things, spouting off all sorts of unconventional, improbable ideas. Impossible ideas, really. How dare someone come and rock the good ship New Orleans!” He waved his arms in big circles, simulating a rocking boat. “This ain’t my view, Tom, but it sure is how the City Council feels about it.”
Anderson watched the mayor’s little show, thinking the tubby man looked more as if he were losing his balance than rocking a boat. “So, Mayor, do I need to be worried that Venus Alley will be the target of some retaliation from the City Council? Perhaps their way of sending a message to the neophyte alderman and his Public Order Committee that it’s still the Council who has at least a modicum of control over vice in this town?”
The mayor gave an offhanded shrug. “Not sure the City Council will bother much. It’s not like they can just up and run your gals outta here, Tom.”
“Those preacher-leechers can certainly try. Though they might as well let the whores take all the booze and tobacco with them, and they can pack up Mardi Gras, too, while they’re at it.”
“I don’t think you’ve any worry, my friend. Alderman Story may have convinced the Public Order Committee, and their talk is temporarily loud, but the City Council knows those government committees hardly ever do anything. When was the last time a committee accomplished something of note? As I said, no one likes change. You know how long it takes to get the smallest thing done around here.” He leaned over as if letting Anderson in on a secret, dribbling his drink down his shirtfront in the process. “Besides,” he said, dropping his voice, “too many of the City Council are secret visitors to the Alley.”
“Too many of them are secret profiters from the Alley,” Anderson added. “Doesn’t the City Council realize that a legalized district would make it a hell of a lot easier to get laid in this town?”
“You’re overthinking all this,” Flower said. “The Public Order Committee will soon tire of their own yammering, and everyone’ll opt to stick with things just the way they are. That’s what always happens, and it’s really much easier that way. Certainly makes my job easier.”
Anderson took a long sip of whiskey. His thoughts traveled to the nameless corpse that had been lying smack in the middle of Venus Alley earlier that night. No matter how lethargic the City Council, if word of this incident got out, they’d surely bolt up and take notice. A dead body would be perfect evidence for the Council to use to squash this new, loudmouth alderman and his crazy ideas about prostitution.
“I can stage a raid if you think it’ll quiet the unrest some,” Anderson said.
Flower twisted his face. “I don’t see the need to go to any trouble, Tom. No one who matters is paying much mind to Alderman Story. Truly, he’s nothing more than a flea. A flitting flea.” Flower fluttered his stubby arms as he moved to the hutch. “Just make sure there aren’t any major incidents involving a whore. You know, nothing that would upset the flow.” He topped off his glass. “No repeats, like last year . . . with the congressman.” He rolled his head back, sucking in air. “Now, something like that, well, that would really get the water boiling again.”
Calmly, with no expression other than deep thought, Anderson swirled his whiskey—could be a congressman getting hauled into the icehouse at this very moment. “I’ll just order a raid for good measure,” Anderson said definitively. “Never hurts to beat the Bible thumpers at their own game.”
Mayor Flower was, indeed, correct: Alderman Sidney Story lived with his mother. They resided on the cypress-lined street of Prytania in the Garden District, in a cozy raised cottage with two rocking chairs out front, hearty ferns hanging from the porch, and a flickering gas lamp at the door. It was quite likely that this thirty-seven-year-old gentleman was unmarried for the precise reason
Anderson watched the mayor’s little show, thinking the tubby man looked more as if he were losing his balance than rocking a boat. “So, Mayor, do I need to be worried that Venus Alley will be the target of some retaliation from the City Council? Perhaps their way of sending a message to the neophyte alderman and his Public Order Committee that it’s still the Council who has at least a modicum of control over vice in this town?”
The mayor gave an offhanded shrug. “Not sure the City Council will bother much. It’s not like they can just up and run your gals outta here, Tom.”
“Those preacher-leechers can certainly try. Though they might as well let the whores take all the booze and tobacco with them, and they can pack up Mardi Gras, too, while they’re at it.”
“I don’t think you’ve any worry, my friend. Alderman Story may have convinced the Public Order Committee, and their talk is temporarily loud, but the City Council knows those government committees hardly ever do anything. When was the last time a committee accomplished something of note? As I said, no one likes change. You know how long it takes to get the smallest thing done around here.” He leaned over as if letting Anderson in on a secret, dribbling his drink down his shirtfront in the process. “Besides,” he said, dropping his voice, “too many of the City Council are secret visitors to the Alley.”
“Too many of them are secret profiters from the Alley,” Anderson added. “Doesn’t the City Council realize that a legalized district would make it a hell of a lot easier to get laid in this town?”
“You’re overthinking all this,” Flower said. “The Public Order Committee will soon tire of their own yammering, and everyone’ll opt to stick with things just the way they are. That’s what always happens, and it’s really much easier that way. Certainly makes my job easier.”
Anderson took a long sip of whiskey. His thoughts traveled to the nameless corpse that had been lying smack in the middle of Venus Alley earlier that night. No matter how lethargic the City Council, if word of this incident got out, they’d surely bolt up and take notice. A dead body would be perfect evidence for the Council to use to squash this new, loudmouth alderman and his crazy ideas about prostitution.
“I can stage a raid if you think it’ll quiet the unrest some,” Anderson said.
Flower twisted his face. “I don’t see the need to go to any trouble, Tom. No one who matters is paying much mind to Alderman Story. Truly, he’s nothing more than a flea. A flitting flea.” Flower fluttered his stubby arms as he moved to the hutch. “Just make sure there aren’t any major incidents involving a whore. You know, nothing that would upset the flow.” He topped off his glass. “No repeats, like last year . . . with the congressman.” He rolled his head back, sucking in air. “Now, something like that, well, that would really get the water boiling again.”
Calmly, with no expression other than deep thought, Anderson swirled his whiskey—could be a congressman getting hauled into the icehouse at this very moment. “I’ll just order a raid for good measure,” Anderson said definitively. “Never hurts to beat the Bible thumpers at their own game.”
Mayor Flower was, indeed, correct: Alderman Sidney Story lived with his mother. They resided on the cypress-lined street of Prytania in the Garden District, in a cozy raised cottage with two rocking chairs out front, hearty ferns hanging from the porch, and a flickering gas lamp at the door. It was quite likely that this thirty-seven-year-old gentleman was unmarried for the precise reason
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