The Silver Lake Murder, Gregg Matthews [ebook reader .TXT] 📗

Looking forward, he can see the people and cars going into the city of New Orleans towards Bourbon Street. The streets and people seem a little calmer than the last time he was here. Hurricane Katrina was the worst hurricane in the history of New Orleans. The city and people who live in it have been in recovery for months. Walking steady, he is soon on Bourbon Street. The backpack with the red bandana tied to it is heavy, but he can handle it, he convinces himself it’s not heavy, his mind is still strong.

He walks in the direction of Rivers Tattoo shop at 704 Bourbon Street. Looking at his watch, he sees it is 12:00 noon. Hoping to find Rose, he prays to himself with the fraction of prayers he remembers as a kid. Our father who art in heaven hallow be thy name….

CHAPTER 25

Rose has lost track of the days, weeks, and months since Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans. Looking down the street, she can see the storefront buildings with piles of wet furniture and construction debris in front of each one of them. Everything is wet.

First thing in the morning, the shelters housing the hurricane victims, release the people back into the streets. Some of the people look for loved ones and family members. Names and pictures are posted in common locations on Bourbon Street. Most people do not have access to social media yet. The computer networks have been down for months. Some people try to rebuild their businesses, and some look to survive the day. The crime rate is astronomical.

During the day, the streets are filled with people looking for something to eat, and looking to make some money. Later in the day, free soup kitchens provide hot meals for the hurricane survivors.

As night falls, the city streets become filled with street hustle, people looking to make money and survive. Gangs of young men comb the streets and vacant buildings, looking for anything of value. The gangs take over the streets, looking to fight the rival gangs. The streets are wide open and ready to be taken. Most nights the rival gangs fight it out in the streets for something to do.

Rose is not sure of the exact day but knows it is July. The heat in humidity in New Orleans during the day is overwhelming. The sun beats down on her back while she waits in another endless line. She is standing in front of a small elementary school. The cardboard sign with black sharpie writing on the front of this building reads, Free Soup Kitchen. Her stomach groans, reminding her she has not eaten since lunch time yesterday. She inches up in the line a little.

There is a window in the building next to her. She looks at her reflection and sees her long, dark hair. Her T-shirt is ripped and torn. The jeans she is wearing are dirty and loose-fitting. Canvas sneakers with no socks let small rocks sneak in the ripped sides and worn bottoms. Her body was lean and healthy; but is now unhealthy and skinny. She has not been able to take care of herself for a while now. She is scared all the time. She has been praying for Blake to find her. She lowers her head and closes her eyes. Hail Mary full of grace….

Getting inside the building and out of the sun while she eats her free meal is a welcoming thought. Stepping inside the building, she follows the line into the cafeteria until she sees the large stack of trays. She takes one tray off the top. A couple of people have disagreements and start to fight. Some people shout, step in and break up the fight quickly.

She turns her head and looks the other way. While she waits for her turn, she turns her attention to the television mounted on the wall and listens to today’s latest news. She listens to the smartly dressed newswoman say: New Orleans has started its recovery. There are businesses opening and shelters in place for people to eat and sleep. “Put your tray up here, honey,” the food server with a Cajun southern accent says,tapping the top of the counter with a large metal spoon.

“OK,” Rose says, lifting her tray up putting it in the right spot.

The food server splashes one scoop of mashed potatoes, one scoop of green beans, a scoop of ground beef, a piece of bread, and an apple into the separate indentations on the tray she is holding. Her stomach groans as she finds a seat at one of the long tables.

The young woman she sits next to has long, blond, dreadlock style hair going down to the middle of her back. She is smaller than her. Her face and hands are dirty. She is wearing a black sleeveless T-shirt, jeans and flip-flops. She has a bright, dirty smile. Her arms are covered with tattoos.

“Hi, I’m Rose.”

“Nola.”

“This was a bad hurricane; a lot of people have lost their lives on this one. I heard the levees at the end of town broke,” Nola says with a Cajun southern accent.

“Oh wow,” Rose says, not knowing what a levee is.

“Yes, it was a big storm.”

“Are you from New Orleans?” Rose says, hoping if she is from here, she will help her find Blake.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Where are you from?” Nola asks.

“Silver Lake it’s north of Boston, Massachusetts.”

“Oh wow, that’s a long way away.”

“Yes, it is. Me and Blake wanted to live somewhere where it is summertime all year long.”

“I understand.”

Looking at Nola’s arms, she knows right away Blake did the tattoo work on her. She hesitates to mention the detail but quickly realizes Nola may have seen Blake during or after the hurricane. She digs into her lunch while building up the courage to ask Nola a few more questions.

“You look familiar to me, Rose. Have we met before?” Nola says.

“Yes, I think so, Rivers Tattoo shop?” Rose says timidly.

“Right, Rivers Tattoo