“It may have been ordered by Peter, yes,” Nathan says quietly. “It may very well have been.”
“And is it possible that maybe you were involved in planting that bomb?” I ask. Nathan slides the barrel of his Colt back into the sliding upper part and checks the action.
“If you're asking me if I have experience with explosives, the answer is yes. Special Forces trained me in those and a lot more. But I didn't kill Samuel and Theresa. I didn't really like Samuel, but he was a family man, and someone who was doing a little bit of good in this town. I certainly would not have blown them up in front of their daughter. Besides, weren't you two close back then?”
“We were good friends,” I admit. “I met her when I was six, I think? We were in the same class through most of elementary school.”
“Did you have feelings for her? She was blossoming into a young woman right about the time her parents died, and you were... well, if my memory is correct, that was about the time you started showing an interest in women.”
It's my turn to remain silent as I think back on the past. Had I been interested in Katrina? I remember thinking she was cool, and not yucky like I thought most girls were back then. And she was really cute, in a way that... oh, fuck this, I can't tell Nathan all this. I can't even be honest with myself. “She and I... she was a special friend, which makes what happened in the limo not just embarrassing, but painful, Nathan. Regardless, I don't want her killed over it. It's not right, dammit!”
Nathan finishes putting his Colt back together and jacks the slide, checking the action. It slides back with a deadly hiss. Everything is perfectly clean and steely efficient before it catches in the open position. “You keep saying that word, 'right'. Tell me again, Jackson. What do you know about right and wrong?”
I square my shoulders and look Nathan in the eye. I don't know where I'm getting the guts for this, but I suspect it has something to do with Katrina. “I know enough to say that's it's wrong to order a young woman to her death over some embarrassing pictures. Especially when she might have a valid reason to hate your guts.”
Nathan flicks his wrist, and the slide on his pistol snaps back. He checks the sights quickly before setting his Colt down on the table and giving me... a smile? “Come, have some tea with me. I just acquired some charcoal-roasted Taiwanese Li Shan oolong that was grown on the southern slopes of Mount Ali. We can discuss your sudden interest in ethics as the tea steeps.”
I'm not a huge fan of tea, not even sweet tea, despite living in the South. Whatever fancyass tea Nathan's talking about is sure to be wasted on me, but fuck it, if it helps, it helps. I cross the workshop with him and take a seat while he draws water from the expensive-looking water heater and pours it into a pot. “The key to making good tea is to make sure you don't burn it,” Nathan explains. “That's where most people mess it up. Making tea isn't like making soup; you don't need to boil it. The tannins and flavonoids in tea are much more fragile than the ones in coffee even. So they require a slightly lower temperature, and a lot more patience. Instead of using boiling water, the ideal water temperature is between 180 and 190 degrees. I always keep my water at 182, to allow for the slight cooling that occurs with transfer to the pot. But if you go over 200 degrees, you might as well be dropping in some of those cheap Lipton teabags,” Nathan says disdainfully.
Nathan selects a canister from his rack and unscrews the top. I can see that the inside is lined with plastic, or maybe it's glass. Nathan notices me looking at the canister. “The glass prevents any oxidation that would result if the tea came in direct contact with the metal, and the metal keeps all light out. I could go with plastic, but I've noticed a decrease in flavor when the tea comes packaged in plastic.”
“Jesus man, how much does all this cost?” I ask, amazed. Seriously, this is some over-the-top-shit.
“The tea you'll be trying with me cost me a thousand dollars for the pound I was able to get my hands on. I have more expensive ones. This one though was a very good find for me, as it's been years since I was able to find this particular blend. I do hope it's as good as the last time.”
Nathan carefully scoops out some tea using a wooden spoon before placing the leaves into a ball-like thing with holes in it for water to flow through before he seals the thing and drops it into the pot. “Let's wait four minutes for the tea to steep, and then we can pour. Despite how particular I am when it comes to brewing tea, I just drink it from plain old coffee mugs. Give me a moment to grab some.”
“Really Nathan, you don't have to. I appreciate the gesture, though. I just never knew there was so much... complexity to tea.”
“Teas are like people in the sense that they're often very complex, and never quite what you expect until you try them. Now tell me, Jackson, why should I ignore your father's orders and spare Katrina Grammercy? Do you even have a reason beyond saying it isn't right?”
“Because it's like you said... haven't we done enough to this girl?” I ask, attempting to make him see reason. Why won't this guy listen to me? “Please Nathan, I'm asking you directly. Spare her.”
“And what will you do if I agree to spare her?” he asks, retrieving two mugs from a cupboard next to a small sink I hadn't noticed earlier. “Extract your own measure of revenge?”
“No... yes... fuck, I don't know. I want to start by talking to her. Nathan, I never knew why she disappeared from my life. I just went to school one day and the teacher said that Katrina had transferred schools. I wasn't into reading the news back then, I just rolled with it. But it hurt, and what she did last night hurt, too. I need to know. I need to look her in the eyes when I ask her why she did it.”
Nathan considers me for a long moment, then nods. “All right. Perhaps I've grown weary of death myself in my old age. When a man reaches fifty, the Reaper's a lot closer of a friend than you like to admit when you're twenty-two. Or hell, maybe I'm just trying to balance some old debts. I'll find Katrina, but I won't eliminate her. I'll report her whereabouts to you instead. If Peter asks... well, I doubt any woman who was able to put together the PSYOP that was done on you last night is going to be easy to find. It wouldn't be the first time someone's twisted Peter DeLaCoeur's tail and ran like a jackrabbit afterward.”
“Thank you, Nathan,” I say quietly. Nathan nods and sets a mug in front of me. He picks up his teapot and swirls it three times, then gives me a small half-smile.
“You're welcome. Care for some tea?”
Chapter 5
Kat
“You know, the Ghetto Goth look kinda went out fifteen years ago,” Darcy says as we exchange hugs outside Cafe Du Monde. They've got great beignets, which Darcy only got used to eating after she got married. I sometimes tease that marrying a cop has changed her in more ways than one, but it's all good. I love her for who she is. “You know, right about when Aaliyah passed?” she says.
“She's more from your time, not mine, even if you and Virginia gave me an appreciation for Baby Girl. Besides, if I went with just a sports bra, people'd stare, even here in New Orleans,” I reply, looking down at my outfit. I'm wearing a pair of lightweight black BDU pants, a slate gray sports bra, and a navy blue shirt I've left unbuttoned and untucked so my skin can breathe in this humidity. Black sunglasses and a pair of black lightweight mid top boots round out my look, although I'm not wearing a hat today. It's a little cloudy, so I don't need it. “You know how it is,” I say.