The night seemed to fly by. In no time, it seemed, Misty was escorted to Thurlo’s apartment. The young athlete was so easy to snare. One kiss was all it took. A few dances, and he was under her spell.
She led him to the bedroom and laid him down. She slowly removed his clothes and then her own. She knew how to please a man and set about pleasing Thurlo. After about an hour, she emerged from the bedroom.
She went to the fridge. Suddenly, she was hungry. And maybe a little thirsty. But she wasn’t at all sleepy.
She fixed herself a pastrami sandwich, ate it in haste, poured herself a glass of wine and drank it down in a single gulp. She returned to the bedroom. Her night wasn’t over. She wanted more. Much more.
She emerged from the bedroom again, hours later. She was asleep, yet looked awake. Again, she made her way to the kitchen. She seemed to be on a mission.
Thurlo woke to find someone on top of him. His vision, still blurry, kept him from seeing who it was. No matter how much he rubbed his eyes, his vision refused to clear. What was going on?
“Baby?” He inquired, groggily, “Is that you?”
No answer. He rubbed his eyes again, then struggled to get a better view. Instantly, He recognized who it was. He looked at them puzzled.
“What’s wrong, Baby?” He was still confused. Then he saw what was in their hand and began to struggle. Too weak to be effective, he laid back. “Ah shit! No, Baby, No!” Raising his arms as if to shield himself, he tried vainly to protect himself.
At five o’clock, Michael was at his desk. It was a new day. His crew was on Mardi Gras detail. No murders had taken place lately, no disappearances, and no abductions. He felt blessed.
Mardi Gras. It was the four-year anniversary of the Nelson case. The first two years had been filled with mysterious disappearances, missing bodies, and a lack of any clues. But the last year had been empty of such things. The last known victims had been Carlisle and Micky. A two-fer.
He hoped to keep it quiet this year. As long as no pimp killed any of their hookers, this year would be amazing. Last night, the gang had learned that Evangeline had fallen ill. Marcel had been given leave for the week, so there would only be three on duty. Michael only hoped that everything was fine. Maybe it was nothing and the two lovebirds would be back together, this time for good.
Only time would tell. He returned to the details of their assignment. They were to be in the French Quarter, on the parade route. Their job was to help vice with the growing problem with pickpockets and robberies. They were to help run a sting.
Later, they would be helping with a prostitution sting. He chuckled. All hinged on no homicide calls. That was the plan.
But plans tended to get changed. Unexpectedly. Especially in the Big Easy. And during Mardi Gras. Someone was bound to get mad and shoot or stab someone else. It never failed.
Reilly came and sat down in Marcel’s chair. Marcel had since risen to the rank of Detective, becoming Michael’s permanent partner, even though he could have picked to go out on his own. Michael didn’t care. It kept the band of brothers together.
“What’s our assignment today, Chief?” Reilly asked.
Danforth pulled a chair from a nearby desk and sat down to await the same news. Michael looked over at them. He smiled and shook his head, good natured, at their irreverence.
“We have parade duty,” he replied, “The lack of homicides has put us on the beat for now. We look for pickpockets and try to watch for robberies. and any other illegal activity.”
“So,” Danforth smiled slyly, “If we observe a drug deal going down, we stop it and arrest both dealer and buyer?”
“Yup,” Michael replied, “And the same with any attempted rape or rape in progress. You arrest the perp and call for an ambulance to take the victim to the hospital.”
“And after the parade?” Reilly asked.
“Well,” he replied, “barring any homicide calls, we go help vice with a prostitution sting.”
“Why do they even bother?” Danforth inquired, rhetorically.
“I really don’t know,” Michael replied, “It does seem a bit of a losing battle. The more we bring in, the more that go out just to do it some more. We really can’t keep them, and since there is a demand, they will remain in business.”
She awoke on the couch in Morgan’s condo. She had no clue how or when she got there. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep next to Thurlo. He had been really wonderful. She would never forget her night with him. Or so she thought.
But the memory had already begun to fade. With its fading came the renewed hunger for more. More excitement. More sex. More, more, more. Always more. Except when Morgan was there.
How she missed him. He kept this need at bay. He kept the demons away. The nightmares. The night terrors. The unrest.
He gave her stability. And a home. Most of all, he gave her peace. Peace of mind. Peace in her soul. Peace in her heart.
Without him, she was out of control. She could not deal with the day. Not without finding a man to feed her desire. And even then, she was unable to fully be satisfied.
She rose and went into the kitchen. Fixing herself a peanut butter sandwich, one with a little brown sugar on it, she sat down to think. Why was she trapped in this cycle of need? Had she done something wrong? Or was it just her nature?
She shrugged it off. All she knew was that she had to have a man around. Why didn’t matter. She was just incomplete without a man.