Somewhere in the night a trio played jazz music that echoed through the streets. A Clarinetist, a banjo, and keys. Of course that was any street in this neighborhood, that and the crime, which is a peripheral of my life. You don’t work as a PI and not make friends in the underbelly of the city,

I’d been hired for an easy enough job, a wondering husband. It was fairly routine. He had hit all the tourist bars already tonight, buying hurricanes in go-cups and whatever else you’d drink, all while hitting on any woman between his age and twenty two that would listen to his bullshit.

I was about to call it an evening when he made a turn out of the quarter and headed northeast. There weren’t any bars that way, and if he went a few blocks too far he’d end up in a bad neighborhood real fast. I followed as close to the shadows as I could, and eventually he came upon an old house. It had a good sized yes, a white fence, even some plants that helped it stand out from the domiciles around it. He knocked on the door and was invited in. I peeked into the alley and saw several crates stacked behind the house. Goats, chickens, snakes, I knew what he was up to immediately. This white man from the nice part of town dropped into the lower middle class neighborhood to visit a spiritual priest or priestess. It wasn’t too crazy of an idea in this town, we were no the Caribbean coast after all.

While he may have been a sleaze bag hitting on all those women in the bars, he was into something completely different here. I had two choices : sneak up to the window and watch, or walk away and tell his Mrs., the one who’s hired me, what I saw.