Imogene in New Orleans by Hunter Murphy Page B

mustache quivered. “There’s just a lot of names there, really, not necessarily any in particular but the only one I know for sure is ‘Buddy’ because that’s who Glenway lives with…or was living with…” He appeared to be changing the focus from TH as quickly as possible. He flipped through the book, anxiously stopping at one page and then skipping to another. It didn’t look like he was reading the pages at all.
    Jackson and Billy watched him carefully. Neil glanced at them and smiled nervously. He yanked off his cap and scrubbed his head with it.
    “What do you see, Neil?” Jackson slid closer to him.
    “I see this book might really help us.” His eyes blinked several times.
    Imogene was ready to begin using all her new loot. “Hey, boys, how come y’all ain’t told Neil about the lawman Jackson just seen walkin’ into the hotel?”
    Neil slammed Glenway’s leather book on the bed. “What lawman? Lieutenant Rogers? He’s here...in this hotel? Since when? What’s he doing here?”
    “I couldn’t tell you, son. I kindly hoped you’d know.” Imogene’s eyes got big as she watched Neil’s anger erupt.
    “I’ll not stand for this type of harassment. I guarantee you he’s here because y’all are here.” He paced back and forth in front of the mirror above the chest of drawers. “No, no, no. This won’t do. No, it will NOT.” He popped the table with his cap. He looked as riled up as he’d been yesterday, and Jackson worried about him.
    “Excuse me for a moment.” Neil bolted for the door.
    “Hey, where are you going?” Jackson got up from the chair and grabbed the back of Neil’s button-up shirt.
    “No, Jackson, don’t try to stop me. He wouldn’t DARE arrest me twice in twenty-four hours.” Neil swung his arms as he headed for the door.
    Jackson gripped his arm. “You’re wrong. He’d do anything he wants, it seems.”
    Neil held his finger up for them all to stay put. He unfastened the locks and swung open the door.
    Imogene yelled, “You oughtn’t go by yourself.” She staggered to the entrance.
    Jackson heard Neil storming down the hall. “I’m not letting him go alone, but Imogene, you’re not coming with me.” Just as she approached, he slammed the door and took off in a sprint.
    Neil was pacing under the blinking floor numbers outside the elevator when Jackson caught up to him. “I’m going with you, bud.”
    Neil continued walking back and forth under the elevator, like he was obsessing over what to say and do to Rogers.
    “Neil, calm down, please. Just talk to me.”
    Neil threw his hands up as he looked at the elevator numbers. He marched over to the staircase, crashed into the exit, and flew down the steps, taking two at a time. The door closed shut on Jackson as he followed him.
    In a moment, Jackson flung himself into the lobby, panting from his little downhill sprint, and found Neil standing on the glassy tiled floors, scanning the place for Rogers. His friend stormed into the seating area, which boasted Italian leather furniture with dark wood trim. The lieutenant wasn’t there, so Neil checked the restaurant beside the lobby where guests were eating eggs Benedict and other delicacies from fine china resting on white linen table cloths. A hostess approached him, but he waved her away and left the restaurant. As he turned down the hall to the pool area, he ran into Jackson, who stayed a few steps back in order to keep up with Neil’s next move. “Don’t try to stop me, Jackson. I’m sick of this nonsense.”
    A door opened behind them and Lieutenant Rogers, all six and a half feet of him, stepped out, taking up the bulk of the hallway. He straightened his shirt and headed for the door to the courtyard.
    Neil brushed past Jackson, hurrying after Rogers, and as Jackson followed, he glimpsed a painting outside the hotel manager’s officer, a familiar painting with the familiar “GG” in the right corner. Glenway had created a scene of Carnival from