The Big Apple Posse Trilogy Page 22

  Chapter VI

  Tuesday morning Solange woke everyone up at six, including Michael who was now sleeping on the couch, and then she drill-sergeanted them into their costumes and got them ready to march out the door.

  Amanda had stayed up late last night eavesdropping on Michael’s phone conversations with his father. The conversations lasted for about an hour, sometimes they would hang up and then the phone would ring and they would talk again. Amanda could hear bits and pieces about how Terrence/DJ True would be arriving in New Orleans sometime soon.

  Then Amanda had listened to Solange and Michael argue. Their argument lasted about thirty minutes, but by the end, their voices were lower and they no longer sounded mad.

  Solange quickly had the three of them plus herself fed, dressed in grass skirts over jeans, oversized sweat shirts, and blond clown wigs. She painted their faces with face paint, applying enough that no one would be able to recognize them. Then she handed out five feathery umbrellas, even giving one to Michael, saying, “Hey, you have to have something to twirl unless you just want to wave a handkerchief.”

  “I don’t own a handkerchief,” said Michael.

  “Right,” said Solange. “So grab your umbrella and plan to dance.”

  “Dance?” asked Michael. “Oh right, dance. Okay, this is what we are going to do. We can all drive down there together and then Solange and I will march, I mean dance, together and the three of you will dance in front of us. Don’t act like you even know us, but we will be there in case there is any trouble,” said Michael. “You three stay together. No one will be able to recognize you in those getups.”

  “You will be dancing, so you can twirl around and see that we are behind you. But be careful not to look like you know us. No one will recognize me in this getup either, but DJ M might be there and he will recognize Michael since he did not let me paint his face,” said Solange.

  Everyone piled into the Escalade and drove to Claiborne Street, the uptown location for the start of the parade. There was no close parking, so they had to walk about ten blocks to get to the beginning of the parade. But the walk was fun. Musicians were playing, everyone was hyped for the chance to either dance in the Zulu Parade second line or to stand on the sidelines and enjoy both the Zulu parade and the riotous antics of the second line.

  Amanda, Peter, and Thibodeaux walked together, following Michael and Solange, who knew where the parade started. Amanda whispered to the boys that they should start acting like they did not know Michael or Solange, who were also acting like they did not know each other.

  Amanda also told them, “We need to memorize the way back to the car, just in case there are problems. I’ve got my cheat sheet with everyone’s phone numbers and the address of the apartment in my pocket. Do you have yours?”

  Peter and Thibodeaux nodded. One of the things they had done at last night’s Posse meeting was to make contingency plans in case any of them were separated.

  As they approached the back of the second line for the Zulu Parade (anyone can march behind a parade in New Orleans—thus the term second line), which was already many blocks long, the streets were filled with partygoers, all acting like they were ready for the time of their lives. Last night, Solange had called her friends from the ballet school and told them that she would not be able to march with them today.

  Finally, they found the end and lined up, with Amanda, Thibodeaux, and Peter in the front and Solange and Michael behind. Amanda looked around and realized that everyone was already dancing. Thibodeaux did not need to look around, he was already dancing to the music of the band playing in front of them. Amanda looked at Peter and whispered, “Can you dance?”

  “No. You know that,” said Peter.

  “Well we are going to have to fake it. If we don’t dance we won’t blend in so let’s watch that two step thing everyone is doing and try to match it,” said Amanda.

  Peter would have looked mightily perturbed if anyone could have seen what he felt under his heavy face paint. But he started moving with the music, trying to match Thibodeaux’s steps. Amanda joined in. She was an athlete, so she was pretty coordinated. She got the moves down quickly and was feeling quite proud of herself when Thibodeaux whispered, “Hey, loosen up. It’s a party.”

  Amanda glared at Thibodeaux and continued trying to match the steps. Peter looked like he had three left feet, but he was trying hard to get with the moves.

  After a couple of hours, they were off. The line had to move at a pretty good clip because the Rex Parade was lined up behind them.

  After a few minutes of dancing down the streets, Amanda realized that she was actually having fun, more fun than she had enjoyed since the New York City bombings. It was a pretty day, it was a bit cool, but once they started moving, they warmed up. Amanda looked around and saw the joy on the faces of the parade dancers and then she looked at Thibodeaux and saw how happy he looked. Maybe things would be okay, after all.

  Suddenly Solange moved forward and started dancing in front of them. Amanda twirled her umbrella and spun around in what she hoped looked like a dance move and saw that Marcus was talking to Michael. Amanda spun back quickly and whispered to Thibodeaux and Peter, “Just keep dancing. It’s just that jerk from yesterday.”

  Thibodeaux and Peter moved closer to Amanda so they could talk but before they could begin talking, Solange was right in front of them gyrating away. Solange spun around and said, “Follow me.”

  “Oh no,” thought Amanda. “Here we go again.”

  Solange grabbed Amanda’s hands and put them on her waist. Thibodeaux immediately caught on and grabbed Amanda’s waist. Thibodaux gestured to Peter to grab hold of him and then they were off in a conga line. Solange was moving quickly and soon had them in front of the band they had been following and then up the street. They did not stop until they were a block away from where they had been marching in the parade. She pulled them to the middle of the street and said, “Just keep on dancing. This way we can be sure that guy does not recognize any of us.”

  Amanda resumed dancing with Thibodeaux. Peter was still doing his best and had mastered the New Orleans two step, stepping forward while he raised his umbrella up and down. Thibodeaux was practically break dancing when Solange danced by him and said, “Don’t be too good. You don’t want anyone paying attention to you.”

  Thibodeaux slumped his shoulders and looked disappointed, but he took it down so he blended better with the crowd.

  They danced through Storyville, by Louis Armstrong Park, down Canal, all the time dancing away. Solange pulled them to the side and told them, “I called the bar and told them I would not be able to sing on the parade route today. It is right up the street,” Solange pointed to a bar as she grabbed Amanda’s hands and indicated that they should form their conga line again.

  Soon they were next to the bar and as they danced passed it, Amanda saw a group of men who looked like they were in the hip-hop industry and off to the side of the building, standing in the background were two tall blonde men that Amanda had never seen before. They did not look like they were from New Orleans or for that matter New York City. Their clothes were just a little different, different like the clothes of the children of foreign nationals whose parents bought homes in Greenwich, Connecticut so their kids could attend the schools. They were also not two of the terroristic thieves who had been arrested and were to go on trial in June. Those guys were not given bail and were still in jail awaiting trial and their photos and video footage were all over the news. But Amanda’s gut instinct told her that they were members of the same gang.

  Amanda whispered to Solange, “We need to move to the side away from that bar.”

  Solange was already leading their line to the opposite side of the street from the bar, but for a different reason. She had recognized some of the guys who were standing on the porch of the bar. She knew they were in the music industry and if they recognized her, all of their covers would be blown.

  When they were about a ha
lf block away from the bar, Solange turned to the three of them and said, “I think we are okay. They did not seem to recognize us. I think those music guys were waiting for me because of what happened yesterday.”

  “That’s not the problem. There were two tall blonde men there and they looked out of place. They could be part of that group of thieves who set off those bombs in New York City. The gang was from South Africa and they looked a lot alike,” said Amanda.

  Solange looked around and said, “Tall blonde men who look like they are from South Africa would look out of place here today.”

  “I think we need to get out of here. We should not have risked it,” said Amanda.

  “But, if you had not come to the parade, you would not know that maybe the thieves had followed you to New Orleans and, I guess, were looking for me at that bar since I am Thibodeaux’s cousin,” said Solange.

  “Great. That’s just great,” said Amanda. “Who knew you would be singing on the porch of that bar?”

  “Anyone who got a flyer. Also, oh no, it was on their website that Solange Montplasir would be singing on the porch during the second line of the Zulu parade,” said Solange.

  Amanda could not help it. She started to laugh again, but this time she had enough sense to dig her finger nails into her palm, hard enough to make her stop.

  “What should we do?” asked Peter.

  “I think we should just keep on marching and dancing. We are probably as safe here as anywhere else,” said Amanda. “I don’t think those guys saw us, so we are probably okay.”

  And so they did, they continued dancing the parade route and when they were done, Solange pulled her phone from her shirt and called Michael and told him that they would meet him at the car since they could not meet up with him until he got rid of Marcus.

  Amanda was looking at Solange and by the look on Solange’s face, Amanda could tell that Michael was mad at her for dancing away with them. Solange just rolled her eyes and said, “I did the best I could. I know you didn’t want DJ Marcus to recognize me or Amanda.”

  When they reached the end of the parade route, they moved with the crowd, heading north-east through the mass of parade revelers. Michael had picked a spot to park his car that was about halfway between the start and end of the parade route.

  After about ten minutes of walking through the crowd they reached the parking lot where Michael had parked the car. They waited out front until they saw Michael approach the lot. Michael looked at them briefly and nodded and they followed him to the car staying about twenty feet behind him. When he unlocked the doors, they quickly piled inside. As soon as they pulled out of the parking lot, Michael said, “Get down on the floor boards until we are away from this mess. We should never have come down here.”

  Everyone in the back seats got down on the floorboards of the Escalade. Solange was up front and she did not get down because if they were stopped, they would get a ticket if she were not belted into the front seat. But she still had her full face make up on, so no one would be able to recognize her.

  “Well, if we had not come down here, the kids would not have spotted the tall blonde guys who were waiting on the porch of the bar where I was supposed to sing. Don’t look at me like that. I canceled. I told you I canceled. But when we went past the bar, I saw a bunch of guys who looked like they were in the hip-hop industry and the kids saw two very tall blonde men who looked a bit foreign,” said Solange.

  “What?” asked Michael.

  “I just told you. Someone is obviously checking out Thibodeaux’s relatives in New Orleans and they must have found my name and knew I was supposed to sing at the bar. They probably Googled my name,” said Solange.

  “When we get home, we are going to Google all of you and find out what is out there about you?” said Michael.

  “Don’t you think we should have done that before?” asked Peter.

  “Well, yes I do,” said Michael.

  Michael kept a close eye on his rearview mirror as they drove away from the parade but he did not see anyone following them. But never the less, he drove north completely out of the way of their apartments, just to see if anyone was behind them. Once he was sure they were safe, he pulled into a barbeque place and went in to get take-out food for lunch.

  Once home they turned on the computer. First Solange typed her name—Solange Montplasir. There were pages of links. Solange was obviously very popular and many of her friends had “friended” her on Facebook, but Solange’s name and photo did not show up on most of her friend’s Facebook pages because most of her friends were underage and had privacy settings. But there were also a lot of links for her singing engagements, most of which had Solange’s photo. There was one lucky break, there were no links about Solange and dancing.

  When Solange Googled Amanda, Thibodeaux, and Peter, there was nothing about their being witnesses in the June terror trial. The FBI had done a good job of keeping them hidden on the internet. But Amanda and Peter’s photos did come up on their soccer club and computer club websites and Thibodeaux’s name and photo were on the page for his school’s glee club. And Amanda’s photo was on several Facebook pages of friends who did not have privacy controls. Amanda was really worried to see her name and photo. She had thought that since she took down her Facebook page, there would be no record of her.

  “Well, it is good that nothing ties you to the dance studio or the Catholic boys school. Maybe we continue with our plans until we get some help,” said Michael.

  “Father Francis is supposed to pick the boys up tonight and take them to the school. So you guys better get packed,” said Solange.

  “When is he supposed to be here?” asked Amanda.

  “About six,” said Solange.

  “Well, when he comes here, I need to talk to him,” replied Amanda.

  “Okay, we will all talk to him, but do you need to ask about anything in particular?” asked Solange.

  “No, just talk to him,” said Amanda. “You can listen if you want to.”

  So they ate and then the boys packed. While they were packing Amanda went into their room and shut the door and talked to them some more. Then she spent some time on the computer.

  The rest of the day was really boring. The boys continued to pack, Amanda memorized ballet terms (Solange had told her that she had to start ballet school until they figured out what to do). Michael kept talking on the phone to both his father and brother. Amanda tried to listen in, she heard Michael talking about how the FBI still had not found their internal leak. But that was all Amanda heard because Michael seemed to realize that she was listening and kept going into a room and shutting the door.

  Solange left the apartment to go to the grocery store. Amanda watched her leave and thought about how Solange was only seventeen years old yet she never complained about any of the babysitting, errands, or housework she was performing. Amanda had never known anyone that good natured. If she had been Solange, she would have at least tried to make Michael go to the grocery store.

  When Solange returned she had several bags of groceries and one of them was stuffed with snacks for the boys to take with them when they left for the boarding school. No one had told her to do that, she just did it.

  At 6 p.m., Father Francis arrived to pick up the boys. After he greeted everyone, Amanda asked him if she could talk to him. Father Francis looked a bit perplexed but he said yes, so they both sat down on the couches.

  “Thibodeaux, Peter, and I have been talking and there are some things we need to work out before the boys leave for the boarding school,” said Amanda.

  “Okay,” said Father Francis.

  Amanda noticed Solange and Michael staring at her but she pushed ahead. “First, they need to know where they are and how to walk from the school to here and I need to know how to get to their school. If there is an emergency, we need to be able to find each other.”

  “I am going to watch out after these boys,” said Father Francis.

  “I know you are, but Peter
is my brother and Thibodeaux is my friend and we need to watch out for ourselves. Also, the boys must have cell phones and money with them all the time. They need two working cell phones apiece and one hundred dollars in cash. They have to be able to carry these phones and money to class and I bet there are rules against that. When I was at camp, they would not allow me to have a cell phone or more than twenty dollars with me,” said Amanda.

  “I don’t think I can do that. There are rules at the school and I can’t let the other teachers know why these boys need special treatment,” said Father Francis.

  “You have to work it out. There are some really bad men looking for us and now we know that two of them are in New Orleans. The only reason I think it is okay for you to take them to that school is that I don’t think anyone would know to look for them at a Catholic boarding school,” said Amanda. “Also, they need to room together and no one else can be in their room.”

  Amanda noticed Michael and Solange staring at her with amazement, but they did not interrupt or try to stop her from talking to Father Francis.

  “Well, let me think about this for a minute. We put the boys in rooms based on their grade level and Thibodeaux is in the eighth grade and Peter is in the sixth. Those two grades room on different floors,” said Father Francis.

  “Just tell them that Peter is in the eighth grade,” said Amanda.

  “I can’t do that, he will have to go to classes and everyone will know,” said Father Francis.

  “Oh no they won’t. Peter will be fine,” said Amanda. “Just tell everyone he is short.”

  “Amanda!” said Peter.

  “What is this business about everyone being short?” asked Thibodeaux.

  “Well, don’t you think you can keep up with the eighth grade?” asked Amanda.

  “Well, yes. It’s just eighth grade,” said Peter.

  Thibodeaux rolled his eyes but did not say anything, because by now he knew.