I watched Joey walk out of the bar. The fish had taken the bait. But look what usually happens to bait. I didn’t drive by Cordelia’s apartment on my way out of the Quarter.

The next day, I considered calling O’Connor to let him know what was going on and where my notes were, but I finally decided against it. I would let Joey play himself out a little more. Besides, I was torn between wanting to trust O’Connor and rely on him and resisting the reality, that I, as it was now, had no choice in the matter. I was also embarrassed that I had almost admitted to him that I had been sexually abused.

Joey didn’t call until after midnight. “So, Mick, can you drive a truck?”

“How big a truck?”

“Small rental truck. Piece of cake.”

“Piece of steel, but I can handle it.”

“Good. I’ll come by and pick you up. Be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“Where are we going?” I asked, after telling him where I lived.

“I’ll tell you when I get there.”

I didn’t push. “Okay. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

Joey hung up.

I tried to think what I might need on this unknown jaunt. My gun wouldn’t be very friendly, might even make these guys think I didn’t like them. Finally, I settled on the usual—a lighter, a small pocket knife, and some aspirin. Detecting can often give one a headache. After one last quick run to the bathroom, I went downstairs to wait for Joey. He arrived a few minutes later.

“So what’s the deal?” I asked after I had settled myself in and buckled up.

“Nothin’ unusual. You get in the truck, you drive it.”

“Drive it where?”

“Remember that bar on Desire? We work out of there. You can get anything you want at that place.”

“Drugs, sex, porn—sin for sale. One-stop shopping, what a great marketing concept.”

“Gotta keep the customers happy,” Joey said. I don’t think he caught my sarcasm.

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“The usual gang. Lenny guards the door. Zeke is my contact. A few other guys. I don’t even know their names.”

“But who gives you orders?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Knowledge is power, Joey. If I’m involved in this shit, I want as much power as I can get.”

“So why should I tell you? ‘Knowledge is power.’ I got it, you don’t.”

“Can’t hurt to ask.”

Joey grinned. “Sure can’t. Keep asking and maybe someday I’ll tell you.”

“How’d you get involved?”

“Same way as you. Someone asked me if I wanted to do some work.”

“What happened to him?”

“He moved on,” Joey paused for a second, then decided to elaborate. “He had a record. He…uh…got too emotionally involved in the work, if you know what I mean.”

“A dangerous habit.”

“It’s a business, just a business. You gotta keep your eye on the green stuff.”

“Yeah, you sure do.” We were heading out to New Orleans East, taking old Highway 90. I was beginning to wonder if we weren’t on the back road to Mississippi, when Joey turned off. He took a few more turns, two of which he almost screeched past before pulling over. We were in the middle of the block.

“The truck’s just around the corner,” Joey instructed me. “Parked in the back of the lot at Joey’s Diner. I liked the name,” he added. “Tell the dude at the counter that you’re here to pick up the truck for Rob. He’ll give you the keys.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“He will. They’d never think a girl could steal a truck. Besides, they’re expecting someone.”

“Okay. So I meet you at Heart of Desire?”

“That’s the story.”

I got out of the car. Joey drove past, gave me a quick little wave, and was gone. He was testing me, but all I had to do to get a passing grade was drive the truck to the Heart of Desire. It occurred to me that the main danger was being arrested. Through the good graces of Detective O’Connor I didn’t have to worry about that.

I entered Joey’s Diner. This was not a busy hour, and there were maybe five people in the place. I was the only woman.

“Hi,” I said to the counterman, who was giving me a somewhat odd look. “I’m here to get Rob’s truck.”

“Yeah?” he asked, making no move to get the keys. “Where’s Rob?”

“He’s sick.”

“Yeah? What’s wrong with him?”

“A toothache,” I prevaricated, then realizing more than that was required, embellished, “His wisdom teeth are impacted and they’ve gotten infected. He had a root canal today, and he’s going to have two more. He’s got wads of cotton in his mouth and a couple of do-not-drive pain pills in his system.” That ought to do it.

“Yeah? That’s too bad.” No wonder he had so few customers, if the preceding was any demonstration of his conversational skills.

“So can I have the keys?” I asked.

He reached for the keys, picked them up, and held them as he asked, “Yeah, sure. So what’d you say your name was?”

The obvious reply, “I didn’t,” wasn’t the one that would get me the truck keys. “Esmeralda de Ville,” I answered, giving my subconscious free rein in name picking. “My friends call me Essie.”

“Well, Essie, I hope Rob feels better real soon.” He handed me the keys.

The counterman and most of his customers stared at me as I left. I had to hand it to Joey, this was a really smooth and slick operation, with our tracks well covered. Those guys had the same chance of forgetting my appearance there as Joey’s Diner had of serving nouvelle cuisine. With my audience still very interested in my every move, I got in the truck and started it. I was tired of performing for them, so instead of taking time to check over the truck, I shifted into what I hoped was reverse. After doing a quick turn around in the parking lot, aided by the lack of other cars, I clunked the truck into first and got onto the road, leaving Joey’s Diner behind.

The truck was not an easy crate to drive. It was a dirty white with a few sprays of graffiti, nothing resembling identification anywhere on it. Far from the curious stares of the diner crowd, I pulled over. There was nothing in the glove compartment, not even registration or proof of insurance. I hoped O’Connor’s pull extended to the traffic courts. The back of the truck was padlocked and the only key the counterman had given me was the ignition key. It was possible that I was being checked out, someone could be following me. Stopping to look for registration might be reasonable; stopping to open the back would be suspicious.

When I got to Heart’s, I saw Joey’s Porsche parked in an alley behind the bar. I took that as a hint and pulled in behind it. No watchful video cameras seemed about to alert someone that I was here, so I went to look for a loading door. I had to run an obstacle course of broken beer bottles, used crack vials, and day-old condoms to get to the only thing that looked promising. I was about to knock when the door opened and a rather large, unfriendly man demanded, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for Joey,” I replied, hoping that this was the equivalent of “Open sesame” around here.

“Who’s lookin’?” Mr. Unfriendly asked.

“Micky Knight.”

The door slammed shut in my face. Mr. Unfriendly was not a well-trained butler.

A few minutes later, the door reopened. Joey, two other men, and Mr. Unfriendly trooped out.

“That was pretty quick,” Joey told me.

“I hate to go under the speed limit in strange trucks with no registration and no insurance. Keeps me on the road too long.”

“You stupid bitch,” Mr. Unfriendly opined. “That’s how to get stopped.”

“She was making a joke,” Joey corrected him. “Our Miss Knight’s a funny lady.”

“And law-abiding, too. I even had my seat belt on,” I added.

Mr. Unfriendly grunted in reply.

“Let’s get this thing unloaded,” one of the other men said.

“Right,” Joey seconded him. “Why don’t we pull the truck up to the door?” Not waiting for an answer, he instructed, “Mick, let me have the truck keys.”

I handed him the singular truck key.

“Here, Lenny,” Joey said, handing the key to Mr. Unfriendly. “Turn the truck around and back it up to the door.” Joey then handed me the keys to his car. “You get to move mine. Pull it in behind the truck once he’s parked.”

I took the keys, gave Joey a mock salute, and got into his car to wait for Mr. Unfriendly to move the truck. He made a few awkward gear shifts on his way out. After I had moved Joey’s car to a safe vantage point on the street, I watched Mr. Unfriendly try to back the truck up the alley and had the pleasure of watching someone who has just annoyed me make a fool of himself. A few shouts and curses, some damage to the transmission, and one badly mangled garbage can later, the truck was parked within loading distance of the back door.

I pulled back into the alley. I made sure there was not enough room for another car to park behind Joey’s and block us in.

By the time I rejoined them, they had opened the back of the truck. Inside were a number of cardboard boxes. They were all taped shut, with nothing written on any of them.

“She gonna help?” Mr. Unfriendly demanded of Joey.

For an answer, I hopped into the truck, hefted one of the boxes, turned to him, and said, “Catch.” I half-handed, half-tossed the box at him. He bobbled it, letting it slip almost to his knees before he caught it and righted himself.

“Take it inside,” the other man with a speaking part said.

His silent partner took a box from me and followed Mr. Unfriendly into the bar.

“Where you puttin’ them, Zeke?” Joey asked him.

“The small storage room, next to the office.”

Joey nodded, seemingly satisfied.

I continued unloading the truck, moving the boxes to the edge of the truck bed, where they could be easily grabbed. These were heavy boxes. My best guess was paper, books, something tightly packed in them. I counted the boxes as I moved them. There were forty of them. This was not some small-time shipment.

Joey’s contribution to the unloading was to move some of the boxes out of the truck and put them next to the door. Zeke mentioned his bad back at least three times and contented himself with occasionally going inside to “check on things.”

Moving the boxes was hot and hard work. I couldn’t stand up fully in the truck, so I had to carry them hunched over. After the first few boxes, I was sweating heavily. But I had something to prove, so I didn’t stop. I even helped carry in a few boxes after I had unloaded them all from the truck. It made Mr. Unfriendly seem glad to see me.

“Good work, boys,” Zeke said as the last box was chucked into the storage room. “And girl,” he added for me.

Mr. Unfriendly, Mr. Silent, and I just caught our collective breath.

“You guys want some brews?” Zeke generously offered. “Come in the office. I got some in the fridge.”

We trooped behind him to the dingy office. Mr. Silent took his beer and flopped down on the floor. Mr. Unfriendly took his, then stationed himself in the hallway, next to the door, a guard of dubious value. I moved a stack of newspapers and sat on top of a file cabinet. I used my beer to cool my forehead. Zeke and Joey took the two usable seats in the room.

“So, when does this move out?” Zeke asked Joey.

“Soon. I haven’t gotten the word yet.”

Zeke nodded, his question seemed a formality. “So, how’d you know this little lady could drive a truck?” he asked, presumably to keep the conversation from flagging as well as to display his enlightened view of sexual equality.

Joey gave him a laid-back grin and said, “She’s a dyke. All dykes can drive trucks. Didn’t you know that?”

This got me a look from both Mr. Silent and Mr. Unfriendly.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like men, honey?” Zeke asked me.