Little Death at the French Quarter

He whistled as he watched the street.

Last week’s snow was nearly gone and left as dark muck and slush that licked at the black thigh boots of the hookers as they waved at the passing cars on 3rd Avenue SW. A few cars would slow and a few would circle the block for another look at tonight’s orange streetlight offerings.  The cold gave the air a palpable crispness as white breath was everywhere and exhaust could not be hidden.  The mountains, to the city’s west, were hidden beneath clouds, darkness, and a fresh snowfall.

Across the street a neon pink sign flashed invites for the adult entertainment to be found at The French Quarter Cabaret. A few men walked in and out and the loud hump of bass boomed from the walls. The cement steps in front were bathed in white light from one single light above it.

“I love the night life,” his deep voice whispered with perfect pitch from his corner perch. The cool wind whipped his blonde hair around behind him with his deep blue eyes and pure white skinned face being barely visible above his black leather trench coat. The near pitch-black walkway behind him was the planned escape route.

A navy Ford Expedition stopped for one of the street walkers, a skinny blonde with curls. She bent from the waist to the window to exchange words with a big smile and popping bubble gum.

He could hear her talking from his perch.  “Looking for a date, hun?…You gotta place?”

He continued to watch with a grin and whispered his advice to the driver, “You’re not getting lucky tonight, my friend. She’s a cop.”

The first screams came from across the street interrupting the scene. Two strippers, dragged coats on as they led a charge of patrons out the front door and down the steps of French Babes. The john in the car pulled away with squealing tires as the undercover cop immediately started for the strip club.

The blonde man chuckled and saluted to the Expedition as it drove past. “Correction, maybe you’ll be luckier than you know. Guess they found number seven.” He smiled and turned to walk into the black.

“Which gear?” Dawn giggled and grabbed Moe’s erection. “Is this second, or third.” She shifted hard.

Moe cried out with a laugh. “Be gentle, Dawn.”

The cool voice of Robert Palmer crooned out from the computer speakers beside her bed, “You oughta know by now…” The room was lit with a single bedside lamp with the shade giving off a yellow tinge on the burgundy walls. The king-sized bed was down to a single black fitted sheet with all other linens kicked off on the ground at the foot.

“Why should I?” She released the cock and flipped onto her naked belly beside him. Her head lay on her folded arms.

“I don’t want to explain bruises again.”

She laughed and got to her knees and quickly on top to straddle him before slithering downwards. “I see. Phyllis doesn’t like it when I leave bruises on her man?”

“I bruise easily, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

She kissed the tip of his erection. “Aw, poor darling.”

Moe propped his head up on the pillow and grind down at the tiny red headed woman now sucking his cock. “I wish Phyllis did that.”


“You remember the last time we played.”

Dawn stopped so she could answer, “Yeah, she tasted fantastic but was a little timid.” She licked the tip of the older man’s penis again. “Probably too self conscious to really enjoy.”

Moe nodded and groaned as his erection vanished into her mouth again. “Wait, what are you doing?”

Dawn stopped and pulled back. “Something’s…I don’t know.”

“More sucking, less talking,” Moe instructed and reached down to grasp her head.

She moved, however, and left him only air to grasp.

“Did I do something?”

Dawn shook her head and stepped off the bed. “No, something is wrong.”


“I just don’t feel right.”

Moe propped himself up on his elbows. “Can I get you some tea?”

“Yeah, that would be good.” She reached down and picked her panties off the floor and slipped them on.

He got up and pulled on his white house coat before walking out of the bedroom.

Dawn sat on the foot of the bed and propped her elbows on knees and rested her chin on her hands. For a few moments, she sat in the dimly lit room in silence.

“How do you like your tea?” Moe’s voice filtered in from the kitchen.

“A little milk would be…”

She was cut off by the twinkling of Moe’s cell phone. Dawn already knew, before hearing alarm in Moe’s muffled voice what was going to happen.

Moe stepped in the room with two steaming tea cups. Leaving both on the side table, he went for his clothes.

“Another body?” she asked in a whisper.

“Yeah, downtown this time.”

“Killed a nun this time?” She stood to pull on her own clothes.

“Not exactly. Apparently he got a stripper.”

Dawn nodded. “You owe me an orgasm,” she said playfully, while the blood slowly drained from her face giving her a shock of cold.

Moe leaned over and kissed her. “I wish you meant that.”

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