Two mornings later, I’m sitting in the Café du Monde over a café au lait and a pile of beignet, and I’m all smiles for a change. Feeling good.
I’m surrounded by the ‘Sociation, and they’re all asking questions, but it isn’t like the interrogation in Father Sees-All’s hospital room. The news is all good, everybody’s happy, and I don’t mind a bit. Even Starbulk’s not getting on my nerves so much.
It feels like the thing that was killing me is finally dead. Johnny Murder didn’t come back because of me, but because of him, I feel like I can finally move on.
“So where was Quinto all this time while you were gettin’ shot at?” says Bobby Bocci, powdered sugar from a beignet all over his lips and chin.
“Got beat by a girl,” I say, grinning.
The ‘Sociationers laugh, but Starbulk doesn’t ac
