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July 12, 2003 dead heat Elliott Longstreet stepped from summer's hot glare into the dim coolness of Schoen's funeral parlor.  A quicksilver shiver ran the length of his spine, his pupils dilated.  It had been a week since Joe Morrison walked into Longstreet's French Quarter office, paid a retainer, and asked the private eye to tail his wife.  Morrison suspected his wife was cheating and he couldn't have been more thrilled.  Unless Mrs. Morrison was caught in the act, she could prevail in the permanent alimony claim she was sure to file if sued for divorce.  Longstreet had spied in the Times Pic an obituary announcement that Peter Langlinais's visitation would be held at Schoen's and, among his surviving children was one Antoinette "Toni" Langlinais Morrison.  With a gulp of Bloody Mary, Longstreet decided to pick up his tail at the funeral home.  Funerals made people horny. Inside parlor room C, Toni Morrison was easy to spot.  The newspaper listed three Langlinais children, two females and a male.  one of the Langlinais girls had preceded Peter in death which left only Toni and her brother whose name hadn't registered.  The widow Langlinais sat in the front pew and bore a striking resemblance to Norman Bates's mother in her root-cellar days.  The line receiving the trickle of mourners consisted of Joe, the nameless son, and Toni. Having spotted his prey, Elliott Longstreet loitered among the adjacent parlor room B crowd.  The stiff in B drew mourners like flies to garbage.  Longstreet stood in the corner looking both official and sad.  To the Schoen's employees, he was a B guy; to the Bs, he worked for Schoen's. To the two dashing, thirtyish men who positioned themselves with their backs to him, Longstreet was invisible.  The men were yuppie friends of long standing, engaged in a conversation about prostitutes.  It seemed one had returned from a business trip to Miami where he had gotten drunk with clients and, later, stuck with the least attractive whore working the hotel. "I'm telling you, Rob," hissed the businessman, "she was so ugly, I had to think of my wife to come." At that, Longstreet caught sight of Toni Morrison stepping from the dim coolness of parlor room C into the white heat of the day.

©  2003 by the beastmaster