Things Change

Things Change

The third anniversary of my disappearance was marked with a bottle of cheap bourbon and the kind of humid New Orleans night that sticks to your skin like bad memories. I sat in my cramped office on Chartres Street. The unopened letter stared at me. Charles C. Cooper. I used to know a Charles C. Cooper, but now I was Charlie Culp, the pulp edition of that good guy, Mr. Cooper.

Three years ago I left Maria without a word. I told myself I was protecting her from the fallout, from the exposure, from the destruction in the wake of my sins. Nowadays, I admitted the truth. I ran because I found out who she was, and it scared me. Maria grew up in a world of secrets—too comfortable with the likes of the DaCosta Family. None of their casual cruelties bothered her. Deep down, some of it excited her. She told you where to find the silverware and, in the same breath, hinted at a favor she’d done for her father that made my blood turn cold. We were the same in protecting family. We just did it too differently to work together.

Gil, fellow private detective, sauntered into our office.

“Oh ho, bourbon,” he said, “What’s the occasion? Thought you were more of half glass of white wine guy.”

“No occasion,” I said, “Just thinking of taking up a new hobby.”

Gill, a more celebrated drinker than I, pulled his own bottle of booze out of a paper bag. He picked up an envelope off the desk to make room for the bottle. He saw it was addressed to me and tossed it at me.

I caught it. The letter felt heavier now. My hand trembled as I pulled the letter from the torn envelope for the hundredth time. The final lines gave the letter profound weight by a name, that for the last three years, I never spoke, never heard, never saw, but feared every day that I would.

Dear Mr. Cooper,

Meet me at the Canal Street warehouse tonight.

Midnight.

Much Respect,

Don DaCosta

The first thing I noticed about the warehouse on Canal Street was the smell—saltwater, oil, and something else that clung to the air. The smell was pungent and metallic like filthy blood.

“Hey Charlie,” said a voice somewhere between a whisper and a growl, “Long time.”

Maria stood next to a black sedan, her hair swept back in a way that made her look impossibly young. Her hand rested on the shoulder of the man beside her.

Tony DaCosta.

It had been three years since I’d seen him, but the grin hadn’t changed—sleazy, but sophisticated, the kind of smile that made you double-check your wallet.

"Charlie," he said, drawing out the syllables as he sauntered toward me. "Or do you still go by Mr. Cooper? Hard to keep track."

Maria silently stared at me with her violent eyes, unsure if Tony would beat me to death or if she would get the chance to rip my throat out herself.

Tony detached himself from Maria and walked over to me, clapping a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm enough to make my knees lock. "We’ll get to her in a minute," he said, nodding. "But first, we need to talk. You know, clear the air. You’ve been breathing all this swamp air for too long—it’s not good for your, ah, wellbeing.”

A memory pushed its way to the surface. Tony, five years ago. The Trans Am. Someone keyed it while we were in the bar. The two kids crossing the street must have done it, he said. The way he slammed that boy’s face into the car door again and again, laughing like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. "Can you believe that shit?" he said after it was overs. "Damn. Justice feels good,” he wiped the blood on his knuckles off on his shirt. Best part is, no way them kids call the cops. They’re scared silent. We get a free pass." Justice. I knew justice. It wasn’t that.

Tony’s grin widened. "Don’t look so nervous, Charlie. I didn’t bring you here to kill you. Not yet, anyway."

A small man rolled around from behind the car, confined to a wheel chair, operated by a withered hand.

“You remember Dominic, right, Charlie?”

“My God,” I said, “Dom...”

“That’s right. Your former client, Mr. Big-Time Defense Attorney. You remember, he had that little court case that didn’t go so good for Dom.”

“Tony, there was nothing—”

“Do I look like a moron, Charlie? Do I? You threw the game! I know it, Dom knows it, even Maria probably knows it!” Tony shouted, flecks of spit dousing my face. “Course, who knows if that dumb whore knows anything. Daughter of a two-bit hitman.”

“Shut your mouth, Tony,” Maria said, “I know enough to know you’re a coward. Either do your thing or don’t. I got other ways of torturing my dear husband.”

Tony’s lip curled into a fiendish smile. “So do I,” he said, “So do I.”

Maria’s muffled screams bounced off the cement walls, each one cutting through me like a blade. She was tied to a chair in the corner, her hands bound behind her back with a chain, another tied her ankles together. The harsh overhead light made the chain links sparkle brilliantly, the links that weren’t covered in blood, anyway.

Tony punched her again, in the face this time. Maria shed no tears, only fury. It rose her gorgeous pale skin like a heat haze off a Brooklyn sidewalk in July. It was becoming harder to tell who she hated more, him or me. But even in her rage, she was even more beautiful than I remembered. My perfect angel.

She spat, and a tooth flew out. It made small click when it hit the ground.

“I’m gonna be wanting that bag, Tony. Wrap it up for me,” she said, “I don’t wanna get your blood on it when I tear you to shreds.”

“Whoa,” Tony said, “You hear that, Charlie? Your kitty got claws.”

“And teeth,” Maria said, “and probably more between my teeth than you got between your legs.”

Tony bristled. “See what you did, Charlie? You made my brother a freak, killed the Don with a broken heart, and turned your woman into a beast. Not to mention getting her killed.”

“I’m sorry, Maria,” I said, my voice cracked and strained as I staggered toward her. “listen to me—I just couldn’t let Dom walk—I mean go free-- not after what he did. It was… grotesque. I’m sorry.”

Her head snapped up again, her eyes blazing red above her broken nose.

“You’re sorry?” she spat. “You think that fixes anything? I love you, Charlie. I always have. But I will never, ever forgive you. I don’t care what Dom did. I grant you, Dom shouldn’t have done that to a child, but leaving me did not fix that, Charlie.”

Her American accent faltered, the accent she’d been perfecting for decades. That only happened when she no longer cared. The truth hit harder than her words. She loved me, but she didn’t care about that. For three years, I’d convinced myself I was protecting her—that I was the martyr in some twisted tale.

But no. Maria was not a wounded bird with a wing I patched. My eternal love had become the architect of my punishment, and she didn’t care how much it hurt.

“Ya know, Charlie,” Tony said, “I was going to torture you a little bit. Give you a taste of what Dom got in prison. Did I tell you it only took three weeks for some animal to break his spine? Cruel world, prison. After the torture, I was going to kill you.”

“You’re taking your sweet time,” I said.

“But I realize now, that your little woman is going torture you like you’ve never seen before. Death ain’t nearly that bad. Still, I gotta do a little something for Dom. Brothers is brothers.”

Tony shot me in the gut. It was a really good shot. The bullet sliced through my belly, right into my spine. It burned like someone jamming a red-hot poker through my belly button. The cracking of my vertebrae sent shockwaves through my body. I felt the ones above my waist, but not below.

With the sound of thunder and squealing hinges, the warehouse door flew open, splintering the wood around the lock. Gil filled the frame, his trench coat billowing in the humid air like a storm rolling in over the Pontchartrain. Having him waiting in the car was one of the smarter decisions of my life.

“Jesus,” Gil said as he surveyed the scene.

“Well, well,” Tony sneered. “What’s the matter, big guy? Come to play white knight? Or maybe just take Maria for a spin? She’s a smooth ride.”

Gil grunted. “You alright, Coop?” he asked, ignoring Tony completely.

I chuckled, blood running down my chin. “Nope,” I said, “I got problems. But who doesn’t?”

Gil nodded, looking at me when he should have been looking at Tony. Tony raised his gun. The shot rang out, and Gil stumbled back, clutching his chest. But even then, he didn’t lose his composure.

“That the best you got?” Gil forced out, his voice strained but unbroken. “You disappoint me, DaCosta.”

Gil raised his gun. Before he got a shot off, Tony popped him again, square in the chest. As he went down, Gil’s gun went off. The bullet sailed wide, hitting something metal behind me. Then Louisiana got its first earthquake in a million years when the big man hit the floor.

Tony circled me like a predator, his revolver held loosely in his hand.

“You don’t look so good, Charlie,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “All that righteousness weighing you down? Or is it the dead half of your body?”

“Hey! Idiot. You got bigger problems than Charlie Cooper,” Maria said, her voice cutting through the gun smoke drifting around them.

The chain binding her ankles sat at the base of the chair, one link split neatly in half by Gil’s bullet. He knew enough about Maria to let her try her luck against Tony.

“Christ, you never shut up,” Tony said, “No wonder Charlie bailed out on you.”

“Let’s settle this. Just you and me.”

Tony rolled his eyes and raised the gun, his hand steady, his grin mocking.

Maria met his smile with her own. She took a step to the left. Dom sat slumped in his wheelchair, blood pouring all over his chest from a savage wound on his neck.

“Dom!”

Tony ran to his brother. Maria let him, licking her red lips as he ran by.

“What the hell did you do to him, you crazy—”

Tony stopped talking when he saw me and Gil get up off the floor. I looked down. The little hole in my belly was nearly healed. Gil looked solemnly down at the charred holes in his shirt.

“Damn,” Gil said, “Cynthia bought me this shirt. She’s gonna be pissed purple.”

His mouth open in confused horror, Tony pointed the gun at me. Maria sunk her fangs into his wrist, and the pistol clattered on the concrete. Tony’s eyes bulged as she slurped and swallowed. An instant later Gill was there. He grabbed the other arm and twisted. Gil’s sharp teeth glinted like razor blades when he smiled.

Tony screamed.

“All yours, pal,” Gil said.

“Yes. Do it,” Maria said, her Eastern European accent was pronounced now. She had gone full Dracula. “I see why you left, why you did not want us to go through all this circus. It is unpleasant.”

Tony whimpered.

“Mostly unpleasant,” she said.

“Just outta curiosity, why didn’t you just kill them all?” Gil asked

I shrugged. “It’s just not who I am. Plus, you never know. If they got wise, they might have figured out how to kill us, babe.”

“Good point, my beloved. Perhaps I may forgive you… someday.”

“So you gonna do this?” Gil asked, “I need a whiskey. Maybe even pop a bottle of Dom.”

Maria squealed with laughter. “Too late, Gil,” she said with a look over at the lifeless man in the wheelchair.

Gil caught up with his joke and laughed.

I hate killing humans. I always have. It’s so unsavory. I swore off feasting on the blood of men a long time ago. But…

My fangs slid out.

Things change.