I pulled up to Rampart with my uncle’s mob buddies, their fat fingers and thin ties laughing behind the wheel. “You think this little gnat is funny to the boss? They ain’t, and we all know this will not end well.” I twist the ring on my Saturn finger and ask, “Whose bones are in the basement?“ Tommy gives me a sly wink as he shuts the trunk to the Lincoln. ”Real people are dying everyday, every damn day, but you keep letting that tongue wag.” I look at him and shrug. ”Don’t throw them in the lake just yet.”

Tommy takes a long glance at a strange liquid that begins to soak through the floorboard. “They have a losing hand, they just don’t know it yet.“ I grab the cuff of his jacket and wipe away a tiny piece of brain fragment. “Let’s go, It’s starting to stink.“

Vinny lit up a Marlboro Red as he stepped on the gas. ”The potholes in this city could take out a goddamn school bus.” We were heading to meet Scarpa at The Joint. He was the only guy the bosses could trust with a job like this. I watched the Spanish moss speed by and held my breath past the cemeteries. “Ever since uncle Joe found Christ, he stopped fucking his wife Bonnie. Now she’s calling me all the time bitching. Like I’m supposed to fix it, or something?” Vinnie had a tendency to ramble when he was nervous, and every time the Lincoln hit a bump, the body in the trunk would let out a deep guttural groan. “And Bettie keeps all that jewelry from the heist laid out on their kitchen table like it’s a fucking flea market or something. Joe tells her to hide it, but she don’t never listen.”

All of the houses we passed were different shades of color, blue, purple, pink, yellow. The streets began to narrow. Tommy put his hand on my knee and gave it a comforting squeeze. “We’re almost there, kid.”

I started feeling sick as the Lincoln pulled into the alley. We finally made it to The Joint. Tommy opened the door and I slid out. “What’s with all these chickens?” The nausea faded away as I moved around a bit and I was suddenly starving. Vinnie turned off the engine, slammed the door and belted loudly, “I hear her name was Chloe.” Tommy cringed at the volume of Vinnie’s voice. “Shut the fuck up, please.” I looked at Vinnie and said, “Who the hell is Chloe?” He lit another cigarette,

“Jane Doe in the basement. I hear some voodoo king had her skull for a while and hexed a few fuckers before it was returned to the rest of her.”

I wiped the sweat starting to drip onto my dress. “I guess that explains the LuLu I saw in the corner down there.“

“Open the trunk.“

Tommy grabbed my hand and walked me through the back door. “You don’t need to see that.”

The place was empty except for a few musicians setting up outside. “You’re gonna be alright here.“ He leaned in close and whispered, ”don’t run.”

I lightly tugged on his jacket to assure him.

“Hey, Esther!! Keep an eye on her for me, will ya?” An old woman approached me with a bright smile and eyes of stone. ”Well, nah, ain‘t you a pretty baby? Come on, nah, follah me.” I took a seat at the bar, ordered a grilled cheese and watched Tommy head out the back door. Esther must have owned the club because she kept wads of money in her bra and used it to pay the band. She didn’t keep an eye on me, and was never seen again.

He entered the club shortly after midnight, grabbed a broken bar stool and popped a squat next to me. I watched him from the corner of my eye. He reached into his pocket and pulled out seven crumbled one dollar bills. His jeans were faded and poor. “How much for a gin and tonic?” I stared straight ahead, pretending I was interested in the shitty soccer game blasting above the cash register. “What are you, deaf? I asked how much a drink is around here.“ I felt my skin tighten and my forehead retract. “Do I look like a bartender to you?” He scooted closer. I refused to make eye contact, “Look, buddy! I don’t make small talk with your kind.” I downed the sugary drink I wholeheartedly despised and made my way upstairs to look for Tommy. Mid way up the stairs I felt the blood rush from my face, three loud booms. BLAP BLAP BLAP. Mr. Gin didn’t get his drink. One to the head, two to the chest. His blood soaking quickly into the porous wood, his brains splattered like a Dali clock all over the tator tots and uneaten burger I left behind. Tommy looked up at me. “Sorry you had to see that, kid.” I shrugged and kept walking up the stairs. My left hand trembled violently as I grabbed the banister. Flashes of running though an empty field during a hurricane flooded my vision. The ghost of my mother calling to me from the blue room to the left of the parlor. “Keep climbing child, you’re almost there.” When I reached the top of the stairs, I collapsed in a flood of silent tears.

My mother’s ghost wrapping around me like a warm blanket and then instantly the room went dark. I began to dream of oleanders in June.