Read Online Mardi Gras Mambo by Gred Herren - Free Book Online Page A

hope?”
    Venus shook her head. She’s a tall black woman, quite striking, with smooth, dark skin and almond-shaped eyes, her hair cut close to the scalp. Even in her overcoat you got a sense of coiled muscle and strength. “No offense, Scotty, but I was kind of hoping I’d never run into you in a professional capacity again.” She was holding a large cup of Circle K coffee and gave me an enigmatic smile.
    â€œYeah, well.” I bit my lower lip. “No offense, but that makes two of us.”
    â€œWhat’s all this about?” Colin interrupted. He folded his arms and started bouncing to try to keep warm. “Can’t we go inside and get warmed up? We’re not exactly dressed for the weather.”
    â€œI need Scotty to come with us to the station.” Venus took a sip from her coffee. “You two can go on in.”
    My heart sank. The nine hits in my sock were burning a hole in my leg.
    â€œYou didn’t answer his question,” Frank replied, coming to my rescue. “Scotty, you don’t have to go with them. He isn’t under arrest, is he, detective?”
    She shook her head. “Not at this time. We just want to ask him some questions.”
    Okay, that was a good sign. “Then I’m afraid I’m not going with you,” I said. One of the great things about having activist parents is they get arrested all of the time. Their rap sheets are probably about a mile long. They’ve been arrested so many times that it’s kind of unusual when they go to a protest and don’t wind up behind bars. The New Orleans police department is very well acquainted with Mom and Dad—and I am sure their FBI files would make pretty fascinating reading. Storm, Rain, and I were well versed in what the police can and cannot do, and our civil liberties, almost from the day we learned how to talk. We certainly knew our rights by the time we were old enough to carry protest signs. They used to drill us before protests. In my head, I could hear my mother’s voice: “If you are not under arrest, you are not obligated to go with the police. You are not obligated to talk to them about anything, even if you are under arrest. They’ll try to make you feel comfortable, like chatting with them will clear everything up and then they’ll be on their merry way, but don’t fall for it. If you don’t talk to them, they’ll tell you it’ll make you look guilty. Don’t fall for that, either. Looking guilty and being guilty are two entirely different things, and if you’ve done nothing wrong, there’s no reason for you to talk to them unless and until they tell you why they want to talk to you in the first place.”
    Rain swears her first words were “I want a lawyer.” She might not be wrong.
    This so totally and completely sucked it wasn’t funny. I hadn’t killed Misha—then again, I didn’t know for a fact it was Misha who’d been killed—but there was also no way in hell I was going down to the Eighth District police station with nine hits of Ecstasy in my boot. Some overzealous ADA could see that as “possession with intent to deal.” And that would mean the loss of my private eye license; quite possibly the Blackledge Agency’s license to operate in Louisiana, if not some jail time. This sucked! To make it worse, my refusal to cooperate would only serve to make Blaine and Venus even more suspicious of me than they already were. The cops can make your life miserable when they want to, and even when you’re cleared they don’t have to apologize or correct any of the damage done. It was easy for my mother to say, “Don’t talk to the police,” but the times she’d been arrested hadn’t been for drug possession—or suspicion of murder, for that matter.
    I tried again as Blaine and Venus exchanged a glance I didn’t really like. “Give me a break,