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loved my sweet b-baby girl, and now she’s lyin’ dead over there.” She swiped angrily at the tears blurring her eyes and looked up at him fiercely. “You ever look down on somebody you love ’at’s been butchered like some hog?”
    Farrell nodded gravely. “Yes.”
    She started at the single word then relaxed. “I don’t know where he is. I thought he’d call, but maybe he’s afraid to.” She shook her head ruefully.
    Farrell sat back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. He saw from his watch that it was now 4:00, and he was no closer to Luis Martinez than when he’d left the Café Tristesse. “If you hear from him, tell him to call me at my club. The number’s on this card.” He laid a business card on the table, then picked up his hat and turned to go.
    â€œMr. Farrell?”
    He turned his head and saw her looking at him. “Yeah?”
    â€œI don’t know what it means, but it’s somethin’ I heard Luis say. It went ‘luck is where you find it, and I always look for mine down by the river.’ You know what that means?”
    He shook his head. “I remember him saying it, but I thought it was just some trash he was talkin’.”
    She nodded. “Maybe so. Thanks—for what you said.”
    â€œSure.” He walked through the door and downstairs to the club. Except for Terry, everyone else was gone. The man turned as he heard Farrell’s approach.
    â€œHow’s she holdin’ up?” he asked.
    â€œShe’s hurt, but all hurts get dull with time. She just needs her friends to get her over the rough spots.”
    He nodded, his mouth stretched tight. “Yeah. Sorry if I acted impolite with you earlier.”
    â€œForget it. I’ll be on my way now.”
    Terry let him out into the warm, humid night. Without the neon sign, the brooding darkness of the bayou enveloped the place completely. As Farrell strode across the grassy parking lot to where he’d left his car, his eyes and ears continued to probe the darkness. That indefinable something he’d felt at his arrival was still there, but the surroundings were empty for as far as he could see. Casting a last look around, he got into the car, cranked the engine, and headed in the direction of home.
    ***
    Terry locked the metal grate over the glass front doors before going through the club to turn off the remaining lights. When he reached the kitchen, he noted that the rear service door was slightly ajar, and he grimaced. He’d told the cooks and busboys to be careful about that door. He’d come back one night to find three raccoons there tearing the place apart. He cast a quick look around the kitchen, but detected nothing out of order.
    He walked to the door, cursing under his breath. As he reached it, he pushed the door closed and set the deadbolt. It was then that the lights went out. He whirled around. “Who’s there? What’s the idea, Goddamnit?” He moved in the direction of the nearest light switch, but a noise checked him. His hand went instinctively to the revolver in his hip pocket. “Who’s there? I got a gun, fool, so don’t be messin’ around.” Drawing the gun, he sped to the light switch. As his hand closed over it, something hit him over the temple and he fell to the floor unconscious.
    His attacker stood over him for a minute, prodding him with his shoe. Although Terry didn’t move or make a sound, the attacker kicked him very precisely in the back of the head. Satisfied, the man made his way through the darkened kitchen, heading for the stairs.
    He reached a hall, and saw an open door with light shining through it. “Terry?” a woman’s voice called. “Terry, that you, honey?”
    The man walked softly to the door, looked through it and saw Wisteria Mullins at a desk, thumbing through some receipts. He moved