Rescued By A Kiss (The New Orleans Go Cup Chronicles Book 1) (15 page)

“How bad is the pain in your arm? Do you think I can stand on your shoulders?” He looked a little pale. There was blood on his shirt but not a lot. “If I stand on your shoulders, I think I can get to the top of that wall and get over it.”

“Let’s do it.”

I took off my shoes and put one foot on his bent leg while he crossed his arms to help me up, and then I worked my way up to his shoulders. He was putting on a brave face, but I saw him wince from the pain in his arm. “Do not look up my dress.” I said as I used my hands to walk up the wall into a standing position.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. What are you going to do when you get to the top? It is a good drop. Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Oh, oh, my God. Oh my God!” I tried to keep the panic in my voice to a very loud whisper. I began squirming around on his shoulders trying to get as far away from it as possible. Jiff started staggering around stepping awkwardly back and forth trying to balance me and keep me from doing a high dive into the concrete floor. There it stood on high fuzzy legs on top of the wall. A big, fat, flying roach sat right where I wanted to put my hands and climb over.

I leaned as far away from the roach making Jiff step to keep his balance. I pulled myself along the wall opposite from the direction Jiff was moving in.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” by now he stepped back and forth erratically trying not to lose his footing and keep me steady.

“There’s big roach on top the wall,” I was starting to sweat.

“Well, just shoo him off.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no. He will fly right at me. Walk down the wall Walk. Walk. Walk faster. We have to get away from him.” I tried to lean away from the roach using the top of the wall and pulling us away from where he sat. His whipped his antennae around letting me know he knew where I was and he was taking aim. “Go further up on the wall away from him.” He started sidestepping to get me to another section of the wall. I felt the urge to jump off his shoulders. I felt like jello inside. A roach, a big hairy roach stood between me and escape. This was all my mother’s fault. This roach phobia.

“Not that way, the other way, that way,” I said pointing as if he could see my hands while I stood on his shoulders. “Get. Get. Get behind him. Maybe if he doesn’t see me he won’t fly.”

“What is it with you and roaches? We live in New Orleans.” He struggled but kept his balance with me and moved us away from the roach. I leaned away further and faster than his feet were moving but I didn’t fall.

“It’s a long story.” I now worked my way down the wall, opposite to where the roach faced. “If he flies and lands on me, they won’t have to kill me. I’ll die of a heart attack.”

“What about the drop on the other side? You aren’t worried about that, and you are worried about the roach?” he sounded confused.

“Well, you are about six feet and I am five-foot-nine inches so the drop, if I can hang onto the top, will only be about five feet. I think I’ll be okay. Oh my God! Oh my God! The roach turned around and is looking at me again. I have to go for it now before it starts flying.”

Working as fast as I could, I put both hands on top of the wall and pulled myself up halfway to my waist then swung a leg over, to straddle it. The roach made me move at warp speed. I sat straddling the wall when Jiff looked up. “I told you don’t look up my dress!” I hissed in a loud whisper.

“I can’t help it. I’m watching you and I can sort of see up your dress, but I’m not looking up your dress.”

I had to just go with it, the roach, looking up my dress, all of it. Just as I swung my other leg over, and hung there bent in half hanging on the wall at my midsection, feet hanging on the side to freedom, that dang roach starting flying. I had to use both my arms to support myself. My plan needed both arms to hold onto the top of the wall to walk down it with my feet and reduce the falling space to a minimum. I could not let go with even one hand to defend myself from the aerial attack of the roach. It was all I could do not to scream as it closed in on me in a circular flight pattern. The roach flew in circles making big loops gearing up for his grand finale—to hit me right in the face. I could see it coming and was helpless to do anything about it.

On the last fly by, Jiff jumped up and caught the flying thing in his hand with his good arm. He threw it to the floor and stepped on it. Done. Awestruck that someone would do that for me made me want to climb back over the wall and kiss him. I could only look at him and mouth a thank you in a whisper.

“Well, you said if it landed on you, you would die of a heart attack and I would like to kiss you at least one more time. Next time, I’ll kiss you like I mean it,” he smiled. My hero.

With the threat of the roach behind me, I inched my way down the wall on my chest as far as I could go, hung by my hands so the full length of my body was reaching the floor and made the drop with a soft thump. I hurried over to unlock the door.

“They locked it with a key and the key is not here.” I said to him through the door. I fought off the panic inching up my spine. Any minute they would be back and start what I didn’t want to think about.

“You go. Get out of here and go for help.” he said in a low voice through the door.

“I don’t want to leave you.” I felt tears filling my eyes.

“Look, if one of us gets out, that person can get help. You have to go.” He added, “Take Isabella if you can.”

Now, I had to get out of here and bring back help for him.

“O.K. I’ll take her. Toss me my shoes over the top. Do it one at a time so I can catch them and not make any noise. I might need them if I get out of here.” Jiff tossed one up, high so I could see where it was going to land. I caught it before it hit the floor. “OK, now the other one, just like that.”

Once I had my shoes I put my hand flat on the door as a way of parting. I didn’t know it but he did the same on the other side. I held the shoes and quickly moved to get Isabella out of the cage. “Shh, shh, shhhh.” I was lowering the pitch with each Shh to get all the dogs, especially the pits, to settle down. The pits started to growl and show their teeth. In the loudest whisper I started singing, “How much is that doggie in the window?” It relaxed them and they laid back down. Charming dogs is my gift, what can I say? If it worked on men like it did on dogs, then Julia would have a run for her money! I wanted to let the pits out, but couldn’t take the chance they might attack Isabella or me. They all had scars on their faces, necks and bodies. If I had to guess, these were the winners of dog fights. Losers were left to die or were shot. Isabella probably would be used as a bait dog. Schnauzers were feisty and would fight back if attacked, even though they would lose and be torn apart. Participants in dog fighting rings used small terriers to fire up their pits for the big fight. I discovered this is only one of the many abusive and cruel things people can and will do to animals when I got into rescue. Little, if anything, is ever done to help these animals or prevent it from happening. Dogs don’t vote, so politicians could care less. It’s disgusting. It wasn’t the pit bulls’ fault that someone makes them fight for their own life. What kind of person does this to another living thing?

Answer. Someone like Ratty Tulhman.

This is just another way he used to gain advantage over someone else.

Once the pit bulls were quiet I opened the wire door to Isabella’s cage. She started squeezing through the opening as I unlatched and opened the gate. I closed the gate and secured it to give the appearance she could still be in there.

I made my way along the walls trying to stay in the shadows and darkness holding Isabella and my shoes. We were in the abandoned Ice House on Decatur. Big ice tongs and every size ice pick and hook hung up on racks suspended from the ceiling. Big freezers lined all the walls. They could kill someone in here and store them forever before anyone found them. They put us in a walled-off area used as old office space.

I inched along the wall holding Isabella, looking for a way out. I found a fire exit. I took a deep breath and pushed the door bar open hoping that the fire alarm was the silent one to the fire department. Of course, it wasn’t. It blasted the alarm over what sounded like a hundred Klaxon horns. I didn’t wait to see if the Fashion Twins would follow. I knew they would when they figured out one of us got out through the exit. Outside I saw the address, 2200 Decatur Street. I was very close to the French Quarter.

I took off running as fast as I could toward Esplanade. I figured if I could get there before they caught up with me I could get lost in the Saturday night crowd. I still held Isabella and the shoes, afraid to put her down. I didn’t know if she would follow me or if she might run back to Jiff. I ran barefoot. At Esplanade Avenue I ran past the Mint and across to the Old French Market. I saw no one around. I ran through to the end of the French Market toward Cafe du Monde when I heard “Stop, you bitch!”

“Are they talking to you or me?” I asked Isabella as I tried to pick up my pace and tighten my grip on her. I stopped thinking about my feet even though they were starting to hurt. I prayed I wouldn’t step on glass or a lit cigarette butt.

I searched everywhere looking around for a cop, a cop car, anyone who looked like they could help me. Everyone I saw was a little lit up and into their own party. A couple of guys invited me to join them but they were in no shape to help. These were happy drunks not fighting drunks. I continued running down Decatur pushing past the crowd of tourists holding drinks in go cups. They were having a good time and did not care or get physical over me pushing and bumping into them. Even the ones who were annoyed at first would lighten up when they saw the dog. Isabella was my ticket to make as much time as I could before they caught up with me. Everywhere was crowded with tourists until I got to St. Ann Street and hooked a right to hide in a doorway. I had to share the occupancy with a homeless man sleeping in the recessed entry. He didn’t seem to mind or wake up, but he smelled to high heaven. I stepped over him and stood in the darkest corner behind him. All I could think of is how much worse the stench must be for Isabella given her sensitive dog nose. I put Isabella down and she moved as far away from the man as possible. She realized we were hiding, and sat very still next to me while I tried to catch my breath without breathing in the stench in the doorway. I didn’t want to stay here too long. If Black and Blue made the turn with me, that would put them too close. I had put a good distance between us at the French Market. I slipped my heels on, picked Isabella back up and peeked out from the darkness. No thugs. My feet were still hurting but in the heels they were starting to numb. I had to put them on, there was glass everywhere and it was a miracle I hadn’t stepped on any running in my bare feet. That would have really slowed me down. I had no leash so I had to carry Isabella. I stepped out of hiding and continued at a fast walk, trying not to draw attention to myself.

Where St. Ann meets the back of St. Louis Cathedral, a bride and groom were leading a second line. They must have come from a reception at Muriel’s on Jackson Square. I fell in line with them. It was a good cover to get lost in a crowd of well dressed people who all knew each other. If it happened I needed help and some good Samaritan in the crowd came to my aid, chances were his friends in the crowd would join in thinking I am one of the invited guests. Everyone around me wanted to pet Isabella. No one asked what’s a dog doing at a wedding. Hey, it’s the French Quarter. Anything and everything seems like a good idea with liquor. I joined them second lining until we were near Pirates Alley where I peeled off and worked my way over to Bourbon Street. Bourbon Street is crowded fifty-two weekends a year and was especially packed this Saturday night during Mardi Gras. I squeezed through the crowd and kept moving down Bourbon Street toward St. Ann. At the corner there are two popular night clubs. One is Oz and across the street is The Bourbon Pub. Both places have stages with live performances turning into dance clubs afterwards, and both are gay clubs. The performers dress and sing as celebrities or dance to a generous crowd of tippers. I had come to Oz once to see my hairdresser, Allen, who used to perform in his Marilyn Monroe persona. I took a chance on Allen being there performing, and then remembered Woozie said her son Silas worked the bar at Oz. I am sure Woozie did not know this was a gay bar and I certainly didn’t want to be Silas when she found out. I didn’t know if Silas was gay, but he was an extremely good looking guy. I’m sure he made good tips serving drinks. Still, I saw no police officers anywhere. They were all managing parades and traffic.

I had to take my chance at Oz and hoped one of them, either Silas or Allen, would be there. My other option might be to find Julia and where she worked tonight. The clubs she worked were all at least eight to ten blocks away, closer to Canal Street, and she could be anywhere on Bourbon. Julia worked as a bouncing stripper at one of the six Bare Minimum Clubs owned by a local sleaze bag, Joey Feene. She went where Pinky sent her for the night or part of the night. That would take too long to find her and those guys would catch up with me. I headed through the door when a big white security guy wearing leather chaps and a cop style black leather hat, stopped me and asked for the cover charge. He stood about six-foot-four, about 220 lbs. of rippled muscles with shoulders almost as wide as the doorway with his ass completely exposed. I had no purse, no money, only the dog.

“I have no money with me. I just got away from two guys chasing me.”

“Oh, honey, if I had two guys chasing me, I’d let them catch me.”

“Not these two. They are going to hurt me. They kidnapped me and my friend and took us to the Ice House. I managed to get out with the dog. Is Silas here working the bar? I know him and his mother.”

“No one named Silas at the bar, guess again.” Now, he’s not so friendly. He reached around me taking cover charges from men entering in all stages of dress and undress.

“What about Allen?”

“No Allen either.”

I felt panic creeping in. What was Allen’s stage name? I couldn’t remember.