of my left hip pocket.
It contained what I guessed most wallets contained, a Visa card, cleaning
receipt for two pairs of pants, a driver’s license issued to Robert Redford.
No kidding. However, the
picture on it, although typically bad, was good enough to show that this guy was
no movie star. It also contained
several business cards and three hundred dollars in twenties, which went
directly into my own wallet without giving me the slightest twinge of guilt.
I shuffled through the cards. The
first one was glossy blue with silver printing from Simmone’s Hair Salon with
an address on
The second card I read was from Henry’s Marine,
The third was from Chardon’s Shrimp and Crabs,
There were two other business cards, one from a Pizza Hut on Gentilly
Blvd., and the other a wallpaper company in
I went back again to the dancing crabs card and read it again.
Charlie. Coincidence?
I didn’t think so. But
what’s the connection?
I put everything except the three hundred dollars back into the wallet
and put it back into my hip pocket. I
continued to ponder the possibilities of some association between Robert
Redford, Charlie Whitney, Lila Burton, John Burton and yours truly.
I pondered until the cab pulled to a stop in front of Jan’s house.
Nice place.
It was a light brown stucco, Spanish style, with a red tile roof, lots of
arches and a large covered portico. The
front lawn was a jungle of southern greenery.
There were two large and very old live oak trees on each side of the
yard. Masses of gray-green Spanish
moss were hanging limply from the powerful tree branches, which were
intertwined, at the top. The boughs
were twisted together so the two trees formed a huge vaulted arch over the
narrow walk leading to the house.
I walked up four steps to the portico, then passed through it to the
front door, and pushed the lighted doorbell.
It didn’t ring. It chimed.
I smiled to myself as I heard a melodious, reverberating rendition of the
first several bars of In My Adobe Hacienda.
I pushed the button again and it started over.
Where are the Mills Brothers when you need them? Or was it the Ink Spots?
No matter. On the third repetition the door opened.
I thought, I’ve died and gone to heaven.
Jan looked even better than she had the first time I met her.
I wouldn’t have believed that was possible.
I’m sure the way she was dressed had something to do with the way her
appearance affected me. She was
wearing a light blue satin lounging outfit with baggy legs, snug at the ankles
and with a plunging v-neck. The v plunged and then plunged some more.
The vertex of the angle, the vanishing point, ultimately disappeared into
a two-inch wide waistband. She
looked like a harem girl on her way to visit the Sultan.
Her hair was brushed down in long, flowing waves that were gently kissing
her golden, tanned shoulders.
Shit. She looked good.
“Hi, Rick,” she said. “You’re
looking good.” She sounded
genuinely pleased to see me. “Come
on in.” She stepped back with a smile on her face.
“Hi yourself, Jan,” I said. “You’re
also looking quite fit yourself this evening, I must say.
What a fucking understatement that was.
Fit? I stepped into the
light of the foyer, and she saw me as I really was; battered, beaten, scuffed,
scraped, red and swollen. I knew I
looked a lot worse than I felt, but Jan had no way of knowing that.
She must have assumed, and perhaps naturally so, that I felt as bad as I
looked.
She shrieked, “My God!” What
in the world has happened to you?”
“I, too, have had a rather tough day, Jan.
But, really, I don’t feel as bad as I look.
Believe me. Actually I
looked a lot worse earlier. Felt
worse, too. If you’ll fix me an
extra stiff drink, I’ll give you the facts, ma’am.
Just the facts.”
She poured two brandies and handed me one.
I would have preferred Scotch. I
am, after all, a creature of habit. But
what the hell, I thought, we’re just getting acquainted.
I took a tentative sip and smacked my lips.
It was good stuff.
The room we were in was sunken and not large, about fifteen feet by
fifteen feet. It was meagerly
furnished with only a love seat and two facing chairs.
A small glass topped table sat in-between.
A five foot-tall statue of Rebecca at the Well stood in one corner.
The wall that was also the outside wall of the front of the house had a
foot high and two-foot deep ledge running the length of the room.
And in the center of that wall, which was bricked floor to ceiling, was a
fireplace. All the walls were white
and the love seat and chairs were white. The
carpet was dark blue and plush.
I sat on the love seat and Jan sat in one of the chairs opposite me.
She wore an ‘I’m really worried about you’ frown on her face as she
leaned slightly forward and gazed at me intently.
I would have certainly preferred that she leaned forward intently and
gazed at me slightly but, not to complain.
I gave her a condensed version of the day’s events, leaving out my
client’s name of course. I
finished my story and my brandy at the same time.
She got up to get me another and as she did, she stared down at me and
gently shook her head and said, “You’re the first decent looking guy I’ve
met in almost a year and you just about get yourself killed before we can even
get acquainted.” I gave her a
languished smile and handed her my empty snifter.
She leered at me cynically for an instant, then turned and left the room.
When she returned she held a tray containing cotton balls, alcohol,
band-aides and some other household first-aid supplies, which in this case
included my refilled brandy glass. The
glass tabletop was covered with enough medical paraphernalia to start a small
walk-in clinic. Well, not really,
but you know what I mean.
Fifteen minutes passed before she finished swabbing, salving and dressing
my wounds, which I still didn’t think were that bad.
By the time she was ready to put everything away, she had me looking like
I had just stepped out of the ring after too many rounds with the heavy weight
champ. “There,” she said.
“That should fix you up. Tomorrow
you should start to feel like new a man.”
Shit! I knew better than
that. I’d been down that road
before. Tomorrow I’d wake up
thinking it was another Monday morning with the Cowboys.
She smiled at me weakly and then, somewhat more jubilantly said, “Rick,
tell me about yourself.”
I went through the same litany I had recited to Meagan with only one
minor deviation. Jan had asked me if
I’d belonged to any fraternity while in college.
I hadn’t. I hadn’t
had the time. But here’s what I
told her just for the hell of it.
“I started to pledge Rape a Dame a Day but decided not to
before it had gone too far. And, as
it turned out, it was best for me in the long run.
Would you believe that some of the Rape a Dame a Day pledges
actually thought that was what they had to do for them to be accepted into the
frat? Can you imagine?
What jerks. What it got for
three of them was a few semesters at the state pen.
And I don’t mean
“Can you think of anyone doing something that stupid?
Well I can. You’re looking
at one who was almost nearly that brain dead.
Fortunately, before I got in too deep - that’s not a pun - I pulled
out, and that’s not a pun either. In
my second semester I was invited to pledge I Felt A Thigh and that was my
fraternity until the end of my college experience.”
Jan’s head was nodding slightly as if to say, Yeah.
Right. And the light smile on
her lips told me that she knew I was pulling her leg. And what a lovely leg it
was to be tugging. “Rape A Dame A
Day? I Felt A Thigh?
Come on, Rick. Give me a
break. I can tell by looking at you
that you’re really a Some A Cum Louder type.”
I sat quietly for a few seconds and then said, “Really?
I didn’t know there was a frat with a name like that.”
Now, I wondered smiling, who’s pulling whose leg?
“Okay, Jan,” I said. “Now
that you know all about me, how about yourself?
Tell me about Jan Reynolds.”
“Can do,” she replied. “I’ll
start way back. I was born at an
Early Age in
“Hold it,” I interrupted, holding my hand up with the palm forward.
“You were born at an early age? Weren’t
we all?”
“Not everyone, Rick. You
see Early Age is the name of the Children’s Clinic where I was born.
There are several in the state. I
was born at the Early Age in
I shrugged which meant that I understood and for her to continue, and she
did.
“I am a twenty-nine year old female who...”
“Excuse me,” I said, with both of my eyebrows raised as high as they
would go. I am a sharp-witted,
professional detective you know, so some of what you’re telling me I’ve
already figured out. You don’t
have to tell me your weight either. Whatever
it is, it’s perfect.” I wet my
lips and let my eyes dwell with delight on the ideal specimen of pulchritude
that was sitting before me.
“Tell you my weight? That’ll
be the day.”
“Don’t need it.”
“Okay,” she said. “I
understand. Not so much detail.”
Her arms were resting on her knees and her hands were formed as if in
prayer. Her fingertips tapped each
other while she spoke. “I’m a
graduate of the
“Psychology huh? You wanted
to be a shrink?”
“I thought about it at one time. I’m
still leaning toward that end. I
think I’d like it. Daddy wanted me
to attend
“What happened?” I
swirled the last of the brandy in my glass while I waited for her response.
“I got talked into entering the Miss Louisiana pageant during my last
semester.”
“You’d have gotten my vote.”
“I could have used it. As
it turned out I was First Runner Up. It was talent.
I’m a singer and a good one at that, if I do say so myself.
But a really, really good singer won’t beat a good concert pianist.”
“If you’d won you’d have broken a tradition,” I said.
“Generally, Miss
“Tell me about it,” she agreed. “Or
another singer. The girl who won wasn’t just good she was great.
I went on after she did and I knew from her performance that even if I
did the best job of my life, it would still be very, very close.
“I’ve heard people say that I lost the title, but they don’t know
what they’re talking about. Or at
least they don’t understand. Do
you realize that state wide there are over twenty-five hundred girls who enter
the preliminary contests? I didn’t
lose anything. I won second place.
And if you’re second out of that many, you’ve nothing to feel bad
about.
“The title went to Mary Ellen Ash, who incidentally was from
“You still would have gotten my vote,” I insisted.
“Thanks, Rick. Anyway,
because of my First Runner Up finish, I was offered a modeling contract in
“My mother passed away when I was in high school so when my father was
killed in a plane crash, it didn’t take me long to pack up and leave the city
that never sleeps. It’ll be five
years ago next month that I took over Dad’s car rental agency and started
living like I used to, like a normal person.
And going to bed when I want to. Since then, I’ve only put on seven
pounds, which isn’t too bad, but it would have been devastating for what I was
doing before and enough extra weight to put me out of work.
“I’m taking some evening classes at UNO now to finish my masters, but
that’s not enough. It’ll take a
PhD to do what I have my sights set on. Going
at night, we’re talking about a long time.
But what the heck, I’m not going anywhere.”
My stomach, as it sometimes does, began to rumble and Jan, with a
startled expression on her face said, “Wow!
You must be starved. Finish your brandy while I start dinner.
Let’s grill on the patio tonight and forego the gourmet meal until
another time. Okay?”
She didn’t wait for my reply but rose gracefully and slowly turned to
leave the room. As she walked away,
her movements caused fluid-like rotations to ripple under the fabric of her
lounging outfit. The sensual sway of
her hips made my eyes move to and fro, and left and right, like I was watching a
rapid-fire tennis match. Jesus, I
thought, what an imagination I’d been saddled with.
In no time I could hear her humming while she scurried around in the
kitchen doing what ever it was that she was doing.
I finished my brandy and, having started to acquire a taste for it,
poured another. Then I just wandered
around the room. “This is really a
nice place you have here, Jan,” I said, when she came back into the room.
“Thank you, Rick. I
inherited this house along with the car rental agency from my father.”
She paused and took a light sip from her still full brandy glass.
Then, with a sweeping gesture of her arm she said “now my battered but
courageous combatant, if you are ready to eat, let us venture into the den.”
She led me towards the back of the house, down three angled steps into
the den. It was a very large room,
but it still gave the feeling of coziness. Off
to the left, through an opened patio door I could see the charcoal grill on the
terrace and beyond that, an oddly shaped swimming pool.
Yes, I thought, this certainly was quite a nice place she had here.
In the near left corner of the den was a bar that could comfortably seat
six. Across the room from the bar
was a heavy wooden game table. On
the far wall as we entered was a natural stone fireplace.
In front of the fireplace was a heavy, dark brown couch and in front of
that a low, candle lit cocktail table. It
was set for dinner for two. The
entire picture was very inviting, but I wasn’t too sure about the two large
cushions we’d sit on.
I soon had the grill blazing and one Scotch and water and twenty minutes
later I was spreading the glowing embers. When
the fragrance of Jan drifted up from behind me, I turned and saw that she was
standing beside me. She had a
platter holding two thick, T-bone steaks. I placed one on the grill, then turned
back and looked at her. The patio
lights bouncing off the rippling surface of the pool made shiny movements in her
hair. I raised my arm and brushed
her cheek with the back of my hand. Her
skin was soft and smooth, and her eyes sparkled from the lustrous warmth of the
coals. Oh boy, I thought, and
stabbed the other steak with a long fork and dropped it on the sizzling grill.
I looked back at Jan and she smiled as I stared fixedly at her.
Our lips were only inches apart. Christ
Almighty! This is no time for
parlor games, I thought. I have to
put on the feedbag. Keep up my
strength and build energy, you know. But
wait, not to fear. I took the
platter from her and sat it down. The
steaks do have to cook, don’t they? Yes
they do. Our lips met and fused.
That kiss generated enough heat to melt an iceberg.
I could feel my own juices starting to vaporize as we parted.
Her lips were moist, as velvety soft as a rose petal, and as warm as a
breeze-swept June night. The
enticing scent of lilacs was assaulting my nostrils as she gently pulled away
and purred, “is this healthy on an empty stomach?”
“Who cares,” I said, and plucked another of those silken rose petals.
The second kiss was even better than the first.
This time it was the kiss of a woman who really knew what she was doing.
And knew what she wanted?
The snapping, crackling sound of sizzling steaks brought me back to earth
from low orbit. Eating, I came to
notice as I turned the steaks, is a very inconvenient habit.
Shit! Right then I could have
cooked that beef on my open palm. I
turned back to Jan, perhaps to buss anew. I
was really starting to get with it.
“Whoa, bud,” she said. “You’d
better slow down.” She pushed
softly on my chest and added, “or those steaks will burn for sure.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I replied reluctantly.
Shit, I knew she was right. “Come
on. Let’s open some wine.
They should be ready by then.”
I believe the dinner was good. I
believe it was, but I’m not sure. You see, my mind was on the forthcoming
dessert.
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