Post by Press1269 on Jan 29, 2016 21:27:50 GMT
Music spilled out into the air around the two men as they sauntered down Bourbon Street, the sound of blues and jazz reverberating from every corner. Street performers lined the alleys, taking the tourists money as they plied their trade at sleight of hand and parlor tricks. Aromas of all different sorts assaulted the men as they shuffled between the street gawkers and puddle jumpers, carried on a slight warm breeze uncharacteristic for December in the Deep South.
It was around five in the afternoon, but that was fine. On Bourbon Street, every hour was Happy Hour, and the time didn’t interfere with the festivities except between the hours of 4a.m. and 11a.m. That time was reserved by most alcoholics as the time for passing out and eventually starting over. House bands from the different bars and lounges that littered the street were already tuning their instruments, playing out the first chords of what was sure to be an all-night Jamboree. This, after all, was the French Quarter, the party might settle down, but it never really stopped.
Youth pointed just ahead of them to their destination, a wooden sign hanging above a set of heavy oak doors that read ‘The Emporium’. The building was of typical French Quarter design, red brick intermingled with large wooden columns that rose three stories high, connecting a series of balconies with different flags draped across their railings.
Press nodded, knowing that this was the moment of truth. They had left Vegas two days ago, driving sixteen hours the first day before stopping at a Motel 6 along Interstate 20 East in Fort Worth, Texas. The next day had been a ten hour drive straight to New Orleans, where they had gotten two rooms at a bed and breakfast nearby. The rooms were temporary, not to mention pricey, just a place to park the Pontiac and to catch some much needed rest. Once they concluded their business at The Emporium they would make other arrangements regarding lodgings.
The two men bustled up to the door, and the large ebony doorman took note of them instantly, probably because Press was the only person he’d ever seen that could rival his own formidable frame. He shook his head in disbelief, as if he were seeing two of the many famed ghosts that haunted this sector of town.
Press smirked at the large bouncer, and shrugged. “What can we say, Bobby, Sam’s got the best grub in town.”
The bouncer’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest, not budging from the entrance. “Samedi is not here.” Bobby replied in a thick Cajun accent, a hint of derision in his voice. “He has opened another location, and is seeing to it’s success.”
Press internally cursed, while Youth rolled his neck, and then stepped forward. “Look, Bobby. We know that last time we were here some shit got out of hand. Some things were said, liberties taken, etc., etc. So why don’t we go ahead and get this out of the way. You have just as much right to retribution as Sam does, so go ahead. Free shot.” Youth placed his hands behind his back, and lifted his jaw in invitation. “I’m not even going to……….”
He hadn’t even finished the sentence before Bobby’s fist connected with his face, sending him spinning hard to the cobble stone street below. Youth lay there for a moment blinking, and although his brain was telling his body to sit up, it simply wouldn’t comply.
Press took in a sharp intake of breath, wincing as he shook his head. “Damn, Bobby! I think you might have knocked him out!”
For the first time since they had stepped up to The Emporium, Bobby’s face melted from stern to genuinely cheerful, and he offered Press a wide gleaming smile. “If it is so, then it is so. Help me with our young friend, and I’ll see to it that you get your bellies full.”
Press and Bobby hoisted Youth up to his feet, and ducked their heads under either arm for support. They haphazardly stumbled him through the doorway, while several eyes followed their movements deeper into the establishment, eventually ending with them propping him up inside of a booth along the far wall. Press slid in on the opposite side, and leaned back to inspect his partner.
A sizable lump was forming just below his cheekbone, and swelling had already set in around the right eye and temple. He was obviously still a little woozy, but he’d make a full recovery.
“I’ll have the girl send over a few beers, and some gumbo. House specialty.” Bobby said, tousling Youth’s hair as he passed.
Youth reached up tentatively to his eye and pressed at the edges, wincing as sharp pain shot through the socket. He shook his head, and shrugged. “Well, at least that’s out of the way.”
“Yeah,” Press remarked, a smirk on his face. “If that’s Bobby’s idea of making it even, imagine what Sam is going to do.”
Youth shuddered at the thought. Samedi was a pretty powerful Priest, his focus of study in Voodoo. There were quite a few nasty curses in that school of magic, and the young man didn’t enjoy imagining any of them cast upon him and his partner. Of course, if Samedi had wanted to do so, he probably would have done it way back when.
A buxom ‘girl’, with coffee colored skin, brought over two large mugs filled with an amber liquid, and laid them out in front of the boys. She had two strands of straight hair, in an otherwise head of curls, that framed her plump cheeks, and glistening full lips that smiled down at the two men before her.
“Would you like your gumbo tame or wild?” She asked, a sparkle in her eyes.
Both men replied, “Wild,” in anticipation. The Emporium was known for a number of things. One, it was famed to have the finest bourbon and cigars in New Orleans. Two, the food was hot as hell, but on this side of heaven. Three, it also featured a house band that could rival just about anyone’s blues. Four, it made no attempts to hide the Voodoo heritage of the district, offering a wide variety of trinkets and mumbo jumbo. All in all, The Emporium wasn’t just a lounge, it was an experience. One that embodied everything there is to love about New Orleans.
In short order the waitress brought out a tray of scratch bread (A type of cornbread), two large bowls, some silverware, and a hot plate in the center of the table. A few minutes later she came back, a steaming cauldron filled with gumbo in her oven mitt covered hands. She placed the cauldron on the hot plate, and stirred the concoction with the ladle sticking up out of the top. Reaching into her apron, she produced a vial of red liquid, popped the cork, and poured it’s contents into the gumbo causing it to bubble insidiously.
The smell, however, was intoxicating, and both men were salivating as she ladled a full portion into each bowl. She gave a practiced courtesy to the men, along with a wink in Youth’s direction, and then disappeared back into the bustle of the room, which was steadily filling up with patrons.
Youth grinned, saying, “God damn! I love New Orleans!” Before shoveling a spoonful of the potent gumbo into his mouth. Press grunted, the only reply readily available since he was already halfway into his portion.
By the time the two men were done, the cauldron sat empty, their bellies stuffed full, and tears streamed down their face from the extreme heat of the ‘wild’ gumbo. The waitress, seeing that they were done, cleared the table, and replaced their empty mugs with fresh ones without having to be asked. That was part of the charm of New Orleans, or The South in general. It was about time honored traditions, hospitality, treating everyone like neighbors. In Vegas you would have had to scream at the top of your lungs to get your drink order in. Around here, they anticipated when you were about to run empty, and just shot you another one.
The band was in full swing when Press motioned towards the door to Youth. Despite enjoying the sights, sounds, and tastes, they had come to The Emporium for a reason. Since that reason wasn’t here, they might as well find out where he was. The two men waded through the busy bar, and stole through the doorway back out into Bourbon Street.
Bobby leaned against the red brick right beside the door, and grinned as they came up to him. He looked at Youth’s eye, and sucked in a reproachful breath, before beaming them with another bright smile. “That one is going to take some time. I hope you will remember me fondly.”
Youth laughed, but involuntarily touched the swollen eye all the same. After another wince, he shrugged, and let his hand fall back to his side. “No worries, Bobby. Had it coming, just glad it’s over. So, about Samedi, you said that he was at another location? That’s a shock. I wouldn’t have ever guessed he would ever leave this spot.”
“Expansion, my friend.” Bobby replied, holding his hands out wide to accentuate his point. “Is this not the American dream?”
“Point Taken.” Press remarked, crossing his arms over his chest. “So where’s this new location at? I can’t imagine anything more exciting than Bourbon Street.”
“It is at a new amusement park that has just opened in Purity. Pure Amusement. A grand place, more adult oriented. There is even a real plantation house used as their haunted attraction. You should go there, visit with Samedi.” He grinned again, waving his hand in Youth’s direction. “I’m sure he would not hesitate in offering his retribution.”
Youth sighed deeply, and his whole body seemed to deflate at the words as Press and Bobby chuckled. The two big men clasped wrists in a bond of friendship and parting, and Bobby slapped Youth good naturally on the shoulder.
"Buck up, my young friend. Afterwards, I am sure he will be as happy to see you as I have been.”
Youth couldn’t remain sullen, the large Cajun’s good nature being infectious. He cast a grin in his direction, and shook his hand as well. The two men silently made their way back up the street in the direction of their B&B. They stopped at the curb just outside, and Youth turned to speak to Press.
“So Munin is in league with Pure Amusement, where we’re hopefully going to be offered a job, and Samedi just so happens to have a bar there. Any chance that this is just a coincidence?”
“Oh yeah, pure coincidence, no pun intended.”
“Fate?” Youth asked reluctantly.
“Fate.” Press replied. Youth groaned, and this time, not because of his damaged eye.
