About the Author: James Nolan’s mystery stories have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine and New Orleans Noir, as well as in his award-winning collections You Don’t Know Me and Perpetual Care. His comic noir novel Higher Ground won a Faulkner/Wisdom Gold Medal, and his twelfth book, Flight Risk: Memoirs of a New Orleans Bad Boy, was given the 2018 Next-Generation Indie Book Award for Best Memoir. He lives in his native New Orleans.
Whimpering, Audrey regained consciousness face up in a regal mahogany four-poster bed, wrists cuffed at the small of her back and ankles tied spread-eagle to two bedposts. She was naked, head twisting from side to side in a wet spot. She moaned, opened her eyes, then shut them. This couldn’t be happening. She could tell, much to her relief, that she hadn’t been raped, although the crisp white sheet was damp all around her.
The creep was perched on a damask armchair across from the bed, pawing through her purse. The crooked smile had faded from his mouth, and his jumpy eyes were concentrating on the contents of her kidskin wallet.
“What’s the matter, babe, never been kissed before?” he said, not looking up. “You pissed yourself, so I had to throw you in the shower. Chris is picky about his bed. Come tomorrow, he’ll never know you been here.”
“Take the purse,” she moaned, “but untie me this second.”
“Oh no, sweetheart, I ain’t done with you yet.”
“I’ll do whatever you want, but please don’t give me AIDS.”
He leapt up, stuffing the wallet into the back pocket of his tight black jeans. “You all screwed up. I ain’t the fairy, Chris is. Soon as I buy what I need, you gonna find out how much a man I am. I can keep at it for hours,” he said, pumping his hips.
Audrey glared up at the lace canopy over the bed, all of her initial suspicions rushing through her mind. How could she have been such a fool? “This is Chris Chauvin’s house, isn’t it? Where is he?”