The Priest: An Original Sinners Novel Page 13
“We can play in here,” he said.
“Gmork, aus.” She snapped her fingers, pointed, and Gmork obeyed, trotting down the stairs as if he hadn’t just threatened brutal death upon Søren.
“Will that work for me?” Søren asked.
“Try it.”
He snapped his fingers and pointed at the door to the dungeon.
Nora growled at Søren. But she obeyed.
Chapter Fifteen
Nothing, Nora decided, was more fun than sitting in her pew at Mass, looking angelic and devout while recalling in vivid detail the erotic things the man sitting two seats down had done to her all afternoon…
It had begun with a flogging, of course. A good deep one that left her so sore that she winced every time her back touched the pew. And since Søren did have to save his “strength” for Kingsley that night, there’d been no sex. But Søren hadn’t left her hanging. He’d tortured her for nearly thirty minutes with a vibrator that he used on her, bringing her almost to orgasm five times before finally letting her come.
And come she had, and so hard she was still seeing white spots dancing in the air in front of her eyes. They’d showered together after which was lovely but also necessary. As her mother said, Always wear clean underwear to take communion.
Since moving down to New Orleans, Juliette had insisted the “family” go to Mass together. Nora had found it strange, at first, sitting with Søren in a pew on Sunday evenings, but she’d gotten used to it. Since mornings were so hard on Juliette these days, that meant the Sunday evening service, and they sat in the next to last pew since they could never count on Céleste’s attention span.
Søren took the far left seat, Céleste next to him and usually on his lap now that Juliette had no lap, Juliette next to Céleste and Nora next to Juliette.
Kingsley, of course, stayed home.
They attended Mass that night at Tulane’s Catholic Center. Most of the parishioners were college students. Søren liked it since a couple of his former students attended there. One came up to him and shook his hand, said they couldn’t wait until he was back at Loyola. Søren introduced them all to his student; Céleste as his niece—close enough—while Juliette was introduced as “Céleste’s mother,” and Nora was, of course, “Céleste’s aunt.”
“And this is my baby sister,” Céleste said, patting her mother’s stomach.
“Or brother,” Juliette said quickly.
Søren’s student didn’t bat an eyelash at his former teacher’s “family.” It was kind of nice to feel like a member of Søren’s family. Too nice. Nora had to wonder how it would feel to be his wife. Probably it would feel a lot like bondage did…sexy and exciting at first, but after a few hours, she would get bored and sore.
As Nora stood to walk to the front to receive communion, she felt her phone vibrating in the pocket of her jeans.
She veered out of the line and into the lobby. Søren gave her a curious look as she walked out.
“Cyrus,” she mouthed. Søren slightly rolled his eyes. Just slightly.
Out in the lobby, Nora listened to Cyrus’s voicemail.
“Hey Nor, it’s Cy.”
Oh, so they were on one-syllable terms now. She liked that.
“Found Father Ike’s car two streets over from the house he killed himself in. Nobody can find the keys though, so I’ve got a locksmith coming by in about an hour to pop the trunk. If you want to come, the car’s at—”
Nora didn’t bother listening to the rest of the message. She immediately called Cyrus back.
“Cy, it’s me,” she said. “Cancel the locksmith. I’ll come and pop the lock.”
“You’ll pop the lock?” he asked, laughing.
“You want to wait an hour, or do you want me to come pop the lock right now?”
“You a locksmith and didn’t tell me?”
“I know locks. It’s my job.”
If there was something in that trunk worth seeing, she didn’t want a locksmith seeing it.
“I’ll see you in a few.”
Nora snuck out the back and drove to Constance Street where she found Cyrus waiting on the hood of a silver Nissan Sentra.
“You sure it’s his?” she asked as Cyrus hopped off the car and walked to her.
“It’s his. We double-checked the plates. I don’t want to get picked up for carjacking either.”
“Yeah, been there,” Nora said. “Not going back.”
“You boosted cars?” Cyrus was watching her as she opened the trunk of her Mustang.
“My father owned a chop shop. I helped. Then I got arrested and Dad got whacked by people he owed money to.”
“I guess you turned out pretty well,” he said. “Considering.”
“That’s the nicest backhanded compliment anyone’s ever given me.”
Nora found the lockout kit she kept in her car for emergencies and pulled out the long thin rod which was nothing more than a fancy version of a bent wire coat hanger. But it did the trick.
Nora had the front door lock popped in seconds.
“Are you impressed?” she asked.
“Not really. I can pop locks, too.”
“Then what the hell am I doing this for?” she asked.
“First, my kit’s in my Honda back in the Quarter. Also, I don’t know this neighborhood and this neighborhood does not know me. I don’t want to get shot by some trigger-happy rookie because some old lady in the Irish Channel called the cops on a black guy popping the lock of a car that’s been here two days.”
“Oh, but you’ll let me do it?”
“They won’t you shoot you. Pretty white ladies make very good human shields.”
“Nice to be needed. Ready?” she asked as she reached for the trunk latch by the steering wheel.
“I’ll do it,” Cyrus said. “You man the trunk.”
“What if there’s a monster in there?” she asked.
“You’re scarier than I am,” Cyrus said.
“This is probably true. Hit it.”
Nora waited at the trunk as Cyrus pulled the lever. The latch released and the trunk opened.
“No monsters,” Nora said. “I think.”
“Uh-oh.” Cyrus walked around to the trunk, kind of wincing as he went to stand by her. “What does ‘I think’ mean? Blanket.”
“Yup, that’s a blanket. And there’s something under the blanket.”
There was definitely something under that blanket. Nora stared long and hard at the bulge, which could have been anything from a flat tire kit to a dead animal in a garbage bag.
“I don’t smell anything.”
“Good sign,” Cyrus said. “I’m gonna do it. Stand back.”
She stood by and waited. Cyrus pulled the blanket back.
“That’s not much better,” Nora said.
“That’s a suspicious-looking duffel bag.”
She pointed at the bag in the trunk.
“Not big enough for a body,” Cyrus said.
“Not a whole body, you mean.”
“Don’t do this to me.” Cyrus shook his head.
“My turn,” Nora said. “Stand back. I’m going in.”
God bless Cyrus Tremont, the man actually stood back instead of doing any macho posturing. She took latex gloves out of her purse, pulled them on, and unzipped the duffle.
“Houston, we have a pervert,” she said.
“What is it?” Cyrus stepped forward again.
“Let’s see…” Nora started pulling items out of the bag. “We’ve got handcuffs. We’ve got ankle restraints. We’ve got rope, bondage tape, blindfolds, and three different gags.”
She spilled the cuffs, rope, tape, and gags into the trunk to give Cyrus a look at them.
“Either he was kinky, or Father Ike was going to kidnap somebody.”
“He was definitely stocking up on Aisle 15 in Home Depot.” She picked up the two lengths of rope.
“You get this shit at the Depot? I’ve been shopping the wrong aisles.”
She pointed at a roll of something. “And that’s bondage tape, not duct tape. It sticks to itself but not to the skin. Same thing. Ties you up but doesn’t leave marks. You have to either go to a kink shop—and there aren’t many of those in this town—or you order it online. Kidnappers don’t usually care about not leaving bruises.”
“So, he’s kinky or the world’s nicest kidnapper,” Cyrus said. “I prefer kinky.”
“You and me both, buddy.”
Cyrus started to reply when an older white woman stepped out of the front door of a pale pink shotgun house.
“That your car?” the woman asked.
“Lord,” Cyrus muttered before turning around and smiling at the woman. “No, ma’am. I’m a detective trying to find someone who might be missing. This is their car.”
“Who are you?” the woman asked Nora. She didn’t seem too satisfied with Cyrus’s answer.
“I’m the cocksmith,” Nora called back.
“What?”
“Locksmith,” Cyrus said, giving Nora the look she deserved. “Did you happen to see someone park this car here a few nights ago?”
“No, but it’s been there three days now. I was about to get it towed.”
“We’ll move it,” Nora said.
“You allowed to do that?”
“Is it your car?” Nora asked.
“What? No, it’s not mine.” The woman sounded more irritated than ever.
“Then don’t worry about it. We got this.” Nora raised her hand and made a “shooing” gesture. It appeared the woman was about to say something, so Nora shooed her away again. With a disgusted shake of her head, the women retreated back into her home.
“I got to try that someday,” he said. “You just…” He made the ‘shooing’ gesture. “And nosy old ladies go away.”
“I’m not sure it would work for you. And she’s probably calling the cops on us right now anyway.”
Cyrus laughed and pointed at the car. “What do you think? Hotwire it?”
“Hotwire it,” she said. “I need to dig through the bag a little more. Better not do it here if she is ratting us out. Where’s your place?”
“Across town. Twenty minutes.”
“I’m only a couple miles away. We’ll take it to my house.”
“Park it on the street. I’ll have someone pick it up and tow it tomorrow.”
“Can you follow me in my car?” she asked. “I can take you back to your car after.”
“Yeah, I’ll drive your car. But you’ll be lucky to get it back.” Cyrus took the keys to her Mustang.
It took three seconds for Nora to hotwire the car.
She pulled out into the street. Cyrus followed. She thought she lost him on the way to her house at one point, but a minute later, there he was behind her. The man knew how to tail.
They reached her house and she parked the Sentra in front. When Cyrus got out of her Mustang, he was on his phone again.
“Half an hour,” Cyrus was saying. “Home by eight.” Pause. “Yeah, I know. I know. Love you, too, baby.” A laugh. A smile. “Never again, I swear.” He hung up.
“What’s never again?” Nora asked. Cyrus pursed his lips at her. “I’m standing right here. Of course, I heard you.”
“Never again am I doing a favor for the police department.” Cyrus stashed his phone in his pocket. “Ready?”
Nora popped the trunk of the Sentra again and went back to it. Cyrus was staring hard at her house or something on it.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“That is a lot of damn beads,” he said, raising his hand to a clump of red and silver beads on a low-hanging branch. “You may be a little into Mardi Gras, lady.”
“I didn’t put them up here, I promise.”
“Who did?”
She shrugged. “No idea. They weren’t on the tree when I saw the house the first time. By the time I moved in a month later, there were a handful. Every few days, more show up.”
“You never catch anyone doing it?”
“Søren thinks I have an ‘admirer.’ Maybe some teenage boy who lives on the street and is trying to be cute. I’d think Gmork would growl though if a boy were out here in the middle of the night beading my tree.”
“So, a woman?”
“Who knows?” Nora asked. “They’re pretty though. They don’t seem to hurt the tree.”
“It would freak me out if someone was beading my trees at night. Or Paulina’s. I’d stand guard.”
“Nico kind of felt the same way. He came to visit for a couple days and swore he felt like he was being watched while he was in my house. That’s why he got me Gmork.” She glanced up at her tree. She rarely gave it much thought, but Cyrus’s questions had gotten her wondering about it again.
“He got you that dog because it’s a man-eater, and if you’ll tell me where he got him, I’ll get one for Paulina.”
“I’ll tell you where we got him, if you invite me to the wedding.”
“Just check Satan’s duffel bag, please.”
“It’s just handcuffs and rope and blindfolds.”
Cyrus gave her that look again.
“It’s kink,” Nora said. “These are toys.” She pointed at the bag. “You are telling me you never tied a girlfriend to the bed or blindfolded her or anything?”
“I’m not telling you nothing, lady.”
Nora drew on the latex gloves again. Seemed like overkill, “but better safe than accidentally exposed to Hep C,” as her fellow dominatrixes say. She dug through the bag, finding nothing she hadn’t found before.
“Maybe this is a dumb question, but if Ike had a, well, a you, wouldn’t his lady keep all this stuff herself?” Cyrus waved his hand at the toy bag in the trunk.
“Depends.” Nora shrugged. “Some people are germaphobes and keep their own private set of gear. Maybe he fetishized the stuff and wanted to keep it around. Maybe he was a switch, like me.”
“Switch?”
“I do the beating, and also get beat. By different people, of course. I beat clients, but they don’t beat me—only Søren does.”
“You ever flip the tables on your Viking and tie him up? Wait. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
“Never,” she said. “He’s all dominant. Unfortunately. He’d look so pretty in handcuffs.”
“Stop.”
Nora smiled as she kept digging, turning out pockets, checking linings. “Any luck on that key?”
“No luck there. But this is interesting.” She held up an unopened box of K-Y lubricant.
“Okay, so, Ike was fucking someone,” Cyrus said.
“Or someone was fucking Father Ike.”
“Right. Yeah. Possible. Not gonna think about that, though.” Cyrus turned his back to her, walked up and down her driveway. He hit the end of her street, turned on his heel, walked back.
“Who else might know about Ike?” Cyrus asked.
“What?”
“In this town, there’s like ten guys who can hook you up if you want to sell drugs. Another ten guys for guns. Another ten guys for girls. There’s gotta be a guy you go to if you want a…you, and you don’t know where to start.”
“Kingsley,” Nora said. “And we already talked to him. He didn’t have any interaction with Father Ike.”
“But Edge is still new in this town. You gotta remember, this is New Orleans. We have bars in this city older than the country. Somebody was here before Edge.”
Nora considered that as Cyrus paced another lap. What old-timers did she know around here? Someone deep in the community. Someone who knew everyone.
“I know a guy,” Nora said. “He hosts a lot of events in town. I don’t usually go to them, but he invites me to every single one.”
“Who
is he?”
“Retired art professor. I’m sure he’d talk to you if I were there. I’ll get in touch. Although I doubt he’d know who Father Ike was seeing. Male subs don’t, as a rule, talk to each other.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Worth asking.”
“Fair warning, he’s kind of weird.”
“Weirder than you?” he asked. She nodded. “Damn. Now that’s saying something.”
Chapter Sixteen
“I know that look,” John Breaux, the best tailor in New Orleans, said as he helped Cyrus on with his tuxedo jacket.
“You don’t know a damned thing.” Cyrus buttoned the jacket. He’d been caught grinning, but didn’t try to hide it.
“How long until the big day?” Breaux asked.
“About two months.”
The tailor raised an eyebrow.
“Fifty-three days,” Cyrus said.
“That’s better.”
Cyrus stepped in front of the mirror and stared appraisingly at his reflection.
“What do you think? The blue look good?” Cyrus asked.
“Don’t ask me. I’m not the one marrying you.”
“You’re the expert, man.”
“I know what I like. I’m not in your wedding. Where your boys at?”
“No boys today,” Cyrus said. “I like to do this stuff on my own.” Paulina took an entire crew of women with her when she went to her dress fittings. Her mother, her sister, her best friend, and three of her sorority sisters. At least. And just for the fittings.
But Paulina’s girls took this stuff seriously. His friends, much as Cyrus loved them, would be doing nothing but cracking corny jokes through the whole thing, giving him hell for getting married, bringing up his wild past like they always did. He didn’t want that today. He didn’t want jokes. He didn’t want his past. He just wanted to find a tux that would make Paulina, who never said a foul word in her life, look at him and say, “God damn.”
His tailor only slapped him on the back and walked away to do busy work while Cyrus stared at his reflection. White tuxedo shirt, black tie, dark blue tuxedo with black lapels. He looked good. Damn good. At least he hoped he looked damn good. Did he, though? Did he look damn good to him but to Paulina he’d look a fool?