Chapter 1

“You don’t believe me, do ya?” John LeBeau raised a beefy, tattooed arm and took a long drag on his cigarette. He winked at the young man standing next to him.

Henry Gastineau crossed his arms over his chest, fixing John with an unbelieving look. “That you’re a grave digger here in New Orleans? The water table is only a foot down, which is why people are buried above ground. So, no. Not for a second.”

John half-laughed and half-coughed as he exhaled smoke. It seemed to glow in the dark, illuminated by a streetlight which stood a short distance away. “Does this face look like it could lie to you?”

“Yes!”

Both men burst out laughing. Henry considered John to be rugged but not handsome at all. Ink covered most of his upper torso, up his neck, visible through his tight tank-top. He wore cut-off denim shorts that exposed thick tattoo-covered legs. Still, Henry could not disregard John’s machismo, which seemed to hang in the air like an irresistible fragrance.

Slightly shorter and much thinner, Henry felt rather puny standing next to the husky, barrel-chested John. They leaned up against a low brick wall topped with a short ornate wrought-iron fence that lined the St. Louis Cemetery, one of the largest and grandest in the city. Rather than being spooky at this time of night, the area teemed with vehicles and foot traffic, all men cruising for a quick hook-up. This particular graveyard had the reputation of being one of the most haunted in New Orleans, but now it seemed the ghosts took their cue from the living residents and fled the city during Mardi Gras.

It didn’t help Henry’s self-confidence that all the lustful glances thrown their way were directed at John, who ignored them. He prattled on to Henry about building mausoleums and how you had to dig a little bit of ground to lay the foundation. That explained the mounds of dirt in the cemetery behind them.

Henry tried to pay attention to him, but kept getting distracted by the gorgeous men passing by. None of them noticed him, though. Some would stop and fix a stare at John or utter a ‘woof’. After getting no response, they moved on.

Henry knew John wasn’t concerned because he would have no trouble picking up anyone he wanted, whenever he wanted. His hyper-masculinity assured that.

“I feel like a remora,” Henry muttered.

“What?”

He wasn’t aware that he had spoken out loud until John responded. “Oh, nothing. I just said I feel like a remora.”

“What’s that?” John gave him a puzzled look.

“It’s a fish that attaches itself to a shark in hope of getting the leftover scraps of its meal.”

John’s face showed that the explanation meant nothing to him. “Why do you feel like one of those?”

“Never mind, John.” Henry looked over his shoulder into the dark cemetery. “Kind of a creepy place for a quickie. I’ve been to New Orleans before, and never knew this was such a popular cruising spot.”

John tossed the butt of his cigarette on the sidewalk and fished another one out of a crushed pack he pulled from his back pocket. Two men, walking past in opposite directions, immediately produced lighters and stepped forward. John waved them off and lit it with his own. He glanced at the shadows between the crypts and mausoleums.

“It’s not so creepy,” he shrugged, “after you make out in there a few times.” He winked.

“How do you convince guys to have sex with you in a graveyard?” The thought of it repulsed Henry and yet aroused him.

“They don’t complain. Are you familiar with necrophilia?” John peered at Henry to watch his reaction.

Henry’s jaw dropped. “Oh, no, you didn’t!”

John rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t have sex with corpses. That’s just sick. Have you heard of coupe poudre?”

“The voodoo zombie drug?” Henry said, relieved to discover his friend wasn’t into grave robbery, but alarmed at the occult reference.

“That’s it.” John leaned closer to Henry’s ear. “You give it to some guy, just a little bit, and he’s out like a zombie for hours. You can do whatever you want to them.”

“Um, John,” Henry whispered. “Isn’t that kinda like date rape?”

“Nope,” he shook his head, unconcerned. “You’d be surprised at how many guys are willing to try it. Problem is,” he leaned back against the wall, “when they come out of it, they don’t remember anything.” He grabbed the front of his shorts and winked at Henry again. “Except that they’re walking funny.” He chuckled and took a long drag on his cigarette.

Henry laughed. He snuck a peak at John’s bulging crotch. The beefy man seemed to notice the direction of his gaze and spread his legs to widen his stance. A car slowed down as the driver whistled out the window. A man walking by stopped and tried to start a conversation but John shook his head. Not interested.