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  Howard’s limo made one more stop and picked up Roxy and Glenn.

  At ten A.M. sharp, the limousines rolled up to what was an old nuns convent. When the building was purchased with the detective’s investment funds, the place was falling apart and was an eyesore for the neighborhood. Now, it was put back together like new with shiny painted shutters, new walkways, and the inside turned into housing for fifty people. There were also a bank of restrooms and showers and a kitchen to feed many throughout the day.

  Howard and Mario walked the red carpet into the house, where their friends and business partners who made this happen awaited their arrival. With champagne glasses raised, Mario made a toast to Jay and Cyrus. “Your new home.”

  Earlier, a busload of homeless were dropped off and introduced to the showers, donated toiletries, and fresh clothes. They joined in the party.

  The word had spread of Mario and Howard’s involvement in making this happen. While they denied it, they gave a wink of an eye to their closest friends.

  Mario took the floor one more time, expressing his gratitude to the residents of Riverside Inn, namely Zack, Dave, Emma Lou, and Pearl Ann, for their support in putting the endeavor together.

  “It was a joint effort,” Mario shouted. The Riverside Inn crew took a bow.

  Champagne was passed and Roxy and girls from her nightclub performed. A line of dancers took to the floor when Roxy opened with her rendition of Sister Sledge, “We Are Family.”

  “Not forgotten!” The two detectives shouted with glasses in the air. It was a jumpstart in solving the homeless problem in New Orleans. Those who knew the story of how the house came about had tears in their eyes. Mario and Howard kept sipping their champagne to drown their emotions. After all, tough detectives don’t cry.

  The End

  Author’s Notes

  Many readers have written me, and I’m always happy to hear from them. I’ve been asked, Is that true? Did that happen? Where is the restaurant you wrote about in New Orleans? My books are based around New Orleans, and there are more to come.

  I’m always happy to share with my readers more about the locations mentioned in the chapters and what encouraged me to write about a street, a building, a restaurant, or a person. Here are a few places that appear in this book.

  Chapter 1: New Orleans Police Department, Eighth District. Located at 334 Royal Street, New Orleans.

  Chapter 9: Breads on Oak. A cozy, artisan bakery with organic breads baked in a stone-hearth oven, also serves pastries, muffins, soups, and sandwiches. Located at 8640 Oak Street, New Orleans.

  Chapter 10: Schoen funeral home. On March 4, 1874, Jacob Schoen and Henry Frantz started a family business at 155 N. Peters Street and adopted as their policy “the highest standard of funeral service to all, regardless of financial circumstance.” In 1897, Frantz sold his interest to Schoen. Jacob’s son, Philip, became a partner and the firm was renamed Jacob Schoen & Son. The current business is located at 3827 Canal Street, New Orleans.

  Chapter 14: Dixie Brewing Company. A regional brewery founded in New Orleans in 1907. Its beer is brewed at what used to be the only remaining large volume brewery within the city of New Orleans. During Prohibition, its name was the “Dixie Beverage Company.” Currently, it’s owned by Gayle Benson, owner of the New Orleans Saints football team and the New Orleans Pelicans basketball team, along with Joe and Kendra Bruno. Located at 2401 Tulane Avenue, New Orleans.

  Chapter 14: Lafayette Square. Designed in 1788 and named for French aristocrat Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, it is the second-oldest public park (Jackson Square is the oldest) in New Orleans. Located between St. Charles Avenue and Camp Street in the Central Business District.

  Chapter 15: Le Pavillon Hotel. A historic hotel, built in 1907. Located at 833 Poydras Street, New Orleans.

  Chapter 19: Venezia Restaurant. A family-friendly place for classic, old-school Italian fare, including pizza cooked in a stone oven. Located at 134 N. Carrollton Avenue, New Orleans.

  Chapter 23: Liuzza’s by the Track. A mid-city grill and casual Creole tavern for gumbo, corned beef, locally made sausage, and signature BBQ shrimp po’boys. Located at 1518 N. Lopez Street, New Orleans.

  Chapter 27: Antoine’s Restaurant. Built in 1840, renowned French-Creole cuisine, birthplace of Oysters Rockefeller. Located at 713 Saint Louis Street, New Orleans.

  Chapter 35: Ruth’s Chris Steak House. In 1965, Ruth Fertel, a single mom looking for an opportunity, saw a New Orleans steak house for sale in the classifieds. She took a chance and mortgaged her home and purchased Chris Steak House. Later the name was changed to Ruth’s Chris Steak House and spread to over 150 restaurants worldwide. The restaurant in New Orleans is located in Harrah’s at 525 Fulton Street.

  I love to write, and I love to hear from my readers. If you enjoyed this book or any of my others, send me an email, and I will respond.

  Please help me as an independent author and leave a review on Amazon. I appreciate your time in doing so.

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  www.vitozuppardobooks.com

  Thank you!

  About the Author

  Vito Zuppardo retired in 2003, after twenty-five years in the casino business, where he recruited high-limit gaming customers for various casinos around the world.

  Vito started writing in 1986, collecting pieces of information from each trip to Las Vegas, the Bahamas, Monte Carlo, and the many other places where he represented casinos. His primary job was keeping his clients happy, while they were vacationing at luxury casino resorts. His first two books, Tales of Lady Luck and Alluring Lady Luck, are based on true events from his experiences during his casino days. He is the author of eight books including the Voodoo Lucy Series and the True Blue Detective Series.

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  Tales of Lady Luck

  Voodoo Lucy Series

  Book 2

  Revenge

  Chapter 1

  Even with Lucy’s eyes wide open, it was dark. A blindfold tightly tied around her head prevented even a shadow of light from peeking through. The feel of the covering is coarse as it pressed against her face. Musty smell from the cloth wasn’t overwhelming but differently something she wouldn’t forget. Listening for any sound that might give a location, a car, train, or people talking in the distance. The deafening sound of silence was almost scary. There were no clues other than her shoes dragging the dirt ground—maybe an old garage or barn. The strong hand that held her by the arm was large, rough and thick skin. Her other hand clutched to Karen Foster a lifelong friend walked step for step with Lucy, until her hand was jerked away. It was the last contact she’d have with her friend.

  The last thing she remembered was walking down a dirt road with Karen talking about fourteen-year-old stuff. She recalled a black pickup truck pulled to the side of the road. Not making eye contact her and Karen continued. A hand wrapped around both their nose, and their knees buckled—falling in and out of consciousness.

  Using all her senses was self-taught, but this was the first time being blindfold. Most times men told her to turn around or close your eyes when taking advantage of her.

  She knew time had passed but didn’t remember events between unconsciousness. The sweet smell that took her breath away dissipated.

  The heat was intense a barn fire maybe, but it couldn’t be—she was in a building. The sound of steel banging together and heat intensifying, there was no doubt in her mind she stood in front of an incinerator.

  A solid clang sounded when the steel door closed. Then the heat intensified the door must have been open now, ran through young Lucy’s mind. Knowing better than to scream, it would only get her a smack and a rag in the mouth making sure it didn’t happen again.

  A voice she recognized but couldn’t place for sure kept saying something like a crawdad making her thing the heat was coming from a pot boiling crawfish. If so the smell of garlic, crab boil, and seasoning would have been evident—there was no such smell. With a de
ep snort a horrible smell came over her—nothing she’d ever sensed before.

  Tears flowed down her face, her dress wet from perspiration, clutched her body. She let out a scream, then another.

  “Lucy, on the count of three, you will wake up,” Doctor Griffin said. “One, two, three.”

  Lucy sat up her heart racing and a horrified look on her face. With one hand, she brushed her damp hair away from her eyes. Then a calm came over her as she twisted her long red hair into a curl, a dead giveaway. It didn’t fool Dr. Griffin.

  “Lucinda, let me talk to Lucy,” he said.

  “This is Lucy,” Lucinda said.

  “At the sound of the bell. Lucy will be at full attention,” he said. “Do you understand Lucinda?”

  “She’s weak, I can help her,” Lucinda said.

  The doctor hit a small desk bell. It rang with a ding. Immediately Lucy responded with tears flowing rapidly from her eyes over her rosy cheeks across her lips. The doctor handed her tissue and a glass of water the usual preparation for when Lucy awakes from hypnosis.

  “How did I do?” Lucy asked between snuffles.

  “About the same,” he said relaxing back in his chair. Even a psychiatrist, as well-trained as Dr. Griffin can be fatigued after a thirty-minute session dealing with multiple personalities. “Your mind shut down, in the same part of the story.”

  Lucy freshened her makeup and ran a comb through her hair. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

  “We have to address Lucinda,” Dr. Griffin said writing a note into his journal. “Until Lucinda is out of your mind or at least controllable, anything is possible. None of which is healthy,” he lifted his head to see Lucy gazing up at the sun beaming through the transom window above his head. “Lucy? We’re on the same page?”

  “Yes, Dr. Griffin,” She said shrugging her shoulders like a child. “I’ll get Lucinda under control.” Something she’d said after every session. She’d never used the mind manipulating tools taught by the doctor or took the medication he insisted needed to control her multiple personality disorder.

  Fairly sure her problems started with Karen’s older brother Johnny, at least she thinks so. She was young—lured into a garage with him, to look for some toy or game she wasn’t sure. Can you remember things passed the age of six? Maybe that’s what Dr. Griffin meant by mind blocking. Allowing you to suppress emotions you’re not ready to face visibly or remember the traumatic event. One day Lucinda will allow Lucy to tell the doctor the entire series of encounters with the bad people she grew up with in Tupelo Mississippi, for now, Lucinda will shield Lucy of the pain.

  Dr. Griffin turned the doorknob gently to let Lucy into the empty waiting room. Even his receptionist had left for the evening as she had often done when sessions ran long, and no other appointments were scheduled.

  “Lucy? Please take your medication,” he said pulling her arm gently for attention.

  With the other hand, she curled her hair repeatedly then smiled back at the doctor, “I’ll take care of her,” Lucinda said, “and you ever touch her again. I’ll slit your throat.”

  The doctor quickly dropped her arm. An innocent touch or gesture is the very thing that will set a patient off, spinning them out of control in a downward spiral. “I’m sorry Lucy, I was just making a point.”

  Lucy left a check at the front counter and picked up a reminder appointment card the receptionist had left for the next week. As usual, she’d be a no-show—until her nightmares become uncontrollable, then she’d beg Dr. Griffin for another session.

  Lucy strolled down Royal Street exchanging pleasant smiles and handshakes. Stopping to give a phony laugh at a store owner’s joke, the same one he’d told her three times. It was her way to get on with the day and show Lucinda her visit with Dr. Griffin gave Lucy her power back. For now, Lucinda would crawl back into the dark hole she lived in only to surface when Lucy least expected or needed help.

  Chapter 2

  Mostly, Lucy’s life was rolling along. All aspects of the business were good, the legal ones and her business that walked the fine line of the law and often crossed.

  Stella James, a vice cop with the New Orleans Police Department, bloomed into a little more than good friends, thanks to Mario DeLuca. An introduction a year earlier allowed Lucy to run a scam with assistance from the police, without them ever knowing. It took a bad guy off the street and confirmed to another client that Lucy had Voodoo powers.

  Stella and Lucy had been out a few times, neither wanted to call it a date. Cocktails at a Jazz Bar and dinner ended with a walk-through Jackson Square. A kiss goodnight and they would go their separate ways.

  Stella always made time from her cop duties to meet Lucy after a session with Dr. Griffin. She didn’t know all the details of what brought Lucy to treatment, but after sitting with a police therapist for justifiably killing a man while on the job, she couldn’t only imagine what it would be like under hypnotist having a psychiatrist rife you with questions. This day they were to meet on a bench across from Saint Louis Cathedral. Stella introduced Lucy to cannoli’s from Brocato’s bakery and it quickly became a favorite. Today’s visit was coffee and a cannoli for each. It should get a smile from Lucy—she thought.

  Lucy arrived in a huff, took a seat not saying a word. Her usual actions for the first hour after visiting Dr. Griffin. Stella, her rock, shoulder to lean on, all around good friend took the brunt of the shit storm that came after a session.

  “I’ve got your favorite,” Stella said handing a cannoli and coffee.

  Lucy frowned motioned for her to place it on the bench, “thanks—you know this stuff goes right to my hip.”

  “That’s me, Lucy,” Stella said. “Beefing you up, all one hundred and ten pounds of you.”

  Stella waited, and it came as it had every week. Big tears streamed down Lucy’s face speaking but not making much sense. Their heads rested on each other’s shoulders. That was Stella’s clue to break out a small box of tissue she carried to Dr. Griffin’s after party.

  “I take it didn’t go well,” Stella whispered.

  “No,” Lucy said lifting her head. “I can’t remember behind the heat I felt on my face. Same as the time before and the time before that.”

  Stella always weighted her words with this topic, “maybe it’s your brain’s way of telling you, you’re not ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Lucy wiped her eyes with a tissue. “Can it be any worse if the doctor pushed forward?”

  “Honey, the little I know—it could be a lot worse. That’s why they’re doctors,” Stella said giving her a kiss on the cheek. “He’ll know when you’re ready. Let’s finish up, and I’ll walk you back to the salon.”

  A half of box of tissue later Lucy’s tears were under control, and she knocked back the rest of the coffee and the remainder of the cannoli. Both touched up their lipstick sharing a little gold compact mirror. With a big puff, Lucy exhaled taking Stella’s hand. It was Lucy’s way of saying she was ready to put the doctor’s session behind her.

  They strolled the uneven concrete up Pirate Alley to Royal Street hand and hand. “You’re just what the doctor ordered,” Lucy said. “Coffee, cannoli, and a shoulder to cry on.”

  Stella pulled her closer and gave a kiss on her cheek, “I’m here for you any time and place. You need to let me in, I can help.”

  Lucy smiled and gave a squeeze of her hand, but that was as far as it would go. Her life was too complicated. Therapy sessions, Zack Nelson chasing her down for the bank job her father pulled, the after-hour business she inherited from Vivien, and the police have yet to discover she killed Picklehead.

  They stopped in front of the salon. Lucy smiled and looked into Stella’s eyes. She could be the one, but Lucy came with too much baggage. “Stella, you couldn’t handle me.”

  “Give me a try,” Stella said pulling her by the hand. Then she went for it and laid into her with a kiss. It was a passionate one—the type you do in private. Their mouths slid across the fresh sl
ippery lipstick. This time Lucy didn’t pull away. The embrace lasted and with every second that passed Stella watched from the corner of her eye the woman of her dream’s fingers twirling her red hair around into a long tight curl. Her hand gracefully rested on her shoulder and fiddled the hair in place. This was not the shy woman Stella knew, but she was game.

  They broke apart. Stella’s big brown eye flickered. “Wow.”

  “When you want loving, call on Lucinda,” she said running her tongue over her lips. “I’m your girl.” Then she stepped in the salon as a customer walked out.

  Stella’s head was spinning. It made no sense to her, “call who?”

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