I thought for a moment. Legally it would probably be Aunt Greta, but she was the last person I’d want involved. “I guess my cousin, Torbin Robedeaux.”

“Does he have medical power of attorney?”

“No. Actually, Danny, Danielle Clayton, does.” It was something she had talked me into a few years ago. Being a lawyer made Danny aware of how important these things are, particularly for gay people who are estranged from their so-called family. And Danny, whom I’d known since college, and, more importantly, whom I trusted to do the right thing, was the logical choice to hold my medical power of attorney.

“All right,” O’Connor said. “I know how to get in contact with her.”

“We were friends in college,” I added. “Only two kids from New Orleans there.” It was one thing for me to be out of the closet, but Danny had to work with a lot of people who didn’t like blacks, didn’t like women, and would hate a black lesbian.

“She’s good at what she does,” was O’Connor’s only comment. “I don’t want to use that information. But I do want to get those creeps. I got three daughters. I don’t ever want anyone messing with them.”

“We’ll get him. You can’t want him any more than I do.”

“Why? What pushes you?”

“I used to be a little girl,” I answered, stepping into the intimacy of fighting a common enemy and the danger involved. I immediately pulled back—it wasn’t a real connection and I couldn’t trust it. “And we queers always get blamed for this shit. I’m sick of it.”

“Just be careful out there, Ms. Knight. If it gets to you, you’re not doing us or yourself any good.”

“I know,” I answered impatiently. “I’ve thought about that.”

“Don’t forget it. Call me if you’ve got something or you want out. Maybe check in once a week. Got that?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Good luck.” He hung up.

I stood for a moment, still holding the phone. The light was easing into twilight, the early darkness of winter encroaching. I put down the phone. Thinking will only get you in trouble. Don’t think. Just do what you have to do.Thinking about Cordelia would hurt too much, and, as for what I would be doing, I couldn’t afford the anger, it might rip me apart. I suddenly felt very lonely, unconnected, adrift from the world. It would occur to me to think, “But ya are, Blanche, ya are.”

O’Connor had told me to wait, be patient. I spent the whole weekend reading. I didn’t think about Cordelia. And I didn’t think about the pictures O’Connor had shown me in his office.

Chapter 22

Monday afternoon Joey called. “So, anything happen?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Remembering my cover, I added, “I didn’t make one damn cent.”

“That’s too bad. I think Francois said something about being out of town. Anyway, I need to get that beeper from you. You free anytime this evening?”

“Pick a time.”

“Eight-ish, that bar on Bourbon Street we went to.”

Around seven thirty, I threw on my best black T-shirt and a jean jacket, and headed for the Quarter to meet Joey. I hadn’t really intended to drive down Cordelia’s street, but I found myself there. I passed her apartment. A light was on, but I didn’t see her or her car in the lot. Half a block further on, a red Jaguar was parked on the street. That was awfully goddamn quick, I thought as a bolt of jealousy streaked through me.

Then I realized it wasn’t Lindsey’s car. The license plate was from Texas. A car behind me honked. In a childish display of temper, I made an obscene gesture.

Fortunately, the Monday French Quarter parking gods are more benevolent than those of other nights, allowing me to find a spot without too much trouble. Joey wasn’t at the bar yet, so I ordered a club soda, found an out-of-the-way table, and settled myself in.

Joey showed up some ten minutes later. “Sorry nothing worked out,” he said as he approached with an easy smile.

“Sometimes you get lucky, sometimes you don’t.” I shrugged.

He sat down. “But now you know how to do it, maybe something else will come up.”

“I hope so. I could use the bucks.”

“Whadda you drinking? Can I buy you one?”

“Sure. Club soda.”

“I think I can cover that.” Joey headed over to the bar to get our drinks. He seemed in a good mood, not in a hurry to finish up things. I wanted to ask about his other business, but it was too early to push. He returned with my club soda and a beer for himself.

“Can I ask a nosy question?” I asked.

Joey shrugged a “maybe.”

“What are you into? Boys? Girls? Nuns? Dalmatians?”

“What’s your interest? I didn’t think I was your type.”

“You’re not. You know what I like. I’m curious about what you like.”

“You really want to know? Built blonds. California hair.”

“Boys or girls?”

“Seventy/thirty girls, boys. Sunshine hair with a great bod, big tits, big muscles does it for me. So you’re not my type either.”

I nodded. I was glad to have that settled. I didn’t care to be Joey’s type.

“Like Karen,” Joey continued. “She wasn’t bad looking. She your flavor of girl?”

I shook my head. “I like them dark and smart.”

“A good thing. You send the blonds my way, and I’ll send the eggheads to you. That way we won’t get into any fights over it.”

“Cheers,” I said, lifting my glass. Joey clinked his beer against mine.

“So, I might have some work for you,” he said casually.

“Yeah? What?”

“Tell me what you won’t do for money.”

“I wouldn’t fuck any of the Republicans in Congress. Even the women.”

Joey barked out a laugh. “Anything else?”

“Murder one. I think I’d like to stay away from that.”

“Sex stuff? Leather? Bondage? Videos of that? Any problem?”

“People ought to be able to do what they want to do. I don’t have a problem with that.” I stopped myself from adding, as long as it involves consenting adults.

“What about real kinky stuff? Sicko things? Animals, stuff like that?”

“The doggy didn’t consent? I’m supposed to give a shit about that? I prefer people in my bed, but, hey, whatever gets you through the night.”

Joey nodded again, then said, “Yeah, maybe we can work something out.” He drained his beer. “Look, I’ll call you. Maybe tomorrow night, around midnight. You doing anything?”

“No, midnight’s not a problem,” I answered. “But how much do I make, and do I get it in cash?”

“Enough,” Joey replied. “And it’s always in cash.” He stood up, and I handed him the beeper. “Okay, I’ll give you a call if something happens.”

“Thanks. I could use the money.”

“See ya ’round.”