Gods of New Orleans (21 page)

Nobody’d told him, but Aiden put two and two together. The workhouse he’d cleaned that first night was like a practice joint where musicians would work up their acts for the gala houses. The couple who owned it was probably in debt to Mama Shandy. The gala houses she owned weren’t like the workhouse, either. They had something special that went on, something different. Aiden didn’t know how different, but he knew enough not to ask Mama Shandy to explain it to him.

Aiden cleaned the floor with even strokes, just like he’d seen his pa do, all the while thinking of how much he’d like to take the mop to Mama Shandy’s head. He quickly pushed that thought away, because if anything he did would lead to him to a bad end,
that
would be it.

When he’d finished, Aiden hoisted the bucket of grimy water onto his cleaning cart and rung out the mop until it was dry as could be. The floor didn’t sparkle, but it was clean.

He’d earned another eight cents at least, maybe ten if Mama Shandy felt generous. Aiden sniffed at the idea. Like Mama Shandy would ever feel generous toward a white boy like him. A white boy she’d had to buy off the church. He’d meant to tell his ma all about what happened, but he figured it was better to save it, or just pretend like nothing had changed at all. His ma didn’t need more worry to bend her back.

Aiden snugged his wool cap down tight, buttoned his coat, and patted the pocket where he kept his badge of passage. Then he opened the pay box outside the door. Aiden felt around in the box and came up with . . .

Six cents.

He swallowed his anger and pocketed the coins. Then he pulled the now ripped and tattered little green book out of his pocket and checked his way home. He’d learned the streets well enough, but still needed to know for sure he was going the right way.

Once he’d settled his mind, Aiden stuffed the book down into his pocket again and wheeled his cart down from the house to the street. A block along, Aiden poured his mop water into the gutter and watched it race away toward the river, wishing he could move half as fast.

Just another ten blocks to home.

A whisper caught his attention when Aiden passed an alley a little ways on. He peered into the dark space between two shotgun shacks and spotted a collection of houseboys, just like him, except they were all Negroes. They were bundled in coats and caps and huddled around a window. Their carts stood in a tangle, jumbled together behind them.

“C’mon, Dove,” said one of the boys who spotted him. “C’mon, now.” The boy smiled at Aiden right enough, and waved him forward, like he was a friend.

Aiden knew he should just push his cart home. But Mama Shandy’s words echoed in his head.

“They your krewe now, Dove. All them houseboys workin’ this town. They the only friends you got, so you better learn to keep ‘em.”

He’d nodded and said, “Yes’m.” But he hadn’t needed Mama Shandy’s lesson. The word
krewe
told him well enough where he belonged. This bunch of dirty, rag-bare, underfed kids who pushed mops for pennies were his krewe. Whatever they didn’t have, they were still the only friends he had in New Orleans.

“C’mon now, Dove,” the boy said again, coming closer to the alley mouth. He smiled big and waved Aiden forward again. Looking once more down the street in the direction he should be going, Aiden wheeled his cart around and followed the boy into the alley.

Leaving his cart next to the others, Aiden joined the huddle. The boys all circled the space outside the window that let a glow of warm light into the alley. Craning his neck to see, Aiden got a view inside the room. A single man wearing a white jacket and trousers sat at a table shuffling a deck of cards. The brim of a white fedora hid the man’s face.

“Who is he?” Aiden asked.

The other boys all chuckled and broke into a fit of laughter.

“You ain’t heard ‘bout the Ghost, an’ you a houseboy?” said one.

“Ain’t been out in the dark long enough yet,” said another. “Dove got skin still white like rice. Maybe he a ghost, too.”

A third boy, the biggest of the bunch, laughed loud and long, his voice ringing rich in the alley like the sound of a man shouting into a barrel. “Oh, Dove. You best fly away home now ‘fore you get plucked.”

Aiden shook, both from fright and anger. He’d gotten used to being called a “dove,” but the way these boys used the word it felt like being socked in the gut and slapped across the mouth.

“I ain’t no damn
dove
and I ain’t a gambler,” he said, turning on his heel to go. The first boy, the one who’d called him in, grabbed him by the wrist and pleaded with him to stick around.

“C’mon now. Ain’t like that, Dove. We don’ mean nothin’ by it. Just what you called, you know? You new in town, any fool know that. We just tryin’ to learn you how it go round New Orleans.”

Aiden felt his heart settle its rhythm, but he still had nothing but angry eyes for the bigger boy who’d warned him about being plucked. The first boy let go of Aiden’s wrist and held out his hand instead.

“Name’s Julien Durand. Call me Jules if you wanna. Call me Julie an I take your eye quicker’n the Birdman do it.” The boy still smiled at Aiden but with a look in his eyes that said he wasn’t fooling.

“Aiden. Or Conroy, if you want.”

“Conroy. All right. Hey y’all. This here’s Conroy. Greet him up.”

One by one the boys looked up and waved, some extended hands that Aiden shook. They all said names that Aiden heard but couldn’t keep stuck in his mind. Aiden did his best to keep up with them; he could tell they were all younger than he was, and some younger than Julien, too. But try as he might, Aiden couldn’t focus on the boys around him. His eyes kept going back to the man with the cards.

The boys all seemed to understand, or at least didn’t care if he caught their names or not. Finally the big one who’d talked about plucking Aiden’s feathers came up and stuck out a hand, and Aiden was forced to draw his attention from the man in the white suit.

“Theo Valcour,” the older boy said, his voice heavy and rich as before, but with less of the malice Aiden felt the first time. They shook hands and then Julien put a hand on Aiden’s shoulder, turning him to the window. The other boys had settled back into position around the patch of light that came into the alley. Inside, the man stayed rigid, almost like a gearbox that had been turned off.

“What’re we watchin’ him shuffle cards for?” Aiden asked, nudging Julien.

“Man called the Ghost,” Julien said. “He used to be way up in Bacchus’s krewe, but now he down low. Ain’t nobody seen him around for almost two months gone.”

“Where’d he go?”

“Nobody know. Ain’t the first time he go missin’ like that, though. Birdman take his eye back when, right about New Years time. Then Ghost come back and win Mr. B’s debutante game. And he let the girl go. Least that what everybody sayin’ he did. Then he go away again, and that was two months back. People sayin’ he off earnin’ for some other krewe, but me, I think he off with that girl he won.”

“Girl? What‌—‌?”

Before Aiden could ask the rest of his question, the big boy, Theo Valcour, piped up.

“He playin’ pyramid. Look.”

The boys all crowded closer around the window, peering into the glowing room. Aiden stood on tiptoe and put a hand on the wall to balance himself over the smaller boys beneath him. The white-suited man in the house had laid out a pattern of cards in a pyramid shape, and now sat with his hands on either side of the display. About half the deck of cards stayed stacked up at the bottom of the pyramid.

Theo Valcour’s deep voice broke the silence again. “Who says he make it in one? How ‘bout it, Dove?”

Aiden knew well enough what he was being asked, even if he couldn’t put together a reply with the same words. He also knew that gambling away the six cents he’d just earned would be the dumbest move he could make. He shook his head.

“I’ll just watch,” he said.

The boy looked like Aiden had just claimed to be the lord and savior of all mankind. Then all the boys began talking at once, and Aiden’s heart skipped as the din swelled around him.

The smallest boy, the one right in front of Aiden, stuck a hand out at Theo Valcour. Aiden saw a nickel pinched between the boy’s fingers. “I got five say he make it in one.”

“Takin’ it,” came Theo’s reply.

“Two say he make it in three,” another boy said.

“Fool’s bet. I’m takin’ that,” Theo said back.

And on it went, bets placed and answers given in a pattern like a dance that Aiden had never seen, but he could feel the rhythm of it, and he promised himself he’d learn the steps someday soon. When it was done and all the boys had gone quiet, Aiden felt his lips moving before he knew it.

“Six says he makes it.”

A crush of faces turned on him, some wearing questions, others something between a question and disgust. Julien helped Aiden out of the jam he’d stepped in.

“Make it in how many? You gotta say how many you think he gon’ make it in.”

The other boys sniffed and went back to watching the window. Some chuckled, and Aiden caught Theo’s muttering.

“Dove gon’ get plucked.”

All around the circle came whispers and nods of agreement, except from Julien who kept his eyes on Aiden like he was waiting for an answer.

“Two,” Aiden said, only half knowing what he’d just bet would happen. Nobody replied to take his bet, but he didn’t think that much mattered. Somebody, somewhere, would call things to account. Aiden didn’t know how he knew that, but it wasn’t up for arguing in his mind.

“He’ll make it in two,” he said, nodding his head with a sudden confidence he felt in his chest.

The instant the last word left his lips, the man in the house moved his hands on the cards. Starting at the bottom he paired up sets and removed them. Sometimes the man would draw a card and pair it with the one previously drawn. Other times he’d draw three or four in a row before making a match. At last, with only two cards left to be drawn, the man paused.

The playing field still showed at least a half dozen cards, and even though he didn’t know the rules to the game, it was clear enough to Aiden that the man wouldn’t be “making it in one.”

Theo and a few other boys shook their heads, all of them except for Julien and the one boy who’d bet on “three.” The others stomped away from the window. Theo and one boy shuffled their feet, talking quiet as they left the alley. Aiden listened to the scrape and clatter of wooden wheels on stone as the boys pushed their carts along and into the night.

Soon enough the alley went silent, all but for Aiden and Julien’s breathing. The other boy had his hands in front of his mouth and a look on his face that said he thought he’d struck gold.

The man inside picked up his thin stack of cards and made his final draws. One more set was matched. The man took the stack of drawn cards, flipped it over, and drew through again.

After the first five cards the game was over. The man had finished removing all the face-up cards from the table. He shuffled the deck together again and set the cards aside.

The third boy shouted and threw a punch at the night. Tears spilled down his face and he ran out of the alley, coming back seconds later to grab his cart. Aiden felt his heart hammering in his chest. He worried the boy might try some kind of knockover, make a grab for Aiden’s money.

The guy just kicked at the ground, though, and screamed at the night. He took off, slamming his cart against a waste bin by the house across the alley. Then he shoved his cart into the street and followed it, and Aiden heard his shouting and hollering fading into the distance, like a train whistle going down the line.

Julien’s voice snapped him out of it. “We won, Dove. Me an’ you bet he’d take two. An’ he did.”

“Yeah,” Aiden said, looking at the man in the house. “But so what. Theo and the others all left, so who’s gonna pay up on our bet?”

In that instant, Aiden knew he’d been a sap.

There ain’t no house, so who’s gonna make the payouts?

He was shaken from his thoughts when the man looked at him and Julien. His face beneath the brim of his fedora looked ashen white, pale as the full moon, but Aiden saw that was just the way the lamplight glowed against his pale brown skin. The man turned his head some more and the fullness of his color came clear to Aiden.

But the only thing Aiden could focus on was the patch that covered the Ghost’s right eye.

“Ghost don’ mess around,” Julien said from beside Aiden. “He used to be way up, like I say. Then he lose his eye to the Birdman, but he don’ end up in the street.”

“Who’s the Birdman?”

“Ain’t time for a history lesson now, Dove. You bet. You gotta put in.”

“Huh?” Aiden asked, then noticed Julien had an old can in his hands. He shook it and Aiden heard the rattle and clink of coins against the sides.

Aiden fished into his pocket and drew out the six pennies he’d
earned
from Mama Shandy. With his heart beating and sweat burning on his neck and under his shirt, Aiden dropped the coins into the can. Julien smiled and huffed a little laugh. Then he reached to the wall beside the window and opened a small iron door Aiden hadn’t noticed before.

“Ghost probably gon’ cover us. Or maybe nothin’ happen, we jus’ get our money back. But I’m thinkin’ he gon’ cover us.”

Julien put the can in and stepped back to close the metal door. Inside the house, the man in the white suit stood up and came to the wall. Aiden heard the squeak of small hinges, and the sound of coins
plinking
and
plunking
into the can. The hinges squeaked again and the Ghost went back to his table where he fished a cigarette case out of his jacket.

Aiden watched the man light up while Julien opened the metal door on their side of the wall. The can was still there. Julien reached for it and hefted it from the box. Aiden could tell right away that it held more than they’d put in to begin with.

Aiden felt himself grin, big and happy as Julien shook the can, and he saw Julien’s face light up just the same.

“Hah! My momma’s gon’ be happy to see me come home tonight,” Julien said.