Part 15 (1/2)

I didn't bother returning the toast. I seriously needed a drink, sooner than later. So instead I swallowed the shot of bourbon in one single take.

”Another,” I demanded, slamming the shot gla.s.s on the table.

Beau turned to Lincoln and laughed. ”Where did you find this girl? She's quite the firecracker.”

Lincoln shrugged. ”She's something alright,” he agreed.

I poured myself another shot, raised it to Beau this time, and smiled politely. ”Cheers for keeping your nine-inch c.o.c.k away from every girl who has any sense of moral decency.”

”You one of them girls?” Beau laughed.

”I'm about as decent as they come,” I replied, as we all clinked our shot gla.s.ses together and I downed another shot.

Taking the bottle of bourbon with him, Beau walked over to one of the circular wooden tables in the room and sat down.

”Well, have a seat then,” Beau said. ”I believe you mentioned we had some business to discuss?”

We joined him at the table.

”Do you know who my boss is?” Lincoln asked.

”Not the foggiest of clues,” Beau replied.

There was a moment of pause before Lincoln carried on. ”Tell me about your dad,” he said.

The smile on Beau's face melted away into a frown. Lincoln's question had hit a nerve.

Beau swallowed his drink before forcing a smile. His eyes spoke a different truth. He wasn't happy.

”There ain't nothing special about my daddy. He was a simple man of G.o.d, that's all. Led a righteous life thumping on that bible of his, up until the day he died.”

”Your daddy was a United States Senator,” Lincoln corrected him. ”And you were his b.a.s.t.a.r.d.”

Beau shook his head. ”Sounds like quite the fairy tale you're spinning over here, Mr. Jesse Sparrow.”

”My boss was your dad,” Lincoln said. ”Up until he was shot and killed.”

I watched as Beau's hands suddenly formed a tight fist, and for a moment, I thought he was going to deck Lincoln. Out of instinct, my right hand began reaching for the gun behind my jeans.

Beau seemed to have caught wind of what I was planning. He cast a dark glance in my direction. ”Hold yourself steady pistol princess,” he said. ”I ain't going to do anything to your boyfriend over here.” He relaxed his fist.

”I was a runner for your dad,” Lincoln said. ”I suppose you'd want some proof of that.”

Beau shrugged.

Lincoln stood up from his seat and lifted his white V-neck s.h.i.+rt up and over his head, showcasing his beautiful tattoos filled with the flavors of New Orleans.

He pointed to the top of his left pectoral, where an inked tattoo of the crescent moon with the frowning face was displayed. Underneath it were foreign words written in stylish calligraphy.

”Know what that is?” Lincoln asked.

Beau nodded. ”Got the same thing drawn onto the back of my neck,” he said. ”It looks like we're ink brothers then, aren't we?”

Lincoln nodded as he put his s.h.i.+rt back on. ”That we are Beau, that we are,” he paused to pour himself another shot of the bourbon. ”So I gotta ask, with all the recent events, where do your loyalties lie?”

Beau took a deep breath. ”I don't know what to make of anything,” he said. ”It looks like the people who my dad trusted ended up pointing the gun at him at the end of his days. And then the next thing I know, I hear whispers of some group called the Revenants taking the Midnight Society's place. I haven't heard anything from them yet. It looks like they forgot all about us down in the Orleans. They forgot about me.”

”It wasn't the Midnight Society who killed your father,” I was quick to blurt out, but before I could continue, Lincoln raised his hand, motioning for me to hold my tongue.

I did.

”What have you heard about Donald's death?” Lincoln asked.

”Only what I heard in the news,” Beau replied. ”I've always been an afterthought to the Society. No one fills me in on anything, except during those yearly visits from my dad. He always said he came down on account of missing yours truly, but just between us, I think he enjoyed the local taste of this pretty little thing that he met during Mardi Gras four years ago.” He sighed. ”Can't help but wonder if I have a baby brother, wandering around the Treme somewhere.”

Lincoln pursed his lips. ”What did the newspapers tell you about Donald's death?”

”That this rich son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h, a mother f.u.c.ker by the name of Lincoln Richards-who my daddy often talked about with adoration-pulled a trigger and shot him right through the heart point blank.”

”Do you believe that story?” Lincoln asked.

”It's the only story I got.”

Lincoln nodded.

”I loved your father,” Lincoln said. ”He had always been good to me.”

”He was a good man,” Beau agreed. ”If it weren't for him, I would probably be lying in the swamp somewhere, serving as food for the gators. He may have had a weakness of plowing different fields, but he took care of this b.a.s.t.a.r.d sitting before you, that I can't deny.”

”Have you ever thought about revenge?” Lincoln asked.

I raised my brow and held my tongue.

”Of course,” Beau said. ”What good son wouldn't want a shot at the man who killed their dad?”

I couldn't help but think of Shadow.

Were all men like this? h.e.l.l bent on the entire notion of vengeance? I guess I shouldn't judge. I wanted Calisto dead myself.

”Has Shadow been in touch with you?” Lincoln asked.

”Not directly,” Beau said. ”But I did receive a message on a piece of paper with the mark of the Midnight Society, outlining what was expected of me for today's jazz funeral.”

”Shadow needs your help,” Lincoln said. ”The Midnight Society is still alive and they need your help reclaiming their spot at the top of the food chain. We are going to war against the Revenants. The question I have for you Beau is, are you ready to take on a bigger role within the organization? Are you ready to live up to your dad's name?”