BLOOD MOON RISING - english version

~ Chapter 3 ~

* 3 *

Squeezed in between a store and a tailor one could easily miss the slightly shabby house in the French Quarter where the Pinkerton agency of New Orleans was based. The tarnished brass sign next to the entrance door showed the famous eye symbol, small but unmistakable and was the only clue that there was more than just a small office behind the dirty window panes.
Anyway, Alfred had marched straight past the house on his first day of work and had not even imagined setting up his workplace in such a shabby agency. Only the letter of recommendation in his breast pocket, which he hadn't had the balls to throw away, finally let him open the door and now, just four weeks later, he was already acting as if he had been employed here for years. Alfred smiled at the memory of his first day, put his notepad on the desk and his feet right behind. The wooden swivel chair creaked in protest.
"You know, if Wright sees this, he'll let you clean again."
An amused voice was heard from across the desk. A slim, handsome man with dark brown hair and a rascal smile flicked a wrinkled paper ball in the direction of the wastebasket and just missed it. "Damn."
The two men had their workplace in a large, wood-panelled room in which four massive desks were arranged. It smelled a bit musty of dust and paper, shelves and filing cabinets lined the walls, a slightly crooked map was pinned on the wall between two cabinets and bare, slightly dusty floorboards creaked under one's feet. A faint smell of cigarettes was still hanging in the air, wafting around the brass-coloured ceiling lamp and the cigarette stub, apparently hastily doused, was floating in a water glass on the brown-haired man's desk.
"And you too, Hugh," Alfred replied casually, grinning at his colleague who had just pulled himself up from under his desk again. "I'm sure you look lovely in an apron."
"He's more interested in you." Hugh blew a strand of light brown hair out of his forehead and pulled a dust fluff from his shirt. "Well, Agent Taylor, please don't let me drag everything out of you. It is not by chance that Wright has sent you for that job and you know it."
"Hmm." Alfred growled grumpily and folded his arms. Agent Wright was their superior, a sturdily-built, somewhat stocky man with the charm of an English bulldog and an equally strong urge to bite down on anything that got in his way. Hugh had put up with him for nearly a year now and got along with him reasonably well - but Alfred, with his Northern accent, seemed a thorn in Wright's side. More than thirty years after the Civil War, hatred of the North still seemed to glow in some parts of the South.
"I told you so, Taylor." Hugh knocked on his desk. "This case is going to be your acid test. Don't fuck it up, okay ? And now I want the details."
"Thank you for reminding me, Mr. Matthews." Alfred sighed. "I have a name and I already know where she's from. Some maniac strangled her. She's badly mauled. Although I think it was an accident."
"An accident." Hugh muttered, clearly doubt in his voice.
"Yes, an accident. Don't play dumb with me, Hugh. You're a bachelor boy, you know there are all sorts of kinky things if you're just willing to pay enough."
"I see." Hugh made a face. "Well, I actually only know it the other way around." He grabbed his throat, suggesting he was choking. "The less air you get, the harder it stands. You know what I mean?"
"Thank you for that disgustingly precise description."
"You're welcome." Hugh said with a broad, happy smile. Alfred shook his head. Was there actually anything that the other couldn't comment on? Probably not. Hugh Matthews was unmarried, a man who devoured everything readable from encyclopaedias to trashy novels yet he had no real reputation for being a bookworm - quite the contrary. He had an impressive scar on his forearm where he once had clashed with a gang in a knife fight and Alfred had already wobbled home with him after a nice pub crawl. No, he didn't really understand the young man - but he liked him.
"Have you ever actually been to the "Paradise"? he asked with a tone as uninvolved as possible and Hugh snapped at this question like a fish at a bait. He grinned - very, very broadly and then whistled through his teeth.
"I'm actually surprised you haven't been there. You're the kind of guy who likes things refined and tasteful." He was referring to Alfred's style - always elegant, preferably black clothes made of expensive cloth and a well-groomed beard. Hugh himself wore a curved, rather low-maintenance moustache and shaved every morning, but in addition to the shaping shave, Alfred cared for his own black full beard with fragrant beard oils, combed it carefully and cut it meticulously with special beard scissors. Ever since Hugh had seen this once the morning after their drinking spree together, he relentlessly teased him with it.
"You can really get anything there. If you ask nicely enough, I'm sure a lady will even trim your hedge, if you know what I mean."
Alfred couldn't help but laughing.
"That's not really the point. I want to talk to the owner... ...so he can tell me who booked the dead lady. Unfortunately, the hotel registration was made to Rose Williams himself," he replied, taking his notebook.
Hugh frowned.
"That's odd. Why would a lady book a room when she is actually offering her services in a brothel? If she's been booked by a man, she's more likely to end up at an address of his choice."
Suddenly he sounded very interested.
"Exactly. I think she may have had a secret lover. And perhaps it will all end up in one of those jealousy dramas so often found in your books. Now then..."
Alfred got up and put his coat on, also his notebook and cigarettes in it's pockets. "Mornings are boring in brothels. I'll get a horse from the hire stable and hope to be back by midday."
Hugh leaned back in his chair and nodded. He had boring paperwork ahead of him and already envied Alfred the opportunity to visit the lovely ladies of "Paradise" early in the morning.
"Give my regards to Lavinia."
"Sure." Alfred tapped his hat and, after glancing at the watch, made off before Wright caught them both doing nothing.

On the way to the livery stable the anxiety that had gripped him that morning intensified even more. Oh, it wasn't as if he was nervous or worried about visiting a brothel early in the morning, rather the opposite - sneaking out of one of them at dawn, playing repentant, was nothing new to him. It was more a kind of fidgety tension, similar to the one you feel when you had sat still for too long, and he knew exactly where it came from. It was the wolf in him that demanded to run.
In his old home, Chicago, where he owned a house, it had been easier to roam and hunt and run at night. He had not taken the wolf's form since his hasty departure and that made him restless, the territory was still unfamiliar to him. And he had already noticed that there were others like him - just as he had certainly be noticed by these others before. They didn't seem to be quite as numerous to him as in the north, but they existed in this town, too. At one party he had already met a fox woman, cheeky and with a promising smile on her lips, and when he had been on that drinking spree with Hugh, the bar owner had a distinct smell of wolf on him and had not let Alfred out of his sight. No, he couldn't put it off any longer, by the full moon he would finally have to go for a run and stake out his territory.

The little walk had been good.
When he arrived at the rental stable, Alfred finally decided on a grey, high-legged mare who curiously stretched her nose over the partition and tugged at his sleeve. This surprised him. There were few horses that accepted a shape-shifter on their back, but this horse obviously had courage. He caressed the mare's soft nostrils and she snorted contentedly against his gloved hand.
Alfred insisted on putting the saddle and bridle on the mare himself and the stableman watched as if he wanted to make sure Al was doing everything right. But he found nothing to complain about. He was a bit older and looked as if he had years of experience with horses.
"Passionate rider, huh?" he said then and pushed the stable door open. The mare snorted.
"By nature," Alfred replied with a shrug and patted the horse on the neck. "I grew up on a plantation and learned how to ride before I could walk properly."
"Let this girl run if you have some time, restless as she is. Strange." wondered the stable boy as Alfred mounted the horse and it began to dance beneath him. It took him a moment to get used to it and he felt that, contrary to his initial trust, that the horse was considering for a moment whether to tolerate him on his back or not. Apparently the stableman had noticed this too, he frowned and took a step closer, as if he wanted to grab the reins.
"And are you sure you don't want another, quieter horse after all, mister?"
There was doubt in his voice, but Al grabbed the reins tighter and shook his head. The horse finally calmed down.
"No. She's just what I've been looking for."