Part 10 (2/2)

”Here at the shelter we don't call it lying, dear. We call it doing the Lord's work. And where are you now, dear? How can I find you if I need to?”

Did she dare tell? Yes, she had to. If there was an emergency Sister Marian needed to be able to reach her. ”I don't want you to get the wrong idea, but I'm staying with the Blu Devil on his boat the Nightwing.”

”With the Blu Devil. Oh, my dear, are you sure you know what you're doing? Is he... He hasn't hurt you, has he?”

”No. He's treating me fine,” Kristen a.s.sured her. ”Sister Marian, if you could just watch Amanda for a few days I would be so thankful.” ”It's as good as done. Anything else?” ”TheNightwing is moored at the marina in River Bay. Here, I'll give you this number just in case there's an emergency.” Kristen recited the number. ”I'm making progress, Sister Marian. Staying close to the source is very important right now.”

”The source meaning Blu duFray?”

Kristen hesitated, then finally said, ”Yes. I believe he's the only one who can help.”

”Then do what you must. And I'll do what I do best. I'll storm the heavens with prayer and watch over Amanda.”

Again Kristen had to hold back tears. ”Thank you, Sister Marian. And give my daughter a huge hug and

tell her Mommy will be back soon.”

When Kristen returned to the galley, there was alarge bowl of fruit on the table and Rose was dis.h.i.+ng up the eggs.

”Sit, child.”

She did as Blu's mother suggested, and slid onto the bench that wrapped the table. Rose poured two

coffees and, setting one next to Kristen's plate, she eased down on the bench cradling a mug of her own with hands that were used to hard work.

”Can I be blunt?”

Kristen looked up from studying the older woman's hands. ”Let me guess. You want to know how old I

am.” Rose hesitated, then said, ”Yes, that was going to be my question. You look terribly young. Too young to be... Ah, just how old are you?”

Old enough to have achild of my own, Kristen wanted to say. Instead, she made a good guess. ”I'm twenty-one.” ”Really?” ”Yes, really. All my sisters and brothers look really young, too. My mother still doesn't have a gray hair on her head. We just don't age, I guess.” Kristen picked up the fork and began to eat, finding it hard to swallow-the lie she'd just told was so huge it had gotten lodged in her throat. ”Blu said you own a fish market in town.”

”One of them. So, Blu has told you about his family?”

”A little. He mentioned a sister, too.”

”Did he now?” Suddenly Blu's mother was making herself more comfortable at the table. ”My children

are very close. What else did my sontellyou?”

Kristen took a sip of her coffee. ”I know he owns the duFray Devils, and that he works very hard.”

”Yes, very hard. He's a good boy, my Blu.”

Kristen stopped eating. Blu's mother had suddenly turned a little somber. ”He's been good to me,” she heard herself say.

Rose brightened. ”He has? Well, that's just wonderful. When he was a youngster he used to sneak on-board theDemon's Eye and hide until Carl was too far from sh.o.r.e to turn back. He was a handful, that I can't deny. But always a good boy. Though he did skip school to go fis.h.i.+ng. I tell him he's half the reason my hair is gray.” She chuckled. ”The other reason is raising a daughter with a mind as quick as Margo's.”

Kristen liked Rose duFray. She was simple, open and easy to talk to. ”Blu's very lucky to have you,” she said.

”Oh, I don't know about that.”

Blu's mother was dissecting her again. Kristen flushed. ”I'm not sleeping with your son, Mrs. duFray. I know what it looks like, but Blu's just letting me stay on his boat for a few days. We're just friends.”

Kristen watched as Rose mulled over the information. Then she said, ”Finish your breakfast, child. I've got something to show you. I'll bet you'll agree that my son was as handsome growing up as he is now. You do think he's handsome, don't you?”

Before Kristen could answer, Rose was on her feet, tugging her large straw purse off the counter. A moment later she was shoving Kristen's empty plate aside and handing her a purse-size picture alb.u.m of the Blu Devil.

The Red Lizard was a seedy bar that catered to the weak and desperate. It was also where Blu knew he would find Patch Pollaro. Located on the north side of the French Quarter, the bar's front entrance was littered with idle bodies waiting to call their bookies or their drug suppliers.

Blu shouldered his way through the sorry sight and opened the bar's black door with a red lizard painted on it. It was considered early for a bar to be open, but the Red Lizard never closed. And to prove that Patch Pollaro's open-twenty-four-hours policy was a paying proposition, it was barely ten and there was already a line at the bar.

It had been close to a year since Blu had darkened Patch's front door, and he hadn't left with his boss's blessing.

Inside, he made eye contact with Squeeze, the three-hundred-pound bartender. The man with the bleached-blond crew cut had gotten his name because he wasn't only the Red Lizard's bartender, but the man whosqueezed the truth out of every potential back room customer before they were allowed to plead their case in front of Patch.

”Had me a feelin' you'd be back.” Squeeze grinned. ”A hundred dollars a pop, ain't that what you said?” He chuckled. ”Good money's hard to walk away from, ah,mom ami?”

Blu remained sober, like always, and headed for the office behind the bar. Rapping his knuckles against the all-red door, he waited.

Patch never answered his door with any cla.s.s, mostly because he had none. He hollered, ”What the h.e.l.l you standing out there for? I'm in here.”

Blu opened the door and stepped inside. The minute Patch looked up and saw who had entered his office, his scowl turned into a reckless grin that flashed three gold teeth. ”Well, if this isn't my lucky day? I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away. I just knew it.”

”Jumping to conclusions gets a man in trouble,” Blu drawled.

”No, sleeping with your neighbor's wife gets a man in trouble. This country was founded on speculation and jumpin' the gun.”

At sixty-eight, Patch Pollaro wore his gray hair in a ponytail, had a gold ring on every finger, and two in each ear. His love affair with satin vests made him look like a riverboat gambler. The black velvet patch he wore over his left eye added to the overall look, only it wasn't for show-an angry customer had climbed over his desk with a knife and put out Patch's eye a few years back. That was when Squeeze had been installed out front, and Clinton Pollaro's nickname-Patch-had been born.

Blu closed the door behind him and glanced around. Nothing had changed in a year. Patch was still living lean and fast. His office was no more than four stark walls, a cheap metal desk and a huge iron safe. For comfort there was one chair, a cheesy, red-velvet monster with giant armrests-Patch's throne.

<script>