millions of cards that cluttered its walls. He gazed in admiration at the old doors, the patched plastered walls. He stretched out his hand and felt of the old wood; wood that others, long past dead, had put there.
In his imagination he saw Jean Lafitte counting out gold to his fellow pirates, squatting around an old metal chest, filled with precious jewels, drinking rum out of old broken bottles. Jean Lafitte; just think, Jean Lafitte used to come here. Maybe he used to stand on this very spot. He looked down at the stones he stood on.
What a man. What a brave, carefree, reckless pirate Jean Lafitte must have been. What a life he must have had, he thought. I'm glad he was pardoned … I wish I could be just like him.
A cab pulled up beside him and stopped.
"Looking for a girl, buddy?" the driver asked. "Get in. I know a real young one. Ain't been in the business long, no." He stretched his neck and winked at Gaylord.
"No, thanks … Not tonight. I'm waiting for a date," he smiled back.
"Some other night, yes?"
"Maybe."
"Here's a good address. They've got any type ya. want, buddy, and any way you want it." He handed Gaylord a card. "Just give them this card. Tell them Pete sent ya …"
Gaylord took the card and grinned back at the driver. He watched the cab plow down the busy street. Then he put the card in his pocket without even reading it.
Suddenly the cab horn blasted at two drunks who had stepped from the curb and almost in front of it. The car swung around, barely missing them.
"Ya son-of-a-bitch. Ya almost hit me, pal," yelled one of the men, waving a clutched fist at the moving vehicle. "Come on back and I'll beat the God damned shit outaya." He turned to the other, throwing his arms around the weaving shoulders. "Ya all right, pal?" He looked into the face that was rolling around on a thick neck. He patted the shoulder and said, "We need a drink … Come on pal."
They staggered back into the bar they had just come out of, their arms around each other.
