Imogene in New Orleans by Hunter Murphy Read Free Book Online Page B

hand. The model had dark, seductive eyes. A window behind the young man showed the gorgeous European-inspired rooftops in the French Quarter.
    As Jackson studied the print, Allen said, “Glenway called the painting Bacchus .”
    “Hmm. No wonder. It looks like the one painted by Caravaggio, doesn’t it?” Jackson stepped closer to the enormous print. Goose inadvertently rubbed up against him as he gnawed on his bone with complete concentration.
    Allen nodded. “Yes, it does. Glenway loved Caravaggio, and just like the Italian master, Glenway used some of his love interests in his paintings. You know who that New Orleans Bacchus is?”
    Jackson flicked a curl from his eye. “No, I don’t recognize him.”
    Allen pointed at the handsome young man, who was strong and tattooed and rough-looking, even though his cheeks had a rosy hue, as if he had just sprinted to the chaise lounge. “Did Neil tell you where Glenway lives?”
    “Yeah, he did. Over in Algiers with some hustler. A hustler named Butch or something?”
    “You’re close. He’s a hustler named Buddy, and he’s no sweetheart. That’s him there as Bacchus. Glenway was smitten with him. Neil wasn’t. In fact, Neil tried to warn Glenway about Buddy several times this year. I’m a little surprised Neil didn’t immediately come home and start blaming Buddy rather than confronting Lena. I guess he just lost his head. I hate he’s in jail.”
    “Me too, Allen. It’s been a whirlwind. Do you really think his city council friend can spring him?”
    “I do. Neil has friends all over New Orleans. If he calls in a favor, the council member will help him.” Allen continued looking at the piece of Buddy as Bacchus. “I framed that print and the original painting. In fact, you probably saw it today in the gallery. I have some postcards of the same event. It was a huge success. No one could put on an art show like Glenway.”
    Jackson noticed the wolf tattoo on Bacchus’s left shoulder and arm. The figure in Glenway’s painting was more of a man than the one in Caravaggio’s. Buddy was a little older, not to mention rougher and more menacing. “Does he look like that in real life, Allen?” Jackson bent down to scratch Goose’s belly. Goose had found a cool spot in the corner of the front room, where the hardwood floor met the air vent.
    “No, he looks scarier in real life. Who knows why Glenway liked that type, that dangerous sort. It’s easy to understand Neil’s concern for him. Glenway could never settle down with someone like you guys have, or like we have, me and Neil. Believe me, several decent people his own age tried to woo Glenway, but he didn’t want stability. He liked swinging from branch to branch…and usually in a dark forest.” Allen shook his head and then adjusted his glasses.
    “How long did he live with Buddy the hustler?” Jackson gently spun Goose around on the hardwood floor, which elicited an immediate growl. “Goose, you’d just bark if you saw someone swinging from branch to branch, wouldn’t you?”
    Allen scratched his face and clasped his hands together. “Glenway’s had that place in Algiers for years, but I think the Buddy thing is fairly new, say, the last four, maybe five months. He started talking about Buddy sometime in March or April, about the same time he finished the painting of Bacchus.”
    “Do you and Neil ever go to the place in Algiers?”
    “Oh, no. I think Neil’s been twice in three years, and I’ve dropped Glenway off there a couple times. Glenway guarded that place like a fortress. A love fortress. But I don’t blame him. He’s an artist, you know, and he needs his time alone, to think and to work—”
    “And to bed hustlers,” Jackson said, smacking the floor. “Goose, you stay away from hustlers, sweet boy.”
    Jackson handed Allen the camera. “Sorry, the painting of Buddy distracted me. Here are the pictures Imogene took. I wanted you to have a look and see what you think.”
    Allen