Chapter 1

There is a place not far from "The Big Easy" that looks like a retro postcard or a scene from some Hollywood grade "B" movie conjured up by a jaded "Film noir" aficionado after a lost weekend of steady boozing. That was my destination for this new job I just got hired for at double pay for quick results. I had been there once before and was glad to get out in one piece. It was only the promise of double pay and the fact I was stone-cold broke that made me break my vow to never go back to the shadowy place for the remainder of my earthly existence.

My name is Harry. Harry Henderson if you must know.

I was hired over the phone by some slow talking yahoo who sounded like he was auditioning for the role of "Big Daddy" in "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof". At first, I thought it was one of my practical-joking pals from the sleazy bar on the water in my hometown of Mobile, Alabama. I was ready to mess with his mind when I realized he was all serious about hiring me and it was definitely not one of my friends because he used a few fifty cent words that those ignoramuses couldn't spell much less pronounce without tutoring.

The prospect of an all-expenses paid tour of New Orleans was too tempting for me to turn down and later that evening I was on the highway pointed west to the mighty Mississippi. I drove all night and the sun was just rising over my shoulder when I reached the bridge over the river and tuned in at an exit that had a waffle house flashing the "Open 24 hours" sign. The place was crowded for sunrise but then these joints were generally filled with people looking for the solace of coffee and calories at all hours of the day and night.

The waitress was a rough-looking broad with not one but two pens stuck behind her left ear like some parody of Tiffany's baubles with a purpose. Her uniform was stained so it must have been near the end of her shift.

"Coffee, Mister?"

She poured the black brew into a thick cup that had seen better days without even waiting for a reply. It looked like she had reached that point in sleeplessness when everything was on "automatic pilot" and she was locked in for the final approach. I ordered the Omelet special and got a side order of hash browns well done and scattered. Her name tag identified her as Leanne but I bet it was really two words and not just one.

A couple of whores were sitting in the end booth with their pimp across from them with his legs stretched out on the bench like a Roman emperor waiting for some grapes to be peeled. It was really funny but I was careful not to look too long or crack a smile that might be considered as not showing proper respect. The young girl at the counter with the desperate look was probably a runaway and I could see the pimp eyeing her like a side of beef ready to be graded. She didn't even seem old enough to be drinking coffee but I bet she was street-wise on what really counted a long time ago. I kept my hat down low on my forehead like some punk trying to get around the overhead cameras and I was careful to put my back against the wall because you never could tell about these places in the off-hours.

Leanne got relieved by a fat black woman with a no-nonsense look and that practiced air of familiarity that marked her as an "old pro" in the Waffle House game. I paid my tab and went outside to buy a newspaper before getting back into the old Chevy and heading up the road for the meet with the shady sounding southern lawyer who promised a fifty percent advance for the first week. That was a yard plus two "C-notes" and an opportunity for a bonus for successful results.

The tired waitress was sipping on a container of her own coffee and obviously waiting to be picked up by her "no sense of time" ride. To make matters worse it was starting to drizzle with that sort of penetrating wetness that just soaked down to the undies and made one uncomfortable in a matter of minutes. I took a chance and asked,

"You need a ride somewhere? I am heading a bit further west but am in no hurry."

She looked up at me with that look that said it all. It said she suspected me of being a pervert looking to get laid or a blowjob and that she was too tired to even open her mouth. I wanted to reassure her of my good intentions but in all honesty, the thought had crossed my mind.

"I am heading to the patch. It's just down the road a piece and you can drop me off right by the highway. Either my boyfriend is sleeping off a hangover or he never got home at all last night."

I was surprised she lived in the patch. It was a place that law enforcement visited every night because of the drunken parties and the wild actions of the young people taking the new chemical drugs that were everywhere these days. They were so cheap that even people below the poverty line could be full-time junkies without any strain on the wallet or purse at all.

When she got out of the rain into the car, I could not help but notice she had some nice-looking pins even with the flats on her feet for working a twelve hour shift.

"Where are you heading, Mister?"

I realized that I had the advantage of her because of her nametag providing it was providing accurate information.

"Well, Leanne, I am due over in Marion up by the Bayou turn off but not until later this morning. Got some business with folks up there and should be in this area for the next week or two. By the way, my name is Harry and I am from up around Mobile way although I am originally from New York City."

She slid forward in the seat and I could see how lean and flat her stomach was under the uniform. That really impressed me for someone who worked in a Waffle House. I imagine if I worked there, I would have already gained fifty pounds putting down the waffles and the hash browns.